:scp-wiki:component:info-ayers\n\n|lang=en\n\n|page=\n\n|authorPage=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8090\n\n|comments=\n\n= //**Reserved for Charles Choudhury**//\n\n\n\n= Word Count: 6k\n\n\n\n= Reading Time: 21 minutes\n\n\n\nPlease read [[[SCP-5384]]] for the necessary context prior to reading this. Thank you in advance.\n\n]]\n\n[[>]]\n\n[[module rate]]\n\n[[/>]]\n\n[[div class=\"scp-image-block block-right\" style=\"width:300px;\"]]\n\n[[image RAM1.jpg style=\"width:300px;\"]]\n\n[[/div]]\n\n\n\nAgent Charles Choudhury stares forward, disbelief painted on his face as realization slowly crashes through his system in waves. Layers of impossibility stack and twist upon one another. A single note stuck to the laminated glass of his newly issued automobile looks back at him with defiance.\n\n\n\nConfusion was first. Then came the dozens of thoughts racing in his mind. They all search for solutions to a problem that need not be solved, for the answer is right in front of him. A cherry red Ram 1500.\n\n\n\n\"This, this is for me?\" The researcher at his left nods back at him.\n\n\n\n\"It's been cleared of any memetic, cognitohazardous, or otherwise anomalous tampering,\" Naomi Bradley said as she produced a set of keys to the sleek red pickup. \"It's all yours. Consider it thanks for your good work.\"\n\n\n\nTossing the key ring over to Choudhury, Bradley watches as he fumbles the catch and lets them fall to the cement with a thin metallic jingle. He crouches down and scrounges around.\n\n\n\n\"Uh, uh, tha-thanks, Naomi, I-\" he pauses and takes three breaths. \"How is this possible? I thought Matkins-\"\n\n\n\n\"Evidently, [[[SCP-5384]]] was not neutralized as we thought it was,\" her monotonous voice carried a sliver of exhaustion. She managed to conceal the bags under her eyes with foundation. \"Which brings me back to-\"\n\n\n\nShe gestures forward at the glistening vehicle in the sunlight.\n\n\n\n\"This. Charles, if it comes back like how it was before-\"\n\n\n\n\"Hold on,\" he looks away from his reward for one moment and turns to face her. His eyebrows furrow. \"Is this a bribe? Are you //bribing// me to pick up the project again?\"\n\n\n\n\"Maybe, Charles. I mean, it could have been sent to an abatement facility or donated to someone who actually needs it. And you could have just been reassigned to keep working on this without getting a free car out of it,\" she says, turning to meet his eyes. \"But the higher-ups seem to like you and think you could be useful if SCP-5384 does reappear. You're pretty fortunate, all things considered.\"\n\n\n\nChoudhury's eyes drift downward at the keys in his hand, then back to the ruby on the stone.\n\n\n\n\"So, I'll let you get acquainted with it. The manual's in the glovebox. Registration and insurance have both been handled, though you'll have to talk to Goldbaker after the first year,\" Naomi turns and walks back to the entrance of Site-48. \"I'll see you on Monday, Charles.\"\n\n\n\nCharles chortles to himself briefly, absent-mindedly fiddling with the keys as he stares at the car. His face turns with no solid expression in mind.\n\n\n\nIt finally comes to a conclusion as he silently mouths //Thank you, Matkins//.\n\n\n\n----\n\n\n\nDriving home from work was like flipping a coin for Charles. He could either become entangled in the late afternoon traffic, forced stuck amidst the endless stream of engines around his own, and having to stop for every terribly-timed pedestrian, or it would be a smooth sailing, calming endeavor. This time, it was the former.\n\n\n\nTwo months of wear had beset him and his prize. From the hordes of pigeons relentlessly shitting on his truck to the soul-sucking day-to-day of monitoring security feeds and anomalous channels for hours on end. Now the detours around the city and the rides home felt free by comparison, if strenuous at times.\n\n\n\nWearily, he clicks the turn signal on, coming up to the intersection as another flush of motors all form a blockade with their passage. They all just want to get to their own destinations. One, two, three, five - eight pass before someone finally lets him through. He feels a rush and turns the corner. Two seconds after already passing by the stranger, he realized he'd forgotten to wave thanks.\n\n\n\nMaking his way through the suburbs was refreshingly easy. His apartment was only a few more blocks down the street from the red light he was stuck at now. The sounds of light chatter on the radio crowd the void. Some talk show host laughs with some woman, neither of whom Charles knew, the joke of which he didn't hear. Children shout, playing in the park to his left. The outside car engines reverberate through the windows, all this submerging Choudhury into a sea of white noise.\n\n\n\nHe glances left, overlooking a collection of blank faces withheld by the distance. He pays little attention to them, absent-mindedly watching the kids playing on the swings, half-heartedly jealous. A portly, scraggily dressed dude sits on an iron bench. The light turns green. Two old guys wearing neon shorts run around the fenced-in tennis court.\n\n\n\nChoudhury's eyes peel away from the park and back to the road as someone slams on the horn behind him.\n\n\n\n= -\n\n\n\nCharles felt a slight sense of unease for a moment as he lay unfathomably comfortably in bed. He lingered there for a second longer than he should have, his brain tells him. He shouldn't have been there that long. Inconvenienced others had seen him. What kind of moron was he? He tries his best to push away these thoughts. After all, in only five hours he'd have to get up for work.\n\n\n\n----\n\n\n\nMonitoring. The cornerstone of the Foundation's active containment efforts. A long, arduous system of fishing for hours in datastreams, waiting for the right channel, the right tuna, and the right moment to align. Then catching could be offloaded to the men with guns and that would be that.\n\n\n\nReal fishermen at least get to walk away with dinner when they finish for the day. Instead, Charles gets to sit, clicking and typing away, searching this security camera to that podcast microphone and this online messaging board to that dealership promo. At least now he knew where he could get his truck worked on without getting scammed to high Hell.\n\n\n\nBoredom could hardly cover this feeling Choudhury endured every single day. Unchallenged, unrewarded. But, at the very least, he was getting paid well enough to not dare to pursue another career path. It will get better, he thinks. Maybe he could find Matkins and put an end to all this. After three months, it was clear the Foundation higher-ups would never let up until they had solid evidence of the man's neutralization. \n\n\n\nThe reports all said that the amnestic treatment was successful. They gave him a place to stay and kept tabs on him there until he just stopped showing up. And then that truck magically appeared in the one part of the Site-48 parking lot that cameras did not cover, and now the whole facility was on high alert.\n\n\n\nHigh alert that Choudhury had to work off of.\n\n\n\nNaomi would occasionally pop in from time to time, checking in on Charles' progress with the project. Each time she came in with a stack of papers in hand and left with her fingers in her pockets. She could mask the exhaustion under her eyes, but not inside them. She would return to her office and pick up yet another stack of paperwork to review, and from there on no one would see Researcher Bradley until her shift ended.\n\n\n\nChoudhury would try to pick up his own pace to help her when he could. He'd be understanding whenever she delivered more work to go over, and even try to stay for some overtime when he knew she was busy there too. Another day goes by, another ten, maybe twelve hours to spend. Another sheet to fill in. Just one more page to read. But after all this time, it still felt as though they were searching for geese to chase.\n\n\n\n= -\n\n\n\nA sharp duo of taps knock on the door, jolting Choudhury's head from the mess on his desk. Instinctively, his mouth shouts out //Come in!// while his body tries to stretch itself before the visitor would see him like this.\n\n\n\n[[div class=\"scp-image-block block-left\" style=\"width:200px;\"]]\n\n[[image Naomi.jpg style=\"width:300px;\"]]\n\n[[/div]]\n\n\n\nNaomi steps in, carrying a collection of transcripts, notices, police reports, parking tickets, and subjects of interest pertaining to the current status of select persons of interest to the project. Each would require a review in full, followed by properly signing off on the reports on his terminal, to which he would have to enter an authentication token just after checking off that the material he had just read and confirmed that he had read was, in fact, a complete waste of time.\n\n\n\nThe usual order.\n\n\n\n\"Hey, Naomi,\" he scrambles to make space on his table for the new workload for today, shoving dozens of other, similar papers away or to the floor entirely, to be dealt with later. \"How are you?\"\n\n\n\n\"Fine, fine,\" lying through her teeth like an experienced veteran of the Foundation. \"Nothing interesting. What about you? Did you follow up on that incident down on 43rd?\"\n\n\n\n\"Yeah. Some teenagers got drunk and decided to take their parents' cars for a race.\"\n\n\n\n\"//That's it?//\" she looks down at him. He keeps himself from shrugging.\n\n\n\n\"One of the cars was from Matkins. It was traded around a bunch so it probably slipped our radar. I left it to the officers there since there wasn't anything notable about it.\"\n\n\n\n\"And you didn't come to me about this? //Slipped past our radar//?\" she deviates from her natural routine and takes a seat across from Charles.\n\n\n\n\"Matkins probably fudged the work on it.\"\n\n\n\n\"SCP-5384 has never shown the capacity to fail to write up the paperwork for one of its clients.\"\n\n\n\n\"He's only human,\" Choudhury finally shrugs.\n\n\n\nBradley groans, letting her head fall to her hands. Her eyelids seem comfortable as they shut.\n\n\n\n\"Just get these back to me as soon as you can.\"\n\n\n\n\"I will. I will. Thank you.\"\n\n\n\nShe looks up, tilting her head.\n\n\n\n\"For //what//?\"\n\n\n\nHe stutters, mixing words as his jaws work against him. Four and a half hours in, his brain was far from well connected to the rest of his body.\n\n\n\nThe sight of his head bobbing around was enough for Naomi. She stands, turns, opens the door again, and walks out. Choudhury groans.\n\n\n\n\"//Damn it.//\"\n\n\n\n------\n\n\n\nKilling time outside the park once again, Choudhury sits and waits for a family of four and an elderly Asian woman to cross the street. Then a group of children joins in on the fun and dashes about the road, forming a chainlink series of traffic cones, blockading his left turn as they mindlessly scamper home from an assuredly long and tiring day of school.\n\n\n\nHow joyful. Not even a care in the whole wide world.\n\n\n\nLost in his thoughts again, Charles looks up to see the time ticking down on the sidewalk's clock and floors the petal to the metal to make the turn. No horns blare, fortunately. Dreadfully, he checks the rearview mirrors and hopes that nobody saw him just sitting there mindlessly.\n\n\n\nHe turns his eyes back to the road where a dishevelled Larry Matkins attempts to jaywalk across the street.\n\n\n\nChoudhury swerves hard right, narrowly threading the needle betwixt two parked cars as he clambers inside to get the car, the seatbelt, and his Fitbit heart spike detection off. The truck is parked half atop the sidewalk as he pulls out his phone. The first number to dial would be Naomi's.\n\n\n\nHe stumbles to get to his feet and leaves the truck in its sidewalk-facing perpendicularly parked position. The alarm blares. Some civilians arrive just to inaudibly badger him about this. They don't matter. All that matters right now is catching up with Matkins so that proper personnel can handle this. The right men with the right procedures, protective equipment, experience, numbers, training, and - guns, he briefly thinks before shying that thought away.\n\n\n\n//He isn't dangerous//, Choudhury thinks. Matkins is just a car salesman, just a friendly face who... managed to evade the Foundation for the past three months. Who is seemingly impervious to amnestics. Who broke into some of the most fortified legal and organizational systems the anomalous world - or otherwise - has to offer.\n\n\n\nWho is now currently seated, apparently winded on a cast iron park bench sweating profusely with a loaf of squashed bread clutched to his ribs.\n\n\n\nLooking down at the man, Choudhury pockets the phone. He leans down close while trying to maintain a distance; the man was too busy resting his eyes and body to notice.\n\n\n\nSporting some slight stubble, dressed in that same suit - now dirtied and visibly moist - and coated in yellowish mustard stains around his cheeks, the absolutely unlikely answer is certain. //This// is the man himself; Larry Matkins, in the flesh. Choudhury has to be sure.\n\n\n\n\"Mr. Matkins? Is that you, sir?\"\n\n\n\nThe man's eyes warily budge themselves open, then widen and shut again in dual reaction to Charles and the bright sunlight. Almost instantly, he hops himself up and grabs Choudhury's hand, dropping the bread.\n\n\n\n\"Charles? Well, I'll be. How have you been, my friend? How have you been?\"\n\n\n\nTaken aback, Choudhury stutters. \"Uh, uh, fine, Mr. Matkins. Fine, I guess.\"\n\n\n\n\"That is great to hear, Charles. Tell me, how are you enjoying the truck? I tried my best to swing for real Deep Pearl Cherry, but I figure a couple shades ain't that much to split hairs over.\"\n\n\n\n\"It's great. It's really great, but uh-\"\n\n\n\nTaking a step to Charles' side, Matkins takes a look down the hill where a commotion of civilians has crowded around the improperly parked Ram. The alarm continues to alert everybody that part of its front end was scraped on the concrete.\n\n\n\n\"Glad... glad to hear that, Charles.\"\n\n\n\nChoudhury looks between the man who has eluded him for months and his semi-totaled gift, internally cursing himself. \"I, I uh, I-\"\n\n\n\n\"It's all fine, Charles. I'll be right here when you come back.\"\n\n\n\nOnce again, looking between the two, Choudhury hesitates. \"Are you sure?\"\n\n\n\n\"Sure.\"\n\n\n\nChoudhury nods. \"Alright, just, uh, just stay right there,\" and he takes off to rescue his truck from the clutches of a perturbed collection of the inconvenienced. \n\n\n\n= -\n\n\n\nJust like he said, there he was, watching the birds clutter around a sampling of seedlings from his octogenarian bench mate, Matkins sat as Charles came back up the hill a half hour afterwards. Half asleep, he groggily pulls himself up to clamber towards the park's new inhabitant.\n\n\n\n\"You sure took your time.\"\n\n\n\nReaching the top and coming to stand in front of Matkins, Choudhury sighs. \"Sorry. I had to deal with some parking ticket and fend off a police officer just to stop the thing from getting impounded.\"\n\n\n\n\"That's the system for you. Guess that'll just become another one of your guys' statistics.\"\n\n\n\n\"I'm sorry?\"\n\n\n\n\"You sure like to say that a lot, Charles.\"\n\n\n\n\"Look, I didn't have a say in what happened. I tried to make the transition as smooth as possible.\"\n\n\n\n\"Yeah, I know. Bosses, am I right?\"\n\n\n\nRearing back, Matkins thrusts his arms forward, consequently sending his upper body up and out of the seat as he gets to his legs. \"Let's take a walk.\"\n\n\n\nThe two traverse through the park, passing by the tennis and basketball courts on their way. A couple walks their dog. A father pretends to block his son from scoring on the hoop. A sprinkler activates and a group of children there all screech and shout as the cold makes contact.\n\n\n\nMatkins leans down and takes a sip from a public fountain. \"So, what's on your mind?\"\n\n\n\nChoudhury ponders the question for a moment, quickly trying to decide on the best question to ask without the transcript recorder set up. \"How do you still remember everything?\"\n\n\n\n\"Oh, that one's easy,\" he wipes his mouth on his sleeve. \"You got the report that your procedure worked?\"\n\n\n\n\"Didn't it?\"\n\n\n\n\"Probably would have if it happened.\"\n\n\n\n\"It- it didn't happen?\"\n\n\n\n\"Nope. Look, whatever those other people did, that's their business, Charles. But I'm proud of what I did. Even if some people went and took it for granted, who cares? I helped people my way, and that's good enough for me.\"\n\n\n\n\"But now you're living like...\"\n\n\n\n\"Like a man content with the life he's lived. [[[SCP-6384|Some people don't have that, you know]]]?\"\n\n\n\nChoudhury mumbles in affirmation. They continue on and take a seat in the northeast corner, where a wooden table and two sets of benches lie. A motorcycle explodes by on the main street just beyond the fence of greenery beside them.\n\n\n\n\"So you're retired, then?\"\n\n\n\n\"I guess so. It's not exactly the glamorous picture I had in mind back in my twenties and thirties, but it's enough. I suppose.\"\n\n\n\n\"The Foundation offered you accommodations. A whole house to yourself. [[[SCP-5472|I know most people would do anything for a deal like that]]]. Why didn't you take it?\"\n\n\n\n\"Because then I'd be living a lie. Having to pretend like I didn't do all that. Taking an entire house for just one man; I'm sure you realize why that's not great. Living with the FBI watching over me at all times doesn't sound fun. Or maybe there was some lingering frustration that my life's work was dismantled over something I had no control over. Take your pick.\"\n\n\n\n\"I'm sorry, Mr. Matkins-\"\n\n\n\n\"None needed, Charles. None needed. I've been working on those reports telling you I wasn't there. Actually managed to hand that place over to a small family down on their luck.\"\n\n\n\n\"Why are you telling me this?\"\n\n\n\n\"Because I believe I can trust you to keep that on the down low.\"\n\n\n\nSlouching forward, Choudhury rests his head on his hand and brushes away the thin black hair that had become overgrown and unkempt in his unending work. A breeze passes by with its shrill stinging chill. Matkins checks his wrist, looking down at the cracked watch ornamented with fake gold bronze inlay.\n\n\n\n\"You know, Charles, in all my years fighting against those corporate suits, I saw a lot of good people go down to keep the company afloat. Or, keep the board floating, really. I don't imagine the people you work for are any better.\"\n\n\n\n\"Everybody has to make hard decisions sometimes.\"\n\n\n\nMatkins groans and sits upright. \"Oh come on, Charles! That is complete and utter crap! Look, I've been in the system. I've seen how it all works from the bottom to the top of the totem pole. I know which choices are hard or easy to make because I made them all. I've seen the suits make business moves just for the sake of it, like merging with the Germans who have completely different priorities than the average American nuclear family!\"\n\n\n\nHe pauses to breathe. \"I've seen them lobby Congress to shower them with taxpayer money when the economy went bad and then still lay off thousands of hard workers before they even thought about dipping into one of their millionaire shareholder's vacation funds! That's the truth, Charles, not whatever corporate propaganda they drip down on you.\"\n\n\n\nChoudhury leans up and lets his hands fall to the table. \"You're right. But what can we do about it? The people at the top are there for a reason; that's just the way of the world.\"\n\n\n\n\"Charles, look at me. Never take the world at face value. Things can change.\"\n\n\n\n\"I quite literally work for the people keeping that from being true.\"\n\n\n\n\"Change is going to happen one way or another, and your bosses won't be able to stop that no matter what. You have to be ready to ride that wave when it comes.\"\n\n\n\nChoudhury breaks from his idle stare at the tabletop to look up at Matkins with scepticism. \"//Ride that wave//?\"\n\n\n\nLarry digs into his jacket and ruffles around, eventually producing a crumpled and wrecked magazine cover advertising something called a //Sea-Doo//. \"Sorry, I've gotten into jetskis recently. Have you seen these guys in action?\"\n\n\n\n= -\n\n\n\n\n\nWaiting at the bus stop was a ritual that Choudhury had not missed these past few months. Either standing around awkwardly or being seated in the three allotted spaces; sitting right next to a loud-mouthed teenager and his buds as well as an elderly man on the phone both chattering on about inane nonsense. All whilst waiting twenty minutes for the next one to arrive as he'd just missed the last one.\n\n\n\nBut now in the late afternoon on the parkside sidewalk, it was quiet and alone, and the only other person here was Matkins as the two waited.\n\n\n\nWeighing his options, Choudhury occasionally would look back at the fellow to confirm the situation was real. If he called Naomi now, then the teams could come and finish the job, and he'd be able to move on with his life.\n\n\n\nHe looked back at Larry once more. That Euclid-level Veil-threatening humanoid entity. That menace to society Choudhury had spent the last three months working to track down sat there in the same tattered suit he'd worn since that ill-fated interview. When Charles had to tell him that he couldn't keep dispensing out free cars.\n\n\n\n//Just a guy trying to do right for others.//\n\n\n\n//Even if others wouldn't lift a finger to help him.//\n\n\n\n\"Are you alright, Charles?\"\n\n\n\nReturning to Earth from his spacing out, Choudhury faces Matkins again. \"W-what?\"\n\n\n\n\"You keep looking at me funny. Are you sure you're okay?\"\n\n\n\n\"Y-yeah, sorry. I just, I just got lost in my thoughts,\" scouring his recollection of his Foundation training, he searches for some bullshit topic to talk about. \"Just... you ever think about Tahiti?\"\n\n\n\n\"Thinking about vacation, eh? Well, good on you, Charles. I hear that place is real nice; you deserve it.\"\n\n\n\n\"Thank you, Matkins.\"\n\n\n\nThe bus comes into view down the street. Larry dusts himself off and scrounges around in his pockets for the fare, coming up a dollar short. The bus nears as he turns to Choudhury. \"Shoot. Could you break a five?\"\n\n\n\nCharles stands and pulls out his wallet from his back pocket, handing Matkins a plastic card. \"Here. This should be good for half a year or so,\" he says as he hands him his company-issued ticket.\n\n\n\n\"Nah, no, I just need a dollar Char-\"\n\n\n\n\"Just take it. Get yourself out of here, ride a jetski to Tahiti or something. We'll keep looking for you here for years if you slip up even a little.\"\n\n\n\nMatkins holds the card up and gestures with it, waving it in the air a little to show appreciation. \"Well, thank you very much, Charles Choudhury.\"\n\n\n\nThe bus pulls up to the stop and the door opens to reveal a set of steps. Its inside is cramped with dozens of strangers all vying for territory on this small, enclosed tube of transport. Matkins steps on and swipes Charles' card, getting a green light on the scanner. He looks back one last time at Choudhury.\n\n\n\n\"Take care, Charles. Take care.\"\n\n\n\n\"Thanks. Enjoy your retirement, Lawrence. You earned it.\"\n\n\n\nWith a gust of mechanized pistons, the bus doors shut as Larry started down the way to find an open spot on the handlebars since all the seats were taken up.\n\n\n\nAnd the bus took off, rejoining its fellows in the stream of traffic along the San Joaquin main street. Charles, alone with his thoughts, unsure what to think of the situation, walked back to his thankfully unharassed truck just a slim twelve or so meters down the sidewalk.\n\n\n\n[[div class=\"scp-image-block block-right\" style=\"width:200px;\"]]\n\n[[image RAM.png style=\"width:300px;\"]]\n\n[[/div]]\n\n\n\nHe clicks the key fob, opens the door, and takes a comfortable seat on the fine leather he had barely taken care of. The weight of his body slowly, incrementally, fades away like seafoam.\n\n\n\nChoudhury presses the start button and puts his foot on the break, activating the engine and lightly rustling the recording device hidden in the truck's front side grille.\n\n\n\n------\n\n\n\nWalking into the office building, the sign overhead reading \"Southern California Petroleum\", Choudhury looks around the small front desk area of this two-and-a-half-room building. Nothing. Nobody here, [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/choudhury-insurance not even Triple-A to man the till]. No customers either - paid or otherwise.\n\n\n\nHe looks around, searching for any clues as to why the others would break from protocol as his mind gradually starts leaping to conclusions.\n\n\n\nOnly when Choudhury stops does he see the store sign reading //closed//. //It's always something right under your nose.//\n\n\n\nHe sighs, half relieved that nobody saw him going in circles like a headless chicken, but while also checking around the parking lot to confirm that nobody had seen him and that there was no chance that anyone who had seen him dancing like an idiot could have left before he started looking for them. His checking is completed to his satisfaction.\n\n\n\nChoudhury turns back around to see the top of a mop of bright blonde hair. He jolts back, realizing midway through the familiar sight before him.\n\n\n\n\"N-Naomi, hey, I, uh-\"\n\n\n\n\"Good morning, Charles.\"\n\n\n\n\"... Morning.\"\n\n\n\nSpinning around, Naomi heads back behind the front desk and into the small utility closet in the backroom. \"Good news. Something popped up. Follow me.\"\n\n\n\nBriefly caught off guard, Choudhury rushes to catch up with Naomi as he tries to figure out what is going on. \"W-what? You mean with 5384?\"\n\n\n\n\"With //SCP//-5384\", Researcher Bradley chides as she pushes a box of pamphlets and user guides out of the way, revealing a lightly glowing number pad. She inputs a six-digit string, causing an audible //chk// as multiple electronic latches unlock. \"And yes, I believe we may be onto something.\" A trapdoor opens, arcing its faux floor up and down in the top right corner, revealing a descending staircase leading to the real Site-48.\n\n\n\nAs per usual with Foundation regulation, OSHA would weep upon seeing this.\n\n\n\nThe two take turns going down the wobbly undermeasured steps as Naomi continues down the chill eggshell white hallway, leaving Choudhury to input his code into the system to shut the trapdoor once more. He hurries to catch up with her again.\n\n\n\nTurning through an elaborate series of hallways and corners, passing doorframes, window panes, and the odd death row inmate being escorted by their coworkers, they delve deeper into the heart of the facility.\n\n\n\n\"So, what did you find?\"\n\n\n\n\"There was a disturbance yesterday. Eight dead in a public transit accident. This way.\"\n\n\n\nChoudhury stops.\n\n\n\n\"//**What?!//**\"\n\n\n\nNaomi turns to him for a moment. \"Come on, you'll need to see the report for yourself.\"\n\n\n\nChoudhury's blood runs cold as the muscles in his body burn bright. He follows along, now moving double time.\n\n\n\nEventually, they make it into a humanoid containment chamber, a room like most other rooms with the only difference being a one-way mirror at one end and a small plastic table in the center, besides the human amenities in the corners. Charles looks around for any signs of what Naomi could be referring to until she pulls out a paper and puts it on the table.\n\n\n\n\"Take a look.\"\n\n\n\n[[div class=\"blockquote\"]]\n\n= **Transcript 5384-5**\n\n\n\n**Personnel Involved:** Agent Charles Choudhury\n\n\n\n**Subject:** SCP-5384\n\n\n\n**Location:** Shaun Cavalry Park\n\n\n\n**Date:** November 22, 2015: 6:17 PM\n\n----\n\n****\n\n\n\n//Footage takes place [[span style=\"filter: blur(4px);\"]]behind a metal grate, pointed outward, facing a [[/span]] clear line of sight up the sidewalk [[span style=\"filter: blur(4px);\"]]as the car ahead drives off. The camera remains here for twenty minutes until[[/span]] notable activity begins with Charles Choudhury stepping into the shot.//\n\n\n\n//Agent Choudhury walks out [[span style=\"filter: blur(4px);\"]]from the park path and walks up the sidewalk as another,[[/span]] semi-obese figure moves beside him. [[span style=\"filter: blur(4px);\"]]The two take a seat at the bus stop and[[/span]] stay there for eight minutes, [[span style=\"filter: blur(4px);\"]]talking amongst themselves.[[/span]]//\n\n\n\n//A bus approaches the stop. [[span style=\"filter: blur(4px);\"]]The figure stands and gets into position.[[/span]] Agent Choudhury stands as well and shakes SCP-5384's hand-//\n\n\n\n//[[span style=\"filter: blur(4px);\"]]How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Carribean by providence impoverished in squalor, grow up to be a hero and a scholar?[[/span]]//\n\n[[/div]]\n\n\n\n\"What the hell is this, Naomi?\" Choudhury looks up from the document to see Researcher Bradley staring dead ahead through him. The bags under her eyes have cleared up, if only slightly.\n\n\n\n\"More than enough grounds for the termination of your employment with the SCP Foundation, Choudhury,\" she says as she pulls up a seat for herself. \"You have undergone the same training as the rest of us. You should know better than to socialize with the items under our containment. It is shocking to me that you not only failed to alert anyone else of your discovery but that you aided SCP-5384 in its escape.\"\n\n\n\nAs she continues, she reaches over the table and takes the paper. \"Charles, do I even have to describe just how unacceptable this decision was?\" she pauses, apparently waiting for an answer.\n\n\n\n\"He didn't. He couldn't hurt anyone, Naomi.\"\n\n\n\n\"That's why I said //accident//. But you let him get away. Why did you let him get away, Charles?\"\n\n\n\n\"He, he's harmless! Harmless! He, he couldn't-\"\n\n\n\nBradley cuts in, her once tired eyes now cutting deep with a cold, dead-on stare. \"You know better than this. //__Why did you let him leave__//?\"\n\n\n\nFlustered in his thoughts, Choudhury's mind tumbles from place to place, trying to think of some reasonable excuse while balancing stowing away the betrayal he felt by both this absurd violation and his supposed involvement in such an unlawful incident. He could not afford the same fate as the many other terminated personnel who had started their grovelling by aggressively confronting the situation.\n\n\n\n\"I-I, I don't, I can't, I-\"\n\n\n\n\"Spit it out, Charles,\" annoyance clouds Researcher Bradley's face, an irritation that had been hidden away with make-up and a practiced patience only Foundation interviewers could achieve.\n\n\n\nSilence crowds the room. Silence, and the ambient sounds of through-the-wall machinery and vent articulation. The only ones in the world are Charles and Researcher Bradley. She peers up at him. Time slows and hastens all at once, and Choudhury is the only one who can fix this self-contained anomaly.\n\n\n\nBreath returns to Choudhury. He speaks, unsure entirely of the consequences he'd be facing for this. \"I trusted him, alright, Naomi. I trusted him. I'm sorry. I'm, I'm so sorry,\" his mouth compels him to continue talking, already in motion, but his mind takes control once more. Charles finally takes a seat.\n\n\n\nQuiet returns to the chamber, though this time, not dedicated purely to Choudhury. Researcher Bradley now shares in this burden. Taking her time, staring ahead, almost corpse-like at Charles, she makes no movement to address either's concerns.\n\n\n\n\"It's already been decided,\" her voice, slow, focused, and cold, fills the entire room like a void. \"You are off the project. You will be transferred to Site-56. Any previously afforded privileges you have received will be revoked. Am I clear, Choudhury?\"\n\n\n\n\"Yes, yes ma'am.\"\n\n\n\nBradley stands and heads for the door. Her high heels tap against the linoleum floor, creating an echoing series of markers to indicate her distance from Charles as his head falls to the table.\n\n\n\n\"You are //very// fortunate, Charles.\"\n\n\n\nThe door shuts.\n\n\n\n------\n\n\n\nThe vagueness of Bradley's words only became apparent to Charles later on. Walking through the facility, a reverberating shame followed him as he went, those statements all muddled together and fragmented into stabbing memories that he tried to decypher for meaning.\n\n\n\nBut the final part of that scolding became clear when Choudhury stepped out from the basement site and into the front office. Outside, in Southern California Petroleum's parking lot, a deep red truck was getting towed. Emblazened on the tow truck's side were the words \"Sanchez Car-care Providers.\"\n\n\n\nCursing and dashing through the small space, Choudhury gets stuck on the countertop door. Fiddling with it for dear life, he manages to get through. He bursts out of the building, but by that time, the tow had already made it out to the street. All he could do now was shout and curse the driver, but all the same, he was left on his ass as his Ram was shepherded away.\n\n\n\n\"//**Damn it all! Fuck!**//\"\n\n\n\n= -\n\n\n\n\n\nThe afternoon flurry of traffic seemed so much louder from the pavement. Cars and vans going this and that way. This late in the day, how could there be so many people on the road? Where could they all be going at once? They move in and out of earshot, surely, though slowly, disappearing into white noise as those same words rang relentlessly in his ears.\n\n\n\nStuck at the bus stop again, a suitcase at either side, Choudhury's mind wanders amidst the fragmented members of his psyche for a solution to what events had just transpired. Images of Matkins' charming smile or Naomi's disappointed face manifest and give way to the next troubling thought.\n\n\n\nThose same scenes return to him as the coming express comes into view for the fellows beside him. A piece of some kind of paper folds up. Absent-mindedly, Choudhury's body reaches for his bags as his mind replays those visions.\n\n\n\n= -\n\n\n\nThe weathered wooden furniture once sanded down to a fine enough luster, quickly becomes uncomfortable as the table drops its clean facade, releasing an infestation of ants across its surface. Choudhury reels back, his hands briefly arcing above his head. Larry laughs as he leans down, propping up his bottom jaw to get a better look at the newcomers.\n\n\n\n\"Neat, ain't they?\" he says while drawing out a half-eaten slice of bread. A few torn pieces strew about the table. \"They work smart, hard, and together to make it through.\"\n\n\n\nHis lenient smile dips. \"But that's all they'll ever know. Working to survive is hardwired into their very biology - support the colony and depend on the queen. Like factory workers and those who keep the lights on and mouths fed - those who sign the checks.\"\n\n\n\n\"It's a crummy cycle, but it works. Why break from it?\" Choudhury says, his initial excitement from the suddenness numbing to a slowness to match Matkins' tenor.\n\n\n\n\"Mmm. Maybe so, but change happens. Whether that's good or bad, I can't say, but I think I'd like to see more of it,\" Larry stands and dusts himself off, inspiring Choudhury to do the same.\n\n\n\n\"A couple months into your retirement and you're already getting sentimental,\" Choudhury chimes in. He puts his phone back into his pocket, the opened app on the turned-off device once giving him the option to notify Naomi.\n\n\n\n\"Maybe. But it's good to keep some things close to heart,\" he says. \"Come on Charles, let's get out of here.\"\n\n\n\n= -\n\n\n\nThinking back to these moments, Choudhury sees nothing but misfortune as he boards the bus, navigating his way through the crowded aisle of civic plantation to reach the felted fold-up seat beside a window. He sets his bags down by his shoes as he awkwardly scoots past a sleeping stranger to have a rest for the long journey ahead.\n\n\n\nHe leans on the window as regret washes over him. His mind mentally demands an answer nobody can answer but himself. Over and over the same questions ring out and trickle like all-encompassing wind chimes. //Why? How could I? What is wrong with me?//\n\n\n\nAnd of course, there was no one to blame but himself. Pinning that scorn on Naomi would be unjust since she was right. Harping on Matkins - Charles let him escape! Let him run away and do what he did. //Is all that blood on my hands?//\n\n\n\n= -\n\n\n\n\n\nAn hour later the anger has subsided, replaced now only with miserable memories of things impossible to fix. He peers out the window and sees an unfamiliar part of the city. Cars, trucks, vans, taxis, and all sorts of other automobile nonsense litter the streets around the bus as it slows to slot into the congested traffic. Still an hour (Or three, considering the line-up ahead) out from '56.\n\n\n\nWith nothing else to do, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his Foundation-issued cell phone. He scrolls through a few apps, trying to find a disconnect from reality. While his life was being turned upside down, everything was just the same for everyone else around him. Better for them, even. Smiles all around.\n\n\n\nHe checks a few other apps, his eyes slowly closing as he goes along, before he stumbles onto his contacts list. He only had five or so people in there.\n\n\n\nUpon being met with a blankness under the //N// category, the phone was shut off and hurled back into his pocket. The nearest fellow passenger of the blue-stained seating arrangement turned his head as a quiet sobbing began.\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nRuminating some more, Charles questions what the point was of even looking.\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\n[[=]]\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]]\n\n[[<]]\n\n=====\n\n> **Filename:** Naomi.jpg\n\n> **Name:** File:Naomi Klein at Berkeley, California, in 2014 (cropped)\n\n> **Author:** Moizsyed\n\n> **License:** Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International\n\n> **Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Naomi_Klein_at_Berkeley,_California,_in_2014_(cropped).jpg Wikimedia Commons]\n\n\n\n> **Filename:** RAM1.jpg\n\n> **Name:** File:2019 Ram 1500 Laramie, front 2.26.20\n\n> **Author:** Kevauto\n\n> **License:** Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International\n\n> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2019_Ram_1500_Laramie,_front_2.26.20.jpg\n\n\n\n> **Filename:** RAM.jpg\n\n> **Author:** [[*user Roufhous]]\n\n> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0\n\n> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/choudhury-gift SCP Foundation Wiki]\n\n\n\n> **Filename:** Spinning RAM Small.gif\n\n> **Name:** SPINRAM\n\n> **Author:** [[*user Jiwoahn]]\n\n> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0\n\n> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/brighton-high/Spinning%20RAM%20Small.gif SCP Foundation Wiki]\n\n> **Derivative Of:**\n\n> ------\n\n> **Name:** Dodge RAM 1500 (49699565693)\n\n> **Author:** crash71100\n\n> **License:** CC0 1.0 (Public Domain)\n\n> **Source:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/152930510@N02/49699565693/ Flickr]\n\n=====\n\n\n\n[[/<]]\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]\n\n[[/=]]\n"},"author":{"kind":"string","value":""},"created_at":{"kind":"string","value":"2024-04-19T14:31:00"},"tags":{"kind":"list like","value":["_cc","_licensebox","bleak","slice-of-life","tale"],"string":"[\n \"_cc\",\n \"_licensebox\",\n \"bleak\",\n \"slice-of-life\",\n \"tale\"\n]"},"title":{"kind":"string","value":"Reserved for Charles Choudhury - SCP Foundation"},"rating":{"kind":"number","value":8,"string":"8"},"references":{"kind":"list like","value":["scp-5384","scp-8090","component:info-ayers","scp-6384","scp-5472","choudhury-insurance","component:license-box","licensing-guide"],"string":"[\n \"scp-5384\",\n \"scp-8090\",\n \"component:info-ayers\",\n \"scp-6384\",\n \"scp-5472\",\n \"choudhury-insurance\",\n \"component:license-box\",\n \"licensing-guide\"\n]"},"hubs":{"kind":"list like","value":[],"string":"[]"},"images":{"kind":"list like","value":[],"string":"[]"},"page_id":{"kind":"string","value":"1453395431"},"url":{"kind":"string","value":"https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/choudhury-gift"}}},{"rowIdx":5396,"cells":{"tale_id":{"kind":"string","value":"chronicle-of-the-worm"},"content":{"kind":"string","value":"
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"},"source":{"kind":"string","value":"\n\t=====\n\n[[include component:preview\n\ntext=\n\nA story about power.\n\n]]\n\n=====\n\n\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:theme:scp-trans-pride |trans-pride-logo= --] |trans-pride-footer= --]]]\n\n\n\n[[div class=\"pseudocrumbs\"]]\n\n**[[[Canon Hub]]] >> [[[Site-17 Hub |Site-17 Deepwell Catalog]]] / [[[8000-dead-rats-hub|8000 Dead Rats]]] >> Chronicle of the Worm**\n\n[[/div]]\n\n\n\n[[>]]\n\n[[module Rate]]\n\n[[/>]]\n\n\n\nThe year is 1992. Thomas Graham is in his new office, having just been promoted to the position of Site Director. The God, they call them Overseers but for all practical purposes they are deities, stands before him, speaking in a labored and pained voice. \n\n\n\nHis gas mask makes ominous beeps and hisses as he speaks, filtering the demonic curse from his lungs. A reminder that in this world that we live in, even gods suffer and die. O5-3 hacks and coughs before beginning his monologue.\n\n\n\n\"Ahem. I hope you will understand that my time is at an absolute premium, Mr. Graham. I am ignoring a number of pressing engagements to give you this briefing on Secure Containment and Research Facility Site-17.\"\n\n\n\nO5-3 coughs once more, sounding like Graham's father sucking down cigarettes even as the cancer ate him from the inside out.\n\n\n\n\"From your record, I understand that you're a man of vision and resourcefulness. Driven by the righteousness of the Foundation's mission.\"\n\n\n\nThe Overseer waves his hand, as if to both acknowledge and trivialize Graham's achievements. Graham does his best to look straight into O5-3's eyes, obscured as they are by the mask.\n\n\n\n\"That's good. It will suit you in your new assignment. Along with cutting-edge parascience, Site-17 is a facility dedicated to the containment of //humanoids//. Humanoids mean sentience. Sentience means the Ethics Committee.\"\n\n\n\nGraham tries to babble out some reassurances to O5-3, some platitudes about his commitment to ethics in the partnership with containment, but he was cut off by that clipped pained voice that brooked no argument.\n\n\n\n\"This should not be a major concern for you. The Committee is a concession to certain liberal elements in the Council, nothing more. If the trains run on time, if the monsters stay in their boxes, everything will be fine. Key word being if.\"\n\n\n\nHere O5-3 pauses for effect.\n\n\n\n\"I'm running out of time, so let me impress upon you the importance of your mission this way. You are to keep Site-17 //quiet// and //efficient//. Or you will be replaced.\"\n\n\n\nGraham understands. He shakes the Overseer's outstretched hand.\n\n\n\n\"I expect great things from you, Director Graham.\"\n\n\n\n-----\n\n\n\nThe year is 2010. Thomas Graham is in the prime of his life, the Wizard King of the High Court. His facility is one of the most celebrated among the Foundation. A forerunner in research and development, containment solutions, and everything in between.\n\n\n\nAnd it is all thanks to the personal efforts of Graham. He has penned demons, killed gods, and even managed to shut down any attempt by his staff to create a godless union like they have back in Site-87.\n\n\n\nCompared to all those challenges, the whiny representative of the Ethics Committee before him means less than nothing.\n\n\n\n\"I'm going to be honest with you, Mr. Cimmerian. I am no longer interested in pursuing this line of questioning. You have brought no evidence to the table that demonstrates I had any involvement in, knowledge of, or gave any support to any of these quote unquote 'unethical practices'.\"\n\n\n\nEvery single word stuck into Cimmerian's case like a blade, making him flinch. Graham continues his deadpan litany, sitting upon the throne-like chair he keeps in his office.\n\n\n\n\"You have no case that would stand up in the Internal Tribunal, but to be honest? Even if you did, do you really think it would matter?\"\n\n\n\nGraham allows himself to smirk at this, at the sheer naiveté of the Cimmerians of the world.\n\n \n\n\"The way this proud organization runs is not by feel-good moralizing, but by concrete results. The arbiter of morality in the world of the anomalous is the one with the biggest stick.\"\n\n\n\nCimmerian had stopped speaking at this point, browbeaten into submission. His hands played impotently with his files, his meaningless accusations. It felt good. Graham continued.\n\n\n\n\"As long as Site-17 continues to be the most efficient facility in North America, I am untouchable. The Overseers aren't just going to destroy all of my hard work so you can sleep better at night. Understand?\"\n\n\n\n\"Now...\" He says, biting down hard on the words, a feral self-satisfied grin on his face.\n\n\n\n \"Get out of my facility or I'll have you prosecuted for trespassing.\"\n\n\n\n-----\n\n\n\nThe year is 2021. Thomas Graham is in his office, drinking. Everything he has ever built is crumbling down. He's listening to music on the radio, the first time in 30 years that he's ever done so. It drowns out the announcements from the interim leadership that have been playing 24/7 since the end of the Impasse.\n\n\n\nHis Foundation is falling. The Council has decided to betray humanity. The so-called \"death of magic\" terrified them when it should have been their crowning glory, so they are changing with the times. Anyone with sense can see that anomalies should not be allowed to exist, just look at what they're called. Monsters every one of them, ungodly, unholy, unthinkable. Yet, the Overseers insist on creating this tragedy. Vanguard they call it. A new era.\n\n\n\nHowever bright this new start may be, it requires blood on the scaffolding. Although a general amnesty has been announced, a few Directors who have a reputation for unethicality are still being brought into custody. Trials are coming next.\n\n\n\nGraham knows it's only a matter of time before they come for him, the Committee thugs who wander the hall of //his// facility as if they have any decent right to be there. He could try to run like Ryoto back at Site-15, who tried to upload himself to the cybersphere, but that path isn't a path for a man like him. Whatever his other faults may be, Thomas Graham has never been a coward.\n\n\n\nGraham takes a few more shots of \"Irish courage\" to steel his nerves. His hands are shaking as he pours. He's been fiddling with the gun he keeps in his office. If you were to ask him why, he couldn't tell you. Was he planning on taking down himself or the first rat that dared intrude into the Director's sanctum?\n\n\n\nHe doesn't have time to ponder this before they burst into the door. His old enemy Cimmerian is leading them. He refuses to allow them to see any shock or fear on his face as he stands up, his hands spread. Cimmerian addresses him, likely something he's been dreaming about doing for years. To his credit, though, he doesn't gloat. Much.\n\n\n\n\"The last time I was here, you told me that as long as you got results, you were untouchable. That's no longer true, Graham. It's a brand new dawn. You are hereby under arrest for crimes against humanity and the world at large.\"\n\n\n\nCimmerian motions for them to cuff him. Graham does not resist in any way, but he tries to give one last jab to the Committee Chairman.\n\n\n\n\"In the end, I'll be the one who was considered right. History will remember me the day we take all of the freaks you're letting out and shove them back into their cages. The Veil will live on.\"\n\n\n\nCimmerian looks at him for a moment, his face twisting in pure disgust. Then he punches Graham once in the stomach. Hard.\n\n\n\nHe lets out a pained and surprised grunt, breathing heavily. He isn't used to violence. More the type to order it done than do it himself. On his face is that same feral grin he'd had all those years before; in failure as well as in victory. He allows himself to mock Cimmerian one last time.\n\n\n\n\"Well. I suppose that you feel quite vindicated now.\"\n\n\n\nCimmerian doesn't respond, just motions for the guards to take him into custody. It was as if Graham didn't matter. As if he were less than nothing.\n\n\n\n-----\n\n\n\nThe year is 2038. Thomas Graham is in court, being forced to answer for nothing more than following orders and directives. He would have expected this to come sooner, but there's a backlog of scapegoats that it seems they can't wait to ruin publicly.\n\n\n\nThe trial hasn't been going too badly though. He was good enough at covering his tracks to hide the worst of his deeds. And then there's blackmail. But still they make him sit on the uncomfortable bench, forcing him to testify again and again. Dragging his reputation through the mud with their eagerness to ruin him.\n\n\n\nWith a cough, Graham begins to speak.\n\n\n\n\"Ahem, the accusations of SCP--\"\n\n\n\nHe is barely able to start before Sheldon Katz, the prosecutor, cuts him off.\n\n\n\n\"My client has made it abundantly clear that he prefers to be called by his //actual// name. Rainer Miller. The name that you stripped from him along with the rest of his human rights. Are you really that incapable of understanding the abuse you put a fellow human being through for decades?\"\n\n\n\nYou damn hypocrites, he almost cries out. You were right there with me Katz, remember Project Remiel? By what right do you judge me? You know that everything I did, I did for normalcy. So that we can keep contained the deviants and monsters and demons. Everything I did, you condoned. You supported. And yet you dare to stand there and chastise me? \n\n\n\nBut he says none of this. Instead he sighs and begins his testimony again.\n\n\n\n-------------------\n\n\n\nThe year is 2045. Thomas Graham is in his home. He has just been pardoned of his crimes by President Dan Crenshaw.\n\n\n\nHis home is untouched by the years, by the legal fees, by the accusations. The Foundation has always paid extremely well to its dedicated staff. On the wall is still that same immense flag of the Foundation's insignia. He remembers what the President said to him in that short meeting as Graham was told he was free to go.\n\n\n\nGraham had babbled out his thanks and asked why Crenshaw had seen fit to make him a free man once more. Crenshaw had smiled warmly before speaking.\n\n\n\n\"Thomas, can I call you Thomas? You want to know the reason I pardoned you? It's because it's a damn shame when a man of your caliber is smeared, absolutely smeared, by the leftists. It's more than that. It's a tragedy. And it just makes me hopping mad to see it. But there's more to it than that.\"\n\n\n\nGraham had leaned in as close as he could to the President's speech. Finally, a man who understood him. Who saw that he was more than a collection of trumped up charges spread by men and women who hated him for his own normalcy.\n\n\n\n\"I read some of the reports they had of you, reading in between the lines of course. You ran Site-17 for almost 30 years with barely a breach. And you did it while cutting back spending too, didn't you?\"\n\n\n\nIn that moment, Graham had allowed himself to believe that he was more than a relic of a bygone era. Here was someone who realized the danger of letting the anomalies loose. Who appreciated his accomplishments.\n\n\n\n\"You were the type of man who knew what was right and how to do it. You didn't let anyone stop you, Thomas. You got results. That's what matters.\"\n\n\n\nCrenshaw had looked him dead in the eyes in the moment. Filling him up with nationalistic pride like an Uncle Sam poster.\n\n\n\n\"You're the type of man who I want in my government. You've got experience dealing with the paracriminals that are destroying this country and I need someone like that. That's why I pardoned you, Thomas. It's 'cause I expect great things from you.\"\n\n\n\nAnd then their meeting had been over. \n\n\n\nGraham looks at the flag once more. He makes a vow there and then.\n\n\n\n//We're going to rebuild the Foundation together, my Overseer.//\n\n\n\n-----\n\n\n\nThe year is 2049. Secretary of State Thomas Graham is in the Capitol of America, the seat of power, preparing to give a speech to the public. He will tell them that their problems are the fault of outsiders, of dangerous foreigners and the queer agenda. He will tell them that 87% of all crimes include an element of thaumaturgy. He will tell them that America will endure against the plots of the far-left. He will outrage them at the sheer cheek of the Coalition for daring to enforce a quarantine. He will envigorate their hope, their fear, and most of all their //hatred.// As he recites his words under his breath, he looks into the mirror.\n\n\n\nHe looks good. The Grahams have always aged gracefully and with the health benefits that the Foundation used to give their most essential staff, he barely looks a day above 60. He is dressed in a fine tailored suit with a red tie, giving off just the message that he wants to send. But there's more to it than that.\n\n\n\nFor the first time in 20 years, Graham has a purpose. Graham has a home and Graham has a mission. He will fight the abnormality wherever it appears. He will protect Crenshaw, his Overseer, from the smear campaigns that the deviants and filth throw at him. He will guide this nation to greatness. He feels like an angel, the righteousness of his path like wind beneath his wings. Graham is happy.\n\n\n\nStraightening his tie one last time, Graham smiles and walks out on stage.\n\n\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:component:earthworm\n\n| first=false | last=false | hub=yes\n\n| previous-url=/echoes| previous-title=Echoes\n\n| next-url=/vnp-111 | next-title=VNP-111\n\n| hub-url=/8000-dead-rats-hub | hub-title=8,000 Dead Rats\n\n]]\n\n\n\n-----\n\n\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]]\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]\n"},"author":{"kind":"string","value":""},"created_at":{"kind":"string","value":"2024-05-30T16:48:00"},"tags":{"kind":"list like","value":["8000-dead-rats","_licensebox","bleak","deepwell-catalog","director-graham","doctor-cimmerian","from-120s-archives","legal","sheldon-katz","slice-of-life","tale"],"string":"[\n \"8000-dead-rats\",\n \"_licensebox\",\n \"bleak\",\n \"deepwell-catalog\",\n \"director-graham\",\n \"doctor-cimmerian\",\n \"from-120s-archives\",\n \"legal\",\n \"sheldon-katz\",\n \"slice-of-life\",\n \"tale\"\n]"},"title":{"kind":"string","value":"Chronicle Of The Worm - SCP Foundation"},"rating":{"kind":"number","value":42,"string":"42"},"references":{"kind":"list like","value":["canon-hub","site-17-hub","8000-dead-rats-hub","echoes","vnp-111","component:license-box","licensing-guide"],"string":"[\n \"canon-hub\",\n \"site-17-hub\",\n \"8000-dead-rats-hub\",\n \"echoes\",\n \"vnp-111\",\n \"component:license-box\",\n \"licensing-guide\"\n]"},"hubs":{"kind":"list like","value":["site-17-hub","from-120-s-archives-hub","8000-dead-rats-hub"],"string":"[\n \"site-17-hub\",\n \"from-120-s-archives-hub\",\n \"8000-dead-rats-hub\"\n]"},"images":{"kind":"list like","value":[],"string":"[]"},"page_id":{"kind":"string","value":"1453823396"},"url":{"kind":"string","value":"https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/chronicle-of-the-worm"}}},{"rowIdx":5397,"cells":{"tale_id":{"kind":"string","value":"circus-of-the-disquieting-folie-a-duhh"},"content":{"kind":"string","value":"\n
\n\nA story about power.
\n\n
\n\nCanon Hub » Site-17 Deepwell Catalog / 8000 Dead Rats » Chronicle of the Worm
\nThe year is 1992. Thomas Graham is in his new office, having just been promoted to the position of Site Director. The God, they call them Overseers but for all practical purposes they are deities, stands before him, speaking in a labored and pained voice.
\nHis gas mask makes ominous beeps and hisses as he speaks, filtering the demonic curse from his lungs. A reminder that in this world that we live in, even gods suffer and die. O5-3 hacks and coughs before beginning his monologue.
\n\"Ahem. I hope you will understand that my time is at an absolute premium, Mr. Graham. I am ignoring a number of pressing engagements to give you this briefing on Secure Containment and Research Facility Site-17.\"
\nO5-3 coughs once more, sounding like Graham's father sucking down cigarettes even as the cancer ate him from the inside out.
\n\"From your record, I understand that you're a man of vision and resourcefulness. Driven by the righteousness of the Foundation's mission.\"
\nThe Overseer waves his hand, as if to both acknowledge and trivialize Graham's achievements. Graham does his best to look straight into O5-3's eyes, obscured as they are by the mask.
\n\"That's good. It will suit you in your new assignment. Along with cutting-edge parascience, Site-17 is a facility dedicated to the containment of humanoids. Humanoids mean sentience. Sentience means the Ethics Committee.\"
\nGraham tries to babble out some reassurances to O5-3, some platitudes about his commitment to ethics in the partnership with containment, but he was cut off by that clipped pained voice that brooked no argument.
\n\"This should not be a major concern for you. The Committee is a concession to certain liberal elements in the Council, nothing more. If the trains run on time, if the monsters stay in their boxes, everything will be fine. Key word being if.\"
\nHere O5-3 pauses for effect.
\n\"I'm running out of time, so let me impress upon you the importance of your mission this way. You are to keep Site-17 quiet and efficient. Or you will be replaced.\"
\nGraham understands. He shakes the Overseer's outstretched hand.
\n\"I expect great things from you, Director Graham.\"
\n\n
The year is 2010. Thomas Graham is in the prime of his life, the Wizard King of the High Court. His facility is one of the most celebrated among the Foundation. A forerunner in research and development, containment solutions, and everything in between.
\nAnd it is all thanks to the personal efforts of Graham. He has penned demons, killed gods, and even managed to shut down any attempt by his staff to create a godless union like they have back in Site-87.
\nCompared to all those challenges, the whiny representative of the Ethics Committee before him means less than nothing.
\n\"I'm going to be honest with you, Mr. Cimmerian. I am no longer interested in pursuing this line of questioning. You have brought no evidence to the table that demonstrates I had any involvement in, knowledge of, or gave any support to any of these quote unquote 'unethical practices'.\"
\nEvery single word stuck into Cimmerian's case like a blade, making him flinch. Graham continues his deadpan litany, sitting upon the throne-like chair he keeps in his office.
\n\"You have no case that would stand up in the Internal Tribunal, but to be honest? Even if you did, do you really think it would matter?\"
\nGraham allows himself to smirk at this, at the sheer naiveté of the Cimmerians of the world.
\n\"The way this proud organization runs is not by feel-good moralizing, but by concrete results. The arbiter of morality in the world of the anomalous is the one with the biggest stick.\"
\nCimmerian had stopped speaking at this point, browbeaten into submission. His hands played impotently with his files, his meaningless accusations. It felt good. Graham continued.
\n\"As long as Site-17 continues to be the most efficient facility in North America, I am untouchable. The Overseers aren't just going to destroy all of my hard work so you can sleep better at night. Understand?\"
\n\"Now…\" He says, biting down hard on the words, a feral self-satisfied grin on his face.
\n\"Get out of my facility or I'll have you prosecuted for trespassing.\"
\n\n
The year is 2021. Thomas Graham is in his office, drinking. Everything he has ever built is crumbling down. He's listening to music on the radio, the first time in 30 years that he's ever done so. It drowns out the announcements from the interim leadership that have been playing 24/7 since the end of the Impasse.
\nHis Foundation is falling. The Council has decided to betray humanity. The so-called \"death of magic\" terrified them when it should have been their crowning glory, so they are changing with the times. Anyone with sense can see that anomalies should not be allowed to exist, just look at what they're called. Monsters every one of them, ungodly, unholy, unthinkable. Yet, the Overseers insist on creating this tragedy. Vanguard they call it. A new era.
\nHowever bright this new start may be, it requires blood on the scaffolding. Although a general amnesty has been announced, a few Directors who have a reputation for unethicality are still being brought into custody. Trials are coming next.
\nGraham knows it's only a matter of time before they come for him, the Committee thugs who wander the hall of his facility as if they have any decent right to be there. He could try to run like Ryoto back at Site-15, who tried to upload himself to the cybersphere, but that path isn't a path for a man like him. Whatever his other faults may be, Thomas Graham has never been a coward.
\nGraham takes a few more shots of \"Irish courage\" to steel his nerves. His hands are shaking as he pours. He's been fiddling with the gun he keeps in his office. If you were to ask him why, he couldn't tell you. Was he planning on taking down himself or the first rat that dared intrude into the Director's sanctum?
\nHe doesn't have time to ponder this before they burst into the door. His old enemy Cimmerian is leading them. He refuses to allow them to see any shock or fear on his face as he stands up, his hands spread. Cimmerian addresses him, likely something he's been dreaming about doing for years. To his credit, though, he doesn't gloat. Much.
\n\"The last time I was here, you told me that as long as you got results, you were untouchable. That's no longer true, Graham. It's a brand new dawn. You are hereby under arrest for crimes against humanity and the world at large.\"
\nCimmerian motions for them to cuff him. Graham does not resist in any way, but he tries to give one last jab to the Committee Chairman.
\n\"In the end, I'll be the one who was considered right. History will remember me the day we take all of the freaks you're letting out and shove them back into their cages. The Veil will live on.\"
\nCimmerian looks at him for a moment, his face twisting in pure disgust. Then he punches Graham once in the stomach. Hard.
\nHe lets out a pained and surprised grunt, breathing heavily. He isn't used to violence. More the type to order it done than do it himself. On his face is that same feral grin he'd had all those years before; in failure as well as in victory. He allows himself to mock Cimmerian one last time.
\n\"Well. I suppose that you feel quite vindicated now.\"
\nCimmerian doesn't respond, just motions for the guards to take him into custody. It was as if Graham didn't matter. As if he were less than nothing.
\n\n
The year is 2038. Thomas Graham is in court, being forced to answer for nothing more than following orders and directives. He would have expected this to come sooner, but there's a backlog of scapegoats that it seems they can't wait to ruin publicly.
\nThe trial hasn't been going too badly though. He was good enough at covering his tracks to hide the worst of his deeds. And then there's blackmail. But still they make him sit on the uncomfortable bench, forcing him to testify again and again. Dragging his reputation through the mud with their eagerness to ruin him.
\nWith a cough, Graham begins to speak.
\n\"Ahem, the accusations of SCP—\"
\nHe is barely able to start before Sheldon Katz, the prosecutor, cuts him off.
\n\"My client has made it abundantly clear that he prefers to be called by his actual name. Rainer Miller. The name that you stripped from him along with the rest of his human rights. Are you really that incapable of understanding the abuse you put a fellow human being through for decades?\"
\nYou damn hypocrites, he almost cries out. You were right there with me Katz, remember Project Remiel? By what right do you judge me? You know that everything I did, I did for normalcy. So that we can keep contained the deviants and monsters and demons. Everything I did, you condoned. You supported. And yet you dare to stand there and chastise me?
\nBut he says none of this. Instead he sighs and begins his testimony again.
\n\n
The year is 2045. Thomas Graham is in his home. He has just been pardoned of his crimes by President Dan Crenshaw.
\nHis home is untouched by the years, by the legal fees, by the accusations. The Foundation has always paid extremely well to its dedicated staff. On the wall is still that same immense flag of the Foundation's insignia. He remembers what the President said to him in that short meeting as Graham was told he was free to go.
\nGraham had babbled out his thanks and asked why Crenshaw had seen fit to make him a free man once more. Crenshaw had smiled warmly before speaking.
\n\"Thomas, can I call you Thomas? You want to know the reason I pardoned you? It's because it's a damn shame when a man of your caliber is smeared, absolutely smeared, by the leftists. It's more than that. It's a tragedy. And it just makes me hopping mad to see it. But there's more to it than that.\"
\nGraham had leaned in as close as he could to the President's speech. Finally, a man who understood him. Who saw that he was more than a collection of trumped up charges spread by men and women who hated him for his own normalcy.
\n\"I read some of the reports they had of you, reading in between the lines of course. You ran Site-17 for almost 30 years with barely a breach. And you did it while cutting back spending too, didn't you?\"
\nIn that moment, Graham had allowed himself to believe that he was more than a relic of a bygone era. Here was someone who realized the danger of letting the anomalies loose. Who appreciated his accomplishments.
\n\"You were the type of man who knew what was right and how to do it. You didn't let anyone stop you, Thomas. You got results. That's what matters.\"
\nCrenshaw had looked him dead in the eyes in the moment. Filling him up with nationalistic pride like an Uncle Sam poster.
\n\"You're the type of man who I want in my government. You've got experience dealing with the paracriminals that are destroying this country and I need someone like that. That's why I pardoned you, Thomas. It's 'cause I expect great things from you.\"
\nAnd then their meeting had been over.
\nGraham looks at the flag once more. He makes a vow there and then.
\nWe're going to rebuild the Foundation together, my Overseer.
\n\n
The year is 2049. Secretary of State Thomas Graham is in the Capitol of America, the seat of power, preparing to give a speech to the public. He will tell them that their problems are the fault of outsiders, of dangerous foreigners and the queer agenda. He will tell them that 87% of all crimes include an element of thaumaturgy. He will tell them that America will endure against the plots of the far-left. He will outrage them at the sheer cheek of the Coalition for daring to enforce a quarantine. He will envigorate their hope, their fear, and most of all their hatred. As he recites his words under his breath, he looks into the mirror.
\nHe looks good. The Grahams have always aged gracefully and with the health benefits that the Foundation used to give their most essential staff, he barely looks a day above 60. He is dressed in a fine tailored suit with a red tie, giving off just the message that he wants to send. But there's more to it than that.
\nFor the first time in 20 years, Graham has a purpose. Graham has a home and Graham has a mission. He will fight the abnormality wherever it appears. He will protect Crenshaw, his Overseer, from the smear campaigns that the deviants and filth throw at him. He will guide this nation to greatness. He feels like an angel, the righteousness of his path like wind beneath his wings. Graham is happy.
\nStraightening his tie one last time, Graham smiles and walks out on stage.
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"},"source":{"kind":"string","value":"\n\t[[include :scp-wiki:component:bhl-dark-sidebar]]\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:component:toggle-sidebar-bhl]]\n\n[[module CSS]]\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:component:fade-in speed=1.5]]\n\n\n\n[[div class=\"pseudocrumbs\"]]\n\n[[[canon-hub|Canon Hub]]] >> [[[Dread & Circuses Hub]]] >> Circus of the Disquieting: Folie à Duhh\n\n[[/div]]\n\n\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:info:start]]\n\n[[=]]\n\n**Circus of the Disquieting: Folie à Duhh**\n\n\n\nPart 2/3\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nA tale set within the //Dread & Circuses// canon.\n\n[[/=]]\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\n**Author:** Doctor Scrappy\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:info:end]]\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:component:ratio-bar base=--]]\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\n[[=]]\n\n**1932**\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n\n\nThe lights dimmed. The voices and words that rang out through the room were reduced to mere murmurs, hushed tones, and chairs creaking. Everyone’s eyes were trained upon the stage in front of them, thick curtains blocked view from what laid behind it.\n\n\n\nIris Dark, beloved daughter of Mr. Percival Darke, sat in the front rows of the hall. For Mr. Darke, the sights of the hall with its exquisite delicacies from beyond the third dimension (so kindly sponsored by Ambrose Restaurants); the thick curtains, worth more than entire states; and guests that could only be vaguely described as humanoid, dressed in their world’s most costly attire, was not a new, nor unfamiliar sight for him.\n\n\n\nFor Iris, though, none of it was familiar. She stared at those sickly human abominations, wearing dried snakes’ skin, woven into geometrically impossible shapes. The smell alone of these culinaries were enough to drive her into an ecstasy beyond any of her body’s or mind’s senses.\n\n\n\nThere was one particular individual -- she couldn’t quite place what felt so off about him. He was tall, but not too tall. Wearing a red-striped suit and a fancy big tophat, so big that she was amazed that he could balance it on his round head. He was definitely obese.\n\n\n\nA little earlier during the festivities, every guest had introduced themselves -- as one does. Even Iris did, and she really didn’t need to, considering her father was the head of one of the most powerful anomalous agencies on the entire globe. But she did it anyway, out of formality’s sake. And she practised in front of a mirror for hours without end for the perfect introduction -- she couldn’t show any faulter in her power and image.\n\n\n\nBut the man she was staring at hadn’t introduced himself. No name, not even a nickname, no identification, nothing. Just the occasional smile and glance around the room -- awfully quick ones, too -- standing in a corner for most of the time. A strange man, indeed.\n\n\n\nThe curtains opened. Iris’ irises were fixated upon the stage.\n\n\n\nThere was an odd device standing in the center of the stage. A bright orb, surrounded by magnifying glasses made out of zinc and bronze, entranced the young Iris Dark so much, she almost forgot what it felt to blink. A control panel, equipped with various buttons and levers, was affixed to the side of the machine.\n\n\n\n”Ladies and gentlemen,” a resounding voice sounded. Noises of metal clanking and gears spinning became audible. ”I welcome you to the presentation of the greatest device you’ll ever witness--”\n\n\n\nFootsteps. A proudly standing man, clad in thick robes, stepped in. Gears, metal spikes and pulleys extruded out of the man’s every patch of skin. Each step was heavy, with a scent of rust in the air. The noises of ticking and grinding gears, hisses of steam and metal hitting metal only grew louder with his presence. Iris was amazed.\n\n\n\n”--the //Kaleidoscope//!”\n\n\n\nIf one’s eyes weren’t trained on the curious device in the center of the stage already, now they definitely were. Bouts of mild clapping sounded through the hall. Iris thought she was the loudest.\n\n\n\nThe mechanical man raised his arms, equally as converted as the rest of his body, to quiet down his audience. ”Please. I haven’t even demonstrated my machine yet!”\n\n\n\nThe man hurried over to the control panel, flicked a few levers under the curious gaze of the audience. Iris held her head up high to see each movement the metal man was making with the device’s flurry of settings. He pressed a button and turned back to the audience. ”The omniverse is a vast expanse of infinite possibilities; have you never wished to see every one?”\n\n\n\nThe device started spinning.\n\n\n\n”With the Kaleidoscope, the struggle of transport across universes, pocket dimensions and non-dimensions will be a thing of the past!”\n\n\n\nEach of the magnifying glasses positioned themselves downwards in a straight line. The light of the orb shone through them. A sight never before seen by the young Iris, strange tiny dots began to converge into a rectangular shape where the device was pointing at.\n\n\n\nSoon enough the shape became clearer and clearer, until it was a fully fledged, mahogany doorway. Every attendee was holding their breath (or an equivalent thereof) -- her father smirked, nodding silently.\n\n\n\n”This, my dear guests, is a Way. Portals, if you will,” he gestured theatrically, ”There are such Ways all around you, immaterial to your every sense. But they’re ther--”\n\n\n\nPercival Darke raised his hand. ”A hundred billion dollars,” he said, his pride radiating in his voice.\n\n\n\nIt was silent for a while. The metal man spoke up again: ”... With all due respect, Mr. Darke--”\n\n\n\n”200 billion!” a fleshy nightmare of tumours and eyestalks reverberated from the back rows.\n\n\n\n”Sir, please--”\n\n\n\n”A trillion dollars!” another person shouted.\n\n\n\nThe entire hall soon erupted into waves of shouting, raised arms, and higher and higher sums. Iris looked around, taking a certain joy from seeing all of these individuals, so friendly and cordial upon arrival, go at each other at their throats. She watched as the metal man’s expression turned from that of worry into a small smirk.\n\n\n\nPercival Darke remained calm and composed. He placed his hand on his daughter’s shoulder, looked at her and smiled. Iris smiled back.\n\n\n\n”350 quintillion dollars!” was the final offer, made by a walrus-sized 8-ball that was only partially intersecting with this universe.\n\n\n\nThe metal man looked about the crowd of people. His metal joints creaked and whined as he did so, before resting again. ”Well... anybody who can beat that offer?”\n\n\n\nThe room was silent. Not even his joints creaked. ”It’s settled, then--”\n\n\n\nPercival Darke raised his hand once more. Iris could feel the weight of a thousand pair of eyes settling on them. ”400 quintillion dollars, as well as the fifty percent of the profit made by Universe #34B86954620.”\n\n\n\nThe room was silent again, but now for a different reason. At least a minute passed -- Iris knew, because of the metal man’s ticking.\n\n\n\nA man stepped forward. The strange, morbidly obese, tophat-wearing man. The fat-ass had been standing in the corner of the hall for the entire presentation, just silently observing the proceedings. He stepped to the stage with a raised arm, everyone’s gaze fixed upon him now.\n\n\n\nUpon seeing him from up close, he was uglier than she first thought -- a greasy beard, adorned with deep crevices, lips dry as the desert, pimples all over. He was smiling, though -- a wicked smile.\n\n\n\nFat-ass spoke: ”What did the robber say to the clock?”\n\n\n\nMetal man was perplexed. ”... Excuse me, sir--”\n\n\n\n”HANDS UP!”\n\n\n\nFat-ass threw a ball onto the floor, which burst into a million pieces. Black smoke leaked out of the shards that quickly tightened around the lungs of anyone nearby. Eyes became watery, coughs for air being the only sound one could hear for some time.\n\n\n\nPercival enveloped his daughter in the giant velvet cape of his, and held onto her tightly. He retrieved a gas-mask from his literal pocket-dimension on his pants, and pressed it against Iris’ face. Through the thick lenses of the mask, she saw Fat-ass dashing forward with surprising agility, tackling the metal man to the ground, and taking his device with him. \n\n\n\nHe opened a doorway and stepped through. The doorway closed and the man was gone. The device was gone with him.\n\n\n\nAfter the smoke dissipated did Percival Darke dare to peek from beyond the safe boundaries of his cape. Iris took a peek as well, the ramsacked stage and the faultering stance of the metal man slowly rising to his feet. She took the mask off, breathing in the still sickly sweet air.\n\n\n\nA cry of pain rang through the room. So loud, it reached another frequency entirely. It was the metal man, hunched over, on his knees, clasping at his face. ”No, no, no!”\n\n\n\nHe was kneeling right where his creation lied moments prior. What Iris could only presume to be years of work had been puffed out of existence. There was a flyer with grease and thick oil marks on the stage. The metal man, upon spotting it, held it up to the light, the words //”Herman Fuller’s Circus of the Disquieting!”// still clearly visible on the faded colors. And in the middle the Fat-ass’ face, grinning mischievously.\n\n\n\nThe other participants converged around that single sheet of paper, and looked at it with such hate and anger, Iris thought the flyer would disintegrate into dust. She stared at those faded, yet colorful words and that ugly visage for some time.\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\n[[=]]\n\n**[[[Hell Hath No Fury than a Clown Scorned|Now]]]**\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n\n\nLolly hid behind a corner, her hot breath dissipating in the unfeeling air surrounding her. Her heart was thumping in her chest, she could feel it sounding in her ears. Footsteps echoed down the hall. Lolly fiddled around with a door control panel, while her back was pressed tightly afgainst the wall. The footsteps grew nearer and nearer, Lolly squinting her eyes to not witness the oncoming bloodbath of her blood and guts.\n\n\n\nBut the door finally opened, and Lolly hurried inside, the door sliding shut behind her. In the darkness of the room, her ears were piqued by the sounds of footsteps growing closer, before converging right outside the room--\n\n\n\nAnd they went on. She let out a long exhale, as she could feel her breathing slowing down, her heartbeat slowly beating at a normal pace again. She fumbled for a lightswitch. Her hand went up and down along the wall, ’til it eventually hit the switch, and flicked it on.\n\n\n\nEverything was plunged into a stark white, her squinting to make out anything in the blinding brightness. There were shelves. Rows upon rows of them. Lolly took a second to admire the vastness of the room and the items on them.\n\n\n\nShe walked past them, continuing on on her mission, but never averting her eyes from the flurry of curious items fully -- an inside-out plushie, a red super-ball, and something that reeked of bananas. She wasn’t here for any of those items, though. She was here for the Kaleidoscope.\n\n\n\nThere was a heavy metal door marked with ”Vavluable Items Storage”. Looking to the door’s right, there was yet another control panel. She didn’t have the skills to hack into the panel -- heck, she was surprised it worked just then. With no knowledge of circuits, she opted to just type in numbers and hope for the best. Surprisingly (or maybe not so much), the door slid open. The Kaleidoscope was behind that door, inside of that room, she could feel its presence. All of those nightmares of the past weeks would be gone, Manny would be okay again, and--\n\n\n\n//Him.// He’d be released from his prison. She didn’t know what he was truly capable of, but there was a reason why Manny and Fuller had locked him up for good. Maybe, just maybe, it was for the best that he stayed locked up, if she didn’t do what she planning on doing. Never to see the light again, to feel wind brushing past his skin, that sensation of--\n\n\n\nElectricity sparked through her body. The figure of a man, holding some sort of weapon in his hand, turned into a haze of images. Lolly tumbled to the floor unceremoniously.\n\n\n\n”Lock her up now,” a female voice sounded.\n\n\n\nHer eyes became heavy, her limbs went limp. All she could do was to breathe, until even that sensation went dark.\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nIcky sank to her knees. The tears welled-up in her eyes, her hands clenching onto the carpet below. She couldn’t move, nor could she breathe; her eyes wide open in an expression of sadness, anger and disgust.\n\n\n\nTabernackle watched as Icky fell to the floor. She didn’t know how to respond to any of this -- whether to be reassuring, angry at her for scaring her customers away, or if she should just leave through the back entrance. Tabernackle the Great gave out an ethereal sigh and moved closer to the folded-in stance Icky’s back was doing.\n\n\n\nTabernackle looked at Icky. Really looked at Icky, down to her heart and soul. There was nothing, but pure pain. She had clients and customers before from worlds far weirder than those of the circus. They came to her for help or just for a nice chat. People came to her spilling out all of their deepest secrets, problems they never could tell anyone. Icky was one such person -- a rude one for simply barging in during a session -- but one such person nonetheless.\n\n\n\nTabernackle took a deep breath in and approached Icky. ”Geez... okay. Uhm...” it sounded in Icky’s head. She briefly turned to look at Tabernackle. ”So, eh, well, how do I put this, I //could// help you find her.”\n\n\n\nIcky jumped to her feet. Her fingers embedded themselves deep into Tabernackle’s soft tissues, that sensation causing her to wince slightly. She lost herself in Icky’s eyes for just a moment, before she snapped out of it.\n\n\n\n”You can do it?” Icky said almost too fast for the ear to hear.\n\n\n\n”Y--yes. But only if you compensate me enough for my troubles. I gotta pay rent. You know how the library is about this sorta stuff,” Tabernackle stammered slightly.\n\n\n\n”The circus got all the wealth in the world. What do I need to do?”\n\n\n\nTabernackle pointed with her fingers at the glassy orb. ”Think about her. Good memories.”\n\n\n\nIcky finally let go of Tabernackle, who stepped away just in case she came close to her again. Her soul stopped beating when Icky inched just a few inches closer to her again, but she only placed the orb on the table next to her. Icky sat down at the table, her breaths stammering.\n\n\n\nIcky placed her hands on the orb, her hands feeling as cold as they looked. She closed her eyes tightly to retreat back into her headspace, to venture deep into the bowels of her mind.\n\n\n\nHer breathing slowed down, and she //remembered//.\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\n//Lolly rested against a pillar in one of the far-off tents of the circus. She was noticeably smaller, younger, her pigtails only reaching down to her shoulders. Her head was buried in her hands, tears seeping out between her fingers.//\n\n\n\n//”What is it, clowny-missus-frowney?” it suddenly sounded from right next to her. The person that voice came from was young, as young as her. She stood over Lolly, so quiet she didn’t even notice her walking in. It startled her a little.//\n\n\n\n//The girl smiled. ”Did I scare you? Sorry, didn’t mean to!” She sat down right next to Lolly.//\n\n\n\n//”So, what is it now? Did you eat too much of that black cotton candy or did you forget your milk? Which one is it?”//\n\n\n\n//”I want to go back home.”//\n\n\n\n//The girl just shrugged. ”Fine.”//\n\n\n\n//For the first time, Lolly looked the girl in the eyes. ”You won’t persuade me to stay?”//\n\n\n\n//She shrugged again. ”I could do that. But I won’t. I know that you won’t listen to jackshit I’ve got to say. I could mince my words with the best grammar you’ve ever heard, but I know that that’ll do very little to persuade you from doing anything. So I won’t.”//\n\n\n\n//She just stared into that girl’s round, flimmering, eternal eyes. Lolly lost herself within them, before abruptly snapping out of the experience. Red flushed into her cheeks, and she averted her gaze again. The girl smiled.//\n\n\n\n//”Now, get up, tomato-face, before Mr. Fuller spots us not practicing in our dorms.”//\n\n\n\n//The girl stood up. Lolly, after much hesitation, stood up after her. The girl stretched her hand out at her, much to her surprise.//\n\n\n\n//”My name’s Icky, by the way.”//\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nIcky gasped a loud gasp. Her entire body was sweaty. Tears welled up in her eyes from being torn from such a memory. She tried to hide those tears by obscuring her face with her dark hair. But Tabernackle already knew what she thought.\n\n\n\nIt was then that a glimmering Way back to the circus opened up beside Tabernackle. Icky knew she could read her thoughts, so she didn’t bother with any formalities. She just stepped through the Way, with Tabernackle trudging behind her.\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nA pounding headache was the first thing Lolly felt upon awakening. That distinct pain she had felt so many times before traveled from the deepest crevices of her brain out to her skull. It was so deafening, she almost didn’t hear the squeaking in her ears.\n\n\n\n”What are you doing here?” a female voice squeaked in the dark room. Obviously the woman didn’t squeak like a rat, but in Lolly’s ears she might as well have.\n\n\n\nThe woman thundered down her arms onto that paper-thin desk. Lolly thought it may break and the woman would fall on her face like a sorry bag of potatoes. She didn’t, but it still made for a hilarious image in her head. Lolly giggled, and all of her pains seemed to go away. The woman’s expression was unreadable in the dim overhead light, but she was silent for a while. She looked over at someone in the corner, who Lolly hadn’t even noticed until just now.\n\n\n\n”Is this funny to you?” The woman trained her full attention back to the clunt.\n\n\n\n”You sound like a chipmunk!” Lolly practically wheezed. She was rocking her head back and forth from all the giggles, the woman thought it might pop off.\n\n\n\nSeconds ticked by, and as Lolly didn’t show signs of stopping anytime soon, Senior Security Chief Lyly Crevali turned to her partner, shook her head, and the two exited the room.\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nMatt Mattson leaned against the interrogation room’s metal door and took several deep breaths in and out. His heart was racing, sweat rolling down his face not unlike from a waterfall, his arms and legs jittering beyond compare.\n\n\n\n”She getting to you?” Lyly asked in a calm, reassuring voice.\n\n\n\nMatt wanted to answer, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even look the love of his life in the eyes.\n\n\n\n”We’ll crack her eventually. It won’t be long, ’til she spills out all of her secrets and she gets shipped off to some facility in Europe,” was the best she could make up on the fly. Matt didn’t seem fazed. She wasn’t even sure if he had even heard her or not.\n\n\n\n”Why must it be a gosh darn clown?” Matt muttered under his breath. Lyly wrapped her arm around her lover. She looked him in the eyes. He looked back. And for a short moment, his breathing and heartbeat eased up.\n\n\n\n”Hey, hey. Don’t you think about that clown,” Lyly said. ”I’ll handle her, all right? You go back to the security station. You can watch from afar, okay?”\n\n\n\nMatt took a deep breath in and held it a little. ”No. No, Lyly, I can--”\n\n\n\nLyly gently pressed her finger against Matt’s lips. ”That’s an order, Chief.”\n\n\n\nThey stared at each for a few more seconds. Each other lost in each other’s eyes. In the slow, rhytmic bumping of their heartbeats.\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nThe clown alley was a small trailer, so unassuming betwixt the giant tents of the rest of the circus. In actuality, it was an extradimensional space way larger in the inside than outside. It functioned as a dorm for all of the circus’ clowns, both big and small, obese and slender.\n\n\n\nWhat it also functioned as was an ICU for the clowns, and that was exactly what Dr. Tinkles needed right now. He oversaw Manny, his upside-down eyes shut tightly, while keeping an eye on his vitals. He pressed his comically large stethoscope against Manny’s chest. To his surprise, Manny’s heart was beating. Quickly.\n\n\n\nThe door to the trailer crashed open. Icky entered, and she wasted no time in retrieving a few submachine guns, plus their ammunitions from under a clown’s bed.\n\n\n\nAside from functioning as both dorms and an ICU, the clown alley also functioned as a weapons storage facility. Icky and Lolly kept all of their guns and machinations of destruction on the undersides of the clowns’ extradimensional beds (magically altered to be the most comfortable ever). As soon as she appeared, Icky wanted to leave again. Tinkles stopped her right then and there.\n\n\n\n”Where is Lolly?” he said, deep down knowing he was scared of the answer. She didn’t look him in the eyes.\n\n\n\n”Jesus Christ, Icky! Where the fuck is Lolly?”\n\n\n\nA flurry of clowns, slender, obese, small, tall, began to surround them. Many watched the events from the shadows, some got a bit too close for comfort. What they had all in common was an expression of concern riddled on their faces. Icky broke down into tears. ”They took Lolly.”\n\n\n\nTinkles couldn’t say anything. He just stood there and stared at Icky. ”Those Emcee D sons of bitches took Lolly,” Icky said again. Her hair was obscuring parts of her face.\n\n\n\nHe finally snapped out of his stupor. ”What, no... you gotta be mistaken. Victor Chan would never--”\n\n\n\n”He? No. But Iris would. Iris Dark.” Her hands balled into fists.\n\n\n\nTinkles wanted to ask another question, but took a look at those submachine guns and chose not to. No, instead, Tinkles threw his stethoscope to the floor and straightened up.\n\n\n\n”I’ll go with you.”\n\n\n\nIcky’s tongue was stuck in her mouth. Another voice immediately sounded behind her: ”I’ll go with you, too.”\n\n\n\nThe person that that voice came from was a round, zebra-stripped performer, no taller than a dwarf. Yet their voice was strong and determined, fearless of anything.\n\n\n\n”No, you--” She got cut off.\n\n\n\n”Me, too!” another one sounded, this one tall and spindly.\n\n\n\n”Take me in.”\n\n\n\n”I’m with you.”\n\n\n\n”Count me as well!”\n\n\n\n”No one fucks with the circus!”\n\n\n\nOne by one, they rose from the shadows, each and every one of them clad in gear adorning them from head to toe. Guns bigger than their bodies rested comfortably on their shoulders. Icky couldn’t believe her eyes. She looked back at Tinkles, a smirk going across his face.\n\n\n\n”All right,” Icky said with renewed vigor.\n\n\n\nThe crowd of clowns erupted into applause, giggles, chuckles and bouts of confetti.\n\n\n\n”You have to stay here,” she said to Dr. Tinkles in all the commotion.\n\n\n\n”But--”\n\n\n\n”No butts,” she pointed at the prone figure lying on the stretcher, ”Manny needs you now more than ever.” Tinkles didn’t retaliate. He simply nodded.\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nThe clown watched as the menagerie of clowns left the room, barely stifling back bellowing laughter. He saw everything through that poor bastard’s upside-down eyes, like a passenger in an airplane. Only that Manny’s head was the airplane and he the hijacker.\n\n\n\nHe saw some literal multi-limbed, cat-headed lady introduce herself to the doctor, Icky giving the doctor a tight hug, then storming out with the rest of those clowns.\n\n\n\nThere was a slight sting in his side when the lady made eye-contact with Manny, //no//, with //him//. There was a moment where he felt his breathing stop, until the lady averted her gaze again.\n\n\n\nDear ol’ pally-pal [[[SCP-993|Bobble]]] didn’t wanna give up his plane just yet.\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nThe headaches dissipated much to the dismay of Lolly. She enjoyed that overly high-pitched tone of whoever those peeps belonged to. She giggled, until the memory started being not so funny anymore.\n\n\n\nWhen everything quieted down, she only had her own thoughts to go back to. In the darkness of the room there was nothing she could spot. Only rough shapes, outlines of the table in front of her, the chair she was restrained to, the rattling of the beryllium cuffs against her wrists. Only mere silhouettes, nothing concrete.\n\n\n\nThe interrogation room’s door burst open. Lolly shielded her eyes, and was glad when the door heaved shut again. The woman from just a few hours ago was there again and sat right opposite Lolly. A wicked grin adorned her face.\n\n\n\n”So, where were we--”\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nLyly couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. All that there was was a barrage of sugary smells, scorch marks so hot she couldn’t remember what it felt like without them. Her chest heaved into heavy motions, desperate for the slightest shrivel of oxygen.\n\n\n\nShe tried to reach for her gun, still buckled to that leather belt of hers. But she couldn’t move. Her head was filled with excruciating pains. And as the life seeped out of her body, the shape of a clown walking past her, Lyly Crevali thought her last thought:\n\n\n\n//Matt.//\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nWith a swift draw of one of her guns, bullets raced through the air, precisely on Lolly’s restraints. When she could move her arms freely again, Lolly leapt up from the chair and embraced her lover in a tight, soul-squeezing hug. It was nice to feel her hair again, her skin, her body against hers.\n\n\n\nIcky pushed Lolly away, much to her surprise.\n\n\n\n”What the //frick// did you think you were doing?!”\n\n\n\nLolly was taken aback. ”It was Bobble! He took me, and he tortured Manny, and I couldn’t--”\n\n\n\nIcky embraced her in a soul-squeezing hug yet again, her face deep in Lolly’s hair. ”Let’s just get you back home.”\n\n\n\n”No! What about Manny?”\n\n\n\n”He’s being cared for right now by Missus Magick. Some protective spells and he’ll be fine, and so will you.”\n\n\n\nIcky looked into her beautiful, azure eyes.\n\n\n\n”I love you,” she said softly.\n\n\n\nThe smell of gunpowder and clown make-up filled the air, accompanied by wailing howls and desperate screams of the dying.\n\n\n\n”I love you, too,” Lolly answered and kissed Icky.\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nShe was gone. All that she was, all that she aspired to be, those hopes and dreams -- gone. Matt sat at the monitors, having watched it all play out from afar. He felt his heart stop for just a second, before he collapsed onto the floor and cried. Hard.\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nBullets zipped past them in a hail of destruction. The velvet curtains and concrete walls were torn up into tiny bits, hurtling past Icky and Lolly. They took cover behind a corner, the guards rapidly approaching their location.\n\n\n\nWith a firm grip, the right stance, and a loaded cartridge, Icky unleashed a blizzard of bullet fire from her hiding spot. The bullets flew right through the men and women clad in gear, their blood painting the walls, floor and ceiling behind them. When all drops of blood trickled out of these people’s bodies did Icky stop.\n\n\n\nShe pulled out some more ammo from her pockets and reloaded her gun. She charged through another hallway, the adrenaline reaching all the way up to her head. Lolly didn’t move. Entrenched in thought, she called out back to her lover, who stopped dead in her tracks.\n\n\n\n”The Kaleidoscope!” were Lolly’s only words, before she charged down the corridors in the complete opposite direction. Icky let out a silent gasp, and sprinted after Lolly. Lolly knew where the device was. She also knew how valuable and destructive it was in the wrong person’s hands.\n\n\n\nMs. Iris Dark was one such wrong person -- self-centered, power-hungry and greedy. There was no chance the circus would grant such an individual this much power. There was no chance //Lolly// could grant such an individual with this much power.\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nTabernackle spread out her many arms in front of the prone figure lying on the stretcher. Runes and ancient incantations, too bright for Dr. Tinkles to see, formed over, on and around Manny.\n\n\n\n”Could you please, erm, look away?” Tabernackle asked in that humble voice of hers.\n\n\n\n”Excuse me?”\n\n\n\n”Well, I can’t really perform with anybody watching.”\n\n\n\n”Don’t you do this on the regular?”\n\n\n\n”Yeah! But usually when I do it, I ask of the attendees to close their eyes, turn around or step out of the tent for a few moments!”\n\n\n\nTinkles gave out a sigh. Praying to whoever god was watching them, he prayed for Manny’s safety. He did as he was told. Immediately upon doing so, Tabernackle proceeded with her mind-fortification spell. She chanted the ancient words with such precision: //”Chirgarroh llorum buddrll. Chirgarroh llorum buddrll.”//\n\n\n\nThe chanting only grew in intensity. So much so that Tinkles could hear the words reverberating down to his heart. Until it suddenly stopped. Tabernackle was still, as still as a statue, and as silent as one. Only the creaking sounds of the stretcher filled the tent they were in. Slowly, Manny rose back up to his feet.\n\n\n\n”Manny, can you hear me?” Tabernackle’s ethereal voice asked. He did not respond.\n\n\n\nHis eyes rose to the level those with Tabernackle’s. In those all-so-familiar eyes, there was nothing Dr. Tinkles recognized. Those pupils seemed to go on forever, staring straight into his soul. That wrongside-up mouth moved into a crooked frown.\n\n\n\nWith the speed of lightning, Manny’s hand shot up and enclosed itself tightly around Tabernackle’s neck. He bared his teeth, eyes wide open, as he choked the life out of her. Tinkles wanted to do something, //anything//. But once those hollow eyes met his, he was as if petrified. A sculpture motionless in someone else’s gaze. He knew it wasnt Manny in there anymore, but something far more sinister.\n\n\n\nManny threw Tabernackle to the ground, but not before lunging at her with one of the crude elements lying next to him on a silver tray.\n\n\n\nRaising the sharp implement high above his head, he stabbed Tabernackle all over. Her wails vibrated through the fabric of the tent, as near blinding light shone out of her wounds. Purple blood began to stain the tool and Manny’s clothes.\n\n\n\nTinkles rushed into action, all of the adrenaline and clown milk rushing through his nervous system. He placed a kick in Manny’s chest. Manny tumbled to the ground, where he thrashed around like an infant, crying and manically laughing all the same.\n\n\n\n”R--recite them...”\n\n\n\n”What?!” Tinkles’ eyes darted from Manny to Tabernackle.\n\n\n\n”Recite t--the incantations...”\n\n\n\nHe could think straight again. The ice in his brain thawed out. Manny rose up from the ground, bloodied scalpel in hand. He looked at him with a twisted smile, his eyes lit up brighter than the most fiery pits of hell.\n\n\n\n”Ch--chir...” he stuttered, his tongue frozen in place.\n\n\n\n--Manny-- Bobble smiled a wicked smile, before he charged at Dr. Tinkles. His arms and legs wailed wildly through the air. The image of a marionette was what came to Tinkles’ mind, and that of Chucky the killer-doll with that little knife of his.\n\n\n\n//”Chirgarroh llorum buddrll!”// Tinkles screamed from the bottom of his lungs. Manny tumbled to the floor. Like an infant tumbling down a flight of stairs. The scalpel left his hands all the same.\n\n\n\nFor a moment, Manny just laid there, face-down. But then he rose to his feet again. Tinkles grapped the scalpel, pointing it at his colleague and friend. The bloodied scalpel was shaking in his two, way too large hands, his eyes never leaving Manny out of his sight.\n\n\n\nManny grunted, rubbing his temple. When Tinkles looked him in the eyes, the darkness that had filled them seconds prior had disappeared. Life had returned in those eyes. ”What... what is--” Manny’s words were quickly cut off by Tinkles wrapping his arms tightly around him.\n\n\n\n”It’s good to see you back, Manny.”\n\n\n\nTinkles looked over his friend’s shoulder, only to be greeted with the stagnant figure of Tabernackle the Great on the cold floor. He immediately stood up and rushed to the magician’s side. Tabernackle coughed out purple drops of blood, floating on the ceiling. She had a smile on her face. ”You d--did a pretty fine job there...”\n\n\n\nShe coughed out more blood. More than should have passed through her mouth. It seeped into the earthern ground below, staining the deepest of water reservoirs, before Tabernackle moved the edges of her mouth into one last smile.\n\n\n\nTinkles gave her a farewell in his head. Manny was just confused and horrified.\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nBobble screamed into the metaphysical void. He screamed, and screamed, and screamed with no end. Ripples were sent all throughout it.\n\n\n\nThen he saw a man. A little man sprinting through some corridors. Physically, he was fine. But his heart was broken. Shattered into billions of fragments\n\n\n\nHe had one last trick up his sleeve. In the end, Bobble would have the last laugh.\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\nA bullet here, a bullet there. A bullet everywhere. She charged down the corridors. The smell of cream pies, bubble gum, iron blood and so much more flew into her nostrils. It was almost mesmerizing.\n\n\n\nThe Kaleidoscope was exactly where she remembered it being. She looked around for a while, before spotting the simple carabiner mechanism of how the device was strapped down. She broke open the clamps. Once unlocked, she had to figure out a way of how to move--\n\n\n\n”LOLLY!”\n\n\n\nIt was Icky’s voice. But not as vibrant and confident as it had been just minutes ago. No, it sounded booming, as if her ears were about to pop out of her skull. Lolly realized too late that that wasn’t a result of Icky’s voice, but the shot of a shotgun unloading right in front of her.\n\n\n\nLolly tumbled to the floor. She reached for her chest and there was no blood. No innards. No gaping hole or whatever else she had imagined. Quiet, heaving breaths unfolded on the ground right next to her. And the smell of blood.\n\n\n\nIcky convulsed, blood spurting out of a gaping hole in her chest. Seconds turned into hours. She could see each contortion of her partner’s soft, pink flesh, each sound of a drop of blood. She snapped out of it. And without even thinking, Lolly grabbed Icky’s gun and unleashed a hail of bullets on their assailant.\n\n\n\nMatt Mattson leaked out blood from every orifice imaginable. He stumbled to the floor, just like Icky had, and crashed his head against the Kaleidoscope’s console. Lolly was too worried to notice. She cradled Icky’s warm, wet body in her arms. She waived away a streak of Icky’s jet black hair to see into her beautiful eyes. Tears built up in her eyes. Icky herself waived aside some of Lolly’s hair. They stared into each other’s eyes, near motionless, locked in silence.\n\n\n\n//He heard a voice in his head. In the darkest pits of his mind. He didn’t know who the voice belonged to, but it told him of a chance. A chance to avenge his loved one.//\n\n\n\nThere was still some life in him left. Twitching fingers, blinking eyes. He neared himself toward the device. Inch by inch, he crawled toward it like some maggot on a corpse. Rotten, near dead.\n\n\n\n”B--behi...” Icky stammered out.\n\n\n\nThere was this moment, where Lolly couldn’t understand anything Icky was saying. Like white noise on a TV. Too late did she realize what her partner was uttering. And when she did finally realize, a Way had been opened.\n\n\n\nThe entire room was consumed by every color unimaginable. Up-beat music straight out of the circus’ calliope boomed in their skulls. Lolly pressed her hands against her ears, but not even that was enough to drown out the noise.\n\n\n\nAnd then Bobble stepped out of the Way, in all his glory. Everyone laid there, frozen. He righted his fly, looked around, and let out the most soul-quenching scream ever heard. It was a scream of joy, of celebration.\n\n\n\nFrom the top of his lungs, Bobble yelled: //**”GUESS WHO’S BACK!”**//\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n[[=]]\n\n*\n\n[[/=]]\n\n@@ @@\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\n------\n\n\n\n[[=]]\n\n**« [[[Hell Hath No Fury than a Clown Scorned|Episode 1: Hell Hath No Fury than a Clown Scorned]]] | [[[Dread & Circuses Hub|HUB]]] | [[[bobble-the-last-dance|FINALE: Bobble - The Last Dance]]] »**\n\n[[/=]]\n\n\n\n------\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n\n\n\n[[=]]\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]]\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]\n\n[[/=]]\n\n\n\n@@ @@\n"},"author":{"kind":"string","value":""},"created_at":{"kind":"string","value":"2024-11-09T18:18:00"},"tags":{"kind":"list like","value":["absurdism","bobble-the-clown","dread&circuses","fantasy","icky","lgbtq","manny","marshall-carter-and-dark","tale"],"string":"[\n \"absurdism\",\n \"bobble-the-clown\",\n \"dread&circuses\",\n \"fantasy\",\n \"icky\",\n \"lgbtq\",\n \"manny\",\n \"marshall-carter-and-dark\",\n \"tale\"\n]"},"title":{"kind":"string","value":"Circus of the Disquieting: Folie à Duhh - SCP Foundation"},"rating":{"kind":"number","value":5,"string":"5"},"references":{"kind":"list like","value":["canon-hub","dread-circuses-hub","hell-hath-no-fury-than-a-clown-scorned","scp-993","bobble-the-last-dance","component:license-box","licensing-guide"],"string":"[\n \"canon-hub\",\n \"dread-circuses-hub\",\n \"hell-hath-no-fury-than-a-clown-scorned\",\n \"scp-993\",\n \"bobble-the-last-dance\",\n \"component:license-box\",\n \"licensing-guide\"\n]"},"hubs":{"kind":"list like","value":["marshall-carter-and-dark-hub","dread-circuses-hub"],"string":"[\n \"marshall-carter-and-dark-hub\",\n \"dread-circuses-hub\"\n]"},"images":{"kind":"list like","value":[],"string":"[]"},"page_id":{"kind":"string","value":"1457306459"},"url":{"kind":"string","value":"https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/circus-of-the-disquieting-folie-a-duhh"}}},{"rowIdx":5398,"cells":{"tale_id":{"kind":"string","value":"clawed-cadaver"},"content":{"kind":"string","value":"\n
\nCanon Hub » Dread & Circuses Hub » Circus of the Disquieting: Folie à Duhh
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\n1932
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The lights dimmed. The voices and words that rang out through the room were reduced to mere murmurs, hushed tones, and chairs creaking. Everyone’s eyes were trained upon the stage in front of them, thick curtains blocked view from what laid behind it.
\nIris Dark, beloved daughter of Mr. Percival Darke, sat in the front rows of the hall. For Mr. Darke, the sights of the hall with its exquisite delicacies from beyond the third dimension (so kindly sponsored by Ambrose Restaurants); the thick curtains, worth more than entire states; and guests that could only be vaguely described as humanoid, dressed in their world’s most costly attire, was not a new, nor unfamiliar sight for him.
\nFor Iris, though, none of it was familiar. She stared at those sickly human abominations, wearing dried snakes’ skin, woven into geometrically impossible shapes. The smell alone of these culinaries were enough to drive her into an ecstasy beyond any of her body’s or mind’s senses.
\nThere was one particular individual — she couldn’t quite place what felt so off about him. He was tall, but not too tall. Wearing a red-striped suit and a fancy big tophat, so big that she was amazed that he could balance it on his round head. He was definitely obese.
\nA little earlier during the festivities, every guest had introduced themselves — as one does. Even Iris did, and she really didn’t need to, considering her father was the head of one of the most powerful anomalous agencies on the entire globe. But she did it anyway, out of formality’s sake. And she practised in front of a mirror for hours without end for the perfect introduction — she couldn’t show any faulter in her power and image.
\nBut the man she was staring at hadn’t introduced himself. No name, not even a nickname, no identification, nothing. Just the occasional smile and glance around the room — awfully quick ones, too — standing in a corner for most of the time. A strange man, indeed.
\nThe curtains opened. Iris’ irises were fixated upon the stage.
\nThere was an odd device standing in the center of the stage. A bright orb, surrounded by magnifying glasses made out of zinc and bronze, entranced the young Iris Dark so much, she almost forgot what it felt to blink. A control panel, equipped with various buttons and levers, was affixed to the side of the machine.
\n”Ladies and gentlemen,” a resounding voice sounded. Noises of metal clanking and gears spinning became audible. ”I welcome you to the presentation of the greatest device you’ll ever witness—”
\nFootsteps. A proudly standing man, clad in thick robes, stepped in. Gears, metal spikes and pulleys extruded out of the man’s every patch of skin. Each step was heavy, with a scent of rust in the air. The noises of ticking and grinding gears, hisses of steam and metal hitting metal only grew louder with his presence. Iris was amazed.
\n”—the Kaleidoscope!”
\nIf one’s eyes weren’t trained on the curious device in the center of the stage already, now they definitely were. Bouts of mild clapping sounded through the hall. Iris thought she was the loudest.
\nThe mechanical man raised his arms, equally as converted as the rest of his body, to quiet down his audience. ”Please. I haven’t even demonstrated my machine yet!”
\nThe man hurried over to the control panel, flicked a few levers under the curious gaze of the audience. Iris held her head up high to see each movement the metal man was making with the device’s flurry of settings. He pressed a button and turned back to the audience. ”The omniverse is a vast expanse of infinite possibilities; have you never wished to see every one?”
\nThe device started spinning.
\n”With the Kaleidoscope, the struggle of transport across universes, pocket dimensions and non-dimensions will be a thing of the past!”
\nEach of the magnifying glasses positioned themselves downwards in a straight line. The light of the orb shone through them. A sight never before seen by the young Iris, strange tiny dots began to converge into a rectangular shape where the device was pointing at.
\nSoon enough the shape became clearer and clearer, until it was a fully fledged, mahogany doorway. Every attendee was holding their breath (or an equivalent thereof) — her father smirked, nodding silently.
\n”This, my dear guests, is a Way. Portals, if you will,” he gestured theatrically, ”There are such Ways all around you, immaterial to your every sense. But they’re ther—”
\nPercival Darke raised his hand. ”A hundred billion dollars,” he said, his pride radiating in his voice.
\nIt was silent for a while. The metal man spoke up again: ”… With all due respect, Mr. Darke—”
\n”200 billion!” a fleshy nightmare of tumours and eyestalks reverberated from the back rows.
\n”Sir, please—”
\n”A trillion dollars!” another person shouted.
\nThe entire hall soon erupted into waves of shouting, raised arms, and higher and higher sums. Iris looked around, taking a certain joy from seeing all of these individuals, so friendly and cordial upon arrival, go at each other at their throats. She watched as the metal man’s expression turned from that of worry into a small smirk.
\nPercival Darke remained calm and composed. He placed his hand on his daughter’s shoulder, looked at her and smiled. Iris smiled back.
\n”350 quintillion dollars!” was the final offer, made by a walrus-sized 8-ball that was only partially intersecting with this universe.
\nThe metal man looked about the crowd of people. His metal joints creaked and whined as he did so, before resting again. ”Well… anybody who can beat that offer?”
\nThe room was silent. Not even his joints creaked. ”It’s settled, then—”
\nPercival Darke raised his hand once more. Iris could feel the weight of a thousand pair of eyes settling on them. ”400 quintillion dollars, as well as the fifty percent of the profit made by Universe #34B86954620.”
\nThe room was silent again, but now for a different reason. At least a minute passed — Iris knew, because of the metal man’s ticking.
\nA man stepped forward. The strange, morbidly obese, tophat-wearing man. The fat-ass had been standing in the corner of the hall for the entire presentation, just silently observing the proceedings. He stepped to the stage with a raised arm, everyone’s gaze fixed upon him now.
\nUpon seeing him from up close, he was uglier than she first thought — a greasy beard, adorned with deep crevices, lips dry as the desert, pimples all over. He was smiling, though — a wicked smile.
\nFat-ass spoke: ”What did the robber say to the clock?”
\nMetal man was perplexed. ”… Excuse me, sir—”
\n”HANDS UP!”
\nFat-ass threw a ball onto the floor, which burst into a million pieces. Black smoke leaked out of the shards that quickly tightened around the lungs of anyone nearby. Eyes became watery, coughs for air being the only sound one could hear for some time.
\nPercival enveloped his daughter in the giant velvet cape of his, and held onto her tightly. He retrieved a gas-mask from his literal pocket-dimension on his pants, and pressed it against Iris’ face. Through the thick lenses of the mask, she saw Fat-ass dashing forward with surprising agility, tackling the metal man to the ground, and taking his device with him.
\nHe opened a doorway and stepped through. The doorway closed and the man was gone. The device was gone with him.
\nAfter the smoke dissipated did Percival Darke dare to peek from beyond the safe boundaries of his cape. Iris took a peek as well, the ramsacked stage and the faultering stance of the metal man slowly rising to his feet. She took the mask off, breathing in the still sickly sweet air.
\nA cry of pain rang through the room. So loud, it reached another frequency entirely. It was the metal man, hunched over, on his knees, clasping at his face. ”No, no, no!”
\nHe was kneeling right where his creation lied moments prior. What Iris could only presume to be years of work had been puffed out of existence. There was a flyer with grease and thick oil marks on the stage. The metal man, upon spotting it, held it up to the light, the words ”Herman Fuller’s Circus of the Disquieting!” still clearly visible on the faded colors. And in the middle the Fat-ass’ face, grinning mischievously.
\nThe other participants converged around that single sheet of paper, and looked at it with such hate and anger, Iris thought the flyer would disintegrate into dust. She stared at those faded, yet colorful words and that ugly visage for some time.
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\nNow
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Lolly hid behind a corner, her hot breath dissipating in the unfeeling air surrounding her. Her heart was thumping in her chest, she could feel it sounding in her ears. Footsteps echoed down the hall. Lolly fiddled around with a door control panel, while her back was pressed tightly afgainst the wall. The footsteps grew nearer and nearer, Lolly squinting her eyes to not witness the oncoming bloodbath of her blood and guts.
\nBut the door finally opened, and Lolly hurried inside, the door sliding shut behind her. In the darkness of the room, her ears were piqued by the sounds of footsteps growing closer, before converging right outside the room—
\nAnd they went on. She let out a long exhale, as she could feel her breathing slowing down, her heartbeat slowly beating at a normal pace again. She fumbled for a lightswitch. Her hand went up and down along the wall, ’til it eventually hit the switch, and flicked it on.
\nEverything was plunged into a stark white, her squinting to make out anything in the blinding brightness. There were shelves. Rows upon rows of them. Lolly took a second to admire the vastness of the room and the items on them.
\nShe walked past them, continuing on on her mission, but never averting her eyes from the flurry of curious items fully — an inside-out plushie, a red super-ball, and something that reeked of bananas. She wasn’t here for any of those items, though. She was here for the Kaleidoscope.
\nThere was a heavy metal door marked with ”Vavluable Items Storage”. Looking to the door’s right, there was yet another control panel. She didn’t have the skills to hack into the panel — heck, she was surprised it worked just then. With no knowledge of circuits, she opted to just type in numbers and hope for the best. Surprisingly (or maybe not so much), the door slid open. The Kaleidoscope was behind that door, inside of that room, she could feel its presence. All of those nightmares of the past weeks would be gone, Manny would be okay again, and—
\nHim. He’d be released from his prison. She didn’t know what he was truly capable of, but there was a reason why Manny and Fuller had locked him up for good. Maybe, just maybe, it was for the best that he stayed locked up, if she didn’t do what she planning on doing. Never to see the light again, to feel wind brushing past his skin, that sensation of—
\nElectricity sparked through her body. The figure of a man, holding some sort of weapon in his hand, turned into a haze of images. Lolly tumbled to the floor unceremoniously.
\n”Lock her up now,” a female voice sounded.
\nHer eyes became heavy, her limbs went limp. All she could do was to breathe, until even that sensation went dark.
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Icky sank to her knees. The tears welled-up in her eyes, her hands clenching onto the carpet below. She couldn’t move, nor could she breathe; her eyes wide open in an expression of sadness, anger and disgust.
\nTabernackle watched as Icky fell to the floor. She didn’t know how to respond to any of this — whether to be reassuring, angry at her for scaring her customers away, or if she should just leave through the back entrance. Tabernackle the Great gave out an ethereal sigh and moved closer to the folded-in stance Icky’s back was doing.
\nTabernackle looked at Icky. Really looked at Icky, down to her heart and soul. There was nothing, but pure pain. She had clients and customers before from worlds far weirder than those of the circus. They came to her for help or just for a nice chat. People came to her spilling out all of their deepest secrets, problems they never could tell anyone. Icky was one such person — a rude one for simply barging in during a session — but one such person nonetheless.
\nTabernackle took a deep breath in and approached Icky. ”Geez… okay. Uhm…” it sounded in Icky’s head. She briefly turned to look at Tabernackle. ”So, eh, well, how do I put this, I could help you find her.”
\nIcky jumped to her feet. Her fingers embedded themselves deep into Tabernackle’s soft tissues, that sensation causing her to wince slightly. She lost herself in Icky’s eyes for just a moment, before she snapped out of it.
\n”You can do it?” Icky said almost too fast for the ear to hear.
\n”Y—yes. But only if you compensate me enough for my troubles. I gotta pay rent. You know how the library is about this sorta stuff,” Tabernackle stammered slightly.
\n”The circus got all the wealth in the world. What do I need to do?”
\nTabernackle pointed with her fingers at the glassy orb. ”Think about her. Good memories.”
\nIcky finally let go of Tabernackle, who stepped away just in case she came close to her again. Her soul stopped beating when Icky inched just a few inches closer to her again, but she only placed the orb on the table next to her. Icky sat down at the table, her breaths stammering.
\nIcky placed her hands on the orb, her hands feeling as cold as they looked. She closed her eyes tightly to retreat back into her headspace, to venture deep into the bowels of her mind.
\nHer breathing slowed down, and she remembered.
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\n*
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Lolly rested against a pillar in one of the far-off tents of the circus. She was noticeably smaller, younger, her pigtails only reaching down to her shoulders. Her head was buried in her hands, tears seeping out between her fingers.
\n”What is it, clowny-missus-frowney?” it suddenly sounded from right next to her. The person that voice came from was young, as young as her. She stood over Lolly, so quiet she didn’t even notice her walking in. It startled her a little.
\nThe girl smiled. ”Did I scare you? Sorry, didn’t mean to!” She sat down right next to Lolly.
\n”So, what is it now? Did you eat too much of that black cotton candy or did you forget your milk? Which one is it?”
\n”I want to go back home.”
\nThe girl just shrugged. ”Fine.”
\nFor the first time, Lolly looked the girl in the eyes. ”You won’t persuade me to stay?”
\nShe shrugged again. ”I could do that. But I won’t. I know that you won’t listen to jackshit I’ve got to say. I could mince my words with the best grammar you’ve ever heard, but I know that that’ll do very little to persuade you from doing anything. So I won’t.”
\nShe just stared into that girl’s round, flimmering, eternal eyes. Lolly lost herself within them, before abruptly snapping out of the experience. Red flushed into her cheeks, and she averted her gaze again. The girl smiled.
\n”Now, get up, tomato-face, before Mr. Fuller spots us not practicing in our dorms.”
\nThe girl stood up. Lolly, after much hesitation, stood up after her. The girl stretched her hand out at her, much to her surprise.
\n”My name’s Icky, by the way.”
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Icky gasped a loud gasp. Her entire body was sweaty. Tears welled up in her eyes from being torn from such a memory. She tried to hide those tears by obscuring her face with her dark hair. But Tabernackle already knew what she thought.
\nIt was then that a glimmering Way back to the circus opened up beside Tabernackle. Icky knew she could read her thoughts, so she didn’t bother with any formalities. She just stepped through the Way, with Tabernackle trudging behind her.
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A pounding headache was the first thing Lolly felt upon awakening. That distinct pain she had felt so many times before traveled from the deepest crevices of her brain out to her skull. It was so deafening, she almost didn’t hear the squeaking in her ears.
\n”What are you doing here?” a female voice squeaked in the dark room. Obviously the woman didn’t squeak like a rat, but in Lolly’s ears she might as well have.
\nThe woman thundered down her arms onto that paper-thin desk. Lolly thought it may break and the woman would fall on her face like a sorry bag of potatoes. She didn’t, but it still made for a hilarious image in her head. Lolly giggled, and all of her pains seemed to go away. The woman’s expression was unreadable in the dim overhead light, but she was silent for a while. She looked over at someone in the corner, who Lolly hadn’t even noticed until just now.
\n”Is this funny to you?” The woman trained her full attention back to the clunt.
\n”You sound like a chipmunk!” Lolly practically wheezed. She was rocking her head back and forth from all the giggles, the woman thought it might pop off.
\nSeconds ticked by, and as Lolly didn’t show signs of stopping anytime soon, Senior Security Chief Lyly Crevali turned to her partner, shook her head, and the two exited the room.
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Matt Mattson leaned against the interrogation room’s metal door and took several deep breaths in and out. His heart was racing, sweat rolling down his face not unlike from a waterfall, his arms and legs jittering beyond compare.
\n”She getting to you?” Lyly asked in a calm, reassuring voice.
\nMatt wanted to answer, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even look the love of his life in the eyes.
\n”We’ll crack her eventually. It won’t be long, ’til she spills out all of her secrets and she gets shipped off to some facility in Europe,” was the best she could make up on the fly. Matt didn’t seem fazed. She wasn’t even sure if he had even heard her or not.
\n”Why must it be a gosh darn clown?” Matt muttered under his breath. Lyly wrapped her arm around her lover. She looked him in the eyes. He looked back. And for a short moment, his breathing and heartbeat eased up.
\n”Hey, hey. Don’t you think about that clown,” Lyly said. ”I’ll handle her, all right? You go back to the security station. You can watch from afar, okay?”
\nMatt took a deep breath in and held it a little. ”No. No, Lyly, I can—”
\nLyly gently pressed her finger against Matt’s lips. ”That’s an order, Chief.”
\nThey stared at each for a few more seconds. Each other lost in each other’s eyes. In the slow, rhytmic bumping of their heartbeats.
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\n*
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The clown alley was a small trailer, so unassuming betwixt the giant tents of the rest of the circus. In actuality, it was an extradimensional space way larger in the inside than outside. It functioned as a dorm for all of the circus’ clowns, both big and small, obese and slender.
\nWhat it also functioned as was an ICU for the clowns, and that was exactly what Dr. Tinkles needed right now. He oversaw Manny, his upside-down eyes shut tightly, while keeping an eye on his vitals. He pressed his comically large stethoscope against Manny’s chest. To his surprise, Manny’s heart was beating. Quickly.
\nThe door to the trailer crashed open. Icky entered, and she wasted no time in retrieving a few submachine guns, plus their ammunitions from under a clown’s bed.
\nAside from functioning as both dorms and an ICU, the clown alley also functioned as a weapons storage facility. Icky and Lolly kept all of their guns and machinations of destruction on the undersides of the clowns’ extradimensional beds (magically altered to be the most comfortable ever). As soon as she appeared, Icky wanted to leave again. Tinkles stopped her right then and there.
\n”Where is Lolly?” he said, deep down knowing he was scared of the answer. She didn’t look him in the eyes.
\n”Jesus Christ, Icky! Where the fuck is Lolly?”
\nA flurry of clowns, slender, obese, small, tall, began to surround them. Many watched the events from the shadows, some got a bit too close for comfort. What they had all in common was an expression of concern riddled on their faces. Icky broke down into tears. ”They took Lolly.”
\nTinkles couldn’t say anything. He just stood there and stared at Icky. ”Those Emcee D sons of bitches took Lolly,” Icky said again. Her hair was obscuring parts of her face.
\nHe finally snapped out of his stupor. ”What, no… you gotta be mistaken. Victor Chan would never—”
\n”He? No. But Iris would. Iris Dark.” Her hands balled into fists.
\nTinkles wanted to ask another question, but took a look at those submachine guns and chose not to. No, instead, Tinkles threw his stethoscope to the floor and straightened up.
\n”I’ll go with you.”
\nIcky’s tongue was stuck in her mouth. Another voice immediately sounded behind her: ”I’ll go with you, too.”
\nThe person that that voice came from was a round, zebra-stripped performer, no taller than a dwarf. Yet their voice was strong and determined, fearless of anything.
\n”No, you—” She got cut off.
\n”Me, too!” another one sounded, this one tall and spindly.
\n”Take me in.”
\n”I’m with you.”
\n”Count me as well!”
\n”No one fucks with the circus!”
\nOne by one, they rose from the shadows, each and every one of them clad in gear adorning them from head to toe. Guns bigger than their bodies rested comfortably on their shoulders. Icky couldn’t believe her eyes. She looked back at Tinkles, a smirk going across his face.
\n”All right,” Icky said with renewed vigor.
\nThe crowd of clowns erupted into applause, giggles, chuckles and bouts of confetti.
\n”You have to stay here,” she said to Dr. Tinkles in all the commotion.
\n”But—”
\n”No butts,” she pointed at the prone figure lying on the stretcher, ”Manny needs you now more than ever.” Tinkles didn’t retaliate. He simply nodded.
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\n*
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The clown watched as the menagerie of clowns left the room, barely stifling back bellowing laughter. He saw everything through that poor bastard’s upside-down eyes, like a passenger in an airplane. Only that Manny’s head was the airplane and he the hijacker.
\nHe saw some literal multi-limbed, cat-headed lady introduce herself to the doctor, Icky giving the doctor a tight hug, then storming out with the rest of those clowns.
\nThere was a slight sting in his side when the lady made eye-contact with Manny, no, with him. There was a moment where he felt his breathing stop, until the lady averted her gaze again.
\nDear ol’ pally-pal Bobble didn’t wanna give up his plane just yet.
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The headaches dissipated much to the dismay of Lolly. She enjoyed that overly high-pitched tone of whoever those peeps belonged to. She giggled, until the memory started being not so funny anymore.
\nWhen everything quieted down, she only had her own thoughts to go back to. In the darkness of the room there was nothing she could spot. Only rough shapes, outlines of the table in front of her, the chair she was restrained to, the rattling of the beryllium cuffs against her wrists. Only mere silhouettes, nothing concrete.
\nThe interrogation room’s door burst open. Lolly shielded her eyes, and was glad when the door heaved shut again. The woman from just a few hours ago was there again and sat right opposite Lolly. A wicked grin adorned her face.
\n”So, where were we—”
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Lyly couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. All that there was was a barrage of sugary smells, scorch marks so hot she couldn’t remember what it felt like without them. Her chest heaved into heavy motions, desperate for the slightest shrivel of oxygen.
\nShe tried to reach for her gun, still buckled to that leather belt of hers. But she couldn’t move. Her head was filled with excruciating pains. And as the life seeped out of her body, the shape of a clown walking past her, Lyly Crevali thought her last thought:
\nMatt.
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\n*
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With a swift draw of one of her guns, bullets raced through the air, precisely on Lolly’s restraints. When she could move her arms freely again, Lolly leapt up from the chair and embraced her lover in a tight, soul-squeezing hug. It was nice to feel her hair again, her skin, her body against hers.
\nIcky pushed Lolly away, much to her surprise.
\n”What the frick did you think you were doing?!”
\nLolly was taken aback. ”It was Bobble! He took me, and he tortured Manny, and I couldn’t—”
\nIcky embraced her in a soul-squeezing hug yet again, her face deep in Lolly’s hair. ”Let’s just get you back home.”
\n”No! What about Manny?”
\n”He’s being cared for right now by Missus Magick. Some protective spells and he’ll be fine, and so will you.”
\nIcky looked into her beautiful, azure eyes.
\n”I love you,” she said softly.
\nThe smell of gunpowder and clown make-up filled the air, accompanied by wailing howls and desperate screams of the dying.
\n”I love you, too,” Lolly answered and kissed Icky.
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\n*
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She was gone. All that she was, all that she aspired to be, those hopes and dreams — gone. Matt sat at the monitors, having watched it all play out from afar. He felt his heart stop for just a second, before he collapsed onto the floor and cried. Hard.
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Bullets zipped past them in a hail of destruction. The velvet curtains and concrete walls were torn up into tiny bits, hurtling past Icky and Lolly. They took cover behind a corner, the guards rapidly approaching their location.
\nWith a firm grip, the right stance, and a loaded cartridge, Icky unleashed a blizzard of bullet fire from her hiding spot. The bullets flew right through the men and women clad in gear, their blood painting the walls, floor and ceiling behind them. When all drops of blood trickled out of these people’s bodies did Icky stop.
\nShe pulled out some more ammo from her pockets and reloaded her gun. She charged through another hallway, the adrenaline reaching all the way up to her head. Lolly didn’t move. Entrenched in thought, she called out back to her lover, who stopped dead in her tracks.
\n”The Kaleidoscope!” were Lolly’s only words, before she charged down the corridors in the complete opposite direction. Icky let out a silent gasp, and sprinted after Lolly. Lolly knew where the device was. She also knew how valuable and destructive it was in the wrong person’s hands.
\nMs. Iris Dark was one such wrong person — self-centered, power-hungry and greedy. There was no chance the circus would grant such an individual this much power. There was no chance Lolly could grant such an individual with this much power.
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\n*
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Tabernackle spread out her many arms in front of the prone figure lying on the stretcher. Runes and ancient incantations, too bright for Dr. Tinkles to see, formed over, on and around Manny.
\n”Could you please, erm, look away?” Tabernackle asked in that humble voice of hers.
\n”Excuse me?”
\n”Well, I can’t really perform with anybody watching.”
\n”Don’t you do this on the regular?”
\n”Yeah! But usually when I do it, I ask of the attendees to close their eyes, turn around or step out of the tent for a few moments!”
\nTinkles gave out a sigh. Praying to whoever god was watching them, he prayed for Manny’s safety. He did as he was told. Immediately upon doing so, Tabernackle proceeded with her mind-fortification spell. She chanted the ancient words with such precision: ”Chirgarroh llorum buddrll. Chirgarroh llorum buddrll.”
\nThe chanting only grew in intensity. So much so that Tinkles could hear the words reverberating down to his heart. Until it suddenly stopped. Tabernackle was still, as still as a statue, and as silent as one. Only the creaking sounds of the stretcher filled the tent they were in. Slowly, Manny rose back up to his feet.
\n”Manny, can you hear me?” Tabernackle’s ethereal voice asked. He did not respond.
\nHis eyes rose to the level those with Tabernackle’s. In those all-so-familiar eyes, there was nothing Dr. Tinkles recognized. Those pupils seemed to go on forever, staring straight into his soul. That wrongside-up mouth moved into a crooked frown.
\nWith the speed of lightning, Manny’s hand shot up and enclosed itself tightly around Tabernackle’s neck. He bared his teeth, eyes wide open, as he choked the life out of her. Tinkles wanted to do something, anything. But once those hollow eyes met his, he was as if petrified. A sculpture motionless in someone else’s gaze. He knew it wasnt Manny in there anymore, but something far more sinister.
\nManny threw Tabernackle to the ground, but not before lunging at her with one of the crude elements lying next to him on a silver tray.
\nRaising the sharp implement high above his head, he stabbed Tabernackle all over. Her wails vibrated through the fabric of the tent, as near blinding light shone out of her wounds. Purple blood began to stain the tool and Manny’s clothes.
\nTinkles rushed into action, all of the adrenaline and clown milk rushing through his nervous system. He placed a kick in Manny’s chest. Manny tumbled to the ground, where he thrashed around like an infant, crying and manically laughing all the same.
\n”R—recite them…”
\n”What?!” Tinkles’ eyes darted from Manny to Tabernackle.
\n”Recite t—the incantations…”
\nHe could think straight again. The ice in his brain thawed out. Manny rose up from the ground, bloodied scalpel in hand. He looked at him with a twisted smile, his eyes lit up brighter than the most fiery pits of hell.
\n”Ch—chir…” he stuttered, his tongue frozen in place.
\nManny Bobble smiled a wicked smile, before he charged at Dr. Tinkles. His arms and legs wailed wildly through the air. The image of a marionette was what came to Tinkles’ mind, and that of Chucky the killer-doll with that little knife of his.
\n”Chirgarroh llorum buddrll!” Tinkles screamed from the bottom of his lungs. Manny tumbled to the floor. Like an infant tumbling down a flight of stairs. The scalpel left his hands all the same.
\nFor a moment, Manny just laid there, face-down. But then he rose to his feet again. Tinkles grapped the scalpel, pointing it at his colleague and friend. The bloodied scalpel was shaking in his two, way too large hands, his eyes never leaving Manny out of his sight.
\nManny grunted, rubbing his temple. When Tinkles looked him in the eyes, the darkness that had filled them seconds prior had disappeared. Life had returned in those eyes. ”What… what is—” Manny’s words were quickly cut off by Tinkles wrapping his arms tightly around him.
\n”It’s good to see you back, Manny.”
\nTinkles looked over his friend’s shoulder, only to be greeted with the stagnant figure of Tabernackle the Great on the cold floor. He immediately stood up and rushed to the magician’s side. Tabernackle coughed out purple drops of blood, floating on the ceiling. She had a smile on her face. ”You d—did a pretty fine job there…”
\nShe coughed out more blood. More than should have passed through her mouth. It seeped into the earthern ground below, staining the deepest of water reservoirs, before Tabernackle moved the edges of her mouth into one last smile.
\nTinkles gave her a farewell in his head. Manny was just confused and horrified.
\n
\n
\n
\n*
\n\n
\n \n
Bobble screamed into the metaphysical void. He screamed, and screamed, and screamed with no end. Ripples were sent all throughout it.
\nThen he saw a man. A little man sprinting through some corridors. Physically, he was fine. But his heart was broken. Shattered into billions of fragments
\nHe had one last trick up his sleeve. In the end, Bobble would have the last laugh.
\n
\n
\n
\n*
\n\n
\n \n
A bullet here, a bullet there. A bullet everywhere. She charged down the corridors. The smell of cream pies, bubble gum, iron blood and so much more flew into her nostrils. It was almost mesmerizing.
\nThe Kaleidoscope was exactly where she remembered it being. She looked around for a while, before spotting the simple carabiner mechanism of how the device was strapped down. She broke open the clamps. Once unlocked, she had to figure out a way of how to move—
\n”LOLLY!”
\nIt was Icky’s voice. But not as vibrant and confident as it had been just minutes ago. No, it sounded booming, as if her ears were about to pop out of her skull. Lolly realized too late that that wasn’t a result of Icky’s voice, but the shot of a shotgun unloading right in front of her.
\nLolly tumbled to the floor. She reached for her chest and there was no blood. No innards. No gaping hole or whatever else she had imagined. Quiet, heaving breaths unfolded on the ground right next to her. And the smell of blood.
\nIcky convulsed, blood spurting out of a gaping hole in her chest. Seconds turned into hours. She could see each contortion of her partner’s soft, pink flesh, each sound of a drop of blood. She snapped out of it. And without even thinking, Lolly grabbed Icky’s gun and unleashed a hail of bullets on their assailant.
\nMatt Mattson leaked out blood from every orifice imaginable. He stumbled to the floor, just like Icky had, and crashed his head against the Kaleidoscope’s console. Lolly was too worried to notice. She cradled Icky’s warm, wet body in her arms. She waived away a streak of Icky’s jet black hair to see into her beautiful eyes. Tears built up in her eyes. Icky herself waived aside some of Lolly’s hair. They stared into each other’s eyes, near motionless, locked in silence.
\nHe heard a voice in his head. In the darkest pits of his mind. He didn’t know who the voice belonged to, but it told him of a chance. A chance to avenge his loved one.
\nThere was still some life in him left. Twitching fingers, blinking eyes. He neared himself toward the device. Inch by inch, he crawled toward it like some maggot on a corpse. Rotten, near dead.
\n”B—behi…” Icky stammered out.
\nThere was this moment, where Lolly couldn’t understand anything Icky was saying. Like white noise on a TV. Too late did she realize what her partner was uttering. And when she did finally realize, a Way had been opened.
\nThe entire room was consumed by every color unimaginable. Up-beat music straight out of the circus’ calliope boomed in their skulls. Lolly pressed her hands against her ears, but not even that was enough to drown out the noise.
\nAnd then Bobble stepped out of the Way, in all his glory. Everyone laid there, frozen. He righted his fly, looked around, and let out the most soul-quenching scream ever heard. It was a scream of joy, of celebration.
\nFrom the top of his lungs, Bobble yelled: ”GUESS WHO’S BACK!”
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\n*
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"},"source":{"kind":"string","value":"\n\t[[include :scp-wiki:theme:flopstyle-dark witching-hour=a]]\n\n\n\n[[div class=\"pseudocrumbs\"]]\n\n[[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nightfall-hub|NIGHTFALL Hub]]] » The Clawed Cadaver\n\n[[/div]]\n\n\n\n[[module Rate]]\n\n\n\n[[div class=\"byline\"]]\n\n[[*user DrDapper]]\n\n[[/div]]\n\n\n\n[[div class=\"meta-title\"]]\n\nThe Clawed Cadaver\n\n[[/div]]\n\n\n\n+++++ __From the journal of Alexander Foxx, Captain of The Guard__\n\n\n\n//**November 18th, XXXX**//\n\n\n\nI awoke around the 5th hour of the day this morning, much to my own dismay. A good night's sleep continues to elude me even a week after my failure to protect the life of my master's brother. I can only hope that my nerves will harden in the coming days.\n\n\n\nThis dreadful weather we've been forced to endure persists with no sign of clearing up. Late autumn showers continue to pound the manor's roofing and soak any soul who dares step out into the freezing rain. I just hope the cold doesn't cause any illness. Johnathan's death was bad enough, the last thing the manor needs is pestilence spreading through its inhabitants.\n\n\n\nIt was not all dark and gloom today, though. Early in the morning, around the 7th hour, one of the guards on post spotted a carriage coming up the mountain road. I was immediately informed and made my way from my chambers to the front driveway. Sure enough, Phillip's carriage rounded the lot just as I arrived.\n\n\n\n\"Welcome back, Mr. Darke.\" I said as Phillip opened his door. \"Come quick. The rain is relentless this morning, and we wouldn't want you catching a cold. Is this the detective you went out for?\"\n\n\n\nFollowing Phillip out of the carriage was a woman wearing a rather dashing tweed suit under a heavy duster coat. Atop her head was a set of dirty blonde hair, pulled back behind her ears, tied into short pony tail, and topped with a cotton tweed cap that covered her head. Contrasting the rather bland coloring of her attire were a pair of dark blue eyes stationed right in the middle of a face that displayed an air of confidence and poise I have seldom seen even amongst the most distinguished members of our guard.\n\n\n\n\"Indeed.\" Phillip answered as his boots hit the gravel path. \"Detective Thompson here has agreed to take the case and will be staying with us for the foreseeable future. Ah, where are my manners. Detective Thompson, this is our Captain of the Guard, Alexander Foxx.\"\n\n\n\n\"A pleasure, Captain.\" Thompson said as she trailed Phillip out of the doorway, placing a notebook into her coat pocket and raising a gloved hand. \"I trust the body and crime scene were preserved to the best of your ability.\"\n\n\n\n\"Yes miss.\" I had said, shaking her hand as any gentleman would. \"We sectioned off the bedroom with two guards stationed around the clock.\"\n\n\n\n\"And Mr. Darke?\"\n\n\n\n\"Sealed him in one of the on-site caskets and locked it in the ice room.\"\n\n\n\n\"Excellent Mr. Foxx. I commend you on your intuition. Now, Darke Junior, body decay is a very natural process that one can, at best, only delay. I suggest we go take a look at the late Darke senior right away before nature muddies this investigation any more. Oh, dear me, I nearly forgot.\"\n\n\n\nThompson spun on her heals and ran back out into the driveway, flagging down one of the servants who were unloading the luggage.\n\n\n\n\"Please be careful with that, it is very fragile and very expensive. If I may, I am in need of it at the moment. You may take the rest of my belongings to my chambers, but please do be careful.\"\n\n\n\nThompson returned a moment later carrying a long, thin box with a handle in its center.\n\n\n\n\"I would like to interview the inhabitants of this estate after investigating the body. How many individuals are employed here, Darke Junior?\"\n\n\n\n\"Forty-eight. Twenty-six servants, twenty-two guards.\"\n\n\n\n\"As I suspected for an estate of this size. Of course, I will need to question each of the servants as well as the occupants. Would you be so kind as to call everyone into the main living room, Mr. Foxx? Observing the body shouldn't take more than a moment.\"\n\n\n\nI was rather taken aback by this suggestion. While Thompson seemed more than capable of handling herself, there was still the threat of a werewolf on the premise.\n\n\n\n\"If I may, detective, we're currently enforcing a policy of escort. No one is to traverse the manor alone or without a guard. If you do not mind, I would like to personally see you two to the ice room.\"\n\n\n\nThompson gave me a puzzled look, then shrugged her shoulders after a moment of contemplation.\n\n\n\n\"Very well, Captain. You may end up being useful in our little investigation. Still, I would be most appreciative if everyone could be rallied together as soon as possible. Time is always of the essence in these things.\"\n\n\n\nI expressed my agreement as us three began walking through the halls of the lower manor. Bill and Percy passed us while on patrol, and I informed them of the detectives wishes.\n\n\n\n\"Those two. Were they on duty the night of the killing?\" Thompson waited to ask once the guards were out of ear shot.\n\n\n\nI informed her that they were, and that for the past few days they've volunteered for patrol as often as they could. \"Most likely out of guilt,\" I concluded.\n\n\n\n\"Guilt, yes.\" Thompson whispered. \"But shameful guilt or culpable guilt? Oh don't mind me Captain, sometimes I think out of my mouth. It's too early to cast suspicion on anyone. Hopefully the upcoming interviews will help shed some light on who the identity of this werewolf may be. Ah, it seems we're here.\"\n\n\n\nOphelia and Henry were stationed on either side of the steel door leading to the ice room. Seeing us, they stepped to the side and bid us welcome.\n\n\n\n\"This the detective you told us about?\" Henry said in a coarse tone. \"I say, she'd better figure this out quick. I don't want to be around next time that wolfman comes about.\"\n\n\n\nI was about to reprimand my subordinate for his rather rude demeanor, but was beaten by a quick reply from the detective.\n\n\n\n\"Worry not, my dear fellow. I will have this mystery solved by the week start. Now, if you would be so kind, we're having everyone gather in the main living room. Guards included. Don't worry, we'll be more than capable of handling the cadaver in your absence.\"\n\n\n\nThe two of them looked at me, and after a quick nod of approval, left their posts to make their way to the living room.\n\n\n\n\"Do allow me.\" I said, pushing the heavy metal door to the ice room open. The freezing air caused my body, still dampened by the few moments spent out in the rain, to shiver. There, in the middle of the half filled ice room, was the dark oak casket where my master's brother laid in a terrible eternal slumber.\n\n\n\n\"Very nice.\" The detective said as she stepped up beside me. \"I suspect this room is no warmer than twenty-seven... no... twenty-five degrees. That and the sealed casket should have preserved the body nicely. However, this mystery cannot be solved unless we break open that wooden box. Mr. Foxx, would you be so kind?\"\n\n\n\nI'll admit, there was a part of me that was a little reluctant to do so. Breaking open the casket of a deceased man felt like defiling something sacred. But, I was soon to remember that a grave tragedy had just occurred not three nights ago. Dashing the hesitant thoughts from my mind, I placed my hands on casket door, and heaved it off.\n\n\n\nA thud echoed around us when the cover fell to the ground. Laying there was the late Johnathan Darke, and a grizzly sight he was. His face and body were mutilated by large claw marks. The clothes he was wearing were in a similarly shredded state, given how we had sealed him in the same attire as he was found. His right arm had been completely torn off, and now sat adjacent to him, carefully placed by the people who had laid him in the box.\n\n\n\n\"We-heh-ell now.\" Thompson muttered in a giddy tone that made me grimace at its rather indecorously delivery. \"What have we here? I must compliment on the individual who deduced that this was the work of a werewolf. They were spot on.\"\n\n\n\nKneeling, the detective laid the long case flat on the ground. Then, flicking two latched upward, she lifted the case's lid, and pulled out three metal rods and a small, cubical device. I couldn't tell what it was at first, but I soon came to the conclusion that it was a photographic camera.\n\n\n\n\"Are you in need of more light?\" Phillip asked as Thompson began setting up the tripod.\n\n\n\n\"No, that'll be quite all right. Though, if you two would be so kind, may I ask you step back towards the door?\"\n\n\n\nI was confused by this request. The ice room was hardly a large space, but there was plenty of room for me and Phillip to stand beside Thompson. But, one impatient glance by the detective was all the motivation I needed to make my way to the room's end.\n\n\n\nOnce me and Phillip were huddled under the door frame, Thompson aimed her camera down at the open coffin, and snap a photo. A... single photo.\n\n\n\n\"Well there we have it gentlemen.\" She said, slipping a small piece of paper out of the camera's end. \"You may burry the body now.\"\n\n\n\nI could hardly believe my ears. The detective had said the investigation would take a moment, but a single photograph? She didn't even reach into the casket to touch the body. I must admit, there was a part of me that questioned whether Phillip had made the right decision in employing this Miss Thompson as our investigator.\n\n\n\n\"Is... that it?\" I asked.\n\n\n\n\"That it is, Mr. Foxx.\" Thompson replied as she began disassembling the camera and putting it back in the case. \"I admit, my methods often appear confusing to those who are unfamiliar with them, but rest assured, they are impeccable. Now...\" The detective snapped the case shut and stood. \"I believe it's safe to assume everyone's been summoned to the living room. Let's not keep them waiting.\"\n\n\n\nAdjusting her cap, Thompson briskly walked past me and Darke out the door. The two of us exchanged looks of confusion, surprise, and intrigue, before turning on our heals and following the detective back through the hall.\n\n\n\n------\n\n\n\n[[=]]\n\n\n\n**<< [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/17-phoenix-street 17 Phoenix Street] | [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nightfall-hub NIGHTFALL Hub] | Coming Soon! >>**\n\n\n\n[[/=]]\n"},"author":{"kind":"string","value":""},"created_at":{"kind":"string","value":"2024-09-11T16:39:00"},"tags":{"kind":"list like","value":["iris-thompson","nightfall","tale"],"string":"[\n \"iris-thompson\",\n \"nightfall\",\n \"tale\"\n]"},"title":{"kind":"string","value":"The Clawed Cadaver - SCP Foundation"},"rating":{"kind":"number","value":7,"string":"7"},"references":{"kind":"list like","value":["nightfall-hub","17-phoenix-street"],"string":"[\n \"nightfall-hub\",\n \"17-phoenix-street\"\n]"},"hubs":{"kind":"list like","value":["sciptember-2024","nightfall-hub"],"string":"[\n \"sciptember-2024\",\n \"nightfall-hub\"\n]"},"images":{"kind":"list like","value":[],"string":"[]"},"page_id":{"kind":"string","value":"1456738836"},"url":{"kind":"string","value":"https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/clawed-cadaver"}}},{"rowIdx":5399,"cells":{"tale_id":{"kind":"string","value":"cleanup-on-aisle-five"},"content":{"kind":"string","value":"\n
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\n| The Clawed Cadaver | \n
|---|
| Byㅤ | \n
| Published on 11 Sep 2024 16:39 | \n
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\n\nNIGHTFALL Hub » The Clawed Cadaver
\n\n\n
\n\nFrom the journal of Alexander Foxx, Captain of The Guard
\nNovember 18th, XXXX
\nI awoke around the 5th hour of the day this morning, much to my own dismay. A good night's sleep continues to elude me even a week after my failure to protect the life of my master's brother. I can only hope that my nerves will harden in the coming days.
\nThis dreadful weather we've been forced to endure persists with no sign of clearing up. Late autumn showers continue to pound the manor's roofing and soak any soul who dares step out into the freezing rain. I just hope the cold doesn't cause any illness. Johnathan's death was bad enough, the last thing the manor needs is pestilence spreading through its inhabitants.
\nIt was not all dark and gloom today, though. Early in the morning, around the 7th hour, one of the guards on post spotted a carriage coming up the mountain road. I was immediately informed and made my way from my chambers to the front driveway. Sure enough, Phillip's carriage rounded the lot just as I arrived.
\n\"Welcome back, Mr. Darke.\" I said as Phillip opened his door. \"Come quick. The rain is relentless this morning, and we wouldn't want you catching a cold. Is this the detective you went out for?\"
\nFollowing Phillip out of the carriage was a woman wearing a rather dashing tweed suit under a heavy duster coat. Atop her head was a set of dirty blonde hair, pulled back behind her ears, tied into short pony tail, and topped with a cotton tweed cap that covered her head. Contrasting the rather bland coloring of her attire were a pair of dark blue eyes stationed right in the middle of a face that displayed an air of confidence and poise I have seldom seen even amongst the most distinguished members of our guard.
\n\"Indeed.\" Phillip answered as his boots hit the gravel path. \"Detective Thompson here has agreed to take the case and will be staying with us for the foreseeable future. Ah, where are my manners. Detective Thompson, this is our Captain of the Guard, Alexander Foxx.\"
\n\"A pleasure, Captain.\" Thompson said as she trailed Phillip out of the doorway, placing a notebook into her coat pocket and raising a gloved hand. \"I trust the body and crime scene were preserved to the best of your ability.\"
\n\"Yes miss.\" I had said, shaking her hand as any gentleman would. \"We sectioned off the bedroom with two guards stationed around the clock.\"
\n\"And Mr. Darke?\"
\n\"Sealed him in one of the on-site caskets and locked it in the ice room.\"
\n\"Excellent Mr. Foxx. I commend you on your intuition. Now, Darke Junior, body decay is a very natural process that one can, at best, only delay. I suggest we go take a look at the late Darke senior right away before nature muddies this investigation any more. Oh, dear me, I nearly forgot.\"
\nThompson spun on her heals and ran back out into the driveway, flagging down one of the servants who were unloading the luggage.
\n\"Please be careful with that, it is very fragile and very expensive. If I may, I am in need of it at the moment. You may take the rest of my belongings to my chambers, but please do be careful.\"
\nThompson returned a moment later carrying a long, thin box with a handle in its center.
\n\"I would like to interview the inhabitants of this estate after investigating the body. How many individuals are employed here, Darke Junior?\"
\n\"Forty-eight. Twenty-six servants, twenty-two guards.\"
\n\"As I suspected for an estate of this size. Of course, I will need to question each of the servants as well as the occupants. Would you be so kind as to call everyone into the main living room, Mr. Foxx? Observing the body shouldn't take more than a moment.\"
\nI was rather taken aback by this suggestion. While Thompson seemed more than capable of handling herself, there was still the threat of a werewolf on the premise.
\n\"If I may, detective, we're currently enforcing a policy of escort. No one is to traverse the manor alone or without a guard. If you do not mind, I would like to personally see you two to the ice room.\"
\nThompson gave me a puzzled look, then shrugged her shoulders after a moment of contemplation.
\n\"Very well, Captain. You may end up being useful in our little investigation. Still, I would be most appreciative if everyone could be rallied together as soon as possible. Time is always of the essence in these things.\"
\nI expressed my agreement as us three began walking through the halls of the lower manor. Bill and Percy passed us while on patrol, and I informed them of the detectives wishes.
\n\"Those two. Were they on duty the night of the killing?\" Thompson waited to ask once the guards were out of ear shot.
\nI informed her that they were, and that for the past few days they've volunteered for patrol as often as they could. \"Most likely out of guilt,\" I concluded.
\n\"Guilt, yes.\" Thompson whispered. \"But shameful guilt or culpable guilt? Oh don't mind me Captain, sometimes I think out of my mouth. It's too early to cast suspicion on anyone. Hopefully the upcoming interviews will help shed some light on who the identity of this werewolf may be. Ah, it seems we're here.\"
\nOphelia and Henry were stationed on either side of the steel door leading to the ice room. Seeing us, they stepped to the side and bid us welcome.
\n\"This the detective you told us about?\" Henry said in a coarse tone. \"I say, she'd better figure this out quick. I don't want to be around next time that wolfman comes about.\"
\nI was about to reprimand my subordinate for his rather rude demeanor, but was beaten by a quick reply from the detective.
\n\"Worry not, my dear fellow. I will have this mystery solved by the week start. Now, if you would be so kind, we're having everyone gather in the main living room. Guards included. Don't worry, we'll be more than capable of handling the cadaver in your absence.\"
\nThe two of them looked at me, and after a quick nod of approval, left their posts to make their way to the living room.
\n\"Do allow me.\" I said, pushing the heavy metal door to the ice room open. The freezing air caused my body, still dampened by the few moments spent out in the rain, to shiver. There, in the middle of the half filled ice room, was the dark oak casket where my master's brother laid in a terrible eternal slumber.
\n\"Very nice.\" The detective said as she stepped up beside me. \"I suspect this room is no warmer than twenty-seven… no… twenty-five degrees. That and the sealed casket should have preserved the body nicely. However, this mystery cannot be solved unless we break open that wooden box. Mr. Foxx, would you be so kind?\"
\nI'll admit, there was a part of me that was a little reluctant to do so. Breaking open the casket of a deceased man felt like defiling something sacred. But, I was soon to remember that a grave tragedy had just occurred not three nights ago. Dashing the hesitant thoughts from my mind, I placed my hands on casket door, and heaved it off.
\nA thud echoed around us when the cover fell to the ground. Laying there was the late Johnathan Darke, and a grizzly sight he was. His face and body were mutilated by large claw marks. The clothes he was wearing were in a similarly shredded state, given how we had sealed him in the same attire as he was found. His right arm had been completely torn off, and now sat adjacent to him, carefully placed by the people who had laid him in the box.
\n\"We-heh-ell now.\" Thompson muttered in a giddy tone that made me grimace at its rather indecorously delivery. \"What have we here? I must compliment on the individual who deduced that this was the work of a werewolf. They were spot on.\"
\nKneeling, the detective laid the long case flat on the ground. Then, flicking two latched upward, she lifted the case's lid, and pulled out three metal rods and a small, cubical device. I couldn't tell what it was at first, but I soon came to the conclusion that it was a photographic camera.
\n\"Are you in need of more light?\" Phillip asked as Thompson began setting up the tripod.
\n\"No, that'll be quite all right. Though, if you two would be so kind, may I ask you step back towards the door?\"
\nI was confused by this request. The ice room was hardly a large space, but there was plenty of room for me and Phillip to stand beside Thompson. But, one impatient glance by the detective was all the motivation I needed to make my way to the room's end.
\nOnce me and Phillip were huddled under the door frame, Thompson aimed her camera down at the open coffin, and snap a photo. A… single photo.
\n\"Well there we have it gentlemen.\" She said, slipping a small piece of paper out of the camera's end. \"You may burry the body now.\"
\nI could hardly believe my ears. The detective had said the investigation would take a moment, but a single photograph? She didn't even reach into the casket to touch the body. I must admit, there was a part of me that questioned whether Phillip had made the right decision in employing this Miss Thompson as our investigator.
\n\"Is… that it?\" I asked.
\n\"That it is, Mr. Foxx.\" Thompson replied as she began disassembling the camera and putting it back in the case. \"I admit, my methods often appear confusing to those who are unfamiliar with them, but rest assured, they are impeccable. Now…\" The detective snapped the case shut and stood. \"I believe it's safe to assume everyone's been summoned to the living room. Let's not keep them waiting.\"
\nAdjusting her cap, Thompson briskly walked past me and Darke out the door. The two of us exchanged looks of confusion, surprise, and intrigue, before turning on our heals and following the detective back through the hall.
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\n« 17 Phoenix Street | NIGHTFALL Hub | Coming Soon! »
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"},"source":{"kind":"string","value":"\n\t=====\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:component:preview\n\n|text=Clef and Gears can't find their way out of a seemingly endless IKEA building.]]\n\n=====\n\n\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme]]\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:theme:cleaning-services]]\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:component:toggle-sidebar-bhl]]\n\n\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:info:start]]\n\n**Cleanup on Aisle Five** - A part of the Cleanliness Guaranteed* series.\n\n**Author:** [[*user ubergoober]] and [[*user radian628]]\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:info:end]]\n\n\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:component:earthworm\n\n| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/site-19-dossier\n\n| previous-title=UIU Location Dossier: \"Site 19\"\n\n| next-url=/\n\n| next-title=\n\n| hub-url=/\n\n| hub-title=Cleanup on Aisle Five\n\n]]\n\n\n\n\"Okay, you two,\" said Director Tilda Moose, \"Could either of you explain why it took you //six hours// to clean up a furniture store bathroom?\"\n\n\n\n\"Apologies, Director,\" replied Charles Gears, who was sitting across from Moose's office desk, his expression stern.\n\n\n\n\"Don't apologize, dude!\" exclaimed Alto Clef. \"It's not our fault we got lost.\"\n\n\n\n\"Correct. It is //your// fault, specifically,\" replied Gears.\n\n\n\n\"No way! Moose, just let me explain, okay.\"\n\n\n\n\"That's //Director// Moose. But sure.\"\n\n\n\n\"So we were in this IKEA, about an hour from here. Now you might be wondering, 'Hey Clef, you irresistible hunk, why the //fuck// would an IKEA call in the Safe Cleanup Professionals to clean up their own mess?' And I'll tell you why. The whole bathroom floor was covered in shit water. Absolutely nasty. It was even worse when Gears hurled on the floor after seeing it.\" Clef made a face.\n\n\n\n\"I did not vomit on the floor. That was you.\"\n\n\n\n\"Yeah right, it was. Anyhoo, we busted out the mops, and got to work. It took us all morning, and I swear to fucking god I never wanna see another public restroom in my life. Turns out the toilet was clogged, and we were both thinkin' it was cuz' some dude took a //monster// shit in there, but it somehow was even worse than that. There was a //worm// in there.\" \n\n\n\n\"Clef, did you get tapeworms again?\" Moose asked. \n\n\n\n\"I'm off the raw meat diet,\" Clef replied. \"And no, //I// wasn't the one who shat in there.\"\n\n\n\n\"So what took you so long?\"\n\n\n\n\"Well, somehow we dropped the plunger on the way there, so I had to go out and find it, which added a solid twenty minutes to--\"\n\n\n\n\"You took //six// hours, Clef.\"\n\n\n\n\"Oh yeah, the worm was [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-153 six feet long]. And it tried to eat me.\"\n\n\n\n\"Clef, there was not a six-foot long man-eating worm in there,\" Moose interjected. \"Though that would certainly explain the delay.\"\n\n\n\n\"Are you callin' me a liar?\"\n\n\n\n\"Well... kinda. You have a habit of, uh, //embellishing// your stories.\"\n\n\n\n\"Hmph. Well, to be clear, it was //me// who wrangled down the damn thing, and made it choke on its own acid. C'mon Gears, back me up here.\"\n\n\n\n\"I cannot entirely confirm the plausibility of this story...\" Gears mumbled.\n\n\n\n\"Oh, come on!\"\n\n\n\n\"...but I won't deny it either.\" \n\n\n\n\"//Thank you//.\" Clef grinned. \"And after I disposed of the creature, we ended up cleaning up all of the mess it made, and I think we did a great freakin' job. I'd say you could eat off that bathroom floor, especially compared to those crusty plastic plates in the Site 19 break room. \n\n\n\n\"After that, we were basically done, so Gears and I packed up our stuff and were ready to head out. Problem is, neither of us remembered the way we came in. I said we had passed the furniture section, but Gears, being the smartass he is, was like 'You know the whole store is just furniture right?' And he //did// have a point-- the whole goddamn store looks the same. Gears racked that brain of his to remember the way out, but when he ended up leading us down to the goddamn warehouse, we both knew that somewhere we fucked up.\"\n\n\n\n\"//You// messed up. If you had //actually// followed my lead, we would've been out. Director, if you don't believe me, ask Clef to recount how we got--\"\n\n\n\n\"Shhhhh, I'm not there yet. As I was saying before I was //rudely interrupted//, we were in the warehouse. Completely lost. At that point, I decided to just head in a direction and see if it led to an exit.\"\n\n\n\n\"Clef insisted we didn't ask the employees for directions.\" \n\n\n\n\"Listen, it's all part of a conspiracy to trap us inside the store. 'Don't talk to the fucking employees,' I told him. 'They're in on it too. I bet they make a commission for how long they keep customers in the store, so they're gonna lead us around past all the expensive furniture and stuff so we spend tons of extra time in the store.'\n\n\n\n\"So yeah, Gears warmed up to my idea of taking our own road or whatever.\"\n\n\n\n\"For the record, I would like to note that Clef's idea did not work whatsoever,\" Gears pointed out, his arms crossed.\n\n\n\n\"Oh, shut up. Well, actually you're not wrong. It really only led us //deeper// into the store, like one of those jungle gyms you see at... wherever the heck those things are built. It was cramped, impossible to navigate, a labyrinth of shelves and couches and beds and shit. We //did// stumble upon the restaurant, though. Lucky, too, cuz' it was about twelve-ish. Gears and I stood in line for like an hour waiting for meatballs, and everyone was staring at us cuz of the cleaning equipment we were carrying, but whatever. Honestly the meatballs were pretty good, though they weren't //really// worth the wait. Speaking of meatballs, after lunch, I had to go take a shit, and luckily my janitor-senses directed me to the nearest restroom.\"\n\n\n\n\"Clef, is this really necessary to the story?\" asked Moose.\n\n\n\n\"Oh, don't give me that look, Moose, I know it's not the most disgusting thing you've heard today.\"\n\n\n\n\"Just get to the point. I don't have all day.\"\n\n\n\n\"Right, right. So when I get back from my dump, //Gears// here has a brilliant idea. I say that with big air quotes because it was a //terrible// idea. You know it was, Charlie. Anyways, he said 'If you hold one hand to the edge of the wall and keep following it, eventually you'll find your way out of the store.' Something about maze algorithms and graph theory or some shit.\"\n\n\n\n\"To be more specific, if a maze is simply connected, one can traverse the maze by--\"\n\n\n\n\"Nobody cares, dude. It was a stupid-ass plan. I hate to admit it but I thought it was smart at the time. Charlie, I have to admit you usually get shit done, but you fucked up this time. But, anyway, we set off on a journey with our right hands to the walls. Well, it was less of a wall and more of a hundred-foot-tall metal shelf. We passed the murder couch, a whole bunch of flatscreen TVs, a--\"\n\n\n\n\"Hold on. What, exactly, is a murder couch?\" Moose interrupted. \"What //happened// in--\"\n\n\n\n\"See, it looked like a regular white couch, but-- get this-- it had //red streaks// running across it,\" Clef blurted out. \"It looked like someone had been stabbed to death on it. Who the fuck thought that was a good idea?\"\n\n\n\n\"//Was// somebody stabbed to death on it?\" Moose replied, raising an eyebrow.\n\n\n\nClef stared at the ceiling. \"Well, I can't say for sure that anyone //wasn't// stabbed to--\"\n\n\n\n\"So, no.\"\n\n\n\nClef cleared his throat. \"Anyways, we kept wandering on the same route, our hands to the wall. The shelf, whatever. Lots of interesting stuff in there. Did you know that they sell sharks in IKEA?\"\n\n\n\n\"Sharks?\"\n\n\n\n\"Like //stuffed animals//, you idiot, not //actual// sharks from the //ocean//.\"\n\n\n\n\"Don't speak to your boss that way,\" Moose warned.\n\n\n\n\"Whatevs,\" replied Clef. \"Anyways, I got one for Dee. Thought they might like it. Okay, fuck, I'm //really// getting sidetracked here. We kept exploring with our right hands to the wall for the next-- I don't know-- ten minutes? Fifteen? Something like that. All seemed well and good until something familiar caught my eye: The //fucking murder couch.//\"\n\n\n\nMoose glanced at him skeptically.\n\n\n\n\"Gears and I did a double take. Was this the same couch? Or was it one that just looked similar? All the other products are grouped together, so why the fuck would they have //two// murder couches a mile apart? Was this just a new employee being stupid? Was I just losing my mind? Or what? Gears was convinced that this was a //different// couch, but I was beginning to doubt his methods.\"\n\n\n\nGears spoke up. \"In retrospect, the reason for our failure is clear, it--\"\n\n\n\n\"Dude. I'm talkin' here. It's rude to interrupt people. Anyways, just to make sure I wasn't going crazy I did a little experiment: I took out a Foundation business card from my pocket and stuffed it between the couch cushions. Then, if we ever saw this couch again, I could see if it's the same one by checking for the business card. And if we //didn't//, then whichever shitbag moronic enough to buy it would get our contact info.\"\n\n\n\n\"So, anyway, we set off again and walked for another fifteen minutes. A lot of the stuff we were walking past was beginning to look awfully familiar. It was kind of unsettling. Like a-- what do you call it? Deja vu? Vega du? Whatever, you know what I mean.\n\n\n\n\"And then we got to the murder couch. Again. And I stuffed my hands beneath the cushions and //lo and behold// the business card was there. \n\n\n\n\"Somehow, this IKEA was keeping us trapped in its clutches. No matter how far we went outside of this maze, it somehow bent us back around to the center, like some sort of non-euclidean geometry fuckery or whatever the nerds call it. And you know where it led us again and again and again? The murder couch. Perhaps that //was// blood. Perhaps a murder //did// take place here. Perhaps //that's// how they make their meatballs. Still taste pretty good, though.\n\n\n\n\"At this point some of the employees were beginning to give us weird looks. I already knew it was a bad idea to talk to them but this really cemented it in. They //knew// we were stuck in its maw. They //knew// we were ripe for the picking. I'm sure they were salivating over our very flesh.\" Clef leaned back with a grin on his face.\n\n\n\nMoose sighed. \"Clef, do you realize that you two were going in a circle?\"\n\n\n\nClef paused for a moment, his smile disappearing, before he slammed his fist on the desk. \"//What the fuck// are you talking about, Moose? We weren't going around in circles. We went around several 90-degree corners. Do circles have corners now? What the fuck is wrong with you people?\"\n\n\n\nMoose opened their mouth for a word of protest, before closing it again. \n\n\n\n\"So, yeah, after that, I was like, 'Screw this,' and I decided to get a better vantage point of the store. And then I realized how far I would be able to see if we weren't surrounded by goddamn shelves. So naturally, there was only one course of action-- I put my mop down, rolled up the sleeves of my lab coat, and started climbing. Gears rolled his eyes at me at the time, but we both know it was a great idea. And I'm a good fucking climber, I'm like a monkey.\" Clef turned to Moose and Gears, his characteristic grin slowly turning to a frown.\n\n\n\n\"Hey, what are you laughing for?\"\n\n\n\n\"Nothing.\" Moose placed their hand over their mouth to hide their grin.\n\n\n\n\"Hmph. Anyways, with my herculean strength, I scaled the mighty shelves of the IKEA building. Now, granted, the store employees weren't too pleased with this. They were all 'Sir, please get down.' What a buncha nerds. It's like they didn't //want// us to escape, I swear. I flipped 'em off and kept climbing until I reached the top. And I tell ya, I could see for //miles//. Yeah, I said miles. It's a freakin' huge building, I'd be surprised if it was less than a kilometer. Is a kilometer bigger than a mile?\"\n\n\n\nClef made a show of counting on his fingers. \"Eh, whatever. So I was at the top of the bigass department store shelves. I checked every side of the building from that vantage point for anything resembling an exit. I think I covered every square foot of the wall of the store. At least from what I could see. But you wanna know what I found? \n\n\n\n\"Fucking nothing. That's right. //Nothing//. I didn't even see where we'd entered from. Was there even an entrance to this building at all? I'm half-convinced that--\"\n\n\n\n\"Clef, have you heard of 'object permanence'?\" Gears asked.\n\n\n\n\"Huh? What the fuck does that mean?\"\n\n\n\n\"It's where-- never mind. Continue making a fool of yourself.\"\n\n\n\n\"Har har. Point is, I couldn't see the entrance, and the employees were getting antsy. I realized that Gears and I were gonna have to tough it out. Speaking of Gears, the whole time he was looking at me like I'm some kind of fucking idiot. Same look you're giving me right now, Moose. He was down there talking to the staff, which might I add, I //specifically told him not to do//. He was all like 'I apologize for his behavior, we're just trying to find our way out.' Can you believe it? Conversing with the enemy! I was as shocked as you are, and after I had risked life and limb, bravely climbing up and down to bring him this info. \n\n\n\n\"So anyways, one of the store employees were like 'I'm afraid you're going to have to leave now,' and they told us to come with them. I know Gears would've done so, too, if I hadn't saved his ass. I pulled him away, and before we knew it we were running from the IKEA staff, pushing our mop bucket cart and other cleaning equipment stuff as fast as we could.\n\n\n\n\"Okay, now get this. Gears had //another// bright idea. I think you know how this is going to go at this point. Don't look at me like that, Charlie. You've dropped the ball //every single goddamn time// today. I think it's your lack of street smarts. Anyway, we were zooming along the floor of the IKEA with our cart full of soapy shit water when Gears tipped the damn thing over, and I bet my ass it was on purpose. Several gallons of shit-soaked soapy water went everywhere, covering the entire floor. \n\n\n\n\"Long story short, all the employees slipped and fell on their asses.\n\n\n\n\"Now, normally, I'd be laughing my ass off in this situation. I gotta hand it to you, Charlie, you were one step away from pure genius. But there's two reasons why I //wasn't// laughing my ass off: one, because I was running so fast I had no air to spare on laughter. And two, due to all of my muscle mass, I couldn't keep up with Gears-- as a result, as soon as that shit-soaked water hit the ground...\n\n\n\n\"I fuckin' slipped on it too.\"\n\n\n\nMoose let out a slight chuckle.\n\n\n\n\"Shut up. I fell //right// on my ass, hitting the tile floor and soaking my goddamn jeans in soapy shit water. It splashed everywhere, all over my face, too. Absolutely nasty, and I regrettably now know what soap tastes when combined with shit water. And more importantly, it was //entirely Gears' fault.//\"\n\n\n\n\"Explain to me how it was my fault that //you// slipped and fell?\"\n\n\n\n\"Why-- //you// were the idiot who spilled the water in the first place! Who does that?!\"\n\n\n\n\"I was hoping that you would be able to keep pace.\"\n\n\n\n\"Gears, you asshole, I-- C'mon man! Not cool!\"\n\n\n\n\"The plan worked, did it not?\"\n\n\n\n\"I mean, I guess. As I was getting up, I slipped a few more times thanks to your //fucking moronic plan//.\"\n\n\n\n\"Wouldn't have happened if you were wearing Foundation-issue company boots.\"\n\n\n\n\"We- we don't even have standard issue boots! What the fuck are you talkin' about, man?\"\n\n\n\nMoose cut them off. \"Alright, you two, I'm gonna stop you there. Clef, you were saying?\"\n\n\n\n\"Right. The employees were closing in. One of them was calling for security over their radio. So I armed myself with my mop, ready to kick some Swedish ass, and meanwhile Gears was just //standing// there like a dope. He wasn't helping me, he wasn't fighting, and he didn't even have the brains to run for his life. I knew I would have to carry the team myself.\"\n\n\n\n\"Oh, please-\"\n\n\n\n\"SHUT UP, GEARS, I AM TALKING. //Anyways//, I twirled my plunger, ready to go in for the attack against the vicious IKEA employees. I swung, but those motherfuckers were agile, I tell ya. I ended up missing and whacking a bunch of shit off of one of the shelves instead-- I think a few things broke, but whatever. The whole time, fucking //Gears// was just standing there with his head in his hands. Luckily, though, with my incredible strength I was able to fend off the employees with my combat skills. It was then, however, that I felt a shock in my right leg, like a hive of fucking bees stinging my every muscle, and I collapsed to the floor.\n\n\n\n\"Next thing I knew, Gears and I had been caught by these two //security guards,// and they were looking at us with these shit-eating grins. The whole time, Gears was just repeating the same apology over and over again like a broken alarm clock. I told him to shut the fuck up, and that's when I //really// let those assholes have it. You know what I told them?\n\n\n\n\"'You might think you've captured me, but mark my //fucking// words, you're going to //pay// for what you've done to me. You know why? Because I don't work alone. I'm part of the //SCP Foundation//. You probably don't know who we are. And that's intentional. We strike at night to clean up horrors that the rest of society is too afraid to touch. We hunt down monsters the likes of which you've never seen in your life. And we send a chill down the spine of every slimy motherfucker that attempts to get in the way of getting our mission //done//. Have I told you about the time we strongarmed the jackasses at C.A.O.S. Inc? No? What about the //FBI//? We're above it all. We're unstoppable. And once the Administrator catches wind of the fact that you little shits are going to lock me up, he's going to come in here with his crew and tear you sons of bitches a new one. At least, once he gets back from his week-long vacation.' \n\n\n\n\"Anyways, then security threw us out of the store. Bastards //knew// they were outmatched. Gerald yelled at me for making him wait so long to pick us up, but I told him the same story I'm telling you now on the way back.\"\n\n\n\n\"So yeah, despite all odds, as well as //Gears// here being a dumbass of the highest order, we managed to make it out of the IKEA alive.\"\n\n\n\n\"Alright, Clef, I think I've heard enough. After listening to your story carefully and deliberating accordingly, I have decided... \n\n\n\n\"... that this is entirely your fault. I'll be decreasing your paycheck accordingly.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box\n\n|author= [[*user ubergoober]] and [[*user radian628]] ]]\n\n[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]\n"},"author":{"kind":"string","value":""},"created_at":{"kind":"string","value":"2024-12-26T17:07:00"},"tags":{"kind":"list like","value":["_licensebox","co-authored","comedy","director-moose","doctor-clef","doctor-gears","tale"],"string":"[\n \"_licensebox\",\n \"co-authored\",\n \"comedy\",\n \"director-moose\",\n \"doctor-clef\",\n \"doctor-gears\",\n \"tale\"\n]"},"title":{"kind":"string","value":"Cleanup on Aisle Five - SCP Foundation"},"rating":{"kind":"number","value":30,"string":"30"},"references":{"kind":"list like","value":["site-19-dossier","scp-153","component:license-box","licensing-guide"],"string":"[\n \"site-19-dossier\",\n \"scp-153\",\n \"component:license-box\",\n \"licensing-guide\"\n]"},"hubs":{"kind":"list like","value":["top-rated-pages-by-month","tales-by-year","shortest-pages-by-month","scp-series-4-tales-edition","top-rated-pages-this-month","news"],"string":"[\n \"top-rated-pages-by-month\",\n \"tales-by-year\",\n \"shortest-pages-by-month\",\n \"scp-series-4-tales-edition\",\n \"top-rated-pages-this-month\",\n \"news\"\n]"},"images":{"kind":"list like","value":[],"string":"[]"},"page_id":{"kind":"string","value":"1458134017"},"url":{"kind":"string","value":"https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/cleanup-on-aisle-five"}}}],"truncated":false,"partial":false},"paginationData":{"pageIndex":53,"numItemsPerPage":100,"numTotalItems":5831,"offset":5300,"length":100}},"jwt":"eyJhbGciOiJFZERTQSJ9.eyJyZWFkIjp0cnVlLCJwZXJtaXNzaW9ucyI6eyJyZXBvLmNvbnRlbnQucmVhZCI6dHJ1ZX0sImlhdCI6MTc2NjI1MzEyNCwic3ViIjoiL2RhdGFzZXRzL0FNZWFkMTAvc2NwLXRhbGVzLWRhdGFzZXQiLCJleHAiOjE3NjYyNTY3MjQsImlzcyI6Imh0dHBzOi8vaHVnZ2luZ2ZhY2UuY28ifQ.LEskOj5zB9NmZGALj0p1PXHLZRbqveKZ4ourDKRKwtdzP5uw6dmPj1bCoW5pPOxkY_UUaw3TwKHKKK2ZSYWEAA","displayUrls":true,"splitSizeSummaries":[{"config":"default","split":"train","numRows":5831,"numBytesParquet":122032547}]},"discussionsStats":{"closed":0,"open":1,"total":1},"fullWidth":true,"hasGatedAccess":true,"hasFullAccess":true,"isEmbedded":false,"savedQueries":{"community":[],"user":[]}}">\n
\n\n\nClef and Gears can't find their way out of a seemingly endless IKEA building.
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Info
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\n\n\n\nCleanup on Aisle Five - A part of the Cleanliness Guaranteed* series.
\n
\nAuthor:ubergoober and
radian628
\n\n \n
\"Okay, you two,\" said Director Tilda Moose, \"Could either of you explain why it took you six hours to clean up a furniture store bathroom?\"
\n\"Apologies, Director,\" replied Charles Gears, who was sitting across from Moose's office desk, his expression stern.
\n\"Don't apologize, dude!\" exclaimed Alto Clef. \"It's not our fault we got lost.\"
\n\"Correct. It is your fault, specifically,\" replied Gears.
\n\"No way! Moose, just let me explain, okay.\"
\n\"That's Director Moose. But sure.\"
\n\"So we were in this IKEA, about an hour from here. Now you might be wondering, 'Hey Clef, you irresistible hunk, why the fuck would an IKEA call in the Safe Cleanup Professionals to clean up their own mess?' And I'll tell you why. The whole bathroom floor was covered in shit water. Absolutely nasty. It was even worse when Gears hurled on the floor after seeing it.\" Clef made a face.
\n\"I did not vomit on the floor. That was you.\"
\n\"Yeah right, it was. Anyhoo, we busted out the mops, and got to work. It took us all morning, and I swear to fucking god I never wanna see another public restroom in my life. Turns out the toilet was clogged, and we were both thinkin' it was cuz' some dude took a monster shit in there, but it somehow was even worse than that. There was a worm in there.\"
\n\"Clef, did you get tapeworms again?\" Moose asked.
\n\"I'm off the raw meat diet,\" Clef replied. \"And no, I wasn't the one who shat in there.\"
\n\"So what took you so long?\"
\n\"Well, somehow we dropped the plunger on the way there, so I had to go out and find it, which added a solid twenty minutes to—\"
\n\"You took six hours, Clef.\"
\n\"Oh yeah, the worm was six feet long. And it tried to eat me.\"
\n\"Clef, there was not a six-foot long man-eating worm in there,\" Moose interjected. \"Though that would certainly explain the delay.\"
\n\"Are you callin' me a liar?\"
\n\"Well… kinda. You have a habit of, uh, embellishing your stories.\"
\n\"Hmph. Well, to be clear, it was me who wrangled down the damn thing, and made it choke on its own acid. C'mon Gears, back me up here.\"
\n\"I cannot entirely confirm the plausibility of this story…\" Gears mumbled.
\n\"Oh, come on!\"
\n\"…but I won't deny it either.\"
\n\"Thank you.\" Clef grinned. \"And after I disposed of the creature, we ended up cleaning up all of the mess it made, and I think we did a great freakin' job. I'd say you could eat off that bathroom floor, especially compared to those crusty plastic plates in the Site 19 break room.
\n\"After that, we were basically done, so Gears and I packed up our stuff and were ready to head out. Problem is, neither of us remembered the way we came in. I said we had passed the furniture section, but Gears, being the smartass he is, was like 'You know the whole store is just furniture right?' And he did have a point— the whole goddamn store looks the same. Gears racked that brain of his to remember the way out, but when he ended up leading us down to the goddamn warehouse, we both knew that somewhere we fucked up.\"
\n\"You messed up. If you had actually followed my lead, we would've been out. Director, if you don't believe me, ask Clef to recount how we got—\"
\n\"Shhhhh, I'm not there yet. As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, we were in the warehouse. Completely lost. At that point, I decided to just head in a direction and see if it led to an exit.\"
\n\"Clef insisted we didn't ask the employees for directions.\"
\n\"Listen, it's all part of a conspiracy to trap us inside the store. 'Don't talk to the fucking employees,' I told him. 'They're in on it too. I bet they make a commission for how long they keep customers in the store, so they're gonna lead us around past all the expensive furniture and stuff so we spend tons of extra time in the store.'
\n\"So yeah, Gears warmed up to my idea of taking our own road or whatever.\"
\n\"For the record, I would like to note that Clef's idea did not work whatsoever,\" Gears pointed out, his arms crossed.
\n\"Oh, shut up. Well, actually you're not wrong. It really only led us deeper into the store, like one of those jungle gyms you see at… wherever the heck those things are built. It was cramped, impossible to navigate, a labyrinth of shelves and couches and beds and shit. We did stumble upon the restaurant, though. Lucky, too, cuz' it was about twelve-ish. Gears and I stood in line for like an hour waiting for meatballs, and everyone was staring at us cuz of the cleaning equipment we were carrying, but whatever. Honestly the meatballs were pretty good, though they weren't really worth the wait. Speaking of meatballs, after lunch, I had to go take a shit, and luckily my janitor-senses directed me to the nearest restroom.\"
\n\"Clef, is this really necessary to the story?\" asked Moose.
\n\"Oh, don't give me that look, Moose, I know it's not the most disgusting thing you've heard today.\"
\n\"Just get to the point. I don't have all day.\"
\n\"Right, right. So when I get back from my dump, Gears here has a brilliant idea. I say that with big air quotes because it was a terrible idea. You know it was, Charlie. Anyways, he said 'If you hold one hand to the edge of the wall and keep following it, eventually you'll find your way out of the store.' Something about maze algorithms and graph theory or some shit.\"
\n\"To be more specific, if a maze is simply connected, one can traverse the maze by—\"
\n\"Nobody cares, dude. It was a stupid-ass plan. I hate to admit it but I thought it was smart at the time. Charlie, I have to admit you usually get shit done, but you fucked up this time. But, anyway, we set off on a journey with our right hands to the walls. Well, it was less of a wall and more of a hundred-foot-tall metal shelf. We passed the murder couch, a whole bunch of flatscreen TVs, a—\"
\n\"Hold on. What, exactly, is a murder couch?\" Moose interrupted. \"What happened in—\"
\n\"See, it looked like a regular white couch, but— get this— it had red streaks running across it,\" Clef blurted out. \"It looked like someone had been stabbed to death on it. Who the fuck thought that was a good idea?\"
\n\"Was somebody stabbed to death on it?\" Moose replied, raising an eyebrow.
\nClef stared at the ceiling. \"Well, I can't say for sure that anyone wasn't stabbed to—\"
\n\"So, no.\"
\nClef cleared his throat. \"Anyways, we kept wandering on the same route, our hands to the wall. The shelf, whatever. Lots of interesting stuff in there. Did you know that they sell sharks in IKEA?\"
\n\"Sharks?\"
\n\"Like stuffed animals, you idiot, not actual sharks from the ocean.\"
\n\"Don't speak to your boss that way,\" Moose warned.
\n\"Whatevs,\" replied Clef. \"Anyways, I got one for Dee. Thought they might like it. Okay, fuck, I'm really getting sidetracked here. We kept exploring with our right hands to the wall for the next— I don't know— ten minutes? Fifteen? Something like that. All seemed well and good until something familiar caught my eye: The fucking murder couch.\"
\nMoose glanced at him skeptically.
\n\"Gears and I did a double take. Was this the same couch? Or was it one that just looked similar? All the other products are grouped together, so why the fuck would they have two murder couches a mile apart? Was this just a new employee being stupid? Was I just losing my mind? Or what? Gears was convinced that this was a different couch, but I was beginning to doubt his methods.\"
\nGears spoke up. \"In retrospect, the reason for our failure is clear, it—\"
\n\"Dude. I'm talkin' here. It's rude to interrupt people. Anyways, just to make sure I wasn't going crazy I did a little experiment: I took out a Foundation business card from my pocket and stuffed it between the couch cushions. Then, if we ever saw this couch again, I could see if it's the same one by checking for the business card. And if we didn't, then whichever shitbag moronic enough to buy it would get our contact info.\"
\n\"So, anyway, we set off again and walked for another fifteen minutes. A lot of the stuff we were walking past was beginning to look awfully familiar. It was kind of unsettling. Like a— what do you call it? Deja vu? Vega du? Whatever, you know what I mean.
\n\"And then we got to the murder couch. Again. And I stuffed my hands beneath the cushions and lo and behold the business card was there.
\n\"Somehow, this IKEA was keeping us trapped in its clutches. No matter how far we went outside of this maze, it somehow bent us back around to the center, like some sort of non-euclidean geometry fuckery or whatever the nerds call it. And you know where it led us again and again and again? The murder couch. Perhaps that was blood. Perhaps a murder did take place here. Perhaps that's how they make their meatballs. Still taste pretty good, though.
\n\"At this point some of the employees were beginning to give us weird looks. I already knew it was a bad idea to talk to them but this really cemented it in. They knew we were stuck in its maw. They knew we were ripe for the picking. I'm sure they were salivating over our very flesh.\" Clef leaned back with a grin on his face.
\nMoose sighed. \"Clef, do you realize that you two were going in a circle?\"
\nClef paused for a moment, his smile disappearing, before he slammed his fist on the desk. \"What the fuck are you talking about, Moose? We weren't going around in circles. We went around several 90-degree corners. Do circles have corners now? What the fuck is wrong with you people?\"
\nMoose opened their mouth for a word of protest, before closing it again.
\n\"So, yeah, after that, I was like, 'Screw this,' and I decided to get a better vantage point of the store. And then I realized how far I would be able to see if we weren't surrounded by goddamn shelves. So naturally, there was only one course of action— I put my mop down, rolled up the sleeves of my lab coat, and started climbing. Gears rolled his eyes at me at the time, but we both know it was a great idea. And I'm a good fucking climber, I'm like a monkey.\" Clef turned to Moose and Gears, his characteristic grin slowly turning to a frown.
\n\"Hey, what are you laughing for?\"
\n\"Nothing.\" Moose placed their hand over their mouth to hide their grin.
\n\"Hmph. Anyways, with my herculean strength, I scaled the mighty shelves of the IKEA building. Now, granted, the store employees weren't too pleased with this. They were all 'Sir, please get down.' What a buncha nerds. It's like they didn't want us to escape, I swear. I flipped 'em off and kept climbing until I reached the top. And I tell ya, I could see for miles. Yeah, I said miles. It's a freakin' huge building, I'd be surprised if it was less than a kilometer. Is a kilometer bigger than a mile?\"
\nClef made a show of counting on his fingers. \"Eh, whatever. So I was at the top of the bigass department store shelves. I checked every side of the building from that vantage point for anything resembling an exit. I think I covered every square foot of the wall of the store. At least from what I could see. But you wanna know what I found?
\n\"Fucking nothing. That's right. Nothing. I didn't even see where we'd entered from. Was there even an entrance to this building at all? I'm half-convinced that—\"
\n\"Clef, have you heard of 'object permanence'?\" Gears asked.
\n\"Huh? What the fuck does that mean?\"
\n\"It's where— never mind. Continue making a fool of yourself.\"
\n\"Har har. Point is, I couldn't see the entrance, and the employees were getting antsy. I realized that Gears and I were gonna have to tough it out. Speaking of Gears, the whole time he was looking at me like I'm some kind of fucking idiot. Same look you're giving me right now, Moose. He was down there talking to the staff, which might I add, I specifically told him not to do. He was all like 'I apologize for his behavior, we're just trying to find our way out.' Can you believe it? Conversing with the enemy! I was as shocked as you are, and after I had risked life and limb, bravely climbing up and down to bring him this info.
\n\"So anyways, one of the store employees were like 'I'm afraid you're going to have to leave now,' and they told us to come with them. I know Gears would've done so, too, if I hadn't saved his ass. I pulled him away, and before we knew it we were running from the IKEA staff, pushing our mop bucket cart and other cleaning equipment stuff as fast as we could.
\n\"Okay, now get this. Gears had another bright idea. I think you know how this is going to go at this point. Don't look at me like that, Charlie. You've dropped the ball every single goddamn time today. I think it's your lack of street smarts. Anyway, we were zooming along the floor of the IKEA with our cart full of soapy shit water when Gears tipped the damn thing over, and I bet my ass it was on purpose. Several gallons of shit-soaked soapy water went everywhere, covering the entire floor.
\n\"Long story short, all the employees slipped and fell on their asses.
\n\"Now, normally, I'd be laughing my ass off in this situation. I gotta hand it to you, Charlie, you were one step away from pure genius. But there's two reasons why I wasn't laughing my ass off: one, because I was running so fast I had no air to spare on laughter. And two, due to all of my muscle mass, I couldn't keep up with Gears— as a result, as soon as that shit-soaked water hit the ground…
\n\"I fuckin' slipped on it too.\"
\nMoose let out a slight chuckle.
\n\"Shut up. I fell right on my ass, hitting the tile floor and soaking my goddamn jeans in soapy shit water. It splashed everywhere, all over my face, too. Absolutely nasty, and I regrettably now know what soap tastes when combined with shit water. And more importantly, it was entirely Gears' fault.\"
\n\"Explain to me how it was my fault that you slipped and fell?\"
\n\"Why— you were the idiot who spilled the water in the first place! Who does that?!\"
\n\"I was hoping that you would be able to keep pace.\"
\n\"Gears, you asshole, I— C'mon man! Not cool!\"
\n\"The plan worked, did it not?\"
\n\"I mean, I guess. As I was getting up, I slipped a few more times thanks to your fucking moronic plan.\"
\n\"Wouldn't have happened if you were wearing Foundation-issue company boots.\"
\n\"We- we don't even have standard issue boots! What the fuck are you talkin' about, man?\"
\nMoose cut them off. \"Alright, you two, I'm gonna stop you there. Clef, you were saying?\"
\n\"Right. The employees were closing in. One of them was calling for security over their radio. So I armed myself with my mop, ready to kick some Swedish ass, and meanwhile Gears was just standing there like a dope. He wasn't helping me, he wasn't fighting, and he didn't even have the brains to run for his life. I knew I would have to carry the team myself.\"
\n\"Oh, please-\"
\n\"SHUT UP, GEARS, I AM TALKING. Anyways, I twirled my plunger, ready to go in for the attack against the vicious IKEA employees. I swung, but those motherfuckers were agile, I tell ya. I ended up missing and whacking a bunch of shit off of one of the shelves instead— I think a few things broke, but whatever. The whole time, fucking Gears was just standing there with his head in his hands. Luckily, though, with my incredible strength I was able to fend off the employees with my combat skills. It was then, however, that I felt a shock in my right leg, like a hive of fucking bees stinging my every muscle, and I collapsed to the floor.
\n\"Next thing I knew, Gears and I had been caught by these two security guards, and they were looking at us with these shit-eating grins. The whole time, Gears was just repeating the same apology over and over again like a broken alarm clock. I told him to shut the fuck up, and that's when I really let those assholes have it. You know what I told them?
\n\"'You might think you've captured me, but mark my fucking words, you're going to pay for what you've done to me. You know why? Because I don't work alone. I'm part of the SCP Foundation. You probably don't know who we are. And that's intentional. We strike at night to clean up horrors that the rest of society is too afraid to touch. We hunt down monsters the likes of which you've never seen in your life. And we send a chill down the spine of every slimy motherfucker that attempts to get in the way of getting our mission done. Have I told you about the time we strongarmed the jackasses at C.A.O.S. Inc? No? What about the FBI? We're above it all. We're unstoppable. And once the Administrator catches wind of the fact that you little shits are going to lock me up, he's going to come in here with his crew and tear you sons of bitches a new one. At least, once he gets back from his week-long vacation.'
\n\"Anyways, then security threw us out of the store. Bastards knew they were outmatched. Gerald yelled at me for making him wait so long to pick us up, but I told him the same story I'm telling you now on the way back.\"
\n\"So yeah, despite all odds, as well as Gears here being a dumbass of the highest order, we managed to make it out of the IKEA alive.\"
\n\"Alright, Clef, I think I've heard enough. After listening to your story carefully and deliberating accordingly, I have decided…
\n\"… that this is entirely your fault. I'll be decreasing your paycheck accordingly.\"
\n\n
\n\n\n\n
\n
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45-nothing-to-worry-about
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}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
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<p><strong>Nothing to Worry About</strong><br/>
The void takes care of itself.</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank">More by this author!</a></strong></p>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>Nothing to Worry About</span></h1>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #990011">2011</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>11 September</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong>Timeline 5243-C</strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
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<p>"It's cabin fever," LeClair sighed. "Only the cabin is the biggest building in the world, and it's got one thousand people in it."</p>
<p>"Also the cabin <em>is</em> the world, and it's got our whole damn species."</p>
<p>"I don't know why people keep repeating that." LeClair finished filling out the inventory form, handed Helena the clipboard, and closed the cupboard. "For all we know, someone pocketed us like a billiard ball. The entire Site being intact is a sign that this was done by something intelligent. Some<em>one,</em> most likely. And the Foundation has a lot more enemies than the human race does."</p>
<p>"Helps that every enemy of the human race is <em>de facto</em> the Foundation's enemy."</p>
<p>They walked back out of the barracks pharmacy. Agent Bosch nodded a friendly greeting as he walked by; the grunts liked to stay on the doctors' good side, as a rule. Never knew when you'd need patching up. They had their own medics and supplies, but for anything serious, they'd rely on LeClair's steady hands.</p>
<p>"Come on." Helena poked her daughter in the shoulder, twice. Billie was sitting on a bunk bed, scowling at nothing. She slouched to her feet and followed without a word.</p>
<p>LeClair was patting her labcoat and frowning. Helena handed her the clipboard, receiving a wan smile in response. "Thanks."</p>
<p>"Been a stressful couple days."</p>
<p>"That's the thing, actually." They headed for the cloverleaf, passing techs and agents and the odd labcoated abationist as they went. "Ngo says stress is down so far. Says Elstrom actually complimented her this morning."</p>
<p>"Bullshit," Billie muttered. Helena chose not to make an issue of it.</p>
<p>"But the injuries are a bad sign, anyway. Anxiety is a problem, but going squirrelly? That can become fatal, very fast."</p>
<p>"Very fast," Helena repeated. "How do people who live underground anyway start getting cabin fever after only two days?"</p>
<p>"Schrödinger's topside," LeClair mused. "You know it's there until you don't. You don't need it until you do."</p>
<p>"Don't think that's much to do with Schrödinger."</p>
<p>"I might be misremembering."</p>
<p>They passed a pair of junior researchers overtly snogging in a comms niche. LeClair flicked the closest man on the scalp, and said "You have a room. Use it. And use a condom, too."</p>
<p>"Room's too small," the man muttered back. His partner winced agreement.</p>
<p>"I just don't get it," Helena sighed again.</p>
<p>"I do," said Billie, but in the crowded corridor nobody heard her.</p>
<p>It meant an argument with his peers, but that was nothing new. They argued practically every time they spoke. It was a major constituent element of their friendship. In the end, they relented. McInnis had never objected in the first place; Udo's objection had almost certainly involved personal considerations she was unwilling to air in a pinch; Del just wanted to complain, and Lillian wanted Harry to feel embarrassed before she let him have the win.</p>
<p>Not that he thought it was any great boon, being able to pass on this information. Telling someone their entire world had a shelf life was not the most pleasant of tasks. Still, he felt she had a right to know. He would have felt profoundly wrong proceeding without telling her.</p>
<p>What he hadn't expected, though in retrospect it made a certain sense, was that Karen would open her mouth in a silent guffaw and stare at him with wide eyes and an open-mouthed smile for ten seconds straight before saying, in a mixture of awe and relief, "That's fucking <em>hilarious.</em>"</p>
<p>And the whole way up the elevator, she was humming a jaunty tune.</p>
<p>Most resources at Site-43 were already inventoried regularly, so the recount was just a formality. But McInnis wanted precise, up-to-date numbers for everything, and he got them within two days. It only took that long because in addition to counting the food, medical supplies, armaments and the like, he demanded a tally of every other numerable object within the facility. He had to know precisely, in every detail, what they were working with.</p>
<p>Harold Blank, some of his old sense of humour already returning for some reason, found it a fun idea as well as a vital one. "We have the opportunity, for the first time in human history, to know exactly how many objects exist in the entire world. It was never worth the prep costs before, you know?"</p>
<p>With it all laid out in front of him, McInnis could now judge the length of eternity. How long the only living things would live. The Site kept food and medicine stores for one year at max complement, a policy inaugurated after everyone had been trapped bottomside while indigenous protestors occupied Camp Ipperwash above in the mid-nineties. Those stores were at capacity. They would likely last until September 8, 2012. Of course, that wasn't good enough; they didn't want hunger riots interrupting the containment procedures for SCP-5243, and they also didn't want to drop dead if they failed and were stuck here permanently.</p>
<p>Well, probably. Probably they wouldn't want that.</p>
<p>So LeClair and Forsythe were synthesizing additional stocks, with help from an unusual source: William Wettle, whose degree in chemistry and experience in pharmacology could finally come in handy. They'd be replicating medicine for a while to ensure they'd be prepared for any eventuality, as even a single preventable death represented a major drop in the community's sustainability.</p>
<p>Unless of course they couldn't get their food growth projections higher, in which case a few casualties, perhaps early on, might help considerably with reaching the finish line. (The first to point this out had been, of course, Delfina Ibanez.) The Site was equipped with hydroponics, though they had been designed as a supplement to food imports from outside or to allow for pet projects in the field of agricultural comestibles rather than full-scale production. Muhammad Ghosh, a turfgrass management specialist among other things, was overseeing the transformation of their little greenhouses and grow-ops into something resembling a covert industrial farm. Initial estimates suggested their supply of soil, seeds and a variety of complex organics would enable what had formerly been pilot studies to carry them through to October, if necessary.</p>
<p>If it needed to last even longer, that would be an entirely different kind of problem.</p>
<p>Most of the day-to-day consumables weren't an issue. They'd never run out of paper, batteries, lightbulbs, soap, <em>et cetera,</em> or rather they'd run out of something more vital much sooner. They'd be rationing these things anyway, though not excessively; McInnis understood that enhancing the already oppressive nature of their collective imprisonment was a good way to take it from unpleasant to intolerable. He had Styles writing up proposals for incentive programs, spontaneous parties and such to keep spirits high and the odds of disobedience low, and both Ibanez and Van Rompay had been briefed on the importance of taking the lightest of touches to internal policing.</p>
<p>External policing was also a consideration, now more than ever. The Site had a lot more externals going on than they'd ever had to manage. The empty caverns which surrounded it had largely disappeared, but there was now a vast expanse of roof accessible through maintenance hatches designed for repair and replacement of the various protective membranes stretched over the first sublevel. Within the walls, egress points to the Mishepeshu tunnels now opened on solid void, but an enterprising spelunker could use them to crawl along the facility's outer skin. Obviously nobody in the Site's complement was expected to do this sort of thing, but they were much better off safe than sorry, so patrols were posted and locks double-checked regularly. They were still deciding what to do with the exterior of the transport systems; it was now possible to promenade along the top of the subway tunnels from the main Site to AAF-A, with only the slimmest likelihood of tripping, slipping, and falling to your death, presumably of starvation, in the dark.</p>
<p>Why the whole Site hadn't done that already, none could say.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni's early findings re: the power and potables situations seemed to hold. They were still trying to figure out where the wells were getting their water, and what the geothermal vents were actually venting, and some of the scientists thought the answers to these questions might conclusively explain just what precisely the great disappearing had really represented, but for now the main thing was that the lights would stay on, the water would keep running, and the heat would keep radiating.</p>
<p>Spaceship-43, a pale grey dot in the otherwise vacant cosmos, would endure.</p>
<p>Probably.</p>
<p>If nothing else went wrong.</p>
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<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc3"><span>12 September</span></h2>
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<p><em>Don't think about it.</em></p>
<p>"That's probably far enough." If only so the sound of the whirring hydraulics would distract his preoccupied mind.</p>
<p>Vanchev nodded, and flicked the switch. The pulley began drawing the cable back up. "One kilometre, and nothing."</p>
<p>"Yep."</p>
<p>They were standing on the bottom-most level of AAF-A, feeding a long length of steel braid through what had formerly been a cave access hatchway. They'd send drones down next, now that it was obviously safe; they were already buzzing far above the facility, determining whether the blackness had any extent or boundaries, but somehow sending them downward had seemed much more potentially dangerous. Material dropped below the Site would be essentially irretrievable. At least if it fell from above, it would impact on the roof of S&C.</p>
<p>"Been talking to Paul," Vanchev yawned. "Know what he thinks?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni did not know what Paul Nicolescu thought. He couldn't wrap his head around anything that happened between these two men anymore. Where he came from, one had bludgeoned the other to death. Where he was now, they were closer than he'd ever been with his own son.</p>
<p><em>Don't think about it.</em></p>
<p>There was something very human about the way everyone was reacting to the sudden appearance of nothing in every direction. Site-43 was now the full extent of their reality, and what were they all doing? Standing at the edge, looking away from everything that existed, at…</p>
<p>"We need more words for 'nothing'," said Nascimbeni, ignoring the question he'd already nearly forgotten.</p>
<p>"Weird, right?" Vanchev agreed.</p>
<p>They were worse than children on Christmas morning playing with the box and ignoring the toy. They were playing with the space beneath the tree where the box had been. In a sense, he supposed, it indicated both a whimsical imagination and the soul of science. He remembered when Flora—</p>
<p><em>Don't think about it.</em></p>
<p>"Sorry I'm late."</p>
<p>Technician Charles Carter sauntered over from the stairs, zipping up the front of his jumpsuit. He was five minutes early for his shift, as he had been the previous day, and the one before that. He apologized for it every time. Perhaps it was an inside joke Nascimbeni was meant to be inside of. He had no way of knowing.</p>
<p>Eileen Veiksaar was with him, rubbing red-rimmed eyes beneath black-rimmed glasses. "Want to talk to you," she said, and Nascimbeni assumed he was being addressed. She hadn't cared for Vanchev back in baseline (nobody had), and he suspected she'd already had plenty of time to talk with Carter.</p>
<p>"Sure. What do you want to talk about?"</p>
<p>"I want to run something <em>rhetorical</em> past you." The emphasis was only the tracest of outlines, but it was there.</p>
<p>He fixed a smile on his face, and nodded. "Okay. The office?" He gestured in the vague direction of the tiny maintenance kiosk on this sublevel.</p>
<p>She inclined her head agreeably, then stood on her tip-toes and kissed Carter on the cheek. He was already leaning to the side so she could reach. "See you later," she cooed.</p>
<p>He'd never heard her coo before.</p>
<p>Carter grinned. "Not if I—"</p>
<p>"You'll see me first automatically," she snapped. "I wear glasses. That's how light works."</p>
<p>Something in the way she said it gave Nascimbeni a notion. As they headed for the kiosk together, he chanced a glance back at Carter, who was clapping Vanchev on the back companionably, and then at Veiksaar, who was re-adjusting her glasses after the kiss.</p>
<p>Each had a gold band on their left ring finger.</p>
<p>He wasn't sure why this should give him a worse sinking feeling than watching the cable descend into the unplumbable abyss, but still, it did.</p>
<p>He didn't think about it.</p>
<p>Karen stared into the void.</p>
<p>The void approached, and rubbed itself against her pant leg. She reached down and touched the void, and it began to purr.</p>
<p>Karen Elstrom in his dorm room was like a touch of Rococo in a drug nest. Stiff and ornate in a den of dissolution. She didn't so much pull the room together as she put it to shame. Harry realized he'd hardly ever seen her outside of A&O for nearly a decade, where the fancy decor was only slightly upstaged by her impeccable sense of style.</p>
<p>The cat leapt onto the cushion beside her, a bridge between two poles of elegance. She reached out, and a tiny black snout delicactely sniffed at her metallic blue fingernails.</p>
<p>"Question," he said. She glanced down the couch at him, an invitation to continue, as her long fingers found the cat's flank with experimental precision. "What do you know about Foundation medical tech?"</p>
<p>She scratched behind Scout's ears. The cat jumped into her lap, startling her; she held both hands in the air uncertainly as the brown-black ball began kneading her thighs. "Uh. Not much. What's your question specifically?"</p>
<p>"Anti-aging."</p>
<p>She looked at him again, this time speculatively. "Feeling old?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. I'm sure you can see the grey hairs from over there."</p>
<p>She scooted a little closer on the couch, and leaned in his direction. Even so casual a gesture seemed choreographed from Karen, and her hands never missed a beat. The cat, never very skittish when he was being loved, rolled with the haunches. "A few," she agreed. "I still don't know what you're asking."</p>
<p>"I don't really expect an answer, I'm just putting out feelers. Do you know what might cause someone to age at a different rate? Someone in the Foundation?"</p>
<p>"Oh, well." She performed her equivalent of a shrug, inclining her head away from him. "Yeah. The Fountain of Youth."</p>
<p>"Which is a myth. As in, an actual myth. Not in the database."</p>
<p>"Maybe not in the database," she smiled, "but not quite a myth. I've got inside information."</p>
<p>"Why, Dr. Elstrom." He rubbed Scout's flank with his toes. "Are you immortal?"</p>
<p>"According to my last phys-and-psych, my body's young and my brain is old. I'm not talking about me." Her expression clouded over. "I'm talking about Falkirk."</p>
<p>He should have known better than to ask her a question like this. Now he'd need to play a one-sided game, keep her from realizing he hadn't lived the same nine years she had. He'd gone over his diaries and notes, but that only got him so far. "Falkirk."</p>
<p>"Yes. When he was Director." Her lips were thinning to points.</p>
<p>"I remember." He did remember Falkirk as Director. He supposed it made sense that the old bastard had filled that role in every timeline; the 2002 breach, which had triggered his investigation and advent at the Site, had happened in every reality they'd inhabited.</p>
<p>"You remember how pale and skinny he was? How he looked like death warmed over?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. Trust me, I remember that." <em>Trust me.</em> The words had the savour of charcoal.</p>
<p>"He told me a funny story about something that happened in the war…"</p>
<p>"I knew it was water," Lillian crowed. She stabbed a finger at Del. "I <em>told</em> you it was water. Pony up."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni was still processing the information. He didn't like it, but he wasn't sure how to articulate why. As usual, the others were taking up the slack with gusto.</p>
<p>"One," Del scowled, "you told me it was <em>just</em> water. Two, wouldn't you rather get paid in baseline? So it takes?"</p>
<p>"It's not about the money. It's about the memory of being right, and I get to hold on to that forever."</p>
<p>They were sitting in a deeper sanctum within the Director's Complex, a sitting room with appointments that had once been modern and luxurious, which were now moderne and comfortable. Just the seven of them. Some topics, though not many, were meant only for Survivor ears.</p>
<p>"You're saying they inject us with holy water?" Wettle frowned.</p>
<p>"Not holy, just magic." By his tone, Harry was still wrapping his head around how this made him feel. "Water from the Fountain of Youth. Falkirk saw it. He took a bath in it. It saved his life, once."</p>
<p>"Dr. Falkirk," McInnis murmured, "is not what I would call a reliable source."</p>
<p>He was also a sore spot for Nascimbeni, who still kept mum and watched the others argue. He'd just as soon never have heard the old man's name.</p>
<p>"Dr. Falkirk," said Lillian, "was a sack of flaming <em>shit.</em>"</p>
<p>"But it makes sense." Udo had been nodding since Harry began the story, which he visibly found annoying. It looked to Nascimbeni like she was trying too hard to agree with him. "He was practically ancient, but he had all that energy. I remember hearing LeClair say something about how he never needed a medical checkup."</p>
<p>"He was only there for, what, a week? Ten days?" Nascimbeni pointed out.</p>
<p>"Sure, but at his age that should have meant at least a cursory exam. Something was keeping him healthy."</p>
<p>Harry nodded back at her, perhaps hoping that would make her stop. It did. "I think that's it."</p>
<p>"It could just be standard life extension." Nascimbeni was unconvinced. He had a hard time believing the Foundation would inject actual anomalies into people, and the implications…</p>
<p>"Chief, look around." Udo spread her hands to take in the entire group. "Everyone's older now."</p>
<p>"Could be environmental factors," he shrugged. "Also, <em>you</em> look exactly the same."</p>
<p>Udo looked pained, but had no response.</p>
<p>"We can't prove <em>whether</em> this was happening." Harry caught each of their eyes in turn. "But can we imagine <em>why?</em> Why it might be happening? I think we understand that if this stuff is actually real, it's probably only used by the Council." Everyone knew the Overseers had lifespans far in excess of the human norm, though it wasn't clear <em>how</em> everyone knew it. There was apparently no rarefied hall of power impenetrable to escaping rumour. "Why would they authorize giving it to us?"</p>
<p>"I know," said Wettle.</p>
<p>"I don't know." Lillian put her foot up on a coffee table, dislodging a small stack of Sherlock Holmes paperbacks in the process.</p>
<p>"I said, I know. Don't do the thing."</p>
<p>"What thing?" Lillian loosened one of her shoes in preparation.</p>
<p>Wettle instinctively flinched. "The thing where nobody listens to me when I know what's going on!"</p>
<p>"Has that happened more than once?" Harry asked him. "Has that happened <em>once,</em> even?"</p>
<p>"Alright, broken clock," said Del. "Let's see if it's your time to be right. Explain."</p>
<p>"Replication studies. That's my thing. You guys do things once, and I do them again, and again, to make sure the first time meant something. To get the same results, you need the same starting conditions. You need to control and <em>maintain</em> those conditions."</p>
<p>"Fuck," said Lillian. "I—"</p>
<p>"Shut up," Wettle snapped. Her eyes went wide in shock. "Let me have this one. It's the Breach, guys. Of course it's the Breach. They want us as healthy and smart as we were when it happened the first time."</p>
<p>"You are characterizing yourself as healthy and intelligent." Harry obviously couldn't bring himself to use the word 'smart', not even in quotation, not even for an insult.</p>
<p>Wettle waved him away. "Shut <em>up.</em> You know this is it. They're giving us those shots so we're still around to do the thing, and keep the timeline together."</p>
<p>"Fat lot of good it did them this year," Del sighed.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni felt the other shoe drop. Not Lillian's, but the metaphorical one that had been dangling in his mind since the first grey hairs had been spotted. "Oh, no," he said. "Oh, no no no."</p>
<p>They all stared at him. "Chief?" McInnis prompted.</p>
<p>"Remember the time experts? Forth and Xyank? They said they didn't know what was going on. Why the loop was happening. Why the timelines worked how they do."</p>
<p>"Right," Udo agreed.</p>
<p>"Fuck <em>fuck,</em>" said Lillian.</p>
<p>"That's why they're keeping us young." Nascimbeni felt his eyes turning hollow as he spoke. "Not just so we do everything right. So we <em>keep</em> doing everything right. Indefinitely."</p>
<p>No-one filled the silence that followed, so he finished the thought himself.</p>
<p>"They think this might go on forever."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc4"><span>13 September</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Chuck Carter, the long-dead technician who somehow lingered on in every alternate timeline, dropped Eileen off with a kiss. Like every display of affection directed toward her once-upon-a-time partner, it made Lillian feel inarticulately icky. Like someone was kissing an old shirt of hers.</p>
<p>She filed that vile thought away under <em>things I can say to quickly end a conversation with Eileen.</em> For today, she had first to begin one.</p>
<p>"Now don't get excited," she began. "You're not my first interview."</p>
<p>Eileen sat down across from her, expression as neutral and detached as ever. "Okay," she said. "I am not excited. Continue."</p>
<p>They were sitting in a repurposed containment chamber. Lillian had repurposed it by placing a sign on the door which said "Interrogation in progress. Do not lock door. NOT A CONTAINMENT CHAMBER." She'd considered putting a cognitohazard on it, but had made the mistake of saying this out loud in earshot of McInnis. <em>He thinks that's bad, he should see my favourite shirt.</em></p>
<p>"I interviewed three people already. I did do them all at once, though, so you can think yourself as the second interview, or the fourth. Or the third, if you consider the two twins I interviewed to be one person, but that's not v—"</p>
<p>"Lillian." Eileen was rubbing her temples, much as Du had done earlier; perhaps more urgently. Lillian prided herself on being able to do more damage with her mouth than her hands.</p>
<p>"Sure, sure. I know you. Machines are soothing, people are a headache. The more honest you are with me, the sooner you can get back to your quarters and grab some Tylenol with coding."</p>
<p>The pun left Eileen scowling, but the implications opened her eyes a pinch. "What do you think I'm being dishonest about?"</p>
<p>"Nothing, yet. That starts when I ask you my question."</p>
<p>The tech chief exhaled for longer than Lillian would have been able to. She could hold a lot of air in her little barrel of a body. "Only one question? If I only have to give you one answer, I'm pretty sure I can avoid telling a lie."</p>
<p>"Fab." Lillian clapped, and Eileen shrunk away from the sound. "Here we go, then. What's your biggest regret?"</p>
<p>The other woman blinked.</p>
<p>"Come on. I thought you wanted—"</p>
<p>"My biggest regret? That's what you're asking? What does that have to do with anything?"</p>
<p>"I was <em>just</em> promised a single answer. Now you're asking three questions, and one of them's not even phrased—"</p>
<p>"Fine! Fine." Eileen pulled the hood of her cotton scrubs up over her ears, as though seeking extra protection from the assault that was Lillian's speech. "My biggest regret. Sure. Alright."</p>
<div class="generic">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc5"><span><span style="color: #5d5d5d">1995</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc6"><span>22 August</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>The pungent scent of Right Guard deodorant preceded his arrival, and she steeled herself. Though it was difficult to tell, with the office floors carpeted as they were, she felt certain he lingered out of sight behind her, looking over her back, before sliding into view and draping his arms lazily over the walls of her cubicle. "Eileen."</p>
<p>"Chief." She forced a smile.</p>
<p>Rudolph Marroquin flicked a hand at her monitor. "Everything working out alright?"</p>
<p>Her heart fell. He couldn't be serious. "Of course. Getting it done."</p>
<p>"All of it?" Marroquin pressed, smiling the least sincere smile she'd seen outside of a zoo.</p>
<p>"All of it." Her voice sounded weak in her own ears. By the way his nostrils flared, she knew it sounded the same to him. He was a tiger sniffing blood on the wind.</p>
<p>"Lyle?" she called out. Her boyfriend was working in the next row of cubes, a few seats down. The office was almost empty otherwise, only one other tech slaving away at their machine. She wasn't sure what she was going to say when he responded, but it would signal the end of her conversation with Marroquin, and that was all that mattered.</p>
<p>Except Lyle didn't respond. He didn't so much as acknowledge her. If he were a cat, his ears wouldn't even have twitched.</p>
<p><em>Where'd these animal metaphors come from, all of a sudden?</em></p>
<p>"He's busy. Eileen, it's really important that you get these things done today. Important for both of us. You understand."</p>
<p>She did understand. She knew exactly what he was talking about. Her fingers itched to call up the program she'd been working on, even with him looming over her machine, and let the cards fall where they would.</p>
<p>But no. If she was going to do that, she was going to do it right. She was a programmer. Half-finished code was no better, and sometimes worse, than no code at all. And some part of her was already rebelling at the idea of using something so pure for such a dirty job. Before Marroquin, it had all seemed so elegant…</p>
<p>So, she nodded. And called out again, more forcefully: "Lyle."</p>
<p>He waved a hand dismissively.</p>
<p>"Really gets into his work, doesn't he?" Marroquin chuckled. "Maybe let some of that dedication rub off on you. Of course, if you're not up to the tasks we've agreed on, I could always see if he's game to join our little cabal."</p>
<p>She shook her head. <em>Anything but that.</em> "It's fine. It'll be done. Like I told you."</p>
<p>"Great." The chief tech stood up, stretched, and then patted her on the back. Even through the cotton, his touch was electric in all the wrong ways. "End of day, please. As in, day doesn't end until it's done. You understand."</p>
<p>And he walked away, ignoring Lyle to zero in on Cassandra Avelina on the opposite end of the block. He paused before stepping in front of her, and… yes, he was scanning her screen, seeing what she was up to. Eileen saw Avelina's shoulders tense up. She could tell he was there, and was preparing herself for the assault.</p>
<p>Lyle was looking at her now. "What did you want? You wanted something, right?"</p>
<p>She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. It's not your problem."</p>
<p>He instantly turned back to his screen. "My favourite kind."</p>
<p>She watched Avelina recoil as Marroquin dangled his paper bag hands into her enclosure…</p>
<p><em>Oh.</em></p>
<p><em><span style="text-decoration: underline;">That's</span> where they came from.</em></p>
</div>
<p>Lillian looked ill. "Why is that your greatest regret?"</p>
<p>"It continues," Eileen sighed.</p>
<p>"Not with me, it doesn't. I didn't call you in as a guilt trip, so you don't have to guilt trip me <em>back.</em>"</p>
<p>"That's not—"</p>
<p>"I'm sorry, okay? I wasn't paying attention. I <em>don't</em> pay attention. But I think it's safe to say you missed a few details about me, too. Yeah?"</p>
<p>Eileen bit her tongue.</p>
<p>"You know what I think? I think maybe you tried to come up with the real answer, and you bounced off it. Landed somewhere near, but not quite on the mark."</p>
<p>"Don't."</p>
<p>"It started in '95, but—"</p>
<p>"I said <em>don't.</em>"</p>
<p>"You sure you don't want to jump forward a few years? Say, to the turn of the mill—"</p>
<p>She gave Lilian the finger on her way to the door.</p>
<p>Lillian glanced down at her work tablet. She considered it for a moment.</p>
<p>"Well," she finally said, to herself. "Probably wasn't her."</p>
<p>That was definitely the takeaway.</p>
<p>Udo hadn't seen Laiken since that first session, days ago. She'd come out of the trance in a bad mood, had barely been able to preserve decorum with the woman while excusing herself back to her dorm, and that was mostly where she'd been this entire time. She'd gone to the Survivors meeting, but that was it. She'd called in to ApplOcc, said she was recovering from the heavy duty thaumaturgy, and nobody questioned it. Probably she wasn't known for extravagant acts of micamancy in this timeline. She hadn't been in the last, or the one after that either. She had to keep resetting people's expectations; it might have been exhausting, if her memories hadn't been wiped every time.</p>
<p>Eventually she got tired of cooking pot noodles in her room, and reporting the consumption to Styles' office. Odds were good he was preparing to send one of LeClair's nurses her way, armed with a packet of information about the value of proper nutrition in survival situations. If that was the case, it would go better if she had something to say for herself.</p>
<p>This was the excuse she used to get out of her funk, through the halls, and into the main cafeteria.</p>
<p>Hot meals had once been prepared here around the clock, but now the times were fixed. 'Leftovers' had become a synonym for 'waste'; nothing would be prepared if it wasn't going to be eaten right away. She'd seen the projections, and even with the hydroponics going full tilt, it was going to be tight if they didn't tighten their belts.</p>
<p>But it was half past six in the evening, and the cafeteria was still serving. She let old Wyers ladle some vegetables and chicken into a bowl for her, and her body reacted to the smell like she was huffing ammonia inhalants. It was revitalizing. This was what five pot noodles in a row did to a woman.</p>
<p>She scanned the room. There were a few clusters of researchers and techs, but nobody she knew. Ordinarily she'd take her meals upstairs, in ApplOcc's little café, but…</p>
<p><em>Actually, you do know that one.</em></p>
<p>Yes, she did, but…</p>
<p>But nothing. It didn't matter anymore. It should never have mattered in the first place. It was absurd for her still to be hung up on this, years later, even if the man <em>had</em> died. He'd been a bastard. He wasn't worth it.</p>
<p>And Phil looked lonely, though it could have been only that she was used to seeing him with constant company.</p>
<p>She took her tray, and went over to sit across from him. "Hey."</p>
<p>He looked up in surprise. He'd been daydreaming, or nightdreaming, or whatever the hell. Nobody really knew what time it was unless they were on shift, now. "Oh. Hey!"</p>
<p>"If you don't mind?" She settled the tray on her side of the table, and starting picking at the chicken.</p>
<p>"Mind? Oh. No, I don't mind." The plate on his own tray was empty, but he picked up his fork and tapped at it pointlessly anyway. It was guilelessly charming.</p>
<p>"How've you been holding up?" It was easy to talk to him. Too easy. She considered bolting for the door, but something in his eyes kept her seated.</p>
<p>He looked, she thought, like he was considering bolting for the door.</p>
<p>"Oh. You know." He shrugged. "I keep thinking."</p>
<p>"Your parents?" The words wrung themselves out of her. She popped a piece of chicken into her mouth to stop it happening again. A sudden rush of nausea made her wonder what would happen when she tried to swallow.</p>
<p>"Dead. No, I'm just…" He looked up at the ceiling. "My brother. You know?"</p>
<p>She stopped chewing, and stared at him.</p>
<p>"He was out there, somewhere. Do you think he still is?"</p>
<p>No matter what else happened, Dougall Deering always died in the Breach. He'd been dead in the two prior timelines. He'd died over and over in baseline, ten times now. Aside from her own inadequacy, she'd thought that was the only true throughline across every situation. But of course there was one other still.</p>
<p>Philip Deering never finding out.</p>
<p>She swallowed. "Yeah. I'm sure he's fine."</p>
<p>He smiled at her, and the chicken settled in her stomach without issue. She took another bite.</p>
<div class="flashwet">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc7"><span><span style="color: #6666ff">1998</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc8"><span>20 November</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-333">Atlantic City</a>: New Jersey, United States of America</strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>She lay very still, so still he could almost imagine she wasn't breathing. But she was, and without the help of the machines. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but the mass of scars all over her hands and arms gave him pause. If he touched her, would she wake up? If she woke up… what? Would she be glad to see him? Would she remember what had happened? Why she was here?</p>
<p>Would she remember the crash or the argument first? If she remembered the argument first, then maybe it would be okay.</p>
<p>What if she didn't remember the argument at all?</p>
<p>They said she should be awake soon. They wouldn't have to keep her under much longer.</p>
<p>He thought about saying something, but he didn't know what he would say. Offer an excuse, maybe. An apology, probably.</p>
<p>She'd had enough apologies from him. She'd said so. But there would always be another, and another, and the reasons for that would never change.</p>
<p>So he stood up, and he walked out.</p>
</div>
<p>"There was that one time," said Wettle, very slowly, as though taking great care to get it right, "when I left Wrigley Field early to beat the crowds, and they hit a grand slam out of the park, and I was in the front seat of my car when the ball broke my windshield." He blinked. "I'd rather have found out later. I've never seen a grand slam, and I was looking at my phone."</p>
<p>Karen made a face of such pure and unconcealed disgust that he had to laugh. "Don't like it?"</p>
<p>"No," she gulped, "it's great. Really great. How is it for cleaning drains?"</p>
<p>"Must be the vodka." Harry chugged the Mott's Clamato Caesar, relishing the taste. It tasted like tomatoes and hot sauce. The vodka was barely detectable, which in his opinion was very nearly the best way to experience alcohol.</p>
<p>"Vodka I know." She set the drink down on the coffee table, having only taken one sip, and picked up her glass of gin again. Her fingers fanned across the glass like she was auditioning as a hand model for Tanqueray. "That tasted like a pizza gone bad."</p>
<p>He curled up on his end of the couch. "Can't believe I wasted it in a philistine like you. I've got four more bottles left to last me the whole damn year."</p>
<p>"Well, you can finish mine."</p>
<p>The cat was in her lap again, and she was stroking him absent-mindedly with her free hand. Harry was surprised how quickly Scout had taken to her, though really he shouldn't have been; the cat didn't hate anyone, rather like his namesake. It was more surprising that Karen had chosen to reciprocate the affection. So far as he knew, she hadn't done that for any living creature since just after the turn of the millennium.</p>
<p>The faint buzz was not enough to make him forget his tasks for the day, however much he might have liked to. "You talked to LeClair lately?"</p>
<p>She sipped her gin, gingerly. Daintily even, though that wasn't as funny. "This afternoon. She says the cabin fever's getting worse."</p>
<p>"Lightweights." In a burst of sudden onset karma, he hiccoughed loudly.</p>
<p>She slipped off her Pradas and turned on the couch to face him, their feet just inches apart. She cradled the drink with her hands and knees. It didn't look precisely casual. More like the Sears catalogue approximation of casual. "You don't get stir crazy?"</p>
<p>He shook his head. "Pretty sure I could go my whole life without going outside, or talking to more than one person per day."</p>
<p>She thought about that for a moment. "You know what? I feel the same way."</p>
<p>He wasn't sure he believed that.</p>
<p>She cocked her head to one side. It looked like a photoshoot pose from where he was sitting. He wondered if she could calculate perspective that precisely. She pursed her lips, then asked: "What made you ask about LeClair?"</p>
<p>He'd prepared a response to this question, but in the moment, he simply wasn't feeling it. Instead he said "I dunno. She seem forgetful to you lately? Seems that way to me." It wasn't true, but it was closer to the truth than the cagier answer he should have given.</p>
<p>She raised a brow. "Not particularly. Well, a little. She's been on again, off again for years, you know. But it must be a personality thing, because she's forever getting tested."</p>
<p>"For what?"</p>
<p>"Dementia. Alzheimer's, I guess."</p>
<p>Harry nodded, slowly. "Forsythe make her do it?"</p>
<p>"No, Van Rompay."</p>
<p>"Oh. Huh." He considered. "What's going on with those two, anyhow?</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes. "I honestly do not know. They've been together for years, and it makes no sense. They have nothing in common."</p>
<p>"Mm."</p>
<p>"Their personalities are total opposites."</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"And she could do so much better than him."</p>
<p>He became aware that she was staring at him, with a faint smile threatening to blossom into a strong one on her lips.</p>
<p>He made a thoughtful face. "Maybe he's got good qualities we don't know about."</p>
<p>"He's pretty upfront about his personality. I've always found it pretty obnoxious."</p>
<p>"She's a bit aloof."</p>
<p>"I don't think I've ever seen a genuine emotional reaction from him."</p>
<p>"Well, I mean, her either."</p>
<p>"She's got a hard job to do."</p>
<p>"So does he."</p>
<p>She ran her feet over his. "Not so hard."</p>
<p>"You'd be surprised."</p>
<p>She laughed.</p>
<p>He hadn't heard her laugh in nine years.</p>
<p>"We live in an age of miracles," he said.</p>
<p>She curled her toes against the top of his foot. "Don't get ideas. It's just the wine laughing."</p>
<p>"White wine? Hardly. White wine gives you sour thoughts."</p>
<p>She raised both eyebrows this time.</p>
<p>"I've never told you about drinks that think? So, there was this guy…"</p>
<p>Later that night, when Karen had returned to her quarters, Harry reached for his tablet and tapped out a message for Lillian.</p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<div class="text-container">
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
Not just LeClair. Van Rompay too.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>The responses came in quick succession.</p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<div class="text-container">
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>L_Lillihammer</strong><br/>
Great.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>L_Lillihammer</strong><br/>
I get to antagonize a power couple.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>L_Lillihammer</strong><br/>
Said power being to shoot me with a gun and refuse to treat my gunshot wounds.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>L_Lillihammer</strong><br/>
What could go right?</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc9"><span>14 September</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>"I'm afraid not." McInnis sat down, carefully smoothing out his sweatervest and tugging out the cuffs of his work shirt. "They've both agreed to be seen eventually, and we're going to need to respect that, or it will seem suspicious. There would be no reason to bump them up in your schedule unless they were active suspects, and if they know you know something…"</p>
<p>Lillian said something inarticulate.</p>
<p>"They're being cooperative, by their standards. We need to respect that, not least because if we start behaving arbitrarily, that might lead certain parties to examine our actions more closely — and we most certainly have something to hide. Several of your other targets have completely refused to be interviewed, correct?"</p>
<p>"Yeah." Lillian glanced down at her tablet, not that she needed to. The prop drama of human conversation. "Laiken says AcroAbate can't spare her, which could be true. Probably doesn't have any regrets anyway. Holt's guarding the drunk tank in F-A, and she's the only guard taller than the guy who's in it right now. Du and Bremmel are too busy doing a teardown on the DUDU Core. Daniil won't say yes unless it's a date. <em>Et cetera.</em>"</p>
<p>McInnis' eyes widened. "He said that?"</p>
<p>"No, he just said 'no'. But I know what he meant."</p>
<p>"I wouldn't have thought a single word left much room for interpretation, but I trust your judgement. You see the point, though? If I order Dr. LeClair and Chief Van Rompay to attend you, they will sense they've been singled out."</p>
<p>She shrugged. "So order everyone. I don't mind being your favourite."</p>
<p>He shook his head. "Unethical. Everything is very delicate right now, as you well know. There can't be the faintest hint that any of us are abusing our authority. Indeed, the favouritism I show to you and the rest of our group has not gone unnoticed already."</p>
<p>"You want me to figure out how to mind control the lot of them? I'm sure I could swing something."</p>
<p>He grimaced. "I know you're joking, but I don't find it humorous. First, the possibility remains that Researcher Wirth might still be able to employ that ability—"</p>
<p>"I've left my mind open, the trap set, and he hasn't walked into it yet. I think he's spooked."</p>
<p>"—and second, the fact that we are engaging in subterfuge is offset only by our noble intentions, and the effort we make to remain above-board wherever possible. Even if no-one is looking, we need to set a good example."</p>
<p>She sat forward very suddenly, like a leopard pouncing on prey. He didn't flinch. "I'm really glad you feel that way, Allan, because you have a great opportunity right now."</p>
<p>He glanced around the converted chamber as though seeing it for the first time. "Ah. I see. Well, then."</p>
<div class="flashboss">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc10"><span><span style="color: #990099">1997</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc11"><span>26 December</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>He had an orderly mind.</p>
<p>He never lied to himself, and he never lied to other people either if he could help it. Habitually telling the truth meant having fewer versions of reality to keep track of. This freed him up to consider the perspectives of others, since he took only one perspective himself and the human brain had evolved with a staggering capacity for doublethink. This arrangement gave him a knack for empathy and an ability to predict people's behaviour far outside the norm, and these things had served him well in his career.</p>
<p>Sometimes, though, he could see a problem on the horizon which could only be delayed.</p>
<p>And sometimes those problems suddenly accelerated out of the horizon, struck him at speed, then sat there in a wreck waiting for the police and the insurance people to descend.</p>
<p>She hadn't scheduled an appointment, but he recognized that it was Karen Elstrom knocking nevertheless. It seemed absurd to suggest that someone's bones rattling against wood could sound more or less 'stiff' than anyone else's, and yet.</p>
<p>"Come in," he called out.</p>
<p>Karen entered his office. She was dressed, as usual, in a bright shirt and dark slacks. She was wearing her hair down. She was smiling nervously. He had expected something funereal, after the events of Christmas Eve, but he wasn't sorry to see her taking a different tack.</p>
<p>"Sit down," he gestured.</p>
<p>She remained standing. "Sir, I guess you know what I wanted to talk to you about."</p>
<p>"This entire facility was under an anomalous effect," he said smoothly. "Things were said and done which were not intended, and do not reflect on the character of the people involved." Specifically, something about Site-43 had interacted very badly with the Christmas decorations and bestowed a college student's libido on them all, minus one. Hiring and Regulation had spent most of the holiday helping people fill out forms, and Ngo's schedule was packed into the new year.</p>
<p>"That's just the thing." There was something very gentle in Elstrom's eyes. "I think a lot of it was a pretty clear reflection, actually."</p>
<p>She wasn't wrong. Quite a few awkward dances had concluded for the better, and there was no indication that anyone had done anything against their will or better judgement. It had rather been a general lowering of inhibitions. That didn't make this conversation any easier, though. It made it considerably more complicated.</p>
<p>Karen had spent the entire Christmas party attached to his arm, or attempting to be.</p>
<p>It was, by the standards of the day, not anything at all. But he knew she put a lot of stock in appearances, and the uncharacteristic emotional expression would be eating at her. That was why he'd thought she would show up to work in a business suit, with her hair done up and her mouth zipped shut. The fact that she hadn't…</p>
<p><em>Oh dear.</em></p>
<p>He tried to match the gentleness with his own. "Karen, I am flattered. Truly. But there is something I have to tell you about myself, something inherent to who I am, which makes what you might be asking for impossible."</p>
<p>There was not a single thing that either of them could do about it. He wouldn't have changed the situation if he could have. It was simply a fact of his existence, of the core of who he was. But that didn't make it any easier to see the little light that danced behind her nervous squint go out.</p>
<div class="flashboss">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc12"><span><span style="color: #990099">1995</span></span></h1>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>He reached up to place one hand on each of Nimkii's shoulders, feeling a rush of frustration that it should have come to this between them. "I hope this doesn't change anything," he said, with an undercurrent of fear that it definitely would.</p>
<p>The big man smiled sadly down at him. "It changes everything," he admitted, "except the things that actually matter. Thank you for your honesty."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc13"><span><span style="color: #990099">1991</span></span></h1>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Ilse laughed. "Of course. How could I have been so stupid?"</p>
<p>"That is one thing," he told her, "which you could never, ever be."</p>
<p>"First Scout, and now you. I think I must be defective, Allan."</p>
<p>This time it was him pressing flesh to the glass, fingers spread, reaching out symbolically to where no touch could reach. "We can neither control what we want, Ilse, nor what others can give."</p>
<p>She kept her hands to herself, the cord from the pencil snaking out from her left pocket. "I know all there is to know about not being in control, Allan."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc14"><span><span style="color: #990099">1980</span></span></h1>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>She looked like a scene from a romantic comedy, courtesy the showers of May, standing wet and shivering on his front porch. Vulnerable. Shaking like a rabbit, but not from fear.</p>
<p>He stepped back, and she stepped in. "Anjali," he said. He didn't know enough about what was happening to say anything more.</p>
<p>And then she was clutching him tight, clawing at his shirt, and weeping. "That son of a <em>bitch,</em>" she cried.</p>
<p>He placed one hand on her back, and shut the door against the storm with the other. "Obi?"</p>
<p>Her husband's name struck like lightning, and she vibrated with rage, indignation and hurt. "How could he? I don't understand. I was so fucking <em>worried.</em> That son of a <em>bitch.</em>"</p>
<p>He held her closely, because that was what was expected. Perhaps too closely, or perhaps it would have happened anyway, but for whatever reason she looked up — not so very far up — and into his eyes, and then she moved even closer and pressed her lips to his.</p>
<p>The disentanglement which followed would remain a fatal flaw in his belief, once immaculate, that conversation could sort out any difficulty.</p>
</div>
<p>Karen had lost maybe an inch in height, and her expression was slack. Even her hair seemed limp where it had been bouyant just seconds prior. "I see. The ASC?"</p>
<p>He shook his head.</p>
<p>"Someone else?"</p>
<p>He continued to shake his head.</p>
<p>She stared at him.</p>
<p>"Oh my god," she said. He felt certain she wanted to say she was sorry, but by the way she suddenly turned on her heel, he knew that other considerations had intruded. The only thing worse than being caught pursuing someone romantically, for Karen Elstrom, was being caught with tears in her eyes.</p>
<p>He wanted to say he was sorry, instead, but it would send the wrong message. He was only sorry for her.</p>
<p>"I feel sorry for you," she said, and then stiffened as though knowing she had said something wrong. Something terrible. Something she didn't mean.</p>
<p>He thanked her for it anyway, as she left, but she probably didn't even hear.</p>
</div>
<p>"I find my regrets are not wholly my own." He glanced to the side. He never looked away from someone when they were talking to him. "Perhaps we might talk about something else, to keep up appearances."</p>
<p>Lillian shrugged. "Sure, this is just for show anyway. Got any cigarettes?"</p>
<p>Bremmel's voice drifted up through the conduit. He'd wanted to work on the upper circuits, mostly so he wouldn't need to take the ladder down to the Core's lower levels, but Du had insisted on the reverse arrangement. The old man was too annoyed to ask why, which was good, because he probably wouldn't have reacted well to Du's reasoning: Bremmel spat when he talked, and Du didn't want that raining down on the narrow tube of circuits and wires, or onto his own face. So when Bremmel spoke, it rattled up to where Du lay prone with his screwdriver out: "That bitch ask you to talk to her yet?"</p>
<p>Du considered. Bremmel wasn't misogynistic, but rather misanthropic; anyone he was forced to interact with stood a good chance of becoming 'that bitch' or 'that asshole' when described after the fact. It was difficult to know who he was talking about, which was probably the point.</p>
<p>Bremmel liked to talk, but he hated to listen. Making Du ask what he asked next: "Which bitch?" was the engineer's way of letting the other man say a few words on his terms.</p>
<p>"The Hammer." The sound of a socket wrench twisting ricocheted up around Du's ears. "She call you in for a cry-fest yet?"</p>
<p>"Yeah." Du pulled up the schematics on his tablet, and considered the overhanging circuits with care. Was that right? It didn't look right. "She did. I told her I was busy."</p>
<p>Bremmel snorted. "I told her to fuck off, and <em>also</em> that I was busy."</p>
<p>"What do you think she's trying to get at?" He wasn't sure why he felt suspicious of Lillihammer, other than the fact that she'd clapped him in the head to exorcise a ghost from his skull. Perhaps that was reason enough, actually. He <em>still</em> had bruising. He was starting to think he always would.</p>
<p>"From what I hear," and the old man grunted as he finished torquing something up, "they're all talking about their widdle feelings. Everything that's made them <em>sad.</em> Some new-age bullshit Ngo probably made up, or else Styles. Reeks of HR. Let's all get in touch with our inner children, because of the oh-so-tragic situation that's befallen us. Woe, woe is me."</p>
<p>Du turned over onto his stomach and glanced down the conduit's length. Bremmel was staring up at him, bushy beard glowing green in an LED backsplash. "Sounds pointless."</p>
<p>"It <em>is</em> pointless. I hear Mataxas was in there moaning about how his brats need sunlight and fresh water. I told him he should stick them in hydroponics."</p>
<p>Du laughed. "Ridiculous. He should count himself lucky they were inside when it all disappeared."</p>
<p>Bremmel coughed.</p>
<p>"Ridiculous," Du repeated. "That man <em>dotes</em> on those children."</p>
<p>"Hardly children," Bremmel growled. "They're college aged. They should be <em>in</em> college. They say they're trainees. I wouldn't stand for it, I was him."</p>
<p>"He's a soft touch. Doesn't believe in firm discipline. Showers them with praise. How's that going to harden them up for life at the Foundation?"</p>
<p>"Exactly. <em>Exactly.</em>" Bremmel waved his wrench at Du. "They eat dinner together every night, he says. They talk about their days. Can you imagine anything more dull? My dad, he never wasted time on any of that nonsense. Never asked me what I was doing. He had his projects, and I had mine, and that was how we both liked it."</p>
<p>"Yeah," Du agreed without enthusiasm. He decided to change the subject, but that was always difficult when talking to Bremmel, who only suffered turning his monologues into dialogues under protest. "So, are the tolerances down there—"</p>
<p>"I never sat around moping because he never told me he was <em>proud.</em> Of course he was proud. Why wouldn't he be proud? And Joanna—"</p>
<p>He coughed again, and Du recoiled. "You really ought to get that checked out."</p>
<p>Bremmel cleared his throat. "It's nothing."</p>
<p>"You were saying about J—"</p>
<p>"The <em>point</em> is," the old man interrupted, "that Lillihammer's wasting time. She should be down here checking torque and tolerances with us, not playing grab-ass with a clipboard. It's disgraceful."</p>
<p>Du nodded, and rolled back around. Bremmel was right.</p>
<p>What did regret have to do with anything?</p>
<div class="jandm">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc15"><span><span style="color: #cc9900">2011</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc16"><span>12 August</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>McInnis kept his expression carefully neutral as he scanned the letter, and Nascimbeni knew what the answer would be before it came. "Hmm."</p>
<p>"Yeah," he agreed.</p>
<p>"Hmm." McInnis placed one hand on the page, and gently slid it closer to Nascimbeni's side of the desk. "You know I can't accept this."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni shook his head. "I <em>don't</em> know that."</p>
<p>"You do. You are needed here. Very badly."</p>
<p>"I'm not."</p>
<p>"You <em>are.</em> Not only because of the Breach. You're the only person who can do what you do."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni scoffed. "Not remotely true. Banerjee could do it."</p>
<p>"Perhaps in a few years. Not now."</p>
<p>"Holding retirement out like a carrot? That's not your usual creativity." Nascimbeni finally sat down, hard, on the chair the Director had indicated several minutes ago. "Allan, I'm done. I'm <em>spent.</em> Just let me go."</p>
<p>"As I said, I can't. It wouldn't be the best thing for the Site. It wouldn't be the best thing for the Foundation. It would most certainly not be the best thing for you."</p>
<p>It took all his self-control not to stand up again in a rage. McInnis would remain calm, so if he wanted to win this argument, he would too. "Don't pretend this is you being charitable. You don't know me well enough to help. I've got ideas of my own about what I've done wrong, and it's time to find out if I'm right."</p>
<p>McInnis slid the paper farther, right to the edge in front of Nascimbeni. "You may take this up the chain of command, if you believe you'll find a more sympathetic ear. But I suspect they'll tell you exactly what I just did. You're needed here. Please make your peace with that."</p>
<p>He didn't answer for a moment, regulating his breathing the way Ngo had taught him. When he finally spoke again, it was deadly calm. "Allan, if you force me to stay, <em>you</em> need to make peace with the fact that sooner or later it's going to fuck you over. Nobody who relies on me for long gets out alive."</p>
</div>
<p>"Wow," Lillian nodded. "Dramatic and poignant. Bet he wishes he'd taken you up on that offer before you got the whole human race erased, huh?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni nodded back. "Can I go?"</p>
<p>Lillian shook her head. "No, I'm not doing this to record your political statements. You can go when you give me the <em>real</em> answer."</p>
<p><em>God <span style="text-decoration: underline;">dammit</span>.</em> He should have known better. He couldn't out-calm McInnis, how could he possibly out-guile Lillian? "I gave you <em>an</em> answer. That's more than I want, and more than you need. It obviously wasn't <em>me</em> who caused this—"</p>
<p>"In the present timeline, you mean? Because you definitely caused the present timeline."</p>
<p>"Yes. Obviously. I mean that I, Noè Nascimbeni, did not stick Site-43 into a pocket dimension. Why are you interviewing the Survivors? You know it wasn't us, and it's a waste of time."</p>
<p>"It <em>could</em> have been you, or at least you could have been involved. The version of you that got replaced when we showed up here."</p>
<p>He could hear the growl creeping into his voice, and made no effort to suppress it. "Okay, except I don't have <em>his</em> memories. I have <em>mine.</em>"</p>
<p>"And those two sets are only differentiated by the last nine years or so. The farther back a memory goes, the more it's potentially affected your motivations and actions. Where it counts, you're self-identical with Nascimbeni-5243-C. So <em>give me the real answer.</em> What's your one true regret, Noè?"</p>
<p>He opened his mouth to refute this, to argue, to refuse. What he said instead was "I ignored my wife until she died of a drug overdose, alone, and it made my son hate me, and I didn't care, because I loved my nephew more, and now he's dead too and everything's broken, so I'm still spending all my time here, which caused the problem in the first place, and <em>someone told me it was going to happen,</em> and I heard him, and I let it happen anyway, and now they might <em>all</em> be dead, and that's my fault, too." It came out in a strained monotone, low but thrumming with the resonance of the lump in his throat, and when it was over he did stand up, violently, sending the poorly-balanced chair over onto its back. He stepped over it, opened the door, and stepped back out into the hall.</p>
<p>"That seemed like more than one," she said as he slammed the door.</p>
<p>Ibanez stood on the roof of the world, and looked up.</p>
<p>The tower of the topside elevator stretched away into the far distance, a little over one thousand metres, to where the overlooking gantry had been constructed. For the first few days it had been a popular thrill, once the general staff were allowed up there, but for most people it quickly became depressing and they returned to the comforting solidity of the Site interior. Only a few people still visited regularly; Harry and Karen Elstrom made regular visits, which was probably interesting to someone, but not Ibanez, and…</p>
<p>Yep, there she was. Billie Forsythe was leaning on the reinforced railing, only visible at this distance by the deathly pallor of her skin, since her clothes were the same colour as the vast majority of the universe now. She wasn't looking up, but down. Not at Ibanez, not at the roof, but at nothing at all.</p>
<p>"Captain Oates on patrol."</p>
<p>She hadn't heard Ngo approach. The other woman was gracile and graceful, which served her well at this posting; more than a few of the senior staff could only be wrangled into psych evals via stealth, and Ibanez was near the top of that list. She grunted in response, and continued to survey the pockmarked expanse of the upper membrane.</p>
<p>"Desolate place to spend an afternoon," the psychologist offered.</p>
<p>"Exactly." Ibanez turned to leave. "Desolate. Abandoned. <em>Uninhabited.</em> At least it was, until you showed up."</p>
<p>She could feel the other woman's warm smile on her back. "Chief, I know you're not the type to need a lot of company, but you do know that—"</p>
<p>"Yeah." She waved Ngo off as she headed for the hatchway. "Your door is always open, it doesn't have to be official, we can go for a drink, and by the way Lillian's hosting pillow parties in S&C if you want to go have a good cry, blah blah blah," and suddenly she turned on her heel, "how long have we worked together?"</p>
<p>"Over a decade."</p>
<p>"So why don't you know who I am yet?"</p>
<p>Ngo smiled.</p>
<p>"Maybe I do, and you just can't tell, because <em>you</em> don't know <em>me.</em>"</p>
<p>Ibanez stared at her for a moment, then glanced back up at the overlook. Billie was still there, but now Ibanez fancied she was watching their little altercation.</p>
<p>"Chief," and Ngo approached her across the flat expanse, "I know you've been trapped in a place like this before. But you're not alone, this time. If you need to take your frustrations out, it doesn't have to be on yourself anymore."</p>
<p>Ibanez snorted. "Fine, next time I'm in the gym, you can show up and I'll use you as a punching bag." She kicked open the hatch.</p>
<p>"Okay," Ngo chirped. "Sounds fun."</p>
<p>Ibanez froze, turned to narrow her eyes at the other woman, then with a very strange feeling in her gut descended back into bedlam.</p>
<p>"My only regret is <em>you.</em>"</p>
<p>She'd been expecting something like that, and she was ready for it. "I am prepared to deepen that regret, if you don't cooperate."</p>
<p>Sokolsky grinned at her. "I'm serious. This is me cooperating. I'm sorry we've never gotten involved. Can you think of a more powerful power couple?"</p>
<p>"People all around the Site are having spontaneous nightmares right now, and they don't know why."</p>
<p>He leaned forward, palms on the table. "Think about it, Lillian. The world is on pause. Nothing matters, and there's nothing you can do about it. Why don't we find out how much fucking it takes to fuck out the biggest brains in the whole damn world?"</p>
<p>She laughed. He laughed with her.</p>
<p>She said, "We're not here to talk about <em>my</em> regrets."</p>
<div class="flashyhammer">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc17"><span><span style="color: #c5000b">2003</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc18"><span>11 November</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong>Timeline 5243-A</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<div class="muddle">
<p>Vast as it is, filled with banks of metal racks and a high ceiling, the server hall reverberates 24/7 with the clicking and clacking of hard drives being accessed, discs spooling up and fans gently purring. This sussurus tells the attending technicians that everything is working properly, and they rarely raise their voices above it — not only because the sound is comforting, but because any other sound will carry to an uncomfortable degree. For this reason, unlike the cozy warrens of AAF-D, there are no records of staff employing this most massive of private spaces for their more intimate <em>rendezvous.</em> They would very swiftly cease to be intimate.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p><em><span style="text-decoration: underline;">God</span>, you are <span style="text-decoration: underline;">so</span> right,</em> she thought as she let everyone in the server hall tent city know precisely what she thought about what she was doing tonight.</p>
</div>
<p>She was still laughing, but he was not. "Are you going to explain that remark?"</p>
<p>"You've got that big brain," she chuckled. "I'm sure you can figure it out."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc19"><span>15 September</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>With nothing better to do, Udo headed for the interrogation room an hour early. Maybe there would be someone else waiting, and she could strike up a conversation. She was growing ever more conscious of the diameter of her social circle…</p>
<p>Phil Deering was already there, facing away from her. Staring at the door with his shoulders hunched, the way she'd once seen him doing outside Melissa Bradbury's hospital room…</p>
<p>"Hey," she said.</p>
<p>He jumped, and spun. Back in baseline, he'd long since lost his ability to be startled by sudden sounds. Life without the mirror monster had produced a very different man, and she found herself wondering…</p>
<p><em>What?</em> What, precisely, did she find herself wondering?</p>
<p>He looked sheepish. "You here for the… thing?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. I think you're first, though."</p>
<p>He winced. "I told them I might not come. I think… I don't think I want to do this. Are the rumours true?"</p>
<p>There was that social circle problem again. "Haven't heard any rumours. What specifically?"</p>
<p>"That she's dredging up people's regrets?"</p>
<p>Udo nodded. "That's what she's doing, alright. Can't say I'm looking forward to it either."</p>
<p>He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. "You think if I just leave…?"</p>
<p>"I think Lillian Lillihammer would hunt you to the ends of the Earth. And right now—"</p>
<p>"That's just a few kilometres."</p>
<p>"And her legs are long."</p>
<p>"Yeah. Yeah, good points." He reached up to smooth back his hair, and suddenly…</p>
<p>"You want to go get a drink?" she asked. "A few drinks in, maybe we can both work out our regrets." She let the phrasing hang that way, the way his mouth was also now hanging, for a second before amending it to what she'd actually meant: "Then I can tell her what they were, and neither of us will have to go in there and relate our woes cold sober. Sound good?"</p>
<p>He didn't even stop to consider. "It sounds <em>great.</em>"</p>
<div class="generic">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc20"><span><span style="color: #5d5d5d">1999</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc21"><span>6 April</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Dougall drove. It was Phil's car, such as it was, but that couldn't ever matter. Dougall was the elder brother. Dougall was the success. Dougall would take the wheel. Phil told himself it was really because only Dougall knew where they were headed; that felt vaguely similar to feeling better about it.</p>
<p>"You're sure they're hiring?" The scenery whizzed past, all evergreens and plowed fields. They were in the boondocks now for sure. "I can't just walk in and ask. I don't even have a résumé." This was a matter of pure practicality, as there would have been nothing for Phil to put on it.</p>
<p>"I'm sure." Dougall tapped the wheel with his hands, drumming some obscure beat. He seemed to be in a good mood, and Phil didn't want to ruin it, even as he knew he inevitably would. "Are you paying attention to me, right now?"</p>
<p>So it was lecture mode, then. Phil nodded, though he knew his brother wouldn't see. When he drove, he focused on the road. He was indistractible when he had a goal, and anyway took his moral responsibilities very seriously. "Yes."</p>
<p>"Good. You know I work for a think tank."</p>
<p>"Yes." Phil did know that. His brother was the thinker, between the two of them. He hoped that wasn't where they were headed.</p>
<p>"The think tank I work for controls the entire world."</p>
<p>This was a little grandiose, but it was never worth contradicting Dougall. "Okay."</p>
<p>"Do you know how they do that?"</p>
<p>Dougall liked these little rhetorical Q&A sessions. They kept him from feeling like he was monologuing, even though that was what he was doing. "No."</p>
<p>"They do it with a massive paramilitary force, the ability to erase people's memories, and control over a database of several thousand people, places, and things which defy all the known laws of science."</p>
<p>This seemed to demand comment. Perhaps it was a test. "Is this a metaphor for something?"</p>
<p>Dougall stopped at an unoccupied all-way stop, before the stop sign, as was the law and good practice. Phil had never seen anyone else do it precisely the same. "It is not. One of the facilities this shadow government occupies has a job opening for a technician. No prior experience required. You'll be helping to keep the place spick and span."</p>
<p>Phil's head spun. "So, a janitor. You want me to be a janitor at, uh, Black Mesa."</p>
<p>Dougall's eyes flicked briefly in his direction. "What's Black Mesa?"</p>
<p>"Never mind." None of this could be true. He was stating it too matter-of-factly. "Do you work at this… facility?"</p>
<p>"No. We won't be working together." This much rang true. "But I have a lot of pull there. The work I do is extraordinarily important." <em>Of course it is.</em> "I'm one of the most important people in the world, in fact, so my word goes a long way." He smiled the way he smiled when he'd deployed an inside joke. In almost every case, he was the only one on the inside. "If you're willing to pull your socks up, the position can be yours."</p>
<p>"Couldn't I just be a janitor at, I don't know, a bowling alley? Or an arcade?"</p>
<p>Dougall sneered, even though he was looking out on a sunny day with a clear blue sky. "You're better than that."</p>
<p>Because Dougall was better than that.</p>
<p><em>Well, we'll see.</em></p>
<p>They'd pulled up to a large, blocky building in the woods. The land sloped away to the north in a way that suggested water; his brother had mentioned there was a lake around here somewhere. Dougall didn't unbuckle his belt. "Head on in. They're expecting you."</p>
<p>"You're not coming?"</p>
<p>"I've got things to do."</p>
<p><em>Better things,</em> Phil inwardly corrected. He unbuckled, and opened the door. "Will I see you later?"</p>
<p>"Maybe."</p>
<p>Then it could wait, as it always did. Phil got out, and closed the door. When he climbed the steps to whatever Lake Huron Supply, Control and Purification was, he looked back at his car, and his brother inside, and he waved.</p>
<p>Dougall waved back, then put the car in gear again and drove away.</p>
</div>
<div class="udoflashback">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc22"><span><span style="color: #ff950e">2002</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc23"><span>16 March</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>The first drawer she tried wouldn't budge. It was locked. She shot him a curious look, and he shrugged. "I'm a secretive guy."</p>
<p>The drawer beneath it was unlocked, and empty. She considered it carefully, then reached down to pick up her pants from the floor, pulled off the belt, and placed it inside. "There," she said. "It's official."</p>
<p>"I'll get you the key," Dougall yawned, and stretched his arms behind his pillow.</p>
<p>She leapt back onto the bed, relishing the bounce. Her own bed was better than the average dormitory slab, but Dougall's was pillow-topped and deep. "Who'm I hiding my belt from? The belt thieves?"</p>
<p>He pulled her into an embrace, then rolled over on top of her. "From all my many mistresses, of course."</p>
<p>She snorted in his face, and was preparing a vicious retort when he opened his mouth and took her breath away for several squishy seconds. When he pulled his head back and smiled, she'd quite forgotten what she was going to say.</p>
<p>So instead, she said "Go again?"</p>
<p>He snorted back at her. "It's been less than ten minutes. For a woman who can make human golems, you've got some major holes in your biology knowledge."</p>
<p>She rolled them around until she was back on top again. "That leaves pillow talk. You'll start. Tell me your secrets, o secret keeper. What's in the drawer?"</p>
<p>"My drawers. The Serpent's Hand has tried and failed for years to put itching powder in them. It's vital to Foundation security that my crotch remain unscratched. My turn—"</p>
<p>She clamped her hands over his mouth. "Your turn <em>nothing.</em> Tell me the truth. Or at least give me a hint."</p>
<p>He said something unintelligible into the palm of her hand. She pulled the both back, and he smiled up at her innocently. "—and that's the honest truth."</p>
<p>She mock-slapped him, and kept her hand there to scratch at his tidy beard. "I take it you won't be telling anyone about <em>us,</em> either, then."</p>
<p>He nodded. "My love life is one of the most closely-guarded secrets of the Veiled world. Men and women have died for that knowledge, and—"</p>
<p>"I'm kinda being serious," she said, at the moment she realized she was.</p>
<p>He gave her a sad, sympathetic look. "I'm only halfway joking about the Serpent's Hand. They try to assassinate me at least once a year. As long as I have this job, and as long as a few other things I can't tell you about are going on, it's safer for everyone involved that they don't know who is and who isn't important to me."</p>
<p>She reached down to pull gently on his chest hairs. "Am I important to you?"</p>
<p>He kissed her again.</p>
<p>She turned her head to the side, considering him from every available angle. "That wasn't <em>precisely</em> an answer."</p>
<p>"I think it was." He yawned again. "You're going to have to go get dressed soon, you know."</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes. "Are we seriously going to that?"</p>
<p>He laughed. "She's my <em>partner.</em> It's her <em>birthday.</em> And you're our star employee. Of course we're going to that, you and me. Wear something nice."</p>
<p>She raised an eyebrow. "I don't own anything nice." She glanced back at the dresser. "Do you?"</p>
<p>"Nothing I'd let you wear."</p>
<p>She pulled a little harder, and he winced. "Laiken's party is in the lounge?"</p>
<p>"Like I told you. Yes."</p>
<p>"The lounge with the little attached kitchenette?"</p>
<p>His grin forced his eyes into narrow slits. "That's the one."</p>
<p>"I bet you've got a key for that, too."</p>
<p>Beneath her, she felt something shift.</p>
<p>"You know what? I think I do."</p>
<p>She had other questions she wanted to pose, but their fifteen minutes were up. Dougall's biological clock was punctual and uncompromising.</p>
</div>
<p>He told her his story precisely as it had happened, give or take a few hiccoughs. She told him only a little of hers — certainly nothing that would place it at Site-43 — in the dim and musty saloon, then showed him the rest in her dorm room.</p>
<p>She wasn't the only one who had a key, but if any of the other Survivors came calling, they'd find a thick caulking of red sand between the door and its jamb.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Noor Zaman, Deputy Chief of Hiring and Regulation:</strong> I spent three years playing nice and having friendly chats with a child-eating psychopath. My daughter turned eighteen back in January. I still think about him every time she passes a milestone those kids in Québec never got to reach.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Sandrine Holt, Agent:</strong> You have to promise—</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Lewis Bosch, Agent:</strong> —not to tell her.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Charles Carter, Technician:</strong> Oh, lots. I don't know. That time I locked myself in the broom closet accidentally, and 106 got loose and killed everyone else in my detail. I guess I don't exactly <em>regret</em> that, but, you know, it bothers me sometimes. Oh, you know that guy who let 096 out a few years back? And it killed all those people on that highway? I think I knew he was going to do that. He seemed really tense all the time when I was working there, I remember noticing, like something was eating him up. I probably could've done something about that. Don't like to think about it. Maybe he wouldn't have listened to some technician anyway, but I could have tried… Oh! I know what it is. You ever see 058? I was on feeding duty, but I came down with botulism — no idea what skip caused that, there's a whole list — and my friend Jack agreed to take my shift. I thought I told him the procedure right, but he got it all backwards and… yeah. It split him in half, and not clean. Kinda diagonally? Corner of his neck to the opposite thigh. They had to move it to a new chamber eventually because they were still finding Jack's blood in the corners of the wall plates— what? I thought we had an hour blocked out. Are you sure?</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Nhung Ngo, Deputy Chair of Psychology and Parapsychology:</strong> Scout once told me regrets are just prompts for further action. I act on my regrets every day. On that note, if you and Chief Ibanez could find some room in your schedules, we have over a decade of missed appointments to catch up on…</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Roger Pensak, Agent:</strong> Pretty pleased with how things are going right now, if we're being honest.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Ji O, Agent:</strong> Wish I'd said something to Wirth. I don't know what. But I still feel like it's my fault.</p>
</div>
<p>Lillian awoke from her stupor. "Say that again?"</p>
<p>As most people with an imagination and any amount of selfconsciousness would do, O paraphrased instead. "I could have said something to Wirth. Given him a reason to live. I don't know what I could have said, but—"</p>
<p>"You think Wirth killed himself?" No-one else had opined anything similar.</p>
<p>O sighed miserably. "We used to chat sometimes, when I had A&R duty. Patrolling the salt mines, lower case. He'd be looking through the archives, and sound carries pretty well down there, so you could hold a whole conversation without standing next to each other."</p>
<p>"What did he talk about?" For the first time in over a day, one of her interview subjects had her full and undivided attention.</p>
<p>"I thought he was talking about the project he was working on, which nobody knows anything about. Turns out he wasn't doing any of the stuff he'd been assigned to do — I'm sure Blank told you that already — but whatever he <em>was</em> doing, I thought he was being poetic about it." She wrinkled her nose as though fending off a sniffle. "He kept saying stuff like… I don't know, that he was facing down an abyss. Looking into a pit. Standing on the edge. It sounded like that <em>faux</em> philosophical mumbo jumbo scientists use sometimes to make their work sound more profound." She smiled apologetically.</p>
<p>Lillian nodded. "Yep. That's a thing."</p>
<p>"But one day Yancy found him at Rock Bottom, capitalized." The underside of the Site. "Looking at the big black empty surrounding it all. The guy said he just needed somewhere to be alone, to think about things, and Yancy brought him back upstairs. Didn't report it. Told me he gave Wirth a pep talk, thought it went well. When…"</p>
<p>She did sniffle.</p>
<p>"When they said Wirth was missing, I knew that was what had happened. I told Yancy, and he told me I was crazy. Wirth wasn't suicidal, he was just lost in thought. Probably tried to run off and put some crazy scheme in place, like Van Rompay said. And that's what everyone thinks. I filed my report, my minority opinion, but it went nowhere. No big surprise; we're not allowed to send people down into the pit, not even the Pit Bosses for some reason. He's probably still down there."</p>
<p>"And you filed a report about this? With who?"</p>
<p>"Who else? It was a missing persons case. I had to file it with Van Rompay."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc24"><span>16 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Site-43's Chief of Pursuit and Suppression wasn't scheduled for an interview for another two days. When Lillian tried his pager, she got no response.</p>
<p>Probably he wouldn't even show up. He might even have a plausible excuse. It might even be something he hadn't drummed up himself.</p>
<p>She'd been less and less subtle with her implications. The last time they'd spoken, remotely of course, she'd all but suggested he'd been directly responsible for the erasure himself. It was simply too absurd to get him riled, however. He had a soldier's temper: it only flared when he needed the anger to fuel his vengeance. He could wait her out indefinitely.</p>
<p>LeClair's interview was meant for today, but she'd already cancelled. Something about Billie Forsythe's treatment for whatever the code word was for her mother's hypochondria by proxy. She'd probably cancel the rescheduled date too, and with the toll the isolation was taking on everyone, she'd have the perfect excuse for it too. Time and again.</p>
<p>"What makes you think," Wettle began. They were heading down the stairs from ApplOcc, after inviting Udo to grab something grey and nourishing from the cafeteria with them. Three wasn't a crowd when Wettle was your third. He only became a problem one-on-one, as he was right now.</p>
<p>Until instead of finishing his sentence, he put his foot down sideways and screamed.</p>
<p>LeClair tutted condescendingly. It had been years since anyone had made sounds at him in any other tone. "You're a little old not to know how to walk, Dr. Wettle."</p>
<p>"Yeah, well, you know." He leaned back on the folding exam table as she wrapped his swollen ankle. "The floor snuck up on me."</p>
<p>She shook her head. "You need to take better care of yourself. At your age, these constant injuries will start to take a toll."</p>
<p>Indeed, he'd never felt so old and beaten-down. It was one reason why he knew Elstrom's story about the elixir of life had to be the truth. That was the reason he was comfortable with.</p>
<p>He hated that the other reason was that Lillihammer believed it.</p>
<p>"I'm not good at taking care of myself." He started bobbing his foot up and down, because it wasn't touching the ground and that was something of a new sensation, and she flinched back to avoid getting kicked in the face with a sneaker. "Everybody else has someone to do that for them."</p>
<p>She smiled. "I would recommend it."</p>
<p>"You want to get a coffee some time?"</p>
<p>She finished the wrapping, and tied it off. "What I meant," she said as she slowly rose back up, knees obviously having seen better days, "was that I have someone to talk care of me already. And I would say that you're right, it can make a big difference as you get older."</p>
<p>"I thought you were single," he said. "Aren't you supposed to be single? Isn't there some ethics thing with doctors? Or is that only real doctors? Not Foundation doctors."</p>
<p>A cloud came over the old woman's face. "I'm not sure I understand the distinction you're trying to draw. I'm bound by the Hippocratic Oath. But that doesn't mean I can't have a relationship. It just can't affect the treatment I provide."</p>
<p>He grinned at her. "I bet you provide real good treatment, too."</p>
<p>Her eyes flattened out to a pair of straight lines. "I understand you're deflecting because I've embarrassed you. But don't say anything like that again. My relationship with Chief Van Rompay…" She paused, blinked, then continued. "…is an open secret, but I'll thank you not to make light of it. Like I said, he takes good care of me. I do the same for him."</p>
<p>"That's fair." He tested the wrapped-up ankle. "Can you give me something for the pain? I'd like an Advil, if you've got it."</p>
<p>"Hard drugs, eh? I think I can spare that." She reached up and rifled through the medicine cabinet over the sink, and pulled out a white bottle with a blue cap.</p>
<p>She paused.</p>
<p>"You're allergic to Advil," she sighed. "You take Tylenol instead. William, we've <em>talked</em> about this."</p>
<p>"We have!" he agreed. "We talked about it when I stubbed my toe back in 2010, and you tried to give me Advil because you didn't remember my file."</p>
<p>She froze.</p>
<p>"We talked about how bad your memory was getting, and how you were gonna get something to treat that real soon, and you figured it was really gonna help. I guess it did, huh?"</p>
<p>She unfroze, but just barely. Enough to look down her nose at him. "Get out."</p>
<p>"If you're wasting my time," said Lillian, and then the door slammed open.</p>
<p>Van Rompay was standing in the door to Wettle's dorm, hamfists raised pugilistically, face red. In the dining nook, Wettle recoiled so far that his feet reached the seat of his chair, and slid up to his buttocks. He yelped in pain as his twisted ankle bent awkwardly against the wrapping.</p>
<p>On the couch, Lillian waved. "Looks like you made a space in your schedule," she purred. "While you're in our neck of the woods, why don't we get that pesky interview out of the way? If we do it efficiently, you'll still have plenty of time to beat the shit out of Willie."</p>
<p>Gedeon Van Rompay was a self-made giant, but nature had nevertheless definitely intended him that way. His arms and legs bulged like the trunks of a Manitoba maple, and Lillian imagined his chest would make a metallic ringing sound if she knocked on it, but his head and neck were already broad, chiseled and masculine from birth. He'd become what he was always meant to be, and she could certainly respect him for that.</p>
<p>She would never be sure if the sentiment went both ways.</p>
<p>"How fast can you do this?" he asked, both sets of bulbous limbs crossed, double chin jutting out in obvious challenge. "Because I'm trying to keep a bunch of idiots from killing each other." He was, in fact, still wearing his combat armour.</p>
<p>"As fast as you let me." She dumped the contents of a manila envelope out on the table, upside-down. "We should've been done days ago. You've been avoiding me."</p>
<p>"Dirty fucking trick you played," he snarled. "Leave Emilié out of your schemes from now on. Do you hear me?"</p>
<p>"What trick?" She managed an innocent face very easily. She wasn't sure how Wettle had managed to push the right buttons by sheer accident, but not having to lie certainly improved her performance. "You accusing Wet Willie of being a master manipulator? Or even an effective assistant? I think you know better."</p>
<p>He looked away. "Whatever. I'm here now. Get it over with."</p>
<p>She picked up the sheaf of glossy photos and began slapping them down upright, one at a time, totalling four. "Let's talk about these dead idiots."</p>
<p>The old soldier didn't ruffle easily, but the casual way she described his victims obviously irritated Van Rompay. He looked down at the photographs, three of them staged like crime scenes, one a file photo, and examined them closely as though proving to her that he had no unsettled feelings about what he'd done. "What's there to talk about?"</p>
<p>"Your report says Mukami, Radcliffe and Gwilherm tried to attack you in your barracks."</p>
<p>He nodded. "I don't like the way you put it, but yes. That's what happened. Are you disagreeing?"</p>
<p>She shrugged. "I wasn't there. LeClair's autopsy suggests they all had serious brain abnormalities which weren't obvious after the breach," she tried very hard to say the word like her life hadn't revolved around it since it had first occurred, "but probably developed because of it. You say they weren't acting like themselves, and you had to kill them in self-defence. The two reports confirm each other."</p>
<p>Van Rompay tensed and released his muscles regularly, as though his aging physique required constant maintenance while he was awake, so it wasn't entirely clear to her whether he was stiffening or not as the questioning went on. "As they should, since they're both true."</p>
<p>"Right. Well, what about this one?" She tapped Wirth's headshot. "Why'd you let him go?"</p>
<p>The big man's eyes narrowed to slits. "Let him go."</p>
<p>"That's right."</p>
<p>"You read that report, too?"</p>
<p>"I did." It stated that Wirth had used the distraction caused by the security guard attack to flee the Site via the topside elevator. There was transit data to back this up, though the relevant cameras had been mysteriously blacked out. When Ibanez had looked over the details, they first thing she'd pointed out was that four people at Site-43 could make the elevator move remotely without a passenger, and without an entry in the Site's activity log: the Director, and the Chiefs of I&T, S&C, and P&S.</p>
<p>The Chief of P&S grunted. "You're calling me a liar."</p>
<p>"Yeah. I'm calling you a liar." Lillian folded her hands and leaned forward. "LeClair's electronic medical history has an MTF lock on it. Why is that?"</p>
<p>"You fucking know why." All of the man was tensing up at once.</p>
<p>"Don't tell me it's because you two are boning." She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "That's always such a garbage argument. Extra security to protect the innocent. Nobody down here is innocent, Ged, and everybody's already plenty protected. You locked her medical history because you don't want anybody to know that she had Alzheimer's Disease."</p>
<p>He was incandescent now, but somehow his tone of voice never changed. "Are you saying you broke into an MTF-locked database file? Because I think that's a little out of your clearance range." The syllables were getting clipped, at least. He was on the edge of losing it.</p>
<p>"Nope. I've got sources of my own. But go ahead, deny it. Or else explain to me how your girlfriend has far outlasted the early stage prognoses for a degenerative mental condition. Can you do that? I know you're a good liar, but this isn't shit you know anything about. How bad you think you can bullshit me right now, when I've already got your number?"</p>
<p>He wanted to say something scathing. He wanted to crush her windpipe. He wanted to run out of the room. She could see it all on his bluff features, plain as day. He desperately didn't want to do what he did next, and she even felt the slightest pang of sympathy as he gave in and finally did it.</p>
<p>"Okay," he snarled. There was finally malice in his timbre, and she knew he was going to tell her the truth. "You win. I did let him go."</p>
<p>"Where?"</p>
<p>"I don't know."</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<div class="generic">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc25"><span><span style="color: #5d5d5d">2003</span></span></h1>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>"Wait!"</p>
<p>Van Rompay kept the rifle trained on the freckle-faced youth. "Don't move a muscle, kid. Not even a twitch. You won't even see my finger move."</p>
<p>Reuben Wirth stood in the Arms and Equipment lab, hands in the air, an open cabinet door on either side. There was a sack on the floor, and a few gadgets Van Rompay couldn't begin to identify piled up inside. "I'm not gonna move. Don't shoot. <em>Don't shoot.</em>"</p>
<p>Van Rompay advanced, keeping his sights trained. He didn't flick on the lights in the darkened room. The window to the hall gave him more than enough illumination, as long as he moved counterclockwise. "We're heading to S&C. Leave the sack."</p>
<p>Wirth's eyes were wild in the distant light. "You're gonna let me go, actually. That's how this goes down."</p>
<p>"You figure?" Van Rompay settled into the corner of the room, and quickly gestured with the end of his rifle. "To the door. Now."</p>
<p>The other man made no move to comply. "Here's what's gonna happen: I'm going to do something for you, and you're going to let me go."</p>
<p>Van Rompay snorted. "I don't know what sort of bargaining chips you think you've got in that bag, but I'm not buying. To the door, son. Now."</p>
<p>Wirth was a statue. Only his mouth moved. "It's not in the bag. It's not something you can hold in your hands. Well. That's not really true." He smiled coldly. "I'm offering you something you can hold in your <em>arms.</em> Something you already have, but you're going to lose it soon. Not if you help me. If you help me, you'll have it <em>forever.</em>"</p>
<p>"I don't know what you're talking about, and it doesn't matter." He focused on the task at hand. He refused to consider what the researcher might be implying. That was one of the most basic tenets of basic training: <em>don't negotiate with affected personnel.</em> Something was obviously affecting Wirth. He wasn't going to infect Van Rompay with it.</p>
<p>"It does matter. I can help her, Chief. I can fix it."</p>
<p>He tightened his grip on the stock, and fought to retain trigger discipline. "Walk. Don't talk."</p>
<p>"Fine." Wirth's smile widened. "No more talking."</p>
<p><em>This is far more direct, anyway.</em></p>
<p>Van Rompay tried to pull the trigger, but found that he couldn't. He didn't control his own hands anymore. The gun was lowered, gently, and he took his finger away from the trigger guard.</p>
<p>"Get out of my head," he tried to say, but it went no farther than the inside of his skull.</p>
<p><em>I could put the gun to your neck,</em> Wirth's voice said. There was no anger in it, only a bald statement of fact. <em>Blow your brains out. But I won't. You're a symptom of a wider disease, and I'm going to cure it. And you're going to help me. After a show of good faith.</em></p>
<p>Van Rompay tried to squeeze his eyes shut. They didn't respond. <em>How are you doing this?</em></p>
<p><em>That doesn't matter. What matters is, I can. I can make you do anything I want. I could do rather a lot of damage before they stopped you, and when they stopped you, I could do even more damage with <span style="text-decoration: underline;">them</span>. But I won't. Because you're much more useful to me alive and well, and anyway, I'm not the bad guy here. I don't like poking around in your grey matter. I want to give you <span style="text-decoration: underline;">options</span>, Chief, not take them away.</em></p>
<p>It was almost difficult telling Wirth's monologue apart from his own. The words were all the more convincing for being beamed directly into his head. The other man's face was a mask of concentration. <em>What are you proposing?</em></p>
<p><em>I'm going to rearrange your lover's brain. I'm going to give her back to herself. And I'm going to offer a long-term service plan, so long as you keep my little secret, and keep prying eyes off my work. Do you think you can do that? Would you do that for <span style="text-decoration: underline;">her</span>?</em></p>
<p>He wanted to make a moral stand. No, that wasn't true. He wanted to want to make a moral stand. The difference in strength between those two positions was catastrophic. <em>I'd do anything for her. But why would I believe you? What's stopping you from just killing us all when I let you go?</em></p>
<p>And now the gun suddenly was against his throat, finger back on the trigger. <em>Nothing is stopping me from doing that <span style="text-decoration: underline;">right</span> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">now</span>. Ergo, I am telling the truth. I'm telling you, Chief, I just want to help.</em> Wirth suddenly smiled, though the voice was still only in Van Rompay's head. <em>Like I said in the ward room, I really do hope things work out for the two of you.</em></p>
</div>
<p>Everyone looked to her when she entered the room. Of course, this was partially because she was arriving late to the meeting, and was an intended result. But even if she hadn't, they knew she was the one with the answers. That was her role, and she wore it well.</p>
<p>She flopped down on her chosen recliner — she much preferred the more broken-in furniture in Udo's dorm, not least because she herself had broken much of it in — and folded her hands on her chest. "Ask," she said, "and the oracle will tell."</p>
<p>McInnis took charge. This was his role, and not wholly because he'd been assigned it by the Overseers. "Do you know what happened?"</p>
<p>She could have played coy about his meaning, but there were revelations she was proud of having had that she was itching to share, so she didn't. "No."</p>
<p>Del stood up.</p>
<p>Lillian waved her back down. "I don't need to know what happened. I know <em>why</em> it happened. It was Wirth."</p>
<p>Del remained standing. "Of course it was Wirth. That's all you've got?"</p>
<p>"That's all I've got in response to that question." She smiled at McInnis.</p>
<p>He considered. "It might be easier if you simply told us everything you've learned."</p>
<p>She wasn't so conscientious with her interpretation this time. A little mischief was the price of doing business with her. "I've learned that Polly Mataxas did weed once in college and feels guilty about it, which is ridiculous; that Site-19 is a gore-fest all year 'round, which is pretty well common knowledge; and that the nothing which happened when we showed up on the 9th was all of our faults combined."</p>
<p>"I thought it was his fault." Wettle gestured at Nascimbeni, who furrowed his brow.</p>
<p>"Symptomatic. The thing that was eating Noè is in good company around here. Everybody's full of brain-eating parasites in the form of bad memories. No, Willie, I'm not being literal. You'll give yourself a scalp rash, cut it out. I'm talking about regrets."</p>
<p>"<em>Why</em> are you talking about regrets?" Harry asked. "And why did you get on that topic in the first place? You were throwing that word around from the start."</p>
<p>"Because Rydderech told me that was the key, in his usual cryptic bullshit way. So I pushed, and I pushed, and every one of you turned out to have mind maggots crawling just underneath the surface. Wirth was a sensitive guy. Thought about stuff too much. He probably watched all of you moping, and decided he could do something about it."</p>
<p>"Except Wirth is dead." Ibanez sat back down, but kept her back straight and did not relax. "He was acting like a loon, and then he escaped."</p>
<p>"He possessed people back in -A," Udo pointed out, using their internal terminology for the three alternate timelines they'd entered so far. "And we never found his body, according to Lillian. Maybe he doesn't need one."</p>
<p>"I'm pretty sure he does," Lillian interrupted. "They always do. And when you destroy the body, that aspect of the Victims is dead for the time being. No, he's got a body somewhere, and I'm pretty sure it's a warm one, too."</p>
<p>"And by somewhere," the All-Sections Chief suddenly rumbled, "you mean Site-43."</p>
<p>"She'd better." Udo looked pained. "Because if he did this to us, and he's not here, that means either he wiped himself from existence in the process of doing the thing, and he'll never be able to undo it for us, and we'll never be able to figure out how he did it, <em>or</em> it means he put us out of reality and he's wreaking havoc on the world in our absence."</p>
<p>"Thanks for enumerating the theoretical stakes." Lillian flashed her a thumbs-up. "They're inapplicable. Wirth is here, and he's alive."</p>
<p>"How do you know that?" Nascimbeni asked.</p>
<p>"Because ghosts, as Mataxas would tell you, are pack animals. And his pack's been looking for him here for <em>years.</em>" She paused. "And also Van Rompay basically told me so, but first things first."</p>
<div class="flashyhammer">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc26"><span><span style="color: #c5000b">2011</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc27"><span>9 September</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>She'd seated the Tarrow twins on either side of Alis, for symmetry. There was something really unpleasant about having them side-by-side, a sort of Uncanny Valley terror likely picked up from <em>Full House</em> reruns she'd seen at university.</p>
<p>She'd seated herself, Ngo and Sokolsky in order of increasing height, since symmetry would have been impossible and anyway it indicated her preferred interpretation of the interrogation's authority scale.</p>
<p>"Honest answers only, please," Lillian instructed with a cheerful lilt. "Until you show me otherwise, I'm assuming you're on the side of the world continuing to exist, because your death cult wanted universal annihilation on an entirely different premise than <em>this,</em> so don't show me otherwise if you value your…"</p>
<p>She stopped.</p>
<p>She started again. "<em>Was</em> this your death cult's premise?" She stabbed a finger at Alis. "You told me — you won't remember telling me, but you told me — that the <em>gifted</em> kids want to kill everyone and escape from reality. Is that what this is? That isn't what this is, right."</p>
<p>All three of them were visibly racing to keep up. Ngo looked similarly baffled. Sokolsky's face was graven stone, as always.</p>
<p>Alis managed a curt nod. "No, whatever is happening, it wasn't the plan. You haven't actually said what's happening, though."</p>
<p>"Oh. Right. Well, everything but Site-43 just disappeared."</p>
<p>Three pairs of eyes widened in tandem.</p>
<p>"See, that's what I'm talking about. Those looked like genuine physiological reactions. Now, I'm a pretty good judge of bullshit, but I want you to know there's a sort of confidence thing going on with you right now. Del, she's not going to trust you too easy. Right, Daniil?"</p>
<p>Sokolsky nodded enthusiastically. "She doesn't trust at <em>all.</em> She'll be looking real hard at anything you bunch say, and if it doesn't smell right, she's going to go MARSTON on you. You know what that means?"</p>
<p>They all nodded, eyes even wider. MARSTON Verification Protocol was a polite euphemism for the world's only actually effective form of extreme rendition. Ngo looked uncomfortable.</p>
<p>Lillian made a mock cheering gesture. "Awesome. So yeah, the world disappeared. We'll work up to figuring out why that is. The first thing I want to know from you is this: why were you here?"</p>
<p>"We were looking for him," one of the Tarrows said immediately.</p>
<p>Alis gave her a mildly dirty look. "You could've at least stalled a little, for appearances."</p>
<p>"And by him," said Lillian, "you mean Wirth."</p>
<p>Nods all around.</p>
<p>"Because you think he's the leader of your cult."</p>
<p>"We think he's an <em>aspect</em> of it," the other Tarrow corrected her. "He's the only link we have to our history now. Whatever happened back in 2002, it splintered the origin of our powers and made most of it antimemetic. Wirth is the only thing we can concretely focus on when we try to conceive of our own origins."</p>
<p>"Obviously you haven't found him yet."</p>
<p>"Obviously," Alis agreed.</p>
<p>"How long have you been trying?"</p>
<p>"A few months. We came here when it all started, because everyone had trouble remembering Site-43 existed, so it seemed like it had to be at the core of whatever was going on. When we didn't find anything, we left. Followed the trails."</p>
<p>"What trails?"</p>
<p>The second Tarrow chimed in again. "Now who's being dishonest? You know. Zlatá and Del Olmo."</p>
<p>"Mm. You were trying to see where they went, and what they were doing. Because they were memeticists?"</p>
<p>Nods again.</p>
<p>"And what did you find?"</p>
<p>"Not a damn thing," the first Tarrow sighed. "Not a damn thing for <em>years.</em> We eventually gave up, until suddenly…" She closed her mouth.</p>
<p>Lillian gestured. "Go on. Suddenly…"</p>
<p>The three of them exchanged glances.</p>
<p>"Listen," Sokolsky smiled. "We've got the equipment ready—"</p>
<p>Alis and the second Tarrow stumbled over each other to respond. Alis won out. "For a moment, just a moment, we all could remember. We can remember remembering."</p>
<p>"Remember remembering what?"</p>
<p>"The source. The origin. It all came back together for an instant, and everything made sense. And then it didn't again. And we knew where the flash had come from. It came from <em>here.</em>"</p>
<p>"So you came back."</p>
<p>"And still didn't find anything."</p>
<p>"And now the anything you didn't find has turned everything into nothing. Terrific. Now, what do you think I ought to do with the three of you?"</p>
<p>"Probably you ought to murder us," Alis remarked dryly. Ngo started shaking her head, but nobody was looking at her.</p>
<p>"Probably," Lillian agreed. "We've done it before." She left this unexplained. "Still. You might be helpful, if and when we do find Wirth. Not of your own volition, obviously, but still. You fine with sticking around among the living until we get all this sorted out?"</p>
<p>The first Tarrow shrugged. "Unless you're gonna pass us some cyanide capsules with our dinner, we don't have much choice, do we?"</p>
<p>"You two are so morose," Alis scolded. "Cyanide capsules, Christ. Lighten up."</p>
<p>"We have a <em>duty,</em>" the second Tarrow snapped.</p>
<p>"Well, I'll see if I can't get you out of that duty you've stepped in." Lillian stood up, and drummed the table. "Anything else you'd like to volunteer?"</p>
<p>"Yeah." Alis met her gaze evenly. "If you do find him, just send him our way. It'll be better for everyone concerned."</p>
<p>Lillian nodded. "Of course. Obviously I trust you to do what's best for us." She nudged Sokolsky in the ribs. "I kept a straight face there."</p>
<p>"Very impressive," he nodded impassively.</p>
<p>"Why was I even here for this?" Ngo muttered.</p>
</div>
<p>Udo grunted. "So, he's here. What were you saying about Van Rompay, though?"</p>
<p>"He's been running interference. We were right to zero in on LeClair's clarity as the biggest question mark. I think Wirth rearranged her brain chemistry every once in a while, keeping the Alzheimer's dormant, in return for Ged making sure nobody looked too closely into his disappearance."</p>
<p>Del was frowning. "Does Alzheimer's even work that way?"</p>
<p>"It's neurodegenerative. Wirth has brain powers, and chaos powers. Chaos and decay. I'm sure he could swing it."</p>
<p>McInnis was nodding. "I've noticed the occasional lapse from Dr. LeClair in this timeline. I suspect the condition has merely been kept at bay, not cured. Dr. Wirth, or the entity masquerading as him, may merely be simulating a working mind for her. Providing a functional structure."</p>
<p>"That's horrible." Nascimbeni wrinkled his nose. "And it makes a lot of sense."</p>
<p>"Sure," said Wettle, and everyone but McInnis seemed startled to notice he was there. He always sat on the floor, so he was out of their sight lines.</p>
<p>"Hey." Harry nudged the other man's shoulder with the tip of his steel-toed boot. "I heard you saw LeClair before Van Rompay showed up on the warpath. What did you do?"</p>
<p>"Just got lucky," said Lillian.</p>
<p>"Wow," Harry smiled. "No wonder the guy was so mad."</p>
<p>Wettle shrugged. "I don't know what anyone is talking about."</p>
<p>McInnis cleared his throat. "So, you're saying Dr. Wirth is performing some sort of experiment somewhere at Site-43, Chief Van Rompay was covering his tracks, and Dr. Du was unwittingly acquiring extra information for him. That's all well and good, but we have just completed a comprehensive overview of this entire facility. There is nowhere left to hide. So where, within nowhere, is he hiding?"</p>
<p>"That, Allan," Lillian grinned, "is precisely correct."</p>
<div class="jandm">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc28"><span>12 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Veiksaar gestured at the bizarre hybrid of ancient and modern computing technology nestled in the corner of AAF-A's bottom sublevel, and sighed. "This is it."</p>
<p>"This is what?" Nascimbeni had never seen it before. He'd never been in this room. Only the I&T techs ever came in here, and only the ones with the highest clearance. He was used to that sort of compartmentalization, so he'd never made a fuss.</p>
<p>Well, that was part of the reason. He'd been making fewer and fewer fusses since shortly past the turn of the millennium.</p>
<p>"This," Veiksaar sighed again, as though she could only convey the information breathily, "is the DR-RHETORIC interface."</p>
<p>"The supercomputer that isn't," Nascimbeni agreed.</p>
<p>Veiksaar blinked at him. "You know?"</p>
<p>He immediately began kicking himself, mentally. Lillian had explained the entire thing to them all, of course, but Veiksaar wasn't supposed to know that. Not for the first time, he resented being made to carry and keep secrets, and keep track of who was allowed to know what, and who was allowed to know who knew what, and so on and so forth along the fractal curve of escalating dishonesty. "I know. We can talk about <em>why</em> I know later. But you can skip the explanation."</p>
<p>For the third time, she sighed. "That's good. That's <em>great.</em> I don't like explaining this. I hate talking about this at all. This is my least favourite room in the site. But yeah. This is the DR-RHETORIC interface, like I said. Or, that's what it's supposed to be. Right now it's just a dead terminal."</p>
<p>"Because everything under the Site is gone," he nodded. "Rydderech's dead, then."</p>
<p>"I don't know that. I don't know how I'd measure a thing like that, him being what he is. But he's definitely not responding. There's no interlink. I… sorry. It's taking me a moment to process that you already knew. Someone should have told me. Why didn't they tell me?"</p>
<p>"Compartmentalization gets us all eventually."</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Sure. Alright. So, you get why this is big deal?"</p>
<p>"Rydderech is an extraordinarily powerful reality bender."</p>
<p>"Right."</p>
<p>"And whatever happened, it might have <em>erased him from existence.</em>"</p>
<p>"Right."</p>
<p>"That would suggest what we're dealing with is… what do they call it? Semigod level, or worse."</p>
<p>Veiksaar's eyes widened. "You mean demigod?"</p>
<p>His internal monologue was now nothing but curses. "Yeah. Sure. That. Not clear on the terminology. I'm a tech guy. But even I know it would take something really big and bad to wipe out someone like Rydderech. He's practically off the scale."</p>
<p>She nodded, then bit her tongue. "Of course, he might not have been wiped out at all. The disconnect could also mean that we really have been pocketed, and Rydderech and his factory are still back in baseline, without 43 to contain them."</p>
<p>"Which would… not be good," he said.</p>
<p>"Which would <em>really suck.</em> But it's not really our problem. You guys are moving on to drone-test the area where the factory used to be, right?"</p>
<p>"That's the plan."</p>
<p>"Let me know how the plan turns out." She narrowed her eyes at him. "And I mean that. Actually keep me in the loop, this time, please. Secrets are how shit like this flies under the radar."</p>
<p>"You'll be the first to know," he told her. He hated how true he could make it sound.</p>
</div>
<p>"And the drones found…?" Lillian prompted.</p>
<p>"Serious electromag interference," Nascimbeni answered, "and nothing else. No factory. We flew right through where it ought to have been."</p>
<p>"Uh huh." Lillian folded her hands on her chest. She had a look on her face that reminded Harry of his cat, sitting in Karen's lap. Contented.</p>
<p>Udo's mouth switched sides several times, and she broke the silence first. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"</p>
<p>"You could have just said what you think I'm suggesting," Lillian said. "It would have taken fewer words."</p>
<p>"So would answering my wordier query."</p>
<p>"I'm suggesting what you think I'm suggesting."</p>
<p>Wettle grunted, as though startling away. "What do you think she's suggesting?"</p>
<p>"That Wirth is hiding in Rydderech's factory," said Udo."</p>
<p>"Which Eileen and Noè have established doesn't exist anymore," Harry finished. "So."</p>
<p>Lillian gave him a sympathetic look. "There's a big difference between something not being visible and something not existing. You can take that from me."</p>
<p>Sokolsky had been silent the entire time, even more so than Wettle. Harry was sitting beside him, and he couldn't even hear the man breathing. He finally spoke up now, voice very soft, almost contemplative. "A memetic cloak on the factory? And the electromagnetic interference was just to cover it up?"</p>
<p>Lillian snapped her fingers at him. "Exactly. The drones passed through spaces that were available to be passed through, and steered away from bumping into anything. Instruments selectively disabled, positioning altered to maintain the illusion. It's down there."</p>
<p>McInnis looked sad. "Dr. Rydderech is never spared his toil."</p>
<p>"I'm not so sure about that." Lillian matched his sadness with a grim look of melancholy. "I don't imagine he'd be thrilled about taking on a lodger. I don't know if Wirth could have killed him, but I think we have to consider the possibility that he has."</p>
<p>"Good god," said Harry. There was really nothing else to say on the subject.</p>
<p>This prompted the final silent party to make himself heard. The ASC stood up, and they all looked up at him. "Do you propose an expedition, then?"</p>
<p>"I'm not really sure," said Lillian. "Thing is, the factory is passively antimemetic if it's really down there. I tried the old accessway to the abyss, and I kept ending up turned 'round. Even took mnestics. No difference."</p>
<p>Del made a wry face. "We could set off SUNDOWN Protocol."</p>
<p>"Jesus Christ," said Harry, and then, "You guys need to stop making me sound religious."</p>
<p>"What's SUNDOWN Protocol?" asked Wettle, the only one who didn't know. Well, Sokolsky officially didn't, but they all knew how far that went.</p>
<p>"It's a measure to neutralize Rydderech." Harry grimaced. "Fills the factory with expanding foam. Scout tried to use it once, when he thought Rydderech was too far gone and begging for death. It's what lost him the Directorship."</p>
<p>"In the immediate sense," McInnis noted. "By that point he was quite finished with the Foundation."</p>
<p>"Sure," Harry allowed. "But anyway, it won't work for us."</p>
<p>"Why not?" Wettle asked, looking back and forth between them.</p>
<p>"The foam is activated by water from the Lake Huron floodgates," Harry explained. "And there's no Lake Huron anymore."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni looked thoughtful. "Could the <em>geists</em> help us find a way in? Alis, maybe?"</p>
<p>"Maybe." They'd all expected Lillian to answer; they were all surprised that Wettle had instead. "Antimemetics aren't really her thing."</p>
<p>Lillian scoffed. "She <em>is</em> antimemetic, Willie."</p>
<p>"Yeah," Wettle nodded, "but she doesn't actually <em>want</em> to be. It's not <em>intentional.</em> It's a side effect she's learned to weaponize. I don't think she's so good at it that… what?"</p>
<p>Lillian was staring at him. "Where are you getting all this from?"</p>
<p>He blinked, slowly, for several seconds. "We've been talking," he said finally.</p>
<p>"When?" Harry pressed.</p>
<p>He shrugged. "Whenever."</p>
<p>"<em>Whatever,</em>" Lillian snapped. "I was going to say, as much as I hate to support Willie even tangentially, that Alis isn't our gal here."</p>
<p>"Yeah," Harry agreed. "She's Wettle's gal."</p>
<p>The other man did not disagree.</p>
<p>"Who is?" McInnis asked. "You, Lillian?"</p>
<p>She shook her head. "I'm a brainworker. No, this calls for an outside contractor."</p>
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<h2 id="toc29"><span>17 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Eileen Veiksaar's office wasn't cramped, but by the standards of her peers it wasn't the most spacious. There was always a lot of computer equipment laying around, most of it archaic; in this sense it was not unlike Nascimbeni's quarters, where old machinery went to not die. The recent comprehensive inventory had relocated everything which could be repurposed to the manufactories of J&M, but there was still little room for pacing or dramatic gesture when you packed more than a couple of people into the space.</p>
<p>There were more than a couple now — a trio, to be precise — and they were all bunched up at the back of the room, looking at Eileen's terminal over her shoulder. It was an intimate occasion, and the events they were monitoring were no less so.</p>
<p>One of the Tarrows was sneaking through the facility, and Eileen's CLIOMETRIA was tracking her across a wide variety of electronic media.</p>
<p>The cameras were the most obvious bet, but of course the <em>giftschreiber</em> knew that, and was selectively rerouting the feeds. She must have had some sort of technical knowledge, which was an interesting wrinkle Lillian hadn't previously suspected. In any event, watching Tarrow on the cameras when she didn't want to be watched was a bad idea, because odds were they'd all suddenly stop caring about the hunt, stand up, and wander off to do something else. Chasing an antimemetic threat was something a human being couldn't practically do.</p>
<p>But CLIO was nothing but raw code, lacking not only the personality driver that made an .aic a virtual person, but most of the electronic superstructure that supported it. The program could follow each fluctuation, each change in temperature or pressure, the source of each feed alteration — Tarrow was forcing the cameras to replay old footage, a trick Lillian remarked disapprovingly had been lifted straight from <em>Speed</em> — to trace the woman's course through the undercrofts of AAF-A with something approaching precision. She was circling, spiralling, veering off at strange angles down corridors nominally leading nowhere, navigating an antimemetic maze which only she could see.</p>
<p>It was probably not the quickest path to her quarry, since she had obviously never actually found him yet, but there was time to streamline. She'd already made dramatic improvements on the path she'd taken yesterday. In a few more days, she might actually have found the point of access.</p>
<p>"Assuming there's a point of access," Eileen pointed out. "Could be Wirth just lowers the entire antimemetic field when he wants to leave."</p>
<p>"Could be," Lillian agreed. "Bremmel's working on a solution for that, too."</p>
<p>"Which is what?"</p>
<p>"A big bomb."</p>
<p>Eileen struck a key, and the second tracking routine CLIO was running took over the screen. The other Tarrow was on the level above, spinning in place, hands outstretched as though feeling for walls in the dark. So far as they could tell, neither sister was aware of the other's activities. They weren't comparing notes. They were searching separately.</p>
<p>Udo shook her head. "It's so weird that they're working against each other."</p>
<p>"Not so weird," said Lillian.</p>
<p>"No?"</p>
<p>"They've got power. Too much power." Lillian waved her hands, and Eileen pushed them out of her face so focus on the screen. "Blah blah blah, the saying that goes with that."</p>
<p>"The saying that goes with that is four words long," Udo sighed.</p>
<p>"What are you today, the fucking word police?"</p>
<p>"I'm just…" She stood up, and performed the limited amount of pacing allowed by the room's narrow profile. "This is all freaking me out a bit. I thought I understood where the lines were. Who was on what side. Now there's more sides than I was expecting. This isn't a coin, it's a polygon."</p>
<p>"Coins are polygons," Eileen murmured.</p>
<p>"Yeah, but the space between the sides isn't so <em>overt.</em> What do all these interest blocs want? With us? With the Victims? How have we been in this mess for like a decade, and yet still we aren't any closer to figuring it out?"</p>
<p>Lillian stretched, then walked over to where Udo was treading carpet and reached out to still her by the shoulders. "We're a <em>lot</em> closer to figuring it out. We have a metric fuckton of details we haven't explained yet. The explanation is like, five percent of the winning formula. We'll lick it soon enough."</p>
<p>"Not soon enough by half," Udo grimaced.</p>
<p>"Aaaaand there she goes," Eileen suddenly crowed. "Track down, and lock. Okay. Walk us through it, Imogen."</p>
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<h2 id="toc30"><span>24 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>There was a door in Health and Pathology which opened on the abyss. Well, there were several, but only one of them mattered to Billie.</p>
<p>Because it was the one LeClair's keycard opened.</p>
<p>It was beyond the back of her office. The back of her office featured a wall panel that slid aside if you tapped it with her keycard, and the tunnel behind that panel — Billie knew it had to be an escape tunnel — had a door halfway down its length which opened via a more traditional keycard interaction, and behind that door was nothing. Not the nothing she could see from the elevator platform, or the nothing which surrounded the Site's enormous exposed roof, but a nothing she could have all to herself, if she wanted it.</p>
<p>Every once in a while, she stole the old woman's keycard and returned to visit the void. She wasn't sure what she wanted from it. She knew there was something nihilistic about filling her vision with darkness, about placing her spindly fingers on each side of the doorway and locking the soles of her overlarge boots to the floor tiles on the edge of forever, and projecting her upper torso out into… well, just <em>out,</em> really. But she wasn't sure it was the call of the grave that moved her to do it. There was also something <em>beautiful</em> about the gesture, about having access to the entire known world, and looking in the only direction where nothing existed. Moving into the unknown.</p>
<p>She wondered what it would feel like to plunge into that black pool.</p>
<p>Knowing that she could, if she so chose, was a kind of comfort. It suggested she still had agency.</p>
<p>"Still?" she snorted. When had she ever had agency, before this moment?</p>
<p>She closed the door again, and headed back into LeClair's office. The emptiness would keep. It would still be waiting for her when she needed it.</p>
<p>She hummed to herself as she shut the panel, blissfully ignoring the question that phrasing provoked.</p>
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<h2 id="toc31"><span>1 October</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Both Tarrows were in custody again, their fictional liberty revoked with prejudice, and that left only this final matter to resolve before the Survivors took action. Lillian wasn't at all sure that anything useful would come of it, but it was best to have all the available information before you made a decision.</p>
<p>The DUAL Core had been constructed for the specific purpose of making 'all the available information' and 'all possible information' into the same dataset. So, it was worth at least a brief visit.</p>
<p>Du started talking as soon as she entered the control room. "We figured it out."</p>
<p>She made a <em>good for you</em> face. "Welcome to the club."</p>
<p>Bremmel's arms were already flapping. Du took a step away from him. "Whatever you figured out," the podgy engineer cried, "it wasn't this."</p>
<p>"Can I tell her," Du asked, "or do y—"</p>
<p>"We're not in a pocket dimension," Bremmel blurted. He was almost shouting.</p>
<p>Lillian shrugged. "Okay."</p>
<p>"Everything else has-."</p>
<p>Du pulled the nearest hand out of the air, and when the older man stopped talking to react, the younger interrupted. "You're not explaining it. <em>I</em> figured it out, and your interpretation is invalid. Nothing in the simulation suggests—"</p>
<p>"What would you call it, then?"</p>
<p>"Restructured absence."</p>
<p>"Distinction with no difference."</p>
<p>Lillian snapped her fingers. "Boys."</p>
<p>Bremmel was fuming, so Du was the first to resume the explanation. "We've been comparing all the readings from around the Site exterior, particularly Dr. Okorie's micamantic explorations and the drone telemetry, with simulations run within the DUAL Core. We've still got access to data from the old Temporal Affairs Department database, as well as an ontokinesis baseline read of our home temporality from Site-120."</p>
<p>Anyone else might have trotted out that exhausted old 'English, please' line. Not Lillian. "Right. And?"</p>
<p>"And we can state with almost absolute certainty that we were not severed from the world, and the world was not erased. It's a third option."</p>
<p>"Matter of interpretation," Bremmel sniffed.</p>
<p>"What interpretation?" Lillian looked down at the Core, which was no longer spinning. Its work, for the moment, was done. She felt a brief, complex pang of envy. "What third option?"</p>
<p>Du was smiling, but it was not a happy smile. "We cracked it when we realized the parallels with the Core itself, the things you said it was capable of doing under severe orphic stress. Whatever produced this effect—"</p>
<p>"—and it would have to be a being, or a machine, of extraordinary, unprecedented potency," Bremmel interrupted.</p>
<p>"— the effect was this." Du took a deep breath. "Reality was not altered to remove us from baseline, or baseline from around us. Reality was rebuilt <em>from scratch,</em> with only us in it."</p>
<p>"So," Lillian concluded, "obviously I'm going."</p>
<p>McInnis tented his fingers. "I don't see why."</p>
<p>The Survivors were gathered in his dining room, which had become their makeshift boardroom. The dinner table was polished oak, and very heavy, but not too terribly large. It was close quarters, but none of them particularly noticed. They'd been in tighter spaces together before, even if they didn't remember them all.</p>
<p>"If he tries to hop into my head…" Lillian made a quick little explosion gesture at her temples with both hands. "I can kill him again."</p>
<p>Harry looked ill. "He was only able to do that when you let him. We're immune to control."</p>
<p>"Well, who else then? I'm the most qualified."</p>
<p>Del placed her pistol on the table. The scalloped lower edge caught the light just <em>so,</em> and it looked like a row of gleaming teeth. "Depends on what qualifications we're looking for."</p>
<p>McInnis shook his head. "We aren't going to simply shoot him."</p>
<p>"I could shoot him creatively," she smiled.</p>
<p>"I want him to <em>explain himself.</em>" McInnis looked from face to face to face, implicitly seeking consent he did not need. He had learned it from his deputy, who was watching now with both approval and trepidation. "I want to know why he did what he did, and how."</p>
<p>"You think he's just going to tell us?" Udo asked.</p>
<p>"He might tell me. I have something of a gift for gab."</p>
<p>The ASC was smiling, but there was a hard line at the middle. "I'm going to have to object very strenuously to sending you, sir."</p>
<p>McInnis nodded. "Your objection is noted."</p>
<p>"You know," said Harry, "in situations like this, I'm not really sure the existing hierarchy serves us all that well."</p>
<p>At any other time, McInnis might have willingly entertained this line of thought. He pretended to entertain it now. "You have a better suggestion?"</p>
<p>The archivist shrugged. "We could take a vote."</p>
<p>"I'm not sure that's necessary."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni grunted. "Go figure."</p>
<p>"The authority vested in me," McInnis said in his finest not-lecturing voice, "was not conditional on the state of reality. I am still the Director, and this is still my decision. And I am deciding to go." He straightened in his chair, and reached down to smooth the wrinkles from his pullover; informing them with body language only that the matter was now settled.</p>
<p>Del picked up the gun again. "At least let me go as backup."</p>
<p>"No. If he feels threatened, he might do something rash."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni pursed his lips. "Could hardly do worse than he already has."</p>
<p>"That is a risk," McInnis told them, "given the present circumscribed state of our entire reality, which I am wholly unwilling to take."</p>
<p>It was, McInnis thought, a not unpleasant inversion of responsibilities.</p>
<p>His people started him out on the path, then directed his every move. He'd made an effort to memorize the earliest steps, the strongest ones, the ones the two Tarrows had arrived at as the absolute best starting positions, and a great deal of what came after. Eventually the sequences became too complex for anyone but Lillian to remember, and so Lillian piped them into his earpiece, and he followed her instructions to the merest inflection of every letter.</p>
<p>He passed Ilse Reynders twice, coming and going. He wondered if anyone had thought to ask her what she regretted. He regretted that he had not.</p>
<p>Then again, it was probably no big secret.</p>
<p>It took over an hour to reach the point where the winding path reached the Site's outer skin, and penetrated beyond it. This was the moment when Veiksaar had realized one of the twins was on the right track, because she kept walking where there was no more ground to tread. McInnis had several minutes to prepare for the decision he had to make — or rather, to prepare not to make a decision. To do what his body would on no accounts do of its own volition, as soon as Lillian gave the order to his mind.</p>
<p>"Open the door, and go through," she said, and he did.</p>
<p>He wasn't sure what he expected to happen. His sense of vertigo suggested he would fall into the dark expanse, tumble through the space between worlds — no, the space enshrouding the only world that remained. That wasn't what happened. His imagination suggested his toe would encounter resistance where there should be none, and he would begin to walk on thin air. That wasn't what happened either.</p>
<p>What happened was</p>
<p>he was suddenly standing in a room with a hundred foot ceiling, every inch of it plastered with blinking lights and glowing lines of exposed wire. There was flame crackling across each string of copper. There were tones that made his teeth ache. There was, though very faintly, "Point Me At The Sky" by Pink Floyd in something between Morse Code and a lo-fi mix.</p>
<p>There was Reuben Wirth, bent over a tiny control unit, sitting on the tile floor. The tiles were cracked asbestos, pink and spackled with white. Like an ancient science lab.</p>
<p>Like somewhere Wynn Rydderech might once have worked.</p>
<p>Wirth looked up, blinked, and then blinked again. "Who's there?!" he asked, though they were not ten metres apart.</p>
<p>McInnis approached, hands spread to show he had neither evil intentions nor the means of effectuating them. "Director McInnis."</p>
<p>The young man, no longer so young and eyes very old, very tired, struggled to his feet. His blonde hair, now streaked with grey, was matted across his forehead. His labcoat was a mess. There were sweat stains all over him. The air was very humid. "How did you find me?"</p>
<p>"Rather a lot of effort." McInnis looked up at the machine again. It was black-panelled and gleaming, polished so finely that he could see it reflected in itself. "I imagine that was the idea."</p>
<p>"The idea was never to be found." Wirth spun, and reached up into the air to indicate his grand creation — for McInnis was certain, without knowing why, that this was nothing Rydderech could ever have made. There was something familiar about it. "I have to fix this. I <em>can</em> fix this."</p>
<p>"Assuming we're speaking on the same subject," McInnis began walking the perimeter of the room, taking in every socket and plug, "I take you to mean our present situation was not intended?"</p>
<p>Harsh laughter, of a kind he'd heard before several times out of several different throats. "Are you joking? Of <em>course</em> it wasn't intended! I didn't mean to wipe out six billion people!"</p>
<p>"You, or others like you, have done something like that before."</p>
<p>Wirth waved dismissively. "That's just the cycle. This was too sudden. Too much. It didn't <em>mean</em> anything. I didn't mean to do it! I thought I had it all figured out, but I can't," and suddenly he was pounding his forehead with one labcoat-tangled palm, "seem — to — think — straight!"</p>
<p>"Software/hardware conflict, perhaps?" McInnis suggested.</p>
<p>"Yeah. Something like that. <em>Look.</em>" The other man suddenly darted forward, and seized McInnis by his jumper with greasy fingers. "Do you understand what it is you're seeing, here?"</p>
<p>"It would appear to be a very large machine."</p>
<p>"'Very large'." For a moment, it looked like Wirth was working up to spit in the Director's face. "You know what I used for the raw materials?"</p>
<p>"The entirety of Dr. Rydderech's factory?"</p>
<p>A flicker of uncertainty in the eyes. "Hardly a fraction. But you've got the right idea. This is the single most powerful ontokinetic engine ever constructed. With a single thought, you can change the very nature of reality. Shape it in your image. Alter even the minutest detail."</p>
<p>"It hardly seems necessary to reduce all creation to a blank slate to test such a power."</p>
<p>"That's not…! I already told you, that wasn't what I meant to do. I didn't mean it. I didn't <em>mean</em> it." He was near tears. "I was just trying to change the wallpaper."</p>
<p>"The wallpaper?"</p>
<p>"That was my first test. My only test. Turn the wallpaper in my quarters pink, just to see if it would work. I looked up all the blueprints for Site-43, pictured the whole thing in my mind — like a cutaway drawing, perfect in every detail — and willed my wallpaper pink."</p>
<p>McInnis withdrew from the other man's grip, and stepped back. Just once. "How were you able to conceive of the entire facility all at once?"</p>
<p>"You'd be amazed what your hardware can do, with the right software."</p>
<p>"But what went wrong?"</p>
<p>Wirth spun again, and snatched up his remote control. There were a great many buttons on it, and a pair of medical-looking leads. "I misunderstood the plans. I got the functions wrong. I thought I was visualizing. I thought it was helping me <em>visualize.</em> But I was defining, instead."</p>
<p>"So… you visualized everything but Site-43 out of existence."</p>
<p>"No, I pictured Site-43 with pink wallpaper in my quarters, and the universe became Site-43 with pink wallpaper in my quarters." Wirth sighed ruefully.</p>
<p>It seemed an enviously mild reaction to McInnis. "I suppose we're lucky you did all that research first. If you had simply focused on your quarters instead of the entire Site… well, whoever thought pink wallpaper would cause the big crunch?"</p>
<p>"You came here to blame me." The long-dead researcher shook his head, soggy locks flipping from side to side with the motion. "I knew you would. But you came at just the right moment. I bought myself enough time."</p>
<p>"You might have remained hidden much longer had you constructed your machine in a far-off tunnel. We might never have noticed it, were it not physically connected to the Site."</p>
<p>"Pah." This time Wirth did spit, on the floor, then stared at it as though startled at what he had done. "I'm not down here because I thought you couldn't find it. I thought you couldn't find it, and I don't know how you did," and his eyes narrowed for a moment, only a moment, "but that wasn't the reason."</p>
<p>"Then what?"</p>
<p>"How often do you think of Acquisitions and Liquidation?"</p>
<p>There weren't many terms that could bring McInnis up short, but that was one. He made no effort to keep it off his face, because he knew he couldn't do it convincingly. "Every once in a while."</p>
<p>"And the pack of cigarettes in your desk?"</p>
<p>"Less often. But occasionally."</p>
<p>"Was there anything you could have done differently?"</p>
<p>He had a sudden image of gratuitous violence. His staff fleeing from him in terror. Smashed furniture. Blood. A red haze. And then a bricked-up wall, and one less Section at Site-43. He'd seen it before, in his dreams. He'd seen it once before that, in livid colour.</p>
<p>"No," he admitted. "Compulsion is compulsion. It happens to the best of us. Most personnel who last long enough are forced to face the spectre of a loss of control. Few so completely as you, of course, Dr. Wirth. You have my deepest sympathies."</p>
<p>The other man laughed. "Don't try to change the subject. I'm not under any sort of <em>compulsion.</em> I'm just not who you think I am, which is honestly very embarrassing, because we've met before, more than once, and you really ought to recognize me. I've seen you fail, and fail, and fail again, Allan. I've seen you fall short of your lofty intentions. I've seen you take shortcuts. I've seen you make mistakes. And today, I can feel them all. Right here. Right now."</p>
<p>"Right here," McInnis repeated. "At the peak of Rydderech's factory?"</p>
<p>"At its <em>heart.</em> You're thinking with lines instead of curves. We're standing where the man once lived, Allan. Where he suffered every day for half a century."</p>
<p>"But no longer?" The words seemed to echo.</p>
<p>"No. I've taken up his post. I've absorbed his guilt. Do you know how lonely he was? You think you do, but you don't. You think you regret what you've done to him, but you don't understand the <em>half</em> of it. You're too caught up in all the things you've done wrong that you can't take back. All of you are. Every last one of you. You're anchored to the same shoal by the weight of your shame, and you've polluted every inch of this place with it. It's in the walls. It's in the asbestos. It was giving you <em>cancer.</em> But I'm going to burn it all away."</p>
<p>"Burning asbestos is inadvisable," McInnis murmured.</p>
<p>Wirth glanced down at the controller, and smiled. "I'm a liberator," he said. "I'm going to present you with the finest freedom of all."</p>
<p>"And what is that?"</p>
<p>"Freedom from guilt." He raised the remote, not to use it, but to fix the Director's attention on it. "I'm almost there."</p>
<p>"Almost…?"</p>
<p>"I know what went wrong. I know how to fix it. I <em>have</em> fixed it, the machine I mean." McInnis searched Wirth's eyes for uncertainty, confusion, dishonesty. There was only a crazed determination. "It works the way I thought it would work, now."</p>
<p>McInnis turned away, and examined the computers behind his manifestation point. "Why was there such a gap between conception and construction? Was it not your plan you were executing?"</p>
<p>By the sound of his voice, Wirth was frowning. "I and me are two different things, and sometimes more. Sometimes <em>seven.</em> You know what I mean. You've been through this rodeo <em>twice already.</em> So you can excuse me for being a little <em>mixed up,</em> given the circumstances."</p>
<p>"Given what you've done," McInnis brushed the cold steel and polymer with his fingertips, "forgiveness is entirely beyond my authority."</p>
<p>"There won't be anything to forgive, soon. It'll all be back to normal. It'll all be <em>back.</em> Then you can do whatever you want. We can shape it however we please."</p>
<p>McInnis let his hands fall back to his sides. He began adjusting the hem of his jumper. "My desires are now being taken into account? You're no longer a unilateral Creator?"</p>
<p>"Just leave me alone," Wirth cursed. "Leave me down here, with the machine. Let me finish my work. You just need to give me another chance." His voice was growing louder. He was approaching. "When I'm ready, I'll set things right again. I'm the only one who can."</p>
<p>McInnis turned to face him again. "I absolutely believe you."</p>
<p>She found him at the door, one hand on his temple, the other clutching the jamb. He didn't look up when she approached, but he did nod. "The matter is settled."</p>
<p>Lillian frowned. "Meaning?"</p>
<p>"Meaning the matter is settled. There is no further threat from Dr. Wirth." He looked up, and she saw his eyes were closed. He opened them. "Your hypotheses were entirely correct. As were Dr. Du's, and Dr. Bremmel's. I'll thank you to inform them."</p>
<p>He started down the hall.</p>
<p>"Where are you going?" she called after him.</p>
<p>"I'm feeling fatigued. It was a taxing interaction. Please do not attempt to enter the factory tonight; we will begin promemetic treatment tomorrow, to make the space more easily accessible."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni was waiting around the next bend, and he heard the tail end of that sentence. "Accessible for what?" he demanded, as the Director brushed past him.</p>
<p>"Hey," Lillian called. McInnis was moving fast for a man with such short legs. "HEY. What happened down there? What was it all about?"</p>
<p>"You already know what it was all about, Lillian." He glanced back at her, eyes hooded, but did not slow his roll. "Regrets. Let's do our best not to accrue any more, shall we?"</p>
<p>Karen shook her head. "And that's that? It's all settled?"</p>
<p>"I guess so." Harry spread his arms around the back of the couch, clutching at the frame beneath the fabric. "We're in this for the long haul, now."</p>
<p>She wrinkled her nose. "Well, it's nice that we're not in danger of any further program interruptions. I wonder how Allan managed that."</p>
<p>Harry shrugged. "He can be very convincing, when he wants to."</p>
<p>"Mmm." She ran her hands along the length of her slacks. Her legs were very long.</p>
<p>There was something in the set of her jaw that set him to wondering. "Good day at the office?"</p>
<p>She smiled. It reached her eyes. "Just another day at the beach. I never realized how much heavy lifting the Oversight was doing in Admin and Oversight."</p>
<p>"Yeah, I guess you don't miss Overwatch?"</p>
<p>"Over-the-shoulder-watch, more like." She stretched, and let her hands rest on the frame where they fell. "Without them, it's like managing a condo complex."</p>
<p>"Still sounds pretty cut-throat."</p>
<p>"I can cut throats from nine to five, and not bring it home with me."</p>
<p>He felt his left hand creeping up the back of the couch. "Sounds like you've got a lot of free time, for a change."</p>
<p>"Little bit." Her right hand crept down to meet his. "What about you? What have you got to work on, for the next few months?"</p>
<p>He met her eyes, held her gaze. "I did have a project in mind, actually."</p>
<p>"Do tell."</p>
<p>Their hands connected.</p>
<p>"Maybe I could show you, instead."</p>
<p>It was a sudden thing, what with both of them pulling at the same time. It was a miracle neither of them broke anything.</p>
<p>Not for lack of trying.</p>
<div class="Ngo">
<p><strong>Debriefing Log 5243-C</strong> (Cont'd)</p>
<p><strong>Subjects:</strong> Allan J. McInnis (Director, Site-43)</p>
<p><strong>Officer of Record:</strong> Nhung T. Ngo (Deputy Chair, Psychology and Parapsychology Section, Site-43)</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> Did it work?</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> We'd become more self-sufficient since the first incident. Between our stores and the hydroponics, even with all the damage done by the open airlock, we were able to scrape by for a year.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> I mean, did Wirth's plan work? With the machine?</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> No, it didn't.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> Why not?</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> Because I shot him in the head, and left his body in the black.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/45-nothing-to-worry-about">Nothing to Worry About</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/45-nothing-to-worry-about">https://scpwiki.com/45-nothing-to-worry-about</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:</p>
<p>Dougall Deering: "Twitter 365 Project - Day 55" and "Tokyo" by Richard Giles, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076</a></p>
<p>Xinyi Du: "Dr.Kweon scientist Army Research Laboratory" by U.S. Army DEVCOM, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/usarmyccdc/8125441607">https://www.flickr.com/photos/usarmyccdc/8125441607</a></p>
<p>Karen Elstrom: "Natalya" by Anastasia Pavlenko, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/zamerzla/50841210177">https://www.flickr.com/photos/zamerzla/50841210177</a></p>
<p>Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653</a></p>
<p>Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023</a></p>
<p>Noè Nascimbeni: "abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992">https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992</a></p>
<p>Nhung Ngo: Nhi Dang, "Huyen," released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/nhi_dg/7186551316/">https://www.flickr.com/photos/nhi_dg/7186551316/</a> and Rod Waddington, "Hmong Woman," released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/rod_waddington/44409399060">https://www.flickr.com/photos/rod_waddington/44409399060</a></p>
<p>Ilse Reynders: "Practicing that blank stare" and "Quinn working" by Quinn Dombrowski, both released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529">https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529</a> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028">https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028</a></p>
<p>Daniil Sokolsky: "Brett - 08-08-08" and "Waterpitts, 29-09-12" by Brett Jordan, both released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625">https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842">https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842</a></p>
<p>Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470</a></p>
<p>William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260">https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260</a></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Everything!<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735469598" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
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[[=]]
**Nothing to Worry About**
The void takes care of itself.
[!-- [[image http://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/]] --]
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
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+ ##990011|2011##
++ 11 September
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**Timeline 5243-C**[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
"It's cabin fever," LeClair sighed. "Only the cabin is the biggest building in the world, and it's got one thousand people in it."
"Also the cabin //is// the world, and it's got our whole damn species."
"I don't know why people keep repeating that." LeClair finished filling out the inventory form, handed Helena the clipboard, and closed the cupboard. "For all we know, someone pocketed us like a billiard ball. The entire Site being intact is a sign that this was done by something intelligent. Some//one,// most likely. And the Foundation has a lot more enemies than the human race does."
"Helps that every enemy of the human race is //de facto// the Foundation's enemy."
They walked back out of the barracks pharmacy. Agent Bosch nodded a friendly greeting as he walked by; the grunts liked to stay on the doctors' good side, as a rule. Never knew when you'd need patching up. They had their own medics and supplies, but for anything serious, they'd rely on LeClair's steady hands.
"Come on." Helena poked her daughter in the shoulder, twice. Billie was sitting on a bunk bed, scowling at nothing. She slouched to her feet and followed without a word.
LeClair was patting her labcoat and frowning. Helena handed her the clipboard, receiving a wan smile in response. "Thanks."
"Been a stressful couple days."
"That's the thing, actually." They headed for the cloverleaf, passing techs and agents and the odd labcoated abationist as they went. "Ngo says stress is down so far. Says Elstrom actually complimented her this morning."
"Bullshit," Billie muttered. Helena chose not to make an issue of it.
"But the injuries are a bad sign, anyway. Anxiety is a problem, but going squirrelly? That can become fatal, very fast."
"Very fast," Helena repeated. "How do people who live underground anyway start getting cabin fever after only two days?"
"Schrödinger's topside," LeClair mused. "You know it's there until you don't. You don't need it until you do."
"Don't think that's much to do with Schrödinger."
"I might be misremembering."
They passed a pair of junior researchers overtly snogging in a comms niche. LeClair flicked the closest man on the scalp, and said "You have a room. Use it. And use a condom, too."
"Room's too small," the man muttered back. His partner winced agreement.
"I just don't get it," Helena sighed again.
"I do," said Billie, but in the crowded corridor nobody heard her.
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It meant an argument with his peers, but that was nothing new. They argued practically every time they spoke. It was a major constituent element of their friendship. In the end, they relented. McInnis had never objected in the first place; Udo's objection had almost certainly involved personal considerations she was unwilling to air in a pinch; Del just wanted to complain, and Lillian wanted Harry to feel embarrassed before she let him have the win.
Not that he thought it was any great boon, being able to pass on this information. Telling someone their entire world had a shelf life was not the most pleasant of tasks. Still, he felt she had a right to know. He would have felt profoundly wrong proceeding without telling her.
What he hadn't expected, though in retrospect it made a certain sense, was that Karen would open her mouth in a silent guffaw and stare at him with wide eyes and an open-mouthed smile for ten seconds straight before saying, in a mixture of awe and relief, "That's fucking //hilarious.//"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/45-nothing-to-worry-about/DL_45_01_Elstrom_Guffaw.jpg]]
And the whole way up the elevator, she was humming a jaunty tune.
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Most resources at Site-43 were already inventoried regularly, so the recount was just a formality. But McInnis wanted precise, up-to-date numbers for everything, and he got them within two days. It only took that long because in addition to counting the food, medical supplies, armaments and the like, he demanded a tally of every other numerable object within the facility. He had to know precisely, in every detail, what they were working with.
Harold Blank, some of his old sense of humour already returning for some reason, found it a fun idea as well as a vital one. "We have the opportunity, for the first time in human history, to know exactly how many objects exist in the entire world. It was never worth the prep costs before, you know?"
With it all laid out in front of him, McInnis could now judge the length of eternity. How long the only living things would live. The Site kept food and medicine stores for one year at max complement, a policy inaugurated after everyone had been trapped bottomside while indigenous protestors occupied Camp Ipperwash above in the mid-nineties. Those stores were at capacity. They would likely last until September 8, 2012. Of course, that wasn't good enough; they didn't want hunger riots interrupting the containment procedures for SCP-5243, and they also didn't want to drop dead if they failed and were stuck here permanently.
Well, probably. Probably they wouldn't want that.
So LeClair and Forsythe were synthesizing additional stocks, with help from an unusual source: William Wettle, whose degree in chemistry and experience in pharmacology could finally come in handy. They'd be replicating medicine for a while to ensure they'd be prepared for any eventuality, as even a single preventable death represented a major drop in the community's sustainability.
Unless of course they couldn't get their food growth projections higher, in which case a few casualties, perhaps early on, might help considerably with reaching the finish line. (The first to point this out had been, of course, Delfina Ibanez.) The Site was equipped with hydroponics, though they had been designed as a supplement to food imports from outside or to allow for pet projects in the field of agricultural comestibles rather than full-scale production. Muhammad Ghosh, a turfgrass management specialist among other things, was overseeing the transformation of their little greenhouses and grow-ops into something resembling a covert industrial farm. Initial estimates suggested their supply of soil, seeds and a variety of complex organics would enable what had formerly been pilot studies to carry them through to October, if necessary.
If it needed to last even longer, that would be an entirely different kind of problem.
Most of the day-to-day consumables weren't an issue. They'd never run out of paper, batteries, lightbulbs, soap, //et cetera,// or rather they'd run out of something more vital much sooner. They'd be rationing these things anyway, though not excessively; McInnis understood that enhancing the already oppressive nature of their collective imprisonment was a good way to take it from unpleasant to intolerable. He had Styles writing up proposals for incentive programs, spontaneous parties and such to keep spirits high and the odds of disobedience low, and both Ibanez and Van Rompay had been briefed on the importance of taking the lightest of touches to internal policing.
External policing was also a consideration, now more than ever. The Site had a lot more externals going on than they'd ever had to manage. The empty caverns which surrounded it had largely disappeared, but there was now a vast expanse of roof accessible through maintenance hatches designed for repair and replacement of the various protective membranes stretched over the first sublevel. Within the walls, egress points to the Mishepeshu tunnels now opened on solid void, but an enterprising spelunker could use them to crawl along the facility's outer skin. Obviously nobody in the Site's complement was expected to do this sort of thing, but they were much better off safe than sorry, so patrols were posted and locks double-checked regularly. They were still deciding what to do with the exterior of the transport systems; it was now possible to promenade along the top of the subway tunnels from the main Site to AAF-A, with only the slimmest likelihood of tripping, slipping, and falling to your death, presumably of starvation, in the dark.
Why the whole Site hadn't done that already, none could say.
Nascimbeni's early findings re: the power and potables situations seemed to hold. They were still trying to figure out where the wells were getting their water, and what the geothermal vents were actually venting, and some of the scientists thought the answers to these questions might conclusively explain just what precisely the great disappearing had really represented, but for now the main thing was that the lights would stay on, the water would keep running, and the heat would keep radiating.
Spaceship-43, a pale grey dot in the otherwise vacant cosmos, would endure.
Probably.
If nothing else went wrong.
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++ 12 September
[[/=]]
----
//Don't think about it.//
"That's probably far enough." If only so the sound of the whirring hydraulics would distract his preoccupied mind.
Vanchev nodded, and flicked the switch. The pulley began drawing the cable back up. "One kilometre, and nothing."
"Yep."
They were standing on the bottom-most level of AAF-A, feeding a long length of steel braid through what had formerly been a cave access hatchway. They'd send drones down next, now that it was obviously safe; they were already buzzing far above the facility, determining whether the blackness had any extent or boundaries, but somehow sending them downward had seemed much more potentially dangerous. Material dropped below the Site would be essentially irretrievable. At least if it fell from above, it would impact on the roof of S&C.
"Been talking to Paul," Vanchev yawned. "Know what he thinks?"
Nascimbeni did not know what Paul Nicolescu thought. He couldn't wrap his head around anything that happened between these two men anymore. Where he came from, one had bludgeoned the other to death. Where he was now, they were closer than he'd ever been with his own son.
//Don't think about it.//
There was something very human about the way everyone was reacting to the sudden appearance of nothing in every direction. Site-43 was now the full extent of their reality, and what were they all doing? Standing at the edge, looking away from everything that existed, at...
"We need more words for 'nothing'," said Nascimbeni, ignoring the question he'd already nearly forgotten.
"Weird, right?" Vanchev agreed.
They were worse than children on Christmas morning playing with the box and ignoring the toy. They were playing with the space beneath the tree where the box had been. In a sense, he supposed, it indicated both a whimsical imagination and the soul of science. He remembered when Flora--
//Don't think about it.//
"Sorry I'm late."
Technician Charles Carter sauntered over from the stairs, zipping up the front of his jumpsuit. He was five minutes early for his shift, as he had been the previous day, and the one before that. He apologized for it every time. Perhaps it was an inside joke Nascimbeni was meant to be inside of. He had no way of knowing.
Eileen Veiksaar was with him, rubbing red-rimmed eyes beneath black-rimmed glasses. "Want to talk to you," she said, and Nascimbeni assumed he was being addressed. She hadn't cared for Vanchev back in baseline (nobody had), and he suspected she'd already had plenty of time to talk with Carter.
"Sure. What do you want to talk about?"
"I want to run something //rhetorical// past you." The emphasis was only the tracest of outlines, but it was there.
He fixed a smile on his face, and nodded. "Okay. The office?" He gestured in the vague direction of the tiny maintenance kiosk on this sublevel.
She inclined her head agreeably, then stood on her tip-toes and kissed Carter on the cheek. He was already leaning to the side so she could reach. "See you later," she cooed.
He'd never heard her coo before.
Carter grinned. "Not if I--"
"You'll see me first automatically," she snapped. "I wear glasses. That's how light works."
Something in the way she said it gave Nascimbeni a notion. As they headed for the kiosk together, he chanced a glance back at Carter, who was clapping Vanchev on the back companionably, and then at Veiksaar, who was re-adjusting her glasses after the kiss.
Each had a gold band on their left ring finger.
He wasn't sure why this should give him a worse sinking feeling than watching the cable descend into the unplumbable abyss, but still, it did.
He didn't think about it.
[!-- [[=image Nascimbeni_Carter_Veiksaar.jpg]] --]
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Karen stared into the void.
The void approached, and rubbed itself against her pant leg. She reached down and touched the void, and it began to purr.
Karen Elstrom in his dorm room was like a touch of Rococo in a drug nest. Stiff and ornate in a den of dissolution. She didn't so much pull the room together as she put it to shame. Harry realized he'd hardly ever seen her outside of A&O for nearly a decade, where the fancy decor was only slightly upstaged by her impeccable sense of style.
The cat leapt onto the cushion beside her, a bridge between two poles of elegance. She reached out, and a tiny black snout delicactely sniffed at her metallic blue fingernails.
"Question," he said. She glanced down the couch at him, an invitation to continue, as her long fingers found the cat's flank with experimental precision. "What do you know about Foundation medical tech?"
She scratched behind Scout's ears. The cat jumped into her lap, startling her; she held both hands in the air uncertainly as the brown-black ball began kneading her thighs. "Uh. Not much. What's your question specifically?"
"Anti-aging."
She looked at him again, this time speculatively. "Feeling old?"
"Yeah. I'm sure you can see the grey hairs from over there."
She scooted a little closer on the couch, and leaned in his direction. Even so casual a gesture seemed choreographed from Karen, and her hands never missed a beat. The cat, never very skittish when he was being loved, rolled with the haunches. "A few," she agreed. "I still don't know what you're asking."
"I don't really expect an answer, I'm just putting out feelers. Do you know what might cause someone to age at a different rate? Someone in the Foundation?"
"Oh, well." She performed her equivalent of a shrug, inclining her head away from him. "Yeah. The Fountain of Youth."
"Which is a myth. As in, an actual myth. Not in the database."
"Maybe not in the database," she smiled, "but not quite a myth. I've got inside information."
"Why, Dr. Elstrom." He rubbed Scout's flank with his toes. "Are you immortal?"
"According to my last phys-and-psych, my body's young and my brain is old. I'm not talking about me." Her expression clouded over. "I'm talking about Falkirk."
He should have known better than to ask her a question like this. Now he'd need to play a one-sided game, keep her from realizing he hadn't lived the same nine years she had. He'd gone over his diaries and notes, but that only got him so far. "Falkirk."
"Yes. When he was Director." Her lips were thinning to points.
"I remember." He did remember Falkirk as Director. He supposed it made sense that the old bastard had filled that role in every timeline; the 2002 breach, which had triggered his investigation and advent at the Site, had happened in every reality they'd inhabited.
"You remember how pale and skinny he was? How he looked like death warmed over?"
"Yeah. Trust me, I remember that." //Trust me.// The words had the savour of charcoal.
"He told me a funny story about something that happened in the war..."
[!-- [[=image Harry_Elstrom_Scout.jpg]] --]
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"I knew it was water," Lillian crowed. She stabbed a finger at Del. "I //told// you it was water. Pony up."
Nascimbeni was still processing the information. He didn't like it, but he wasn't sure how to articulate why. As usual, the others were taking up the slack with gusto.
"One," Del scowled, "you told me it was //just// water. Two, wouldn't you rather get paid in baseline? So it takes?"
"It's not about the money. It's about the memory of being right, and I get to hold on to that forever."
They were sitting in a deeper sanctum within the Director's Complex, a sitting room with appointments that had once been modern and luxurious, which were now moderne and comfortable. Just the seven of them. Some topics, though not many, were meant only for Survivor ears.
"You're saying they inject us with holy water?" Wettle frowned.
"Not holy, just magic." By his tone, Harry was still wrapping his head around how this made him feel. "Water from the Fountain of Youth. Falkirk saw it. He took a bath in it. It saved his life, once."
"Dr. Falkirk," McInnis murmured, "is not what I would call a reliable source."
He was also a sore spot for Nascimbeni, who still kept mum and watched the others argue. He'd just as soon never have heard the old man's name.
"Dr. Falkirk," said Lillian, "was a sack of flaming //shit.//"
"But it makes sense." Udo had been nodding since Harry began the story, which he visibly found annoying. It looked to Nascimbeni like she was trying too hard to agree with him. "He was practically ancient, but he had all that energy. I remember hearing LeClair say something about how he never needed a medical checkup."
"He was only there for, what, a week? Ten days?" Nascimbeni pointed out.
"Sure, but at his age that should have meant at least a cursory exam. Something was keeping him healthy."
Harry nodded back at her, perhaps hoping that would make her stop. It did. "I think that's it."
"It could just be standard life extension." Nascimbeni was unconvinced. He had a hard time believing the Foundation would inject actual anomalies into people, and the implications...
"Chief, look around." Udo spread her hands to take in the entire group. "Everyone's older now."
"Could be environmental factors," he shrugged. "Also, //you// look exactly the same."
Udo looked pained, but had no response.
"We can't prove //whether// this was happening." Harry caught each of their eyes in turn. "But can we imagine //why?// Why it might be happening? I think we understand that if this stuff is actually real, it's probably only used by the Council." Everyone knew the Overseers had lifespans far in excess of the human norm, though it wasn't clear //how// everyone knew it. There was apparently no rarefied hall of power impenetrable to escaping rumour. "Why would they authorize giving it to us?"
"I know," said Wettle.
"I don't know." Lillian put her foot up on a coffee table, dislodging a small stack of Sherlock Holmes paperbacks in the process.
"I said, I know. Don't do the thing."
"What thing?" Lillian loosened one of her shoes in preparation.
Wettle instinctively flinched. "The thing where nobody listens to me when I know what's going on!"
"Has that happened more than once?" Harry asked him. "Has that happened //once,// even?"
"Alright, broken clock," said Del. "Let's see if it's your time to be right. Explain."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/45-nothing-to-worry-about/DL_45_02_Wettle_Floor.jpg]]
"Replication studies. That's my thing. You guys do things once, and I do them again, and again, to make sure the first time meant something. To get the same results, you need the same starting conditions. You need to control and //maintain// those conditions."
"Fuck," said Lillian. "I--"
"Shut up," Wettle snapped. Her eyes went wide in shock. "Let me have this one. It's the Breach, guys. Of course it's the Breach. They want us as healthy and smart as we were when it happened the first time."
"You are characterizing yourself as healthy and intelligent." Harry obviously couldn't bring himself to use the word 'smart', not even in quotation, not even for an insult.
Wettle waved him away. "Shut //up.// You know this is it. They're giving us those shots so we're still around to do the thing, and keep the timeline together."
"Fat lot of good it did them this year," Del sighed.
Nascimbeni felt the other shoe drop. Not Lillian's, but the metaphorical one that had been dangling in his mind since the first grey hairs had been spotted. "Oh, no," he said. "Oh, no no no."
They all stared at him. "Chief?" McInnis prompted.
"Remember the time experts? Forth and Xyank? They said they didn't know what was going on. Why the loop was happening. Why the timelines worked how they do."
"Right," Udo agreed.
"Fuck //fuck,//" said Lillian.
"That's why they're keeping us young." Nascimbeni felt his eyes turning hollow as he spoke. "Not just so we do everything right. So we //keep// doing everything right. Indefinitely."
No-one filled the silence that followed, so he finished the thought himself.
"They think this might go on forever."
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++ 13 September
[[/=]]
----
Chuck Carter, the long-dead technician who somehow lingered on in every alternate timeline, dropped Eileen off with a kiss. Like every display of affection directed toward her once-upon-a-time partner, it made Lillian feel inarticulately icky. Like someone was kissing an old shirt of hers.
She filed that vile thought away under //things I can say to quickly end a conversation with Eileen.// For today, she had first to begin one.
"Now don't get excited," she began. "You're not my first interview."
Eileen sat down across from her, expression as neutral and detached as ever. "Okay," she said. "I am not excited. Continue."
They were sitting in a repurposed containment chamber. Lillian had repurposed it by placing a sign on the door which said "Interrogation in progress. Do not lock door. NOT A CONTAINMENT CHAMBER." She'd considered putting a cognitohazard on it, but had made the mistake of saying this out loud in earshot of McInnis. //He thinks that's bad, he should see my favourite shirt.//
"I interviewed three people already. I did do them all at once, though, so you can think yourself as the second interview, or the fourth. Or the third, if you consider the two twins I interviewed to be one person, but that's not v--"
"Lillian." Eileen was rubbing her temples, much as Du had done earlier; perhaps more urgently. Lillian prided herself on being able to do more damage with her mouth than her hands.
"Sure, sure. I know you. Machines are soothing, people are a headache. The more honest you are with me, the sooner you can get back to your quarters and grab some Tylenol with coding."
The pun left Eileen scowling, but the implications opened her eyes a pinch. "What do you think I'm being dishonest about?"
"Nothing, yet. That starts when I ask you my question."
The tech chief exhaled for longer than Lillian would have been able to. She could hold a lot of air in her little barrel of a body. "Only one question? If I only have to give you one answer, I'm pretty sure I can avoid telling a lie."
"Fab." Lillian clapped, and Eileen shrunk away from the sound. "Here we go, then. What's your biggest regret?"
The other woman blinked.
"Come on. I thought you wanted--"
"My biggest regret? That's what you're asking? What does that have to do with anything?"
"I was //just// promised a single answer. Now you're asking three questions, and one of them's not even phrased--"
"Fine! Fine." Eileen pulled the hood of her cotton scrubs up over her ears, as though seeking extra protection from the assault that was Lillian's speech. "My biggest regret. Sure. Alright."
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[[div class="generic"]]
[[=]]
+ ##5D5D5D|1995##
++ 22 August
[[/=]]
-----
The pungent scent of Right Guard deodorant preceded his arrival, and she steeled herself. Though it was difficult to tell, with the office floors carpeted as they were, she felt certain he lingered out of sight behind her, looking over her back, before sliding into view and draping his arms lazily over the walls of her cubicle. "Eileen."
"Chief." She forced a smile.
Rudolph Marroquin flicked a hand at her monitor. "Everything working out alright?"
Her heart fell. He couldn't be serious. "Of course. Getting it done."
"All of it?" Marroquin pressed, smiling the least sincere smile she'd seen outside of a zoo.
"All of it." Her voice sounded weak in her own ears. By the way his nostrils flared, she knew it sounded the same to him. He was a tiger sniffing blood on the wind.
"Lyle?" she called out. Her boyfriend was working in the next row of cubes, a few seats down. The office was almost empty otherwise, only one other tech slaving away at their machine. She wasn't sure what she was going to say when he responded, but it would signal the end of her conversation with Marroquin, and that was all that mattered.
Except Lyle didn't respond. He didn't so much as acknowledge her. If he were a cat, his ears wouldn't even have twitched.
//Where'd these animal metaphors come from, all of a sudden?//
"He's busy. Eileen, it's really important that you get these things done today. Important for both of us. You understand."
She did understand. She knew exactly what he was talking about. Her fingers itched to call up the program she'd been working on, even with him looming over her machine, and let the cards fall where they would.
But no. If she was going to do that, she was going to do it right. She was a programmer. Half-finished code was no better, and sometimes worse, than no code at all. And some part of her was already rebelling at the idea of using something so pure for such a dirty job. Before Marroquin, it had all seemed so elegant...
So, she nodded. And called out again, more forcefully: "Lyle."
He waved a hand dismissively.
"Really gets into his work, doesn't he?" Marroquin chuckled. "Maybe let some of that dedication rub off on you. Of course, if you're not up to the tasks we've agreed on, I could always see if he's game to join our little cabal."
She shook her head. //Anything but that.// "It's fine. It'll be done. Like I told you."
"Great." The chief tech stood up, stretched, and then patted her on the back. Even through the cotton, his touch was electric in all the wrong ways. "End of day, please. As in, day doesn't end until it's done. You understand."
And he walked away, ignoring Lyle to zero in on Cassandra Avelina on the opposite end of the block. He paused before stepping in front of her, and... yes, he was scanning her screen, seeing what she was up to. Eileen saw Avelina's shoulders tense up. She could tell he was there, and was preparing herself for the assault.
Lyle was looking at her now. "What did you want? You wanted something, right?"
She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. It's not your problem."
He instantly turned back to his screen. "My favourite kind."
She watched Avelina recoil as Marroquin dangled his paper bag hands into her enclosure...
//Oh.//
//__That's__ where they came from.//
[!-- [[=image Veiksaar_Marroquin_Lyle.jpg]] --]
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Lillian looked ill. "Why is that your greatest regret?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/45-nothing-to-worry-about/DL_45_03_Veiksaar_Regret.jpg]]
"It continues," Eileen sighed.
"Not with me, it doesn't. I didn't call you in as a guilt trip, so you don't have to guilt trip me //back.//"
"That's not--"
"I'm sorry, okay? I wasn't paying attention. I //don't// pay attention. But I think it's safe to say you missed a few details about me, too. Yeah?"
Eileen bit her tongue.
"You know what I think? I think maybe you tried to come up with the real answer, and you bounced off it. Landed somewhere near, but not quite on the mark."
"Don't."
"It started in '95, but--"
"I said //don't.//"
"You sure you don't want to jump forward a few years? Say, to the turn of the mill--"
She gave Lilian the finger on her way to the door.
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Lillian glanced down at her work tablet. She considered it for a moment.
"Well," she finally said, to herself. "Probably wasn't her."
That was definitely the takeaway.
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Udo hadn't seen Laiken since that first session, days ago. She'd come out of the trance in a bad mood, had barely been able to preserve decorum with the woman while excusing herself back to her dorm, and that was mostly where she'd been this entire time. She'd gone to the Survivors meeting, but that was it. She'd called in to ApplOcc, said she was recovering from the heavy duty thaumaturgy, and nobody questioned it. Probably she wasn't known for extravagant acts of micamancy in this timeline. She hadn't been in the last, or the one after that either. She had to keep resetting people's expectations; it might have been exhausting, if her memories hadn't been wiped every time.
Eventually she got tired of cooking pot noodles in her room, and reporting the consumption to Styles' office. Odds were good he was preparing to send one of LeClair's nurses her way, armed with a packet of information about the value of proper nutrition in survival situations. If that was the case, it would go better if she had something to say for herself.
This was the excuse she used to get out of her funk, through the halls, and into the main cafeteria.
Hot meals had once been prepared here around the clock, but now the times were fixed. 'Leftovers' had become a synonym for 'waste'; nothing would be prepared if it wasn't going to be eaten right away. She'd seen the projections, and even with the hydroponics going full tilt, it was going to be tight if they didn't tighten their belts.
But it was half past six in the evening, and the cafeteria was still serving. She let old Wyers ladle some vegetables and chicken into a bowl for her, and her body reacted to the smell like she was huffing ammonia inhalants. It was revitalizing. This was what five pot noodles in a row did to a woman.
She scanned the room. There were a few clusters of researchers and techs, but nobody she knew. Ordinarily she'd take her meals upstairs, in ApplOcc's little café, but...
//Actually, you do know that one.//
Yes, she did, but...
But nothing. It didn't matter anymore. It should never have mattered in the first place. It was absurd for her still to be hung up on this, years later, even if the man //had// died. He'd been a bastard. He wasn't worth it.
And Phil looked lonely, though it could have been only that she was used to seeing him with constant company.
She took her tray, and went over to sit across from him. "Hey."
He looked up in surprise. He'd been daydreaming, or nightdreaming, or whatever the hell. Nobody really knew what time it was unless they were on shift, now. "Oh. Hey!"
"If you don't mind?" She settled the tray on her side of the table, and starting picking at the chicken.
"Mind? Oh. No, I don't mind." The plate on his own tray was empty, but he picked up his fork and tapped at it pointlessly anyway. It was guilelessly charming.
"How've you been holding up?" It was easy to talk to him. Too easy. She considered bolting for the door, but something in his eyes kept her seated.
He looked, she thought, like he was considering bolting for the door.
"Oh. You know." He shrugged. "I keep thinking."
"Your parents?" The words wrung themselves out of her. She popped a piece of chicken into her mouth to stop it happening again. A sudden rush of nausea made her wonder what would happen when she tried to swallow.
"Dead. No, I'm just..." He looked up at the ceiling. "My brother. You know?"
She stopped chewing, and stared at him.
"He was out there, somewhere. Do you think he still is?"
No matter what else happened, Dougall Deering always died in the Breach. He'd been dead in the two prior timelines. He'd died over and over in baseline, ten times now. Aside from her own inadequacy, she'd thought that was the only true throughline across every situation. But of course there was one other still.
Philip Deering never finding out.
She swallowed. "Yeah. I'm sure he's fine."
He smiled at her, and the chicken settled in her stomach without issue. She took another bite.
[!-- [[=image Phokorie.jpg]] --]
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[[=]]
+ ##6666FF|1998##
++ 20 November
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-333 Atlantic City]: New Jersey, United States of America**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
-----
She lay very still, so still he could almost imagine she wasn't breathing. But she was, and without the help of the machines. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but the mass of scars all over her hands and arms gave him pause. If he touched her, would she wake up? If she woke up... what? Would she be glad to see him? Would she remember what had happened? Why she was here?
Would she remember the crash or the argument first? If she remembered the argument first, then maybe it would be okay.
What if she didn't remember the argument at all?
They said she should be awake soon. They wouldn't have to keep her under much longer.
He thought about saying something, but he didn't know what he would say. Offer an excuse, maybe. An apology, probably.
She'd had enough apologies from him. She'd said so. But there would always be another, and another, and the reasons for that would never change.
So he stood up, and he walked out.
[[/div]]
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"There was that one time," said Wettle, very slowly, as though taking great care to get it right, "when I left Wrigley Field early to beat the crowds, and they hit a grand slam out of the park, and I was in the front seat of my car when the ball broke my windshield." He blinked. "I'd rather have found out later. I've never seen a grand slam, and I was looking at my phone."
[!-- [[=image Wettle_Regret.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Karen made a face of such pure and unconcealed disgust that he had to laugh. "Don't like it?"
"No," she gulped, "it's great. Really great. How is it for cleaning drains?"
"Must be the vodka." Harry chugged the Mott's Clamato Caesar, relishing the taste. It tasted like tomatoes and hot sauce. The vodka was barely detectable, which in his opinion was very nearly the best way to experience alcohol.
"Vodka I know." She set the drink down on the coffee table, having only taken one sip, and picked up her glass of gin again. Her fingers fanned across the glass like she was auditioning as a hand model for Tanqueray. "That tasted like a pizza gone bad."
He curled up on his end of the couch. "Can't believe I wasted it in a philistine like you. I've got four more bottles left to last me the whole damn year."
"Well, you can finish mine."
The cat was in her lap again, and she was stroking him absent-mindedly with her free hand. Harry was surprised how quickly Scout had taken to her, though really he shouldn't have been; the cat didn't hate anyone, rather like his namesake. It was more surprising that Karen had chosen to reciprocate the affection. So far as he knew, she hadn't done that for any living creature since just after the turn of the millennium.
The faint buzz was not enough to make him forget his tasks for the day, however much he might have liked to. "You talked to LeClair lately?"
She sipped her gin, gingerly. Daintily even, though that wasn't as funny. "This afternoon. She says the cabin fever's getting worse."
"Lightweights." In a burst of sudden onset karma, he hiccoughed loudly.
She slipped off her Pradas and turned on the couch to face him, their feet just inches apart. She cradled the drink with her hands and knees. It didn't look precisely casual. More like the Sears catalogue approximation of casual. "You don't get stir crazy?"
He shook his head. "Pretty sure I could go my whole life without going outside, or talking to more than one person per day."
She thought about that for a moment. "You know what? I feel the same way."
He wasn't sure he believed that.
She cocked her head to one side. It looked like a photoshoot pose from where he was sitting. He wondered if she could calculate perspective that precisely. She pursed her lips, then asked: "What made you ask about LeClair?"
He'd prepared a response to this question, but in the moment, he simply wasn't feeling it. Instead he said "I dunno. She seem forgetful to you lately? Seems that way to me." It wasn't true, but it was closer to the truth than the cagier answer he should have given.
She raised a brow. "Not particularly. Well, a little. She's been on again, off again for years, you know. But it must be a personality thing, because she's forever getting tested."
"For what?"
"Dementia. Alzheimer's, I guess."
Harry nodded, slowly. "Forsythe make her do it?"
"No, Van Rompay."
"Oh. Huh." He considered. "What's going on with those two, anyhow?
She rolled her eyes. "I honestly do not know. They've been together for years, and it makes no sense. They have nothing in common."
"Mm."
"Their personalities are total opposites."
"Yeah."
"And she could do so much better than him."
He became aware that she was staring at him, with a faint smile threatening to blossom into a strong one on her lips.
He made a thoughtful face. "Maybe he's got good qualities we don't know about."
"He's pretty upfront about his personality. I've always found it pretty obnoxious."
"She's a bit aloof."
"I don't think I've ever seen a genuine emotional reaction from him."
"Well, I mean, her either."
"She's got a hard job to do."
"So does he."
She ran her feet over his. "Not so hard."
"You'd be surprised."
She laughed.
He hadn't heard her laugh in nine years.
"We live in an age of miracles," he said.
She curled her toes against the top of his foot. "Don't get ideas. It's just the wine laughing."
"White wine? Hardly. White wine gives you sour thoughts."
She raised both eyebrows this time.
"I've never told you about drinks that think? So, there was this guy..."
[!-- [[=image Blank_Elstrom_Drink.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Later that night, when Karen had returned to her quarters, Harry reached for his tablet and tapped out a message for Lillian.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
Not just LeClair. Van Rompay too.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
The responses came in quick succession.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**L_Lillihammer**
Great.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**L_Lillihammer**
I get to antagonize a power couple.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**L_Lillihammer**
Said power being to shoot me with a gun and refuse to treat my gunshot wounds.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**L_Lillihammer**
What could go right?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 14 September
[[/=]]
----
"I'm afraid not." McInnis sat down, carefully smoothing out his sweatervest and tugging out the cuffs of his work shirt. "They've both agreed to be seen eventually, and we're going to need to respect that, or it will seem suspicious. There would be no reason to bump them up in your schedule unless they were active suspects, and if they know you know something..."
Lillian said something inarticulate.
"They're being cooperative, by their standards. We need to respect that, not least because if we start behaving arbitrarily, that might lead certain parties to examine our actions more closely -- and we most certainly have something to hide. Several of your other targets have completely refused to be interviewed, correct?"
"Yeah." Lillian glanced down at her tablet, not that she needed to. The prop drama of human conversation. "Laiken says AcroAbate can't spare her, which could be true. Probably doesn't have any regrets anyway. Holt's guarding the drunk tank in F-A, and she's the only guard taller than the guy who's in it right now. Du and Bremmel are too busy doing a teardown on the DUDU Core. Daniil won't say yes unless it's a date. //Et cetera.//"
McInnis' eyes widened. "He said that?"
"No, he just said 'no'. But I know what he meant."
"I wouldn't have thought a single word left much room for interpretation, but I trust your judgement. You see the point, though? If I order Dr. LeClair and Chief Van Rompay to attend you, they will sense they've been singled out."
She shrugged. "So order everyone. I don't mind being your favourite."
He shook his head. "Unethical. Everything is very delicate right now, as you well know. There can't be the faintest hint that any of us are abusing our authority. Indeed, the favouritism I show to you and the rest of our group has not gone unnoticed already."
"You want me to figure out how to mind control the lot of them? I'm sure I could swing something."
He grimaced. "I know you're joking, but I don't find it humorous. First, the possibility remains that Researcher Wirth might still be able to employ that ability--"
"I've left my mind open, the trap set, and he hasn't walked into it yet. I think he's spooked."
"--and second, the fact that we are engaging in subterfuge is offset only by our noble intentions, and the effort we make to remain above-board wherever possible. Even if no-one is looking, we need to set a good example."
She sat forward very suddenly, like a leopard pouncing on prey. He didn't flinch. "I'm really glad you feel that way, Allan, because you have a great opportunity right now."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/45-nothing-to-worry-about/DL_45_0_Lillihammer_Interview.jpg]]
He glanced around the converted chamber as though seeing it for the first time. "Ah. I see. Well, then."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="flashboss"]]
[[=]]
+ ##990099|1997##
++ 26 December
[[/=]]
-----
He had an orderly mind.
He never lied to himself, and he never lied to other people either if he could help it. Habitually telling the truth meant having fewer versions of reality to keep track of. This freed him up to consider the perspectives of others, since he took only one perspective himself and the human brain had evolved with a staggering capacity for doublethink. This arrangement gave him a knack for empathy and an ability to predict people's behaviour far outside the norm, and these things had served him well in his career.
Sometimes, though, he could see a problem on the horizon which could only be delayed.
And sometimes those problems suddenly accelerated out of the horizon, struck him at speed, then sat there in a wreck waiting for the police and the insurance people to descend.
She hadn't scheduled an appointment, but he recognized that it was Karen Elstrom knocking nevertheless. It seemed absurd to suggest that someone's bones rattling against wood could sound more or less 'stiff' than anyone else's, and yet.
"Come in," he called out.
Karen entered his office. She was dressed, as usual, in a bright shirt and dark slacks. She was wearing her hair down. She was smiling nervously. He had expected something funereal, after the events of Christmas Eve, but he wasn't sorry to see her taking a different tack.
"Sit down," he gestured.
She remained standing. "Sir, I guess you know what I wanted to talk to you about."
"This entire facility was under an anomalous effect," he said smoothly. "Things were said and done which were not intended, and do not reflect on the character of the people involved." Specifically, something about Site-43 had interacted very badly with the Christmas decorations and bestowed a college student's libido on them all, minus one. Hiring and Regulation had spent most of the holiday helping people fill out forms, and Ngo's schedule was packed into the new year.
"That's just the thing." There was something very gentle in Elstrom's eyes. "I think a lot of it was a pretty clear reflection, actually."
She wasn't wrong. Quite a few awkward dances had concluded for the better, and there was no indication that anyone had done anything against their will or better judgement. It had rather been a general lowering of inhibitions. That didn't make this conversation any easier, though. It made it considerably more complicated.
Karen had spent the entire Christmas party attached to his arm, or attempting to be.
It was, by the standards of the day, not anything at all. But he knew she put a lot of stock in appearances, and the uncharacteristic emotional expression would be eating at her. That was why he'd thought she would show up to work in a business suit, with her hair done up and her mouth zipped shut. The fact that she hadn't...
//Oh dear.//
He tried to match the gentleness with his own. "Karen, I am flattered. Truly. But there is something I have to tell you about myself, something inherent to who I am, which makes what you might be asking for impossible."
[!-- [[=image McInnis_Elstrom_Rejection.jpg]] --]
There was not a single thing that either of them could do about it. He wouldn't have changed the situation if he could have. It was simply a fact of his existence, of the core of who he was. But that didn't make it any easier to see the little light that danced behind her nervous squint go out.
[[div class="flashboss"]]
[[=]]
+ ##990099|1995##
[[/=]]
-----
He reached up to place one hand on each of Nimkii's shoulders, feeling a rush of frustration that it should have come to this between them. "I hope this doesn't change anything," he said, with an undercurrent of fear that it definitely would.
The big man smiled sadly down at him. "It changes everything," he admitted, "except the things that actually matter. Thank you for your honesty."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ ##990099|1991##
[[/=]]
-----
Ilse laughed. "Of course. How could I have been so stupid?"
"That is one thing," he told her, "which you could never, ever be."
"First Scout, and now you. I think I must be defective, Allan."
This time it was him pressing flesh to the glass, fingers spread, reaching out symbolically to where no touch could reach. "We can neither control what we want, Ilse, nor what others can give."
She kept her hands to herself, the cord from the pencil snaking out from her left pocket. "I know all there is to know about not being in control, Allan."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ ##990099|1980##
[[/=]]
-----
She looked like a scene from a romantic comedy, courtesy the showers of May, standing wet and shivering on his front porch. Vulnerable. Shaking like a rabbit, but not from fear.
He stepped back, and she stepped in. "Anjali," he said. He didn't know enough about what was happening to say anything more.
And then she was clutching him tight, clawing at his shirt, and weeping. "That son of a //bitch,//" she cried.
He placed one hand on her back, and shut the door against the storm with the other. "Obi?"
Her husband's name struck like lightning, and she vibrated with rage, indignation and hurt. "How could he? I don't understand. I was so fucking //worried.// That son of a //bitch.//"
He held her closely, because that was what was expected. Perhaps too closely, or perhaps it would have happened anyway, but for whatever reason she looked up -- not so very far up -- and into his eyes, and then she moved even closer and pressed her lips to his.
The disentanglement which followed would remain a fatal flaw in his belief, once immaculate, that conversation could sort out any difficulty.
[[/div]]
Karen had lost maybe an inch in height, and her expression was slack. Even her hair seemed limp where it had been bouyant just seconds prior. "I see. The ASC?"
He shook his head.
"Someone else?"
He continued to shake his head.
She stared at him.
"Oh my god," she said. He felt certain she wanted to say she was sorry, but by the way she suddenly turned on her heel, he knew that other considerations had intruded. The only thing worse than being caught pursuing someone romantically, for Karen Elstrom, was being caught with tears in her eyes.
He wanted to say he was sorry, instead, but it would send the wrong message. He was only sorry for her.
"I feel sorry for you," she said, and then stiffened as though knowing she had said something wrong. Something terrible. Something she didn't mean.
He thanked her for it anyway, as she left, but she probably didn't even hear.
[[/div]]
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/45-nothing-to-worry-about/DL_45_05_McInnis_Regret.jpg]]
"I find my regrets are not wholly my own." He glanced to the side. He never looked away from someone when they were talking to him. "Perhaps we might talk about something else, to keep up appearances."
Lillian shrugged. "Sure, this is just for show anyway. Got any cigarettes?"
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Bremmel's voice drifted up through the conduit. He'd wanted to work on the upper circuits, mostly so he wouldn't need to take the ladder down to the Core's lower levels, but Du had insisted on the reverse arrangement. The old man was too annoyed to ask why, which was good, because he probably wouldn't have reacted well to Du's reasoning: Bremmel spat when he talked, and Du didn't want that raining down on the narrow tube of circuits and wires, or onto his own face. So when Bremmel spoke, it rattled up to where Du lay prone with his screwdriver out: "That bitch ask you to talk to her yet?"
Du considered. Bremmel wasn't misogynistic, but rather misanthropic; anyone he was forced to interact with stood a good chance of becoming 'that bitch' or 'that asshole' when described after the fact. It was difficult to know who he was talking about, which was probably the point.
Bremmel liked to talk, but he hated to listen. Making Du ask what he asked next: "Which bitch?" was the engineer's way of letting the other man say a few words on his terms.
"The Hammer." The sound of a socket wrench twisting ricocheted up around Du's ears. "She call you in for a cry-fest yet?"
"Yeah." Du pulled up the schematics on his tablet, and considered the overhanging circuits with care. Was that right? It didn't look right. "She did. I told her I was busy."
Bremmel snorted. "I told her to fuck off, and //also// that I was busy."
"What do you think she's trying to get at?" He wasn't sure why he felt suspicious of Lillihammer, other than the fact that she'd clapped him in the head to exorcise a ghost from his skull. Perhaps that was reason enough, actually. He //still// had bruising. He was starting to think he always would.
"From what I hear," and the old man grunted as he finished torquing something up, "they're all talking about their widdle feelings. Everything that's made them //sad.// Some new-age bullshit Ngo probably made up, or else Styles. Reeks of HR. Let's all get in touch with our inner children, because of the oh-so-tragic situation that's befallen us. Woe, woe is me."
Du turned over onto his stomach and glanced down the conduit's length. Bremmel was staring up at him, bushy beard glowing green in an LED backsplash. "Sounds pointless."
"It //is// pointless. I hear Mataxas was in there moaning about how his brats need sunlight and fresh water. I told him he should stick them in hydroponics."
Du laughed. "Ridiculous. He should count himself lucky they were inside when it all disappeared."
Bremmel coughed.
"Ridiculous," Du repeated. "That man //dotes// on those children."
"Hardly children," Bremmel growled. "They're college aged. They should be //in// college. They say they're trainees. I wouldn't stand for it, I was him."
"He's a soft touch. Doesn't believe in firm discipline. Showers them with praise. How's that going to harden them up for life at the Foundation?"
"Exactly. //Exactly.//" Bremmel waved his wrench at Du. "They eat dinner together every night, he says. They talk about their days. Can you imagine anything more dull? My dad, he never wasted time on any of that nonsense. Never asked me what I was doing. He had his projects, and I had mine, and that was how we both liked it."
"Yeah," Du agreed without enthusiasm. He decided to change the subject, but that was always difficult when talking to Bremmel, who only suffered turning his monologues into dialogues under protest. "So, are the tolerances down there--"
"I never sat around moping because he never told me he was //proud.// Of course he was proud. Why wouldn't he be proud? And Joanna--"
He coughed again, and Du recoiled. "You really ought to get that checked out."
Bremmel cleared his throat. "It's nothing."
"You were saying about J--"
"The //point// is," the old man interrupted, "that Lillihammer's wasting time. She should be down here checking torque and tolerances with us, not playing grab-ass with a clipboard. It's disgraceful."
Du nodded, and rolled back around. Bremmel was right.
What did regret have to do with anything?
[!-- [[=image Du_Bremmel.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="jandm"]]
[[=]]
+ ##CC9900|2011##
++ 12 August
[[/=]]
-----
McInnis kept his expression carefully neutral as he scanned the letter, and Nascimbeni knew what the answer would be before it came. "Hmm."
"Yeah," he agreed.
"Hmm." McInnis placed one hand on the page, and gently slid it closer to Nascimbeni's side of the desk. "You know I can't accept this."
Nascimbeni shook his head. "I //don't// know that."
"You do. You are needed here. Very badly."
"I'm not."
"You //are.// Not only because of the Breach. You're the only person who can do what you do."
Nascimbeni scoffed. "Not remotely true. Banerjee could do it."
"Perhaps in a few years. Not now."
"Holding retirement out like a carrot? That's not your usual creativity." Nascimbeni finally sat down, hard, on the chair the Director had indicated several minutes ago. "Allan, I'm done. I'm //spent.// Just let me go."
"As I said, I can't. It wouldn't be the best thing for the Site. It wouldn't be the best thing for the Foundation. It would most certainly not be the best thing for you."
It took all his self-control not to stand up again in a rage. McInnis would remain calm, so if he wanted to win this argument, he would too. "Don't pretend this is you being charitable. You don't know me well enough to help. I've got ideas of my own about what I've done wrong, and it's time to find out if I'm right."
McInnis slid the paper farther, right to the edge in front of Nascimbeni. "You may take this up the chain of command, if you believe you'll find a more sympathetic ear. But I suspect they'll tell you exactly what I just did. You're needed here. Please make your peace with that."
He didn't answer for a moment, regulating his breathing the way Ngo had taught him. When he finally spoke again, it was deadly calm. "Allan, if you force me to stay, //you// need to make peace with the fact that sooner or later it's going to fuck you over. Nobody who relies on me for long gets out alive."
[[/div]]
"Wow," Lillian nodded. "Dramatic and poignant. Bet he wishes he'd taken you up on that offer before you got the whole human race erased, huh?"
Nascimbeni nodded back. "Can I go?"
Lillian shook her head. "No, I'm not doing this to record your political statements. You can go when you give me the //real// answer."
//God __dammit__.// He should have known better. He couldn't out-calm McInnis, how could he possibly out-guile Lillian? "I gave you //an// answer. That's more than I want, and more than you need. It obviously wasn't //me// who caused this--"
"In the present timeline, you mean? Because you definitely caused the present timeline."
"Yes. Obviously. I mean that I, Noè Nascimbeni, did not stick Site-43 into a pocket dimension. Why are you interviewing the Survivors? You know it wasn't us, and it's a waste of time."
"It //could// have been you, or at least you could have been involved. The version of you that got replaced when we showed up here."
He could hear the growl creeping into his voice, and made no effort to suppress it. "Okay, except I don't have //his// memories. I have //mine.//"
"And those two sets are only differentiated by the last nine years or so. The farther back a memory goes, the more it's potentially affected your motivations and actions. Where it counts, you're self-identical with Nascimbeni-5243-C. So //give me the real answer.// What's your one true regret, Noè?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/45-nothing-to-worry-about/DL_45_06_Nascimbeni_Regrets.jpg]]
He opened his mouth to refute this, to argue, to refuse. What he said instead was "I ignored my wife until she died of a drug overdose, alone, and it made my son hate me, and I didn't care, because I loved my nephew more, and now he's dead too and everything's broken, so I'm still spending all my time here, which caused the problem in the first place, and //someone told me it was going to happen,// and I heard him, and I let it happen anyway, and now they might //all// be dead, and that's my fault, too." It came out in a strained monotone, low but thrumming with the resonance of the lump in his throat, and when it was over he did stand up, violently, sending the poorly-balanced chair over onto its back. He stepped over it, opened the door, and stepped back out into the hall.
"That seemed like more than one," she said as he slammed the door.
[!-- [[=image Nascimbeni_Regret.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Ibanez stood on the roof of the world, and looked up.
The tower of the topside elevator stretched away into the far distance, a little over one thousand metres, to where the overlooking gantry had been constructed. For the first few days it had been a popular thrill, once the general staff were allowed up there, but for most people it quickly became depressing and they returned to the comforting solidity of the Site interior. Only a few people still visited regularly; Harry and Karen Elstrom made regular visits, which was probably interesting to someone, but not Ibanez, and...
Yep, there she was. Billie Forsythe was leaning on the reinforced railing, only visible at this distance by the deathly pallor of her skin, since her clothes were the same colour as the vast majority of the universe now. She wasn't looking up, but down. Not at Ibanez, not at the roof, but at nothing at all.
"Captain Oates on patrol."
She hadn't heard Ngo approach. The other woman was gracile and graceful, which served her well at this posting; more than a few of the senior staff could only be wrangled into psych evals via stealth, and Ibanez was near the top of that list. She grunted in response, and continued to survey the pockmarked expanse of the upper membrane.
"Desolate place to spend an afternoon," the psychologist offered.
"Exactly." Ibanez turned to leave. "Desolate. Abandoned. //Uninhabited.// At least it was, until you showed up."
She could feel the other woman's warm smile on her back. "Chief, I know you're not the type to need a lot of company, but you do know that--"
"Yeah." She waved Ngo off as she headed for the hatchway. "Your door is always open, it doesn't have to be official, we can go for a drink, and by the way Lillian's hosting pillow parties in S&C if you want to go have a good cry, blah blah blah," and suddenly she turned on her heel, "how long have we worked together?"
"Over a decade."
"So why don't you know who I am yet?"
Ngo smiled.
"Maybe I do, and you just can't tell, because //you// don't know //me.//"
Ibanez stared at her for a moment, then glanced back up at the overlook. Billie was still there, but now Ibanez fancied she was watching their little altercation.
"Chief," and Ngo approached her across the flat expanse, "I know you've been trapped in a place like this before. But you're not alone, this time. If you need to take your frustrations out, it doesn't have to be on yourself anymore."
Ibanez snorted. "Fine, next time I'm in the gym, you can show up and I'll use you as a punching bag." She kicked open the hatch.
"Okay," Ngo chirped. "Sounds fun."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/45-nothing-to-worry-about/DL_45_07_Ibanez_Roof.jpg]]
Ibanez froze, turned to narrow her eyes at the other woman, then with a very strange feeling in her gut descended back into bedlam.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
"My only regret is //you.//"
She'd been expecting something like that, and she was ready for it. "I am prepared to deepen that regret, if you don't cooperate."
Sokolsky grinned at her. "I'm serious. This is me cooperating. I'm sorry we've never gotten involved. Can you think of a more powerful power couple?"
"People all around the Site are having spontaneous nightmares right now, and they don't know why."
He leaned forward, palms on the table. "Think about it, Lillian. The world is on pause. Nothing matters, and there's nothing you can do about it. Why don't we find out how much fucking it takes to fuck out the biggest brains in the whole damn world?"
She laughed. He laughed with her.
She said, "We're not here to talk about //my// regrets."
[[div class="flashyhammer"]]
[[=]]
+ ##C5000B|2003##
++ 11 November
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**Timeline 5243-A**[[/span]]
-----
[[/=]]
[[div class="muddle"]]
Vast as it is, filled with banks of metal racks and a high ceiling, the server hall reverberates 24/7 with the clicking and clacking of hard drives being accessed, discs spooling up and fans gently purring. This sussurus tells the attending technicians that everything is working properly, and they rarely raise their voices above it -- not only because the sound is comforting, but because any other sound will carry to an uncomfortable degree. For this reason, unlike the cozy warrens of AAF-D, there are no records of staff employing this most massive of private spaces for their more intimate //rendezvous.// They would very swiftly cease to be intimate.
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
//__God__, you are __so__ right,// she thought as she let everyone in the server hall tent city know precisely what she thought about what she was doing tonight.
[[/div]]
She was still laughing, but he was not. "Are you going to explain that remark?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/45-nothing-to-worry-about/DL_45_8_Sokolsky_Confused.jpg]]
"You've got that big brain," she chuckled. "I'm sure you can figure it out."
[!-- [[=image Sokolsky_Lillihammer_Regret.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 15 September
[[/=]]
----
With nothing better to do, Udo headed for the interrogation room an hour early. Maybe there would be someone else waiting, and she could strike up a conversation. She was growing ever more conscious of the diameter of her social circle...
Phil Deering was already there, facing away from her. Staring at the door with his shoulders hunched, the way she'd once seen him doing outside Melissa Bradbury's hospital room...
"Hey," she said.
He jumped, and spun. Back in baseline, he'd long since lost his ability to be startled by sudden sounds. Life without the mirror monster had produced a very different man, and she found herself wondering...
//What?// What, precisely, did she find herself wondering?
He looked sheepish. "You here for the... thing?"
"Yeah. I think you're first, though."
He winced. "I told them I might not come. I think... I don't think I want to do this. Are the rumours true?"
There was that social circle problem again. "Haven't heard any rumours. What specifically?"
"That she's dredging up people's regrets?"
Udo nodded. "That's what she's doing, alright. Can't say I'm looking forward to it either."
He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. "You think if I just leave...?"
"I think Lillian Lillihammer would hunt you to the ends of the Earth. And right now--"
"That's just a few kilometres."
"And her legs are long."
"Yeah. Yeah, good points." He reached up to smooth back his hair, and suddenly...
"You want to go get a drink?" she asked. "A few drinks in, maybe we can both work out our regrets." She let the phrasing hang that way, the way his mouth was also now hanging, for a second before amending it to what she'd actually meant: "Then I can tell her what they were, and neither of us will have to go in there and relate our woes cold sober. Sound good?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/45-nothing-to-worry-about/DL_45_09_Okorie_Flirt.jpg]]
He didn't even stop to consider. "It sounds //great.//"
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="generic"]]
[[=]]
+ ##5D5D5D|1999##
++ 6 April
[[/=]]
-----
Dougall drove. It was Phil's car, such as it was, but that couldn't ever matter. Dougall was the elder brother. Dougall was the success. Dougall would take the wheel. Phil told himself it was really because only Dougall knew where they were headed; that felt vaguely similar to feeling better about it.
"You're sure they're hiring?" The scenery whizzed past, all evergreens and plowed fields. They were in the boondocks now for sure. "I can't just walk in and ask. I don't even have a résumé." This was a matter of pure practicality, as there would have been nothing for Phil to put on it.
"I'm sure." Dougall tapped the wheel with his hands, drumming some obscure beat. He seemed to be in a good mood, and Phil didn't want to ruin it, even as he knew he inevitably would. "Are you paying attention to me, right now?"
So it was lecture mode, then. Phil nodded, though he knew his brother wouldn't see. When he drove, he focused on the road. He was indistractible when he had a goal, and anyway took his moral responsibilities very seriously. "Yes."
"Good. You know I work for a think tank."
"Yes." Phil did know that. His brother was the thinker, between the two of them. He hoped that wasn't where they were headed.
"The think tank I work for controls the entire world."
This was a little grandiose, but it was never worth contradicting Dougall. "Okay."
"Do you know how they do that?"
Dougall liked these little rhetorical Q&A sessions. They kept him from feeling like he was monologuing, even though that was what he was doing. "No."
"They do it with a massive paramilitary force, the ability to erase people's memories, and control over a database of several thousand people, places, and things which defy all the known laws of science."
This seemed to demand comment. Perhaps it was a test. "Is this a metaphor for something?"
Dougall stopped at an unoccupied all-way stop, before the stop sign, as was the law and good practice. Phil had never seen anyone else do it precisely the same. "It is not. One of the facilities this shadow government occupies has a job opening for a technician. No prior experience required. You'll be helping to keep the place spick and span."
Phil's head spun. "So, a janitor. You want me to be a janitor at, uh, Black Mesa."
Dougall's eyes flicked briefly in his direction. "What's Black Mesa?"
"Never mind." None of this could be true. He was stating it too matter-of-factly. "Do you work at this... facility?"
"No. We won't be working together." This much rang true. "But I have a lot of pull there. The work I do is extraordinarily important." //Of course it is.// "I'm one of the most important people in the world, in fact, so my word goes a long way." He smiled the way he smiled when he'd deployed an inside joke. In almost every case, he was the only one on the inside. "If you're willing to pull your socks up, the position can be yours."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/45-nothing-to-worry-about/DL_45_10_Dougall_Car.jpg]]
"Couldn't I just be a janitor at, I don't know, a bowling alley? Or an arcade?"
Dougall sneered, even though he was looking out on a sunny day with a clear blue sky. "You're better than that."
Because Dougall was better than that.
//Well, we'll see.//
They'd pulled up to a large, blocky building in the woods. The land sloped away to the north in a way that suggested water; his brother had mentioned there was a lake around here somewhere. Dougall didn't unbuckle his belt. "Head on in. They're expecting you."
"You're not coming?"
"I've got things to do."
//Better things,// Phil inwardly corrected. He unbuckled, and opened the door. "Will I see you later?"
"Maybe."
Then it could wait, as it always did. Phil got out, and closed the door. When he climbed the steps to whatever Lake Huron Supply, Control and Purification was, he looked back at his car, and his brother inside, and he waved.
Dougall waved back, then put the car in gear again and drove away.
[[/div]]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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[[/=]]
[[div class="udoflashback"]]
[[=]]
+ ##FF950E|2002##
++ 16 March
[[/=]]
-----
The first drawer she tried wouldn't budge. It was locked. She shot him a curious look, and he shrugged. "I'm a secretive guy."
The drawer beneath it was unlocked, and empty. She considered it carefully, then reached down to pick up her pants from the floor, pulled off the belt, and placed it inside. "There," she said. "It's official."
"I'll get you the key," Dougall yawned, and stretched his arms behind his pillow.
She leapt back onto the bed, relishing the bounce. Her own bed was better than the average dormitory slab, but Dougall's was pillow-topped and deep. "Who'm I hiding my belt from? The belt thieves?"
He pulled her into an embrace, then rolled over on top of her. "From all my many mistresses, of course."
She snorted in his face, and was preparing a vicious retort when he opened his mouth and took her breath away for several squishy seconds. When he pulled his head back and smiled, she'd quite forgotten what she was going to say.
So instead, she said "Go again?"
He snorted back at her. "It's been less than ten minutes. For a woman who can make human golems, you've got some major holes in your biology knowledge."
She rolled them around until she was back on top again. "That leaves pillow talk. You'll start. Tell me your secrets, o secret keeper. What's in the drawer?"
"My drawers. The Serpent's Hand has tried and failed for years to put itching powder in them. It's vital to Foundation security that my crotch remain unscratched. My turn--"
She clamped her hands over his mouth. "Your turn //nothing.// Tell me the truth. Or at least give me a hint."
He said something unintelligible into the palm of her hand. She pulled the both back, and he smiled up at her innocently. "--and that's the honest truth."
She mock-slapped him, and kept her hand there to scratch at his tidy beard. "I take it you won't be telling anyone about //us,// either, then."
He nodded. "My love life is one of the most closely-guarded secrets of the Veiled world. Men and women have died for that knowledge, and--"
"I'm kinda being serious," she said, at the moment she realized she was.
He gave her a sad, sympathetic look. "I'm only halfway joking about the Serpent's Hand. They try to assassinate me at least once a year. As long as I have this job, and as long as a few other things I can't tell you about are going on, it's safer for everyone involved that they don't know who is and who isn't important to me."
She reached down to pull gently on his chest hairs. "Am I important to you?"
He kissed her again.
She turned her head to the side, considering him from every available angle. "That wasn't //precisely// an answer."
"I think it was." He yawned again. "You're going to have to go get dressed soon, you know."
She rolled her eyes. "Are we seriously going to that?"
He laughed. "She's my //partner.// It's her //birthday.// And you're our star employee. Of course we're going to that, you and me. Wear something nice."
She raised an eyebrow. "I don't own anything nice." She glanced back at the dresser. "Do you?"
"Nothing I'd let you wear."
She pulled a little harder, and he winced. "Laiken's party is in the lounge?"
"Like I told you. Yes."
"The lounge with the little attached kitchenette?"
His grin forced his eyes into narrow slits. "That's the one."
"I bet you've got a key for that, too."
Beneath her, she felt something shift.
"You know what? I think I do."
She had other questions she wanted to pose, but their fifteen minutes were up. Dougall's biological clock was punctual and uncompromising.
[[/div]]
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@@ @@
[[/=]]
He told her his story precisely as it had happened, give or take a few hiccoughs. She told him only a little of hers -- certainly nothing that would place it at Site-43 — in the dim and musty saloon, then showed him the rest in her dorm room.
She wasn't the only one who had a key, but if any of the other Survivors came calling, they'd find a thick caulking of red sand between the door and its jamb.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Noor Zaman, Deputy Chief of Hiring and Regulation:** I spent three years playing nice and having friendly chats with a child-eating psychopath. My daughter turned eighteen back in January. I still think about him every time she passes a milestone those kids in Québec never got to reach.
----
**Sandrine Holt, Agent:** You have to promise--
----
**Lewis Bosch, Agent:** --not to tell her.
----
**Charles Carter, Technician:** Oh, lots. I don't know. That time I locked myself in the broom closet accidentally, and 106 got loose and killed everyone else in my detail. I guess I don't exactly //regret// that, but, you know, it bothers me sometimes. Oh, you know that guy who let 096 out a few years back? And it killed all those people on that highway? I think I knew he was going to do that. He seemed really tense all the time when I was working there, I remember noticing, like something was eating him up. I probably could've done something about that. Don't like to think about it. Maybe he wouldn't have listened to some technician anyway, but I could have tried... Oh! I know what it is. You ever see 058? I was on feeding duty, but I came down with botulism -- no idea what skip caused that, there's a whole list -- and my friend Jack agreed to take my shift. I thought I told him the procedure right, but he got it all backwards and... yeah. It split him in half, and not clean. Kinda diagonally? Corner of his neck to the opposite thigh. They had to move it to a new chamber eventually because they were still finding Jack's blood in the corners of the wall plates-- what? I thought we had an hour blocked out. Are you sure?
----
**Nhung Ngo, Deputy Chair of Psychology and Parapsychology:** Scout once told me regrets are just prompts for further action. I act on my regrets every day. On that note, if you and Chief Ibanez could find some room in your schedules, we have over a decade of missed appointments to catch up on...
----
**Roger Pensak, Agent:** Pretty pleased with how things are going right now, if we're being honest.
----
**Ji O, Agent:** Wish I'd said something to Wirth. I don't know what. But I still feel like it's my fault.
[[/div]]
Lillian awoke from her stupor. "Say that again?"
As most people with an imagination and any amount of selfconsciousness would do, O paraphrased instead. "I could have said something to Wirth. Given him a reason to live. I don't know what I could have said, but--"
"You think Wirth killed himself?" No-one else had opined anything similar.
O sighed miserably. "We used to chat sometimes, when I had A&R duty. Patrolling the salt mines, lower case. He'd be looking through the archives, and sound carries pretty well down there, so you could hold a whole conversation without standing next to each other."
"What did he talk about?" For the first time in over a day, one of her interview subjects had her full and undivided attention.
"I thought he was talking about the project he was working on, which nobody knows anything about. Turns out he wasn't doing any of the stuff he'd been assigned to do -- I'm sure Blank told you that already -- but whatever he //was// doing, I thought he was being poetic about it." She wrinkled her nose as though fending off a sniffle. "He kept saying stuff like... I don't know, that he was facing down an abyss. Looking into a pit. Standing on the edge. It sounded like that //faux// philosophical mumbo jumbo scientists use sometimes to make their work sound more profound." She smiled apologetically.
Lillian nodded. "Yep. That's a thing."
"But one day Yancy found him at Rock Bottom, capitalized." The underside of the Site. "Looking at the big black empty surrounding it all. The guy said he just needed somewhere to be alone, to think about things, and Yancy brought him back upstairs. Didn't report it. Told me he gave Wirth a pep talk, thought it went well. When..."
She did sniffle.
"When they said Wirth was missing, I knew that was what had happened. I told Yancy, and he told me I was crazy. Wirth wasn't suicidal, he was just lost in thought. Probably tried to run off and put some crazy scheme in place, like Van Rompay said. And that's what everyone thinks. I filed my report, my minority opinion, but it went nowhere. No big surprise; we're not allowed to send people down into the pit, not even the Pit Bosses for some reason. He's probably still down there."
"And you filed a report about this? With who?"
"Who else? It was a missing persons case. I had to file it with Van Rompay."
[[=]]
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@@ @@
++ 16 September
----
[[/=]]
Site-43's Chief of Pursuit and Suppression wasn't scheduled for an interview for another two days. When Lillian tried his pager, she got no response.
Probably he wouldn't even show up. He might even have a plausible excuse. It might even be something he hadn't drummed up himself.
She'd been less and less subtle with her implications. The last time they'd spoken, remotely of course, she'd all but suggested he'd been directly responsible for the erasure himself. It was simply too absurd to get him riled, however. He had a soldier's temper: it only flared when he needed the anger to fuel his vengeance. He could wait her out indefinitely.
LeClair's interview was meant for today, but she'd already cancelled. Something about Billie Forsythe's treatment for whatever the code word was for her mother's hypochondria by proxy. She'd probably cancel the rescheduled date too, and with the toll the isolation was taking on everyone, she'd have the perfect excuse for it too. Time and again.
"What makes you think," Wettle began. They were heading down the stairs from ApplOcc, after inviting Udo to grab something grey and nourishing from the cafeteria with them. Three wasn't a crowd when Wettle was your third. He only became a problem one-on-one, as he was right now.
Until instead of finishing his sentence, he put his foot down sideways and screamed.
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[[/=]]
LeClair tutted condescendingly. It had been years since anyone had made sounds at him in any other tone. "You're a little old not to know how to walk, Dr. Wettle."
"Yeah, well, you know." He leaned back on the folding exam table as she wrapped his swollen ankle. "The floor snuck up on me."
She shook her head. "You need to take better care of yourself. At your age, these constant injuries will start to take a toll."
Indeed, he'd never felt so old and beaten-down. It was one reason why he knew Elstrom's story about the elixir of life had to be the truth. That was the reason he was comfortable with.
He hated that the other reason was that Lillihammer believed it.
"I'm not good at taking care of myself." He started bobbing his foot up and down, because it wasn't touching the ground and that was something of a new sensation, and she flinched back to avoid getting kicked in the face with a sneaker. "Everybody else has someone to do that for them."
She smiled. "I would recommend it."
"You want to get a coffee some time?"
She finished the wrapping, and tied it off. "What I meant," she said as she slowly rose back up, knees obviously having seen better days, "was that I have someone to talk care of me already. And I would say that you're right, it can make a big difference as you get older."
"I thought you were single," he said. "Aren't you supposed to be single? Isn't there some ethics thing with doctors? Or is that only real doctors? Not Foundation doctors."
A cloud came over the old woman's face. "I'm not sure I understand the distinction you're trying to draw. I'm bound by the Hippocratic Oath. But that doesn't mean I can't have a relationship. It just can't affect the treatment I provide."
He grinned at her. "I bet you provide real good treatment, too."
Her eyes flattened out to a pair of straight lines. "I understand you're deflecting because I've embarrassed you. But don't say anything like that again. My relationship with Chief Van Rompay..." She paused, blinked, then continued. "...is an open secret, but I'll thank you not to make light of it. Like I said, he takes good care of me. I do the same for him."
"That's fair." He tested the wrapped-up ankle. "Can you give me something for the pain? I'd like an Advil, if you've got it."
"Hard drugs, eh? I think I can spare that." She reached up and rifled through the medicine cabinet over the sink, and pulled out a white bottle with a blue cap.
She paused.
"You're allergic to Advil," she sighed. "You take Tylenol instead. William, we've //talked// about this."
"We have!" he agreed. "We talked about it when I stubbed my toe back in 2010, and you tried to give me Advil because you didn't remember my file."
She froze.
"We talked about how bad your memory was getting, and how you were gonna get something to treat that real soon, and you figured it was really gonna help. I guess it did, huh?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/45-nothing-to-worry-about/DL_45_11_LeClair_Regret.jpg]]
She unfroze, but just barely. Enough to look down her nose at him. "Get out."
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@@ @@
[[/=]]
"If you're wasting my time," said Lillian, and then the door slammed open.
Van Rompay was standing in the door to Wettle's dorm, hamfists raised pugilistically, face red. In the dining nook, Wettle recoiled so far that his feet reached the seat of his chair, and slid up to his buttocks. He yelped in pain as his twisted ankle bent awkwardly against the wrapping.
On the couch, Lillian waved. "Looks like you made a space in your schedule," she purred. "While you're in our neck of the woods, why don't we get that pesky interview out of the way? If we do it efficiently, you'll still have plenty of time to beat the shit out of Willie."
[[=]]
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@@ @@
[[/=]]
Gedeon Van Rompay was a self-made giant, but nature had nevertheless definitely intended him that way. His arms and legs bulged like the trunks of a Manitoba maple, and Lillian imagined his chest would make a metallic ringing sound if she knocked on it, but his head and neck were already broad, chiseled and masculine from birth. He'd become what he was always meant to be, and she could certainly respect him for that.
She would never be sure if the sentiment went both ways.
"How fast can you do this?" he asked, both sets of bulbous limbs crossed, double chin jutting out in obvious challenge. "Because I'm trying to keep a bunch of idiots from killing each other." He was, in fact, still wearing his combat armour.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/45-nothing-to-worry-about/DL_45_12_Van_Rompay_Regret.jpg]]
"As fast as you let me." She dumped the contents of a manila envelope out on the table, upside-down. "We should've been done days ago. You've been avoiding me."
"Dirty fucking trick you played," he snarled. "Leave Emilié out of your schemes from now on. Do you hear me?"
"What trick?" She managed an innocent face very easily. She wasn't sure how Wettle had managed to push the right buttons by sheer accident, but not having to lie certainly improved her performance. "You accusing Wet Willie of being a master manipulator? Or even an effective assistant? I think you know better."
He looked away. "Whatever. I'm here now. Get it over with."
She picked up the sheaf of glossy photos and began slapping them down upright, one at a time, totalling four. "Let's talk about these dead idiots."
The old soldier didn't ruffle easily, but the casual way she described his victims obviously irritated Van Rompay. He looked down at the photographs, three of them staged like crime scenes, one a file photo, and examined them closely as though proving to her that he had no unsettled feelings about what he'd done. "What's there to talk about?"
"Your report says Mukami, Radcliffe and Gwilherm tried to attack you in your barracks."
He nodded. "I don't like the way you put it, but yes. That's what happened. Are you disagreeing?"
She shrugged. "I wasn't there. LeClair's autopsy suggests they all had serious brain abnormalities which weren't obvious after the breach," she tried very hard to say the word like her life hadn't revolved around it since it had first occurred, "but probably developed because of it. You say they weren't acting like themselves, and you had to kill them in self-defence. The two reports confirm each other."
Van Rompay tensed and released his muscles regularly, as though his aging physique required constant maintenance while he was awake, so it wasn't entirely clear to her whether he was stiffening or not as the questioning went on. "As they should, since they're both true."
"Right. Well, what about this one?" She tapped Wirth's headshot. "Why'd you let him go?"
The big man's eyes narrowed to slits. "Let him go."
"That's right."
"You read that report, too?"
"I did." It stated that Wirth had used the distraction caused by the security guard attack to flee the Site via the topside elevator. There was transit data to back this up, though the relevant cameras had been mysteriously blacked out. When Ibanez had looked over the details, they first thing she'd pointed out was that four people at Site-43 could make the elevator move remotely without a passenger, and without an entry in the Site's activity log: the Director, and the Chiefs of I&T, S&C, and P&S.
The Chief of P&S grunted. "You're calling me a liar."
"Yeah. I'm calling you a liar." Lillian folded her hands and leaned forward. "LeClair's electronic medical history has an MTF lock on it. Why is that?"
"You fucking know why." All of the man was tensing up at once.
"Don't tell me it's because you two are boning." She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "That's always such a garbage argument. Extra security to protect the innocent. Nobody down here is innocent, Ged, and everybody's already plenty protected. You locked her medical history because you don't want anybody to know that she had Alzheimer's Disease."
He was incandescent now, but somehow his tone of voice never changed. "Are you saying you broke into an MTF-locked database file? Because I think that's a little out of your clearance range." The syllables were getting clipped, at least. He was on the edge of losing it.
"Nope. I've got sources of my own. But go ahead, deny it. Or else explain to me how your girlfriend has far outlasted the early stage prognoses for a degenerative mental condition. Can you do that? I know you're a good liar, but this isn't shit you know anything about. How bad you think you can bullshit me right now, when I've already got your number?"
He wanted to say something scathing. He wanted to crush her windpipe. He wanted to run out of the room. She could see it all on his bluff features, plain as day. He desperately didn't want to do what he did next, and she even felt the slightest pang of sympathy as he gave in and finally did it.
"Okay," he snarled. There was finally malice in his timbre, and she knew he was going to tell her the truth. "You win. I did let him go."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
"Why?"
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[[/=]]
[[div class="generic"]]
[[=]]
+ ##5D5D5D|2003##
[[/=]]
-----
"Wait!"
Van Rompay kept the rifle trained on the freckle-faced youth. "Don't move a muscle, kid. Not even a twitch. You won't even see my finger move."
Reuben Wirth stood in the Arms and Equipment lab, hands in the air, an open cabinet door on either side. There was a sack on the floor, and a few gadgets Van Rompay couldn't begin to identify piled up inside. "I'm not gonna move. Don't shoot. //Don't shoot.//"
Van Rompay advanced, keeping his sights trained. He didn't flick on the lights in the darkened room. The window to the hall gave him more than enough illumination, as long as he moved counterclockwise. "We're heading to S&C. Leave the sack."
Wirth's eyes were wild in the distant light. "You're gonna let me go, actually. That's how this goes down."
"You figure?" Van Rompay settled into the corner of the room, and quickly gestured with the end of his rifle. "To the door. Now."
The other man made no move to comply. "Here's what's gonna happen: I'm going to do something for you, and you're going to let me go."
Van Rompay snorted. "I don't know what sort of bargaining chips you think you've got in that bag, but I'm not buying. To the door, son. Now."
Wirth was a statue. Only his mouth moved. "It's not in the bag. It's not something you can hold in your hands. Well. That's not really true." He smiled coldly. "I'm offering you something you can hold in your //arms.// Something you already have, but you're going to lose it soon. Not if you help me. If you help me, you'll have it //forever.//"
"I don't know what you're talking about, and it doesn't matter." He focused on the task at hand. He refused to consider what the researcher might be implying. That was one of the most basic tenets of basic training: //don't negotiate with affected personnel.// Something was obviously affecting Wirth. He wasn't going to infect Van Rompay with it.
"It does matter. I can help her, Chief. I can fix it."
He tightened his grip on the stock, and fought to retain trigger discipline. "Walk. Don't talk."
"Fine." Wirth's smile widened. "No more talking."
//This is far more direct, anyway.//
Van Rompay tried to pull the trigger, but found that he couldn't. He didn't control his own hands anymore. The gun was lowered, gently, and he took his finger away from the trigger guard.
"Get out of my head," he tried to say, but it went no farther than the inside of his skull.
//I could put the gun to your neck,// Wirth's voice said. There was no anger in it, only a bald statement of fact. //Blow your brains out. But I won't. You're a symptom of a wider disease, and I'm going to cure it. And you're going to help me. After a show of good faith.//
Van Rompay tried to squeeze his eyes shut. They didn't respond. //How are you doing this?//
//That doesn't matter. What matters is, I can. I can make you do anything I want. I could do rather a lot of damage before they stopped you, and when they stopped you, I could do even more damage with __them__. But I won't. Because you're much more useful to me alive and well, and anyway, I'm not the bad guy here. I don't like poking around in your grey matter. I want to give you __options__, Chief, not take them away.//
It was almost difficult telling Wirth's monologue apart from his own. The words were all the more convincing for being beamed directly into his head. The other man's face was a mask of concentration. //What are you proposing?//
//I'm going to rearrange your lover's brain. I'm going to give her back to herself. And I'm going to offer a long-term service plan, so long as you keep my little secret, and keep prying eyes off my work. Do you think you can do that? Would you do that for __her__?//
He wanted to make a moral stand. No, that wasn't true. He wanted to want to make a moral stand. The difference in strength between those two positions was catastrophic. //I'd do anything for her. But why would I believe you? What's stopping you from just killing us all when I let you go?//
And now the gun suddenly was against his throat, finger back on the trigger. //Nothing is stopping me from doing that __right__ __now__. Ergo, I am telling the truth. I'm telling you, Chief, I just want to help.// Wirth suddenly smiled, though the voice was still only in Van Rompay's head. //Like I said in the ward room, I really do hope things work out for the two of you.//
[!-- [[=image Van_Rompay_Wirth.jpg]] --]
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
Everyone looked to her when she entered the room. Of course, this was partially because she was arriving late to the meeting, and was an intended result. But even if she hadn't, they knew she was the one with the answers. That was her role, and she wore it well.
She flopped down on her chosen recliner -- she much preferred the more broken-in furniture in Udo's dorm, not least because she herself had broken much of it in -- and folded her hands on her chest. "Ask," she said, "and the oracle will tell."
McInnis took charge. This was his role, and not wholly because he'd been assigned it by the Overseers. "Do you know what happened?"
She could have played coy about his meaning, but there were revelations she was proud of having had that she was itching to share, so she didn't. "No."
Del stood up.
Lillian waved her back down. "I don't need to know what happened. I know //why// it happened. It was Wirth."
Del remained standing. "Of course it was Wirth. That's all you've got?"
"That's all I've got in response to that question." She smiled at McInnis.
He considered. "It might be easier if you simply told us everything you've learned."
She wasn't so conscientious with her interpretation this time. A little mischief was the price of doing business with her. "I've learned that Polly Mataxas did weed once in college and feels guilty about it, which is ridiculous; that Site-19 is a gore-fest all year 'round, which is pretty well common knowledge; and that the nothing which happened when we showed up on the 9th was all of our faults combined."
"I thought it was his fault." Wettle gestured at Nascimbeni, who furrowed his brow.
"Symptomatic. The thing that was eating Noè is in good company around here. Everybody's full of brain-eating parasites in the form of bad memories. No, Willie, I'm not being literal. You'll give yourself a scalp rash, cut it out. I'm talking about regrets."
"//Why// are you talking about regrets?" Harry asked. "And why did you get on that topic in the first place? You were throwing that word around from the start."
"Because Rydderech told me that was the key, in his usual cryptic bullshit way. So I pushed, and I pushed, and every one of you turned out to have mind maggots crawling just underneath the surface. Wirth was a sensitive guy. Thought about stuff too much. He probably watched all of you moping, and decided he could do something about it."
"Except Wirth is dead." Ibanez sat back down, but kept her back straight and did not relax. "He was acting like a loon, and then he escaped."
"He possessed people back in -A," Udo pointed out, using their internal terminology for the three alternate timelines they'd entered so far. "And we never found his body, according to Lillian. Maybe he doesn't need one."
"I'm pretty sure he does," Lillian interrupted. "They always do. And when you destroy the body, that aspect of the Victims is dead for the time being. No, he's got a body somewhere, and I'm pretty sure it's a warm one, too."
"And by somewhere," the All-Sections Chief suddenly rumbled, "you mean Site-43."
"She'd better." Udo looked pained. "Because if he did this to us, and he's not here, that means either he wiped himself from existence in the process of doing the thing, and he'll never be able to undo it for us, and we'll never be able to figure out how he did it, //or// it means he put us out of reality and he's wreaking havoc on the world in our absence."
"Thanks for enumerating the theoretical stakes." Lillian flashed her a thumbs-up. "They're inapplicable. Wirth is here, and he's alive."
"How do you know that?" Nascimbeni asked.
"Because ghosts, as Mataxas would tell you, are pack animals. And his pack's been looking for him here for //years.//" She paused. "And also Van Rompay basically told me so, but first things first."
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[[/=]]
[[div class="flashyhammer"]]
[[=]]
+ ##C5000B|2011##
++ 9 September
[[/=]]
-----
She'd seated the Tarrow twins on either side of Alis, for symmetry. There was something really unpleasant about having them side-by-side, a sort of Uncanny Valley terror likely picked up from //Full House// reruns she'd seen at university.
She'd seated herself, Ngo and Sokolsky in order of increasing height, since symmetry would have been impossible and anyway it indicated her preferred interpretation of the interrogation's authority scale.
"Honest answers only, please," Lillian instructed with a cheerful lilt. "Until you show me otherwise, I'm assuming you're on the side of the world continuing to exist, because your death cult wanted universal annihilation on an entirely different premise than //this,// so don't show me otherwise if you value your..."
She stopped.
She started again. "//Was// this your death cult's premise?" She stabbed a finger at Alis. "You told me -- you won't remember telling me, but you told me -- that the //gifted// kids want to kill everyone and escape from reality. Is that what this is? That isn't what this is, right."
All three of them were visibly racing to keep up. Ngo looked similarly baffled. Sokolsky's face was graven stone, as always.
Alis managed a curt nod. "No, whatever is happening, it wasn't the plan. You haven't actually said what's happening, though."
"Oh. Right. Well, everything but Site-43 just disappeared."
Three pairs of eyes widened in tandem.
"See, that's what I'm talking about. Those looked like genuine physiological reactions. Now, I'm a pretty good judge of bullshit, but I want you to know there's a sort of confidence thing going on with you right now. Del, she's not going to trust you too easy. Right, Daniil?"
Sokolsky nodded enthusiastically. "She doesn't trust at //all.// She'll be looking real hard at anything you bunch say, and if it doesn't smell right, she's going to go MARSTON on you. You know what that means?"
They all nodded, eyes even wider. MARSTON Verification Protocol was a polite euphemism for the world's only actually effective form of extreme rendition. Ngo looked uncomfortable.
Lillian made a mock cheering gesture. "Awesome. So yeah, the world disappeared. We'll work up to figuring out why that is. The first thing I want to know from you is this: why were you here?"
"We were looking for him," one of the Tarrows said immediately.
Alis gave her a mildly dirty look. "You could've at least stalled a little, for appearances."
"And by him," said Lillian, "you mean Wirth."
Nods all around.
"Because you think he's the leader of your cult."
"We think he's an //aspect// of it," the other Tarrow corrected her. "He's the only link we have to our history now. Whatever happened back in 2002, it splintered the origin of our powers and made most of it antimemetic. Wirth is the only thing we can concretely focus on when we try to conceive of our own origins."
"Obviously you haven't found him yet."
"Obviously," Alis agreed.
"How long have you been trying?"
"A few months. We came here when it all started, because everyone had trouble remembering Site-43 existed, so it seemed like it had to be at the core of whatever was going on. When we didn't find anything, we left. Followed the trails."
"What trails?"
The second Tarrow chimed in again. "Now who's being dishonest? You know. Zlatá and Del Olmo."
"Mm. You were trying to see where they went, and what they were doing. Because they were memeticists?"
Nods again.
"And what did you find?"
"Not a damn thing," the first Tarrow sighed. "Not a damn thing for //years.// We eventually gave up, until suddenly..." She closed her mouth.
Lillian gestured. "Go on. Suddenly..."
The three of them exchanged glances.
"Listen," Sokolsky smiled. "We've got the equipment ready--"
Alis and the second Tarrow stumbled over each other to respond. Alis won out. "For a moment, just a moment, we all could remember. We can remember remembering."
"Remember remembering what?"
"The source. The origin. It all came back together for an instant, and everything made sense. And then it didn't again. And we knew where the flash had come from. It came from //here.//"
"So you came back."
"And still didn't find anything."
"And now the anything you didn't find has turned everything into nothing. Terrific. Now, what do you think I ought to do with the three of you?"
"Probably you ought to murder us," Alis remarked dryly. Ngo started shaking her head, but nobody was looking at her.
"Probably," Lillian agreed. "We've done it before." She left this unexplained. "Still. You might be helpful, if and when we do find Wirth. Not of your own volition, obviously, but still. You fine with sticking around among the living until we get all this sorted out?"
The first Tarrow shrugged. "Unless you're gonna pass us some cyanide capsules with our dinner, we don't have much choice, do we?"
"You two are so morose," Alis scolded. "Cyanide capsules, Christ. Lighten up."
"We have a //duty,//" the second Tarrow snapped.
"Well, I'll see if I can't get you out of that duty you've stepped in." Lillian stood up, and drummed the table. "Anything else you'd like to volunteer?"
"Yeah." Alis met her gaze evenly. "If you do find him, just send him our way. It'll be better for everyone concerned."
Lillian nodded. "Of course. Obviously I trust you to do what's best for us." She nudged Sokolsky in the ribs. "I kept a straight face there."
"Very impressive," he nodded impassively.
"Why was I even here for this?" Ngo muttered.
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
Udo grunted. "So, he's here. What were you saying about Van Rompay, though?"
"He's been running interference. We were right to zero in on LeClair's clarity as the biggest question mark. I think Wirth rearranged her brain chemistry every once in a while, keeping the Alzheimer's dormant, in return for Ged making sure nobody looked too closely into his disappearance."
Del was frowning. "Does Alzheimer's even work that way?"
"It's neurodegenerative. Wirth has brain powers, and chaos powers. Chaos and decay. I'm sure he could swing it."
McInnis was nodding. "I've noticed the occasional lapse from Dr. LeClair in this timeline. I suspect the condition has merely been kept at bay, not cured. Dr. Wirth, or the entity masquerading as him, may merely be simulating a working mind for her. Providing a functional structure."
"That's horrible." Nascimbeni wrinkled his nose. "And it makes a lot of sense."
"Sure," said Wettle, and everyone but McInnis seemed startled to notice he was there. He always sat on the floor, so he was out of their sight lines.
"Hey." Harry nudged the other man's shoulder with the tip of his steel-toed boot. "I heard you saw LeClair before Van Rompay showed up on the warpath. What did you do?"
"Just got lucky," said Lillian.
"Wow," Harry smiled. "No wonder the guy was so mad."
Wettle shrugged. "I don't know what anyone is talking about."
McInnis cleared his throat. "So, you're saying Dr. Wirth is performing some sort of experiment somewhere at Site-43, Chief Van Rompay was covering his tracks, and Dr. Du was unwittingly acquiring extra information for him. That's all well and good, but we have just completed a comprehensive overview of this entire facility. There is nowhere left to hide. So where, within nowhere, is he hiding?"
"That, Allan," Lillian grinned, "is precisely correct."
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[[/=]]
[[div class="jandm"]]
[[=]]
++ 12 September
----
[[/=]]
Veiksaar gestured at the bizarre hybrid of ancient and modern computing technology nestled in the corner of AAF-A's bottom sublevel, and sighed. "This is it."
"This is what?" Nascimbeni had never seen it before. He'd never been in this room. Only the I&T techs ever came in here, and only the ones with the highest clearance. He was used to that sort of compartmentalization, so he'd never made a fuss.
Well, that was part of the reason. He'd been making fewer and fewer fusses since shortly past the turn of the millennium.
"This," Veiksaar sighed again, as though she could only convey the information breathily, "is the DR-RHETORIC interface."
"The supercomputer that isn't," Nascimbeni agreed.
Veiksaar blinked at him. "You know?"
He immediately began kicking himself, mentally. Lillian had explained the entire thing to them all, of course, but Veiksaar wasn't supposed to know that. Not for the first time, he resented being made to carry and keep secrets, and keep track of who was allowed to know what, and who was allowed to know who knew what, and so on and so forth along the fractal curve of escalating dishonesty. "I know. We can talk about //why// I know later. But you can skip the explanation."
For the third time, she sighed. "That's good. That's //great.// I don't like explaining this. I hate talking about this at all. This is my least favourite room in the site. But yeah. This is the DR-RHETORIC interface, like I said. Or, that's what it's supposed to be. Right now it's just a dead terminal."
"Because everything under the Site is gone," he nodded. "Rydderech's dead, then."
"I don't know that. I don't know how I'd measure a thing like that, him being what he is. But he's definitely not responding. There's no interlink. I... sorry. It's taking me a moment to process that you already knew. Someone should have told me. Why didn't they tell me?"
"Compartmentalization gets us all eventually."
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Sure. Alright. So, you get why this is big deal?"
"Rydderech is an extraordinarily powerful reality bender."
"Right."
"And whatever happened, it might have //erased him from existence.//"
"Right."
"That would suggest what we're dealing with is... what do they call it? Semigod level, or worse."
Veiksaar's eyes widened. "You mean demigod?"
His internal monologue was now nothing but curses. "Yeah. Sure. That. Not clear on the terminology. I'm a tech guy. But even I know it would take something really big and bad to wipe out someone like Rydderech. He's practically off the scale."
She nodded, then bit her tongue. "Of course, he might not have been wiped out at all. The disconnect could also mean that we really have been pocketed, and Rydderech and his factory are still back in baseline, without 43 to contain them."
"Which would... not be good," he said.
"Which would //really suck.// But it's not really our problem. You guys are moving on to drone-test the area where the factory used to be, right?"
"That's the plan."
"Let me know how the plan turns out." She narrowed her eyes at him. "And I mean that. Actually keep me in the loop, this time, please. Secrets are how shit like this flies under the radar."
"You'll be the first to know," he told her. He hated how true he could make it sound.
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
"And the drones found...?" Lillian prompted.
"Serious electromag interference," Nascimbeni answered, "and nothing else. No factory. We flew right through where it ought to have been."
"Uh huh." Lillian folded her hands on her chest. She had a look on her face that reminded Harry of his cat, sitting in Karen's lap. Contented.
Udo's mouth switched sides several times, and she broke the silence first. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"
"You could have just said what you think I'm suggesting," Lillian said. "It would have taken fewer words."
"So would answering my wordier query."
"I'm suggesting what you think I'm suggesting."
Wettle grunted, as though startling away. "What do you think she's suggesting?"
"That Wirth is hiding in Rydderech's factory," said Udo."
"Which Eileen and Noè have established doesn't exist anymore," Harry finished. "So."
Lillian gave him a sympathetic look. "There's a big difference between something not being visible and something not existing. You can take that from me."
Sokolsky had been silent the entire time, even more so than Wettle. Harry was sitting beside him, and he couldn't even hear the man breathing. He finally spoke up now, voice very soft, almost contemplative. "A memetic cloak on the factory? And the electromagnetic interference was just to cover it up?"
Lillian snapped her fingers at him. "Exactly. The drones passed through spaces that were available to be passed through, and steered away from bumping into anything. Instruments selectively disabled, positioning altered to maintain the illusion. It's down there."
McInnis looked sad. "Dr. Rydderech is never spared his toil."
"I'm not so sure about that." Lillian matched his sadness with a grim look of melancholy. "I don't imagine he'd be thrilled about taking on a lodger. I don't know if Wirth could have killed him, but I think we have to consider the possibility that he has."
"Good god," said Harry. There was really nothing else to say on the subject.
This prompted the final silent party to make himself heard. The ASC stood up, and they all looked up at him. "Do you propose an expedition, then?"
"I'm not really sure," said Lillian. "Thing is, the factory is passively antimemetic if it's really down there. I tried the old accessway to the abyss, and I kept ending up turned 'round. Even took mnestics. No difference."
Del made a wry face. "We could set off SUNDOWN Protocol."
"Jesus Christ," said Harry, and then, "You guys need to stop making me sound religious."
"What's SUNDOWN Protocol?" asked Wettle, the only one who didn't know. Well, Sokolsky officially didn't, but they all knew how far that went.
"It's a measure to neutralize Rydderech." Harry grimaced. "Fills the factory with expanding foam. Scout tried to use it once, when he thought Rydderech was too far gone and begging for death. It's what lost him the Directorship."
"In the immediate sense," McInnis noted. "By that point he was quite finished with the Foundation."
"Sure," Harry allowed. "But anyway, it won't work for us."
"Why not?" Wettle asked, looking back and forth between them.
"The foam is activated by water from the Lake Huron floodgates," Harry explained. "And there's no Lake Huron anymore."
Nascimbeni looked thoughtful. "Could the //geists// help us find a way in? Alis, maybe?"
"Maybe." They'd all expected Lillian to answer; they were all surprised that Wettle had instead. "Antimemetics aren't really her thing."
Lillian scoffed. "She //is// antimemetic, Willie."
"Yeah," Wettle nodded, "but she doesn't actually //want// to be. It's not //intentional.// It's a side effect she's learned to weaponize. I don't think she's so good at it that... what?"
Lillian was staring at him. "Where are you getting all this from?"
He blinked, slowly, for several seconds. "We've been talking," he said finally.
"When?" Harry pressed.
He shrugged. "Whenever."
"//Whatever,//" Lillian snapped. "I was going to say, as much as I hate to support Willie even tangentially, that Alis isn't our gal here."
"Yeah," Harry agreed. "She's Wettle's gal."
The other man did not disagree.
"Who is?" McInnis asked. "You, Lillian?"
She shook her head. "I'm a brainworker. No, this calls for an outside contractor."
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++ 17 September
----
[[/=]]
Eileen Veiksaar's office wasn't cramped, but by the standards of her peers it wasn't the most spacious. There was always a lot of computer equipment laying around, most of it archaic; in this sense it was not unlike Nascimbeni's quarters, where old machinery went to not die. The recent comprehensive inventory had relocated everything which could be repurposed to the manufactories of J&M, but there was still little room for pacing or dramatic gesture when you packed more than a couple of people into the space.
There were more than a couple now -- a trio, to be precise -- and they were all bunched up at the back of the room, looking at Eileen's terminal over her shoulder. It was an intimate occasion, and the events they were monitoring were no less so.
One of the Tarrows was sneaking through the facility, and Eileen's CLIOMETRIA was tracking her across a wide variety of electronic media.
The cameras were the most obvious bet, but of course the //giftschreiber// knew that, and was selectively rerouting the feeds. She must have had some sort of technical knowledge, which was an interesting wrinkle Lillian hadn't previously suspected. In any event, watching Tarrow on the cameras when she didn't want to be watched was a bad idea, because odds were they'd all suddenly stop caring about the hunt, stand up, and wander off to do something else. Chasing an antimemetic threat was something a human being couldn't practically do.
But CLIO was nothing but raw code, lacking not only the personality driver that made an .aic a virtual person, but most of the electronic superstructure that supported it. The program could follow each fluctuation, each change in temperature or pressure, the source of each feed alteration -- Tarrow was forcing the cameras to replay old footage, a trick Lillian remarked disapprovingly had been lifted straight from //Speed// -- to trace the woman's course through the undercrofts of AAF-A with something approaching precision. She was circling, spiralling, veering off at strange angles down corridors nominally leading nowhere, navigating an antimemetic maze which only she could see.
It was probably not the quickest path to her quarry, since she had obviously never actually found him yet, but there was time to streamline. She'd already made dramatic improvements on the path she'd taken yesterday. In a few more days, she might actually have found the point of access.
"Assuming there's a point of access," Eileen pointed out. "Could be Wirth just lowers the entire antimemetic field when he wants to leave."
"Could be," Lillian agreed. "Bremmel's working on a solution for that, too."
"Which is what?"
"A big bomb."
Eileen struck a key, and the second tracking routine CLIO was running took over the screen. The other Tarrow was on the level above, spinning in place, hands outstretched as though feeling for walls in the dark. So far as they could tell, neither sister was aware of the other's activities. They weren't comparing notes. They were searching separately.
Udo shook her head. "It's so weird that they're working against each other."
"Not so weird," said Lillian.
"No?"
"They've got power. Too much power." Lillian waved her hands, and Eileen pushed them out of her face so focus on the screen. "Blah blah blah, the saying that goes with that."
"The saying that goes with that is four words long," Udo sighed.
"What are you today, the fucking word police?"
"I'm just..." She stood up, and performed the limited amount of pacing allowed by the room's narrow profile. "This is all freaking me out a bit. I thought I understood where the lines were. Who was on what side. Now there's more sides than I was expecting. This isn't a coin, it's a polygon."
"Coins are polygons," Eileen murmured.
"Yeah, but the space between the sides isn't so //overt.// What do all these interest blocs want? With us? With the Victims? How have we been in this mess for like a decade, and yet still we aren't any closer to figuring it out?"
Lillian stretched, then walked over to where Udo was treading carpet and reached out to still her by the shoulders. "We're a //lot// closer to figuring it out. We have a metric fuckton of details we haven't explained yet. The explanation is like, five percent of the winning formula. We'll lick it soon enough."
"Not soon enough by half," Udo grimaced.
"Aaaaand there she goes," Eileen suddenly crowed. "Track down, and lock. Okay. Walk us through it, Imogen."
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@@ @@
++ 24 September
----
[[/=]]
There was a door in Health and Pathology which opened on the abyss. Well, there were several, but only one of them mattered to Billie.
Because it was the one LeClair's keycard opened.
It was beyond the back of her office. The back of her office featured a wall panel that slid aside if you tapped it with her keycard, and the tunnel behind that panel -- Billie knew it had to be an escape tunnel -- had a door halfway down its length which opened via a more traditional keycard interaction, and behind that door was nothing. Not the nothing she could see from the elevator platform, or the nothing which surrounded the Site's enormous exposed roof, but a nothing she could have all to herself, if she wanted it.
Every once in a while, she stole the old woman's keycard and returned to visit the void. She wasn't sure what she wanted from it. She knew there was something nihilistic about filling her vision with darkness, about placing her spindly fingers on each side of the doorway and locking the soles of her overlarge boots to the floor tiles on the edge of forever, and projecting her upper torso out into... well, just //out,// really. But she wasn't sure it was the call of the grave that moved her to do it. There was also something //beautiful// about the gesture, about having access to the entire known world, and looking in the only direction where nothing existed. Moving into the unknown.
She wondered what it would feel like to plunge into that black pool.
Knowing that she could, if she so chose, was a kind of comfort. It suggested she still had agency.
"Still?" she snorted. When had she ever had agency, before this moment?
She closed the door again, and headed back into LeClair's office. The emptiness would keep. It would still be waiting for her when she needed it.
She hummed to herself as she shut the panel, blissfully ignoring the question that phrasing provoked.
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++ 1 October
----
[[/=]]
Both Tarrows were in custody again, their fictional liberty revoked with prejudice, and that left only this final matter to resolve before the Survivors took action. Lillian wasn't at all sure that anything useful would come of it, but it was best to have all the available information before you made a decision.
The DUAL Core had been constructed for the specific purpose of making 'all the available information' and 'all possible information' into the same dataset. So, it was worth at least a brief visit.
Du started talking as soon as she entered the control room. "We figured it out."
She made a //good for you// face. "Welcome to the club."
Bremmel's arms were already flapping. Du took a step away from him. "Whatever you figured out," the podgy engineer cried, "it wasn't this."
"Can I tell her," Du asked, "or do y--"
"We're not in a pocket dimension," Bremmel blurted. He was almost shouting.
Lillian shrugged. "Okay."
"Everything else has-."
Du pulled the nearest hand out of the air, and when the older man stopped talking to react, the younger interrupted. "You're not explaining it. //I// figured it out, and your interpretation is invalid. Nothing in the simulation suggests--"
"What would you call it, then?"
"Restructured absence."
"Distinction with no difference."
Lillian snapped her fingers. "Boys."
Bremmel was fuming, so Du was the first to resume the explanation. "We've been comparing all the readings from around the Site exterior, particularly Dr. Okorie's micamantic explorations and the drone telemetry, with simulations run within the DUAL Core. We've still got access to data from the old Temporal Affairs Department database, as well as an ontokinesis baseline read of our home temporality from Site-120."
Anyone else might have trotted out that exhausted old 'English, please' line. Not Lillian. "Right. And?"
"And we can state with almost absolute certainty that we were not severed from the world, and the world was not erased. It's a third option."
"Matter of interpretation," Bremmel sniffed.
"What interpretation?" Lillian looked down at the Core, which was no longer spinning. Its work, for the moment, was done. She felt a brief, complex pang of envy. "What third option?"
Du was smiling, but it was not a happy smile. "We cracked it when we realized the parallels with the Core itself, the things you said it was capable of doing under severe orphic stress. Whatever produced this effect--"
"--and it would have to be a being, or a machine, of extraordinary, unprecedented potency," Bremmel interrupted.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/45-nothing-to-worry-about/DL_45_13_Du_Explain.jpg]]
"-- the effect was this." Du took a deep breath. "Reality was not altered to remove us from baseline, or baseline from around us. Reality was rebuilt //from scratch,// with only us in it."
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"So," Lillian concluded, "obviously I'm going."
McInnis tented his fingers. "I don't see why."
The Survivors were gathered in his dining room, which had become their makeshift boardroom. The dinner table was polished oak, and very heavy, but not too terribly large. It was close quarters, but none of them particularly noticed. They'd been in tighter spaces together before, even if they didn't remember them all.
"If he tries to hop into my head..." Lillian made a quick little explosion gesture at her temples with both hands. "I can kill him again."
Harry looked ill. "He was only able to do that when you let him. We're immune to control."
"Well, who else then? I'm the most qualified."
Del placed her pistol on the table. The scalloped lower edge caught the light just //so,// and it looked like a row of gleaming teeth. "Depends on what qualifications we're looking for."
McInnis shook his head. "We aren't going to simply shoot him."
"I could shoot him creatively," she smiled.
"I want him to //explain himself.//" McInnis looked from face to face to face, implicitly seeking consent he did not need. He had learned it from his deputy, who was watching now with both approval and trepidation. "I want to know why he did what he did, and how."
"You think he's just going to tell us?" Udo asked.
"He might tell me. I have something of a gift for gab."
The ASC was smiling, but there was a hard line at the middle. "I'm going to have to object very strenuously to sending you, sir."
McInnis nodded. "Your objection is noted."
"You know," said Harry, "in situations like this, I'm not really sure the existing hierarchy serves us all that well."
At any other time, McInnis might have willingly entertained this line of thought. He pretended to entertain it now. "You have a better suggestion?"
The archivist shrugged. "We could take a vote."
"I'm not sure that's necessary."
Nascimbeni grunted. "Go figure."
"The authority vested in me," McInnis said in his finest not-lecturing voice, "was not conditional on the state of reality. I am still the Director, and this is still my decision. And I am deciding to go." He straightened in his chair, and reached down to smooth the wrinkles from his pullover; informing them with body language only that the matter was now settled.
Del picked up the gun again. "At least let me go as backup."
"No. If he feels threatened, he might do something rash."
Nascimbeni pursed his lips. "Could hardly do worse than he already has."
"That is a risk," McInnis told them, "given the present circumscribed state of our entire reality, which I am wholly unwilling to take."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
It was, McInnis thought, a not unpleasant inversion of responsibilities.
His people started him out on the path, then directed his every move. He'd made an effort to memorize the earliest steps, the strongest ones, the ones the two Tarrows had arrived at as the absolute best starting positions, and a great deal of what came after. Eventually the sequences became too complex for anyone but Lillian to remember, and so Lillian piped them into his earpiece, and he followed her instructions to the merest inflection of every letter.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/45-nothing-to-worry-about/DL_45_14_McInnis_Walk.jpg]]
He passed Ilse Reynders twice, coming and going. He wondered if anyone had thought to ask her what she regretted. He regretted that he had not.
Then again, it was probably no big secret.
It took over an hour to reach the point where the winding path reached the Site's outer skin, and penetrated beyond it. This was the moment when Veiksaar had realized one of the twins was on the right track, because she kept walking where there was no more ground to tread. McInnis had several minutes to prepare for the decision he had to make -- or rather, to prepare not to make a decision. To do what his body would on no accounts do of its own volition, as soon as Lillian gave the order to his mind.
"Open the door, and go through," she said, and he did.
He wasn't sure what he expected to happen. His sense of vertigo suggested he would fall into the dark expanse, tumble through the space between worlds -- no, the space enshrouding the only world that remained. That wasn't what happened. His imagination suggested his toe would encounter resistance where there should be none, and he would begin to walk on thin air. That wasn't what happened either.
What happened was
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
he was suddenly standing in a room with a hundred foot ceiling, every inch of it plastered with blinking lights and glowing lines of exposed wire. There was flame crackling across each string of copper. There were tones that made his teeth ache. There was, though very faintly, "Point Me At The Sky" by Pink Floyd in something between Morse Code and a lo-fi mix.
There was Reuben Wirth, bent over a tiny control unit, sitting on the tile floor. The tiles were cracked asbestos, pink and spackled with white. Like an ancient science lab.
Like somewhere Wynn Rydderech might once have worked.
Wirth looked up, blinked, and then blinked again. "Who's there?!" he asked, though they were not ten metres apart.
McInnis approached, hands spread to show he had neither evil intentions nor the means of effectuating them. "Director McInnis."
The young man, no longer so young and eyes very old, very tired, struggled to his feet. His blonde hair, now streaked with grey, was matted across his forehead. His labcoat was a mess. There were sweat stains all over him. The air was very humid. "How did you find me?"
"Rather a lot of effort." McInnis looked up at the machine again. It was black-panelled and gleaming, polished so finely that he could see it reflected in itself. "I imagine that was the idea."
"The idea was never to be found." Wirth spun, and reached up into the air to indicate his grand creation -- for McInnis was certain, without knowing why, that this was nothing Rydderech could ever have made. There was something familiar about it. "I have to fix this. I //can// fix this."
"Assuming we're speaking on the same subject," McInnis began walking the perimeter of the room, taking in every socket and plug, "I take you to mean our present situation was not intended?"
Harsh laughter, of a kind he'd heard before several times out of several different throats. "Are you joking? Of //course// it wasn't intended! I didn't mean to wipe out six billion people!"
"You, or others like you, have done something like that before."
Wirth waved dismissively. "That's just the cycle. This was too sudden. Too much. It didn't //mean// anything. I didn't mean to do it! I thought I had it all figured out, but I can't," and suddenly he was pounding his forehead with one labcoat-tangled palm, "seem -- to -- think -- straight!"
"Software/hardware conflict, perhaps?" McInnis suggested.
"Yeah. Something like that. //Look.//" The other man suddenly darted forward, and seized McInnis by his jumper with greasy fingers. "Do you understand what it is you're seeing, here?"
"It would appear to be a very large machine."
"'Very large'." For a moment, it looked like Wirth was working up to spit in the Director's face. "You know what I used for the raw materials?"
"The entirety of Dr. Rydderech's factory?"
A flicker of uncertainty in the eyes. "Hardly a fraction. But you've got the right idea. This is the single most powerful ontokinetic engine ever constructed. With a single thought, you can change the very nature of reality. Shape it in your image. Alter even the minutest detail."
"It hardly seems necessary to reduce all creation to a blank slate to test such a power."
"That's not...! I already told you, that wasn't what I meant to do. I didn't mean it. I didn't //mean// it." He was near tears. "I was just trying to change the wallpaper."
"The wallpaper?"
"That was my first test. My only test. Turn the wallpaper in my quarters pink, just to see if it would work. I looked up all the blueprints for Site-43, pictured the whole thing in my mind — like a cutaway drawing, perfect in every detail — and willed my wallpaper pink."
McInnis withdrew from the other man's grip, and stepped back. Just once. "How were you able to conceive of the entire facility all at once?"
"You'd be amazed what your hardware can do, with the right software."
"But what went wrong?"
Wirth spun again, and snatched up his remote control. There were a great many buttons on it, and a pair of medical-looking leads. "I misunderstood the plans. I got the functions wrong. I thought I was visualizing. I thought it was helping me //visualize.// But I was defining, instead."
"So... you visualized everything but Site-43 out of existence."
"No, I pictured Site-43 with pink wallpaper in my quarters, and the universe became Site-43 with pink wallpaper in my quarters." Wirth sighed ruefully.
It seemed an enviously mild reaction to McInnis. "I suppose we're lucky you did all that research first. If you had simply focused on your quarters instead of the entire Site... well, whoever thought pink wallpaper would cause the big crunch?"
"You came here to blame me." The long-dead researcher shook his head, soggy locks flipping from side to side with the motion. "I knew you would. But you came at just the right moment. I bought myself enough time."
"You might have remained hidden much longer had you constructed your machine in a far-off tunnel. We might never have noticed it, were it not physically connected to the Site."
"Pah." This time Wirth did spit, on the floor, then stared at it as though startled at what he had done. "I'm not down here because I thought you couldn't find it. I thought you couldn't find it, and I don't know how you did," and his eyes narrowed for a moment, only a moment, "but that wasn't the reason."
"Then what?"
"How often do you think of Acquisitions and Liquidation?"
There weren't many terms that could bring McInnis up short, but that was one. He made no effort to keep it off his face, because he knew he couldn't do it convincingly. "Every once in a while."
"And the pack of cigarettes in your desk?"
"Less often. But occasionally."
"Was there anything you could have done differently?"
He had a sudden image of gratuitous violence. His staff fleeing from him in terror. Smashed furniture. Blood. A red haze. And then a bricked-up wall, and one less Section at Site-43. He'd seen it before, in his dreams. He'd seen it once before that, in livid colour.
"No," he admitted. "Compulsion is compulsion. It happens to the best of us. Most personnel who last long enough are forced to face the spectre of a loss of control. Few so completely as you, of course, Dr. Wirth. You have my deepest sympathies."
The other man laughed. "Don't try to change the subject. I'm not under any sort of //compulsion.// I'm just not who you think I am, which is honestly very embarrassing, because we've met before, more than once, and you really ought to recognize me. I've seen you fail, and fail, and fail again, Allan. I've seen you fall short of your lofty intentions. I've seen you take shortcuts. I've seen you make mistakes. And today, I can feel them all. Right here. Right now."
"Right here," McInnis repeated. "At the peak of Rydderech's factory?"
"At its //heart.// You're thinking with lines instead of curves. We're standing where the man once lived, Allan. Where he suffered every day for half a century."
"But no longer?" The words seemed to echo.
"No. I've taken up his post. I've absorbed his guilt. Do you know how lonely he was? You think you do, but you don't. You think you regret what you've done to him, but you don't understand the //half// of it. You're too caught up in all the things you've done wrong that you can't take back. All of you are. Every last one of you. You're anchored to the same shoal by the weight of your shame, and you've polluted every inch of this place with it. It's in the walls. It's in the asbestos. It was giving you //cancer.// But I'm going to burn it all away."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/45-nothing-to-worry-about/DL_45_15_Wirth_Crazy.jpg]]
"Burning asbestos is inadvisable," McInnis murmured.
Wirth glanced down at the controller, and smiled. "I'm a liberator," he said. "I'm going to present you with the finest freedom of all."
"And what is that?"
"Freedom from guilt." He raised the remote, not to use it, but to fix the Director's attention on it. "I'm almost there."
"Almost...?"
"I know what went wrong. I know how to fix it. I //have// fixed it, the machine I mean." McInnis searched Wirth's eyes for uncertainty, confusion, dishonesty. There was only a crazed determination. "It works the way I thought it would work, now."
McInnis turned away, and examined the computers behind his manifestation point. "Why was there such a gap between conception and construction? Was it not your plan you were executing?"
By the sound of his voice, Wirth was frowning. "I and me are two different things, and sometimes more. Sometimes //seven.// You know what I mean. You've been through this rodeo //twice already.// So you can excuse me for being a little //mixed up,// given the circumstances."
"Given what you've done," McInnis brushed the cold steel and polymer with his fingertips, "forgiveness is entirely beyond my authority."
"There won't be anything to forgive, soon. It'll all be back to normal. It'll all be //back.// Then you can do whatever you want. We can shape it however we please."
McInnis let his hands fall back to his sides. He began adjusting the hem of his jumper. "My desires are now being taken into account? You're no longer a unilateral Creator?"
"Just leave me alone," Wirth cursed. "Leave me down here, with the machine. Let me finish my work. You just need to give me another chance." His voice was growing louder. He was approaching. "When I'm ready, I'll set things right again. I'm the only one who can."
McInnis turned to face him again. "I absolutely believe you."
[!-- [[=image McInnis_Wirth_Wallpaper.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
She found him at the door, one hand on his temple, the other clutching the jamb. He didn't look up when she approached, but he did nod. "The matter is settled."
Lillian frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning the matter is settled. There is no further threat from Dr. Wirth." He looked up, and she saw his eyes were closed. He opened them. "Your hypotheses were entirely correct. As were Dr. Du's, and Dr. Bremmel's. I'll thank you to inform them."
He started down the hall.
"Where are you going?" she called after him.
"I'm feeling fatigued. It was a taxing interaction. Please do not attempt to enter the factory tonight; we will begin promemetic treatment tomorrow, to make the space more easily accessible."
Nascimbeni was waiting around the next bend, and he heard the tail end of that sentence. "Accessible for what?" he demanded, as the Director brushed past him.
"Hey," Lillian called. McInnis was moving fast for a man with such short legs. "HEY. What happened down there? What was it all about?"
"You already know what it was all about, Lillian." He glanced back at her, eyes hooded, but did not slow his roll. "Regrets. Let's do our best not to accrue any more, shall we?"
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Karen shook her head. "And that's that? It's all settled?"
"I guess so." Harry spread his arms around the back of the couch, clutching at the frame beneath the fabric. "We're in this for the long haul, now."
She wrinkled her nose. "Well, it's nice that we're not in danger of any further program interruptions. I wonder how Allan managed that."
Harry shrugged. "He can be very convincing, when he wants to."
"Mmm." She ran her hands along the length of her slacks. Her legs were very long.
There was something in the set of her jaw that set him to wondering. "Good day at the office?"
She smiled. It reached her eyes. "Just another day at the beach. I never realized how much heavy lifting the Oversight was doing in Admin and Oversight."
"Yeah, I guess you don't miss Overwatch?"
"Over-the-shoulder-watch, more like." She stretched, and let her hands rest on the frame where they fell. "Without them, it's like managing a condo complex."
"Still sounds pretty cut-throat."
"I can cut throats from nine to five, and not bring it home with me."
He felt his left hand creeping up the back of the couch. "Sounds like you've got a lot of free time, for a change."
"Little bit." Her right hand crept down to meet his. "What about you? What have you got to work on, for the next few months?"
He met her eyes, held her gaze. "I did have a project in mind, actually."
"Do tell."
Their hands connected.
"Maybe I could show you, instead."
It was a sudden thing, what with both of them pulling at the same time. It was a miracle neither of them broke anything.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Not for lack of trying.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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[[/=]]
[[div class="Ngo"]]
**Debriefing Log 5243-C** (Cont'd)
**Subjects:** Allan J. McInnis (Director, Site-43)
**Officer of Record:** Nhung T. Ngo (Deputy Chair, Psychology and Parapsychology Section, Site-43)
----
**Dr. Ngo:** Did it work?
**Dir. McInnis:** We'd become more self-sufficient since the first incident. Between our stores and the hydroponics, even with all the damage done by the open airlock, we were able to scrape by for a year.
**Dr. Ngo:** I mean, did Wirth's plan work? With the machine?
**Dir. McInnis:** No, it didn't.
**Dr. Ngo:** Why not?
**Dir. McInnis:** Because I shot him in the head, and left his body in the black.
[[/div]]
[!-- [[=image McInnis_Ngo_Debrief.jpg]] --]
@@ @@
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=====
[[<]]
Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:
Dougall Deering: "Twitter 365 Project - Day 55" and "Tokyo" by Richard Giles, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076
Xinyi Du: "Dr.Kweon scientist Army Research Laboratory" by U.S. Army DEVCOM, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/usarmyccdc/8125441607
Karen Elstrom: "Natalya" by Anastasia Pavlenko, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/zamerzla/50841210177
Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653
Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023
Noè Nascimbeni: "abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992
Nhung Ngo: Nhi Dang, "Huyen," released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/nhi_dg/7186551316/ and Rod Waddington, "Hmong Woman," released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/rod_waddington/44409399060
Ilse Reynders: "Practicing that blank stare" and "Quinn working" by Quinn Dombrowski, both released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529 https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028
Daniil Sokolsky: "Brett - 08-08-08" and "Waterpitts, 29-09-12" by Brett Jordan, both released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625
https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842
Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470
William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260
> **Filename:** Everything!
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
[[/<]]
=====
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Nothing to Worry About - SCP Foundation
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
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<h1 id="toc0"><span>Nothing Changes</span></h1>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #990011">2011</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>6 October</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong>Timeline 5243-C</strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>He was a distant echo of the man he wasn't.</p>
<p>Where his brother had been firm and toned, Phil was soft and airbrush-monotonous. But the frame was the same; he was tall enough for her tastes, his figure hadn't completely gone to seed, he had the straw-brown hair (even if it was thinner, whether on his scalp or his jaw or his chest or even lower) and the soulful brown eyes (even if the look of fiery intellect had been replaced by one of sorrowful apology) and the wide shoulders (it was certainly her imagination that Phil's seemed almost rounded). They were practically identical where it counted, however. She had no intention of putting it to him this way, but her new boyfriend had precisely his late, unlamented brother's cute butt.</p>
<p>It was presently out of sight. Phil was slumped over the edge of the mattress, inverted, watching her dress. He seemed to have a thing for that. She didn't mind; after eight years, she and Harry had long since ceased to ogle each other after bed. He'd taken longer than she had, but then, she knew he had more to look at than she did.</p>
<p>Truth be told, he'd never taken very good care of himself. Sometimes she thought that was her fault, playing so easy to get. If she'd given him an uphill battle, he might at least have gotten in the habit of exercising.</p>
<p>Phil, at least, spent a lot of his time walking from station to broken station. He was not wholly without muscle mass, and she'd felt quite safe in his arms after their awkward mutual struggling beneath the sheets. Of course, there was probably no threat in the world he could neutralize half as effectively as she could, but the checklist of attraction hadn't been substantively updated in centuries. A solid arm lock went a long way.</p>
<p>"What's on for today?" she asked, as she turned away and wriggled into her underpants.</p>
<p>He didn't answer. She had a sudden image of Phil making cartoon awooga eyes at her backside, and sighed.</p>
<p>He reached out and poked her in the buttock.</p>
<p>She sighed again, and turned around. "Philip Deering. What is your schedule for today?"</p>
<p>He looked up at her, though not quite making it all the way to her eyes. She refused to sigh for a third time, so instead she bent down and kissed him on the lips, upside-down, as a sort of very, very soft reset.</p>
<p>When she withdrew, his eyes were closed. That was almost as cute as his butt, but it wasn't getting her any closer to a response, so she lightly slapped him on the cheek. "Speak."</p>
<p>"I dunno." He rolled over, planted his face into the mattress, and spoke into it. "What day is it?"</p>
<p>"Tuesday."</p>
<p>"Oh, Tuesday." He nodded, still into the mattress. "That would be the same as Monday. And Wednesday, for that matter. Shift starts in… what time is it?"</p>
<p>She picked the digital alarm clock off the bedstand and tossed it onto the bed. The cord reached, so the plastic thudded into his scalp. He looked up, grunting, and stared blearily into the red glow. "Two hours? Wow. Don't normally get up this early. Guess I have time for a shower?"</p>
<p>He looked up again, and waggled his brows.</p>
<p>She snorted. "Yes, you have time for a shower. But <em>only</em> a shower. I don't rush for anybody."</p>
<p>"Me either." He yawned, rolled onto his back again, and closed his eyes. "Shit happens whether I'm running around or not. If I'm standing still, at least I've got perspective."</p>
<p>She suddenly felt she very much wanted to reach down and haul him back up. She continued reassembling her wardrobe instead. "Except you're not standing. You're lying on the bed."</p>
<p>She almost didn't believe it when the only response she got was a light, snuffled snore.</p>
<p>She had always had a way of folding herself into a scene, finding a pose-shaped hole into which she could contort herself and pull focus, as though there might be a photographer waiting in the wings at all hours to document perfect poise in still life.</p>
<p>Karen had done just that several times the preceding night, in a remarkable display of control under strain — he'd been put in mind of someone acting out moves from memory, or perhaps a ballerina transitioning between positions — and she was doing it now as well, less theatrically but for no less intimate effect. She lay on the bed, stomach to mattress, legs kicked up in carefully carefree form, hands splayed regally over the pillow which preserved just enough of her modesty to enhance the allure. This, on the morning after. It was by no means unpleasant, but it did leave him wondering how long it would take her to stop putting on a show and allow a little unaffected spontaneity… if her years of emotional self-sequestration hadn't already made that impossible.</p>
<p><em>It's not like we have all the time in the world.</em></p>
<p>Well. They had all the everything in the world, actually, and would until next September. It was still a sobering thought, though not enough so that her intoxicating pinup pose did nothing for him. Chin down, irises barely visible as curved slits beneath her pointed brows; yes, she was pulling out all the stops this morning. As if to beg the question: if this was all there was, was this enough?</p>
<p>As his senses came back to him with a yawn and a stretch that took him to the tips of his toes, oxygen flooding his brain, he suddenly remembered that by contrast with this private spectacle he was doughy, unkempt and wholly devoid of grace. He went searching for a shirt, and pants. She adjusted the tilt of her head to keep the provocative angle intact; whether the product of instinct or mindfulness, he couldn't say.</p>
<p>"Rushing out?" she teased. There was a hint, just the faintest trace of anxiety preparing to blossom into insult in her husky morning tone.</p>
<p>"Covering my shame." His jeans were on the floor. They were freezing, and he squirmed a little extra as he squirmed into them. He'd never understood how denim caught on in coldest Canada.</p>
<p>She waved one hand as though dismissing a fly, the other remaining fixed to catch it when it fell back into place. "I didn't come for your physique, just like you didn't come for mine."</p>
<p>He cocked a brow as he found his socks beneath the bed, conscious as he did so that no brow cocked half as handily as hers. "What's wrong with your physique?"</p>
<p>"Nothing, I guess." She was still looking up the curve of her long lashes at him, and as he pulled on his pants, he found himself unable to stop looking back. That she could do something with her eyes to distract from what was going on astern was a testament to long years' practice managing appearances. "Any plans for tonight?"</p>
<p>And there it was, nakedly, which of course was half-appropriate to the situation. She was wondering if this had been a one night thing. She was hoping it wouldn't be. He felt a complex wash of empathy, sadness, and… well, pride. On a great many metrics, Karen Elstrom would be considered a serious catch. She was certainly out of his league, and always had been.</p>
<p><em>So what changed?</em></p>
<p>"Meet up again?" he suggested, tone wavering across the line between encouraging and anxious.</p>
<p>Her blue eyes lit up, though the smile became no less salacious. "Bring me a present, and I'll think about it."</p>
<p>"Yeah," he agreed without thinking — he was reorienting his hoodie to put it on — "I'll pop up to the grocery store to grab some flowers."</p>
<p>He spent a second longer than he needed to in the bowels of the sweater, mouthing curses, before emerging. If she'd reacted to his doom and gloom, the mask was already back in place.</p>
<p>"You'll just have to get creative," she smirked. "I'm sure you'll think of something."</p>
<p>The Inter-Sectional Subway ran on a wholly unreasonable schedule.</p>
<p>There was no good reason for it to cycle continuously in the middle of a shift. The entire system rarely had more than a handful of riders during these off-hours, and yet it had long been mandated that the timetable must be kept to regardless. Every few minutes, every stop saw the modified Red Rockets roaring into view. They stopped. Perhaps one person would get off. Perhaps another would get on. Then off again they went, gradually wearing down their bearings and other moving parts, demanding constant upkeep. The only way Nascimbeni could justify it was the fact that his technicians very quickly learned the skills they needed to repair the trains, and were never afforded the opportunity to forget them. If it hadn't been for that, he would have put his foot down ages ago. If folks didn't want to walk, there ought to be some sort of tradeoff. It wasn't like anyone ever had to stop and <em>wait</em> for a train at Site-43, and he rather felt that sometimes they should be made to.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni did not, as a rule, have a very open mind in his early middle age, but he was right now having cause to reconsider this position.</p>
<p>He'd arrived at precisely the moment that the train shot off to its next destination, and so he would need to wait the full ten minutes it took for the Green Line to cycle back 'round again. His back ached, and he wasn't about to push this heavy cart all the way to R&E on Trevor Bremmel's say-so, and so he would need to do precisely the thing he thought nobody ever did. He sat down on one of the pristine benches, which few butts had ever touched, crossed his legs and arms, and pulled the brim of his cap down over his eyes.</p>
<p>"Guess we just missed it."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni didn't shift out of his snoozing pose. It was never good to offer yourself up for conversation before you knew who the potential partners were, and the new arrival wasn't talking to himself. The voice was familiar; it was either Mataxas or the junior doctor on Forsythe's totem pole, that hotshot from Athens. What was his name?</p>
<p><em>It's LeClair's totem pole now.</em></p>
<p>"Excellent." <em>That</em> was Mataxas, Nascimbeni realized. The coarser tones of age.</p>
<p>"What's excellent about it?" The second speaker's voice was strikingly similar, hence Nascimbeni's confusion with the young physician he couldn't quite put a name to. Mataxas junior, then, the fresh MTF recruit. Rasmus.</p>
<p>"Come on, Ras," a woman's voice sighed. "You should know better than to invite a lecture. He does them often enough of his own volition." This would be Polyxeni, Rasmus' sister, junior researcher in nothing much. She wanted, like her father, to be a ghost hunter. Like her father, she found no position to fill at Site-43 which would satisfy her criteria.</p>
<p>As though he hadn't heard his daughter, Anastasios Mataxas adopted a sort of sing-song tone as he responded to his son. "It tells us that time keeps on ticking, even down here, even when 'down here' has no meaning, even when 'up there', where the sun once was, is gone. Without the sun, without the moon, without time zones, Greenwich Mean Time, without even <em>Greenwich,</em> we could be forgiven for forgetting that there's still continuity from moment to moment. That time even exists. But it does, for behold! We have missed our train."</p>
<p>Under his heavy lids, Nascimbeni rolled his eyes.</p>
<p>The younger man wasn't having it. "Not everything is a teachable moment, dad."</p>
<p>"But of course it is. Any moment that isn't teachable is empty, and no moment is empty. Even with our horizons cinched around us like a belt, there are things to learn from every instant we're awake. That is why we're here. To learn, so we might know. To know, so we might teach. I give you my knowledge, and you build upon it. So that when the world returns, the three of us will return to it better than we were before."</p>
<p>"Assuming it returns," Polly muttered.</p>
<p>"Which of course it will," her father chastisted her.</p>
<p>"Why?" Rasmus asked.</p>
<p>"Because if it didn't, then this would be a prelude to nothing. And I refuse to admit that I might have stood around hectoring you ungrateful little shits for no reason at all."</p>
<p>Not able to see their faces, Nascimbeni was caught off-guard when this provoked not a sullen silence or recipricol recriminations, but a round of hearty laughter from both children. Their father joined in soon after, and they were still playfully bantering when the train finally arrived.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni pretended to be asleep. He could catch the next one.</p>
<p>He had time.</p>
<p>Bremmel couldn't whistle, but he was blowing a lot of air out of his mouth anyway. "Would you look at <em>that.</em>"</p>
<p>"Yes, sir," his assistant agreed.</p>
<p>"And none of it the slightest bit otherworldly." The old engineer paced back and forth, admiring the tangle of cables and the embarassment of panels with more blinking lights and unlabelled switches than the bridge of the original <em>Enterprise.</em> He ran his fingers along each one, not to press, merely to caress. It was a beautiful mess, the kind of thing you might cook up in your garage if you were a billionaire and your garage was the size of the Batcave. "All made from perfectly standard components, cobbled together into… something wonderful."</p>
<p>"Yes, sir," his assistant agreed.</p>
<p>"Multimeter."</p>
<p>The hand had barely stretched out, piggy little fingers grasping, before his assistant slapped the requested device in his palm. Bremmel grunted, grumbled, and began affixing leads. "This is going to take <em>months,</em> you know. This is going to be like reverse-engineering how the DUAL Core works, only worse. Much worse."</p>
<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
<p>"You're on sixteen-hour shifts until further notice. The fourteen I'm on, and one on either side to prepare what I need and then review what I've accomplished."</p>
<p>"Of course, sir."</p>
<p>The slight variation produced a slight response from his boss. Bremmel glanced at him, once. His eyes unfocused, and he glanced away again. "You don't have much to say for yourself. What was your name again?"</p>
<p>"Who cares?"</p>
<p>Bremmel laughed. "You know what? It's only been a day, but you're already the best assistant I've ever had." He consulted the multimeter, clicked his tongue, and nodded. "Let's see how long it takes you to fuck that up. NCV tester?"</p>
<p>It was already in his hand. "Yes, sir," his assistant smiled.</p>
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<h2 id="toc3"><span>9 October</span></h2>
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<hr/>
<div class="muddle">
<p>The Acroamatic Abatement systems of Site-43 require, among other things, a great deal of water. The water in Lake Huron is more pure than anywhere else on the continent, owing to the efforts of the army of mystic cats and the presence of the vast veins of anomalous copper they protect, so pure that the Foundation has been tampering with civilian tests since the Second World War to hide that fact. It is therefore ideal for our purposes, and we pump it in and out in vast quantities via vast pipelines, some leading merely to the water's edge, some stretching far into the heart of the lake's basin.</p>
<p>Intake Point-94 represents our farthest point of incursion into the wetter side of the beneath-world, a glassed enclosure five kilometres from the shore and two hundred metres from the sunlight, accessed via a dedicated open-air tram line that glides overtop of a cluster of 32-inch water mains. It wasn't pure practicality that dictated construction of a glass observation dome at this juncture of the Site's distribution system; though it's too far from the main facility to see much recreational use, the aesthetic value of this expensive aquarium is dramatic. There is something soothing about looking out into the rippling blue… except, of course, on the not infrequent occasions when something looks back in at you.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
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</div>
<p>Like the Inter-Sectional Subway System, Intake Point-94 had been spared by Wirth's comprehensive conceptualization of the Site's interior footprint. The long glass tunnel and broad glass dome now looked out on nothing at all; there had been some concern that the pressure change from the lake's disappearance might cause structural difficulties, but these had so far not come to pass. Unlike the subway tunnel, which was already becoming enough of a thrilling footpath that Security and Containment were having to restrict access, nobody was trying to walk the glass road to the middle of nowhere. Few, fewer than even before, were bothering to take the little tram. It was a long way to go just to look at nothing.</p>
<p>Still, Harry had thought it might be a nice change from their perch beyond the elevator. There were already enough experiments being run from the platform that it lacked much in the way of privacy, and the increasing intimacy of their arrangement was easier to manage beyond the reach of prying eyes.</p>
<p>He shouldn't have been surprised to find that someone else had had the same idea, for different reasons.</p>
<p>"Your mom know you're out here?" Harry asked, and instantly knew it was the wrong thing to say, even before the girl's pug nose twisted itself into a knot.</p>
<p>"No," Billie Forsythe snapped. "So don't narc."</p>
<p>He put both hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Who, me?" He was feeling older by the second, between having actually asked someone if their <em>mom knew they were out here</em> and being accused of being a cop.</p>
<p>Billie was standing at the glass, looking out. Harry took up station beside her, at a distance equal parts respectful and practical. In his experience, young adults tended to smell. "Taking in the sights?"</p>
<p>She snorted. "Yeah."</p>
<p>"You find you want to keep looking at it, even though there's nothing to look at?"</p>
<p>She glanced at him, just for a moment. "Yeah. Doesn't make any fucking sense, does it."</p>
<p>"Not really, no. Must be something philosophical."</p>
<p>She snorted again. "Everything stupid people do isn't philosophical. Sometimes it's just stupid."</p>
<p>"What makes you think there's a distinction?"</p>
<p>She turned to look at him, and he returned the gesture. The exposed skin around her raccoon makeup looked red and raw. "Between what? Philosophy and stupidity?"</p>
<p>He nodded. "Yeah. Philosophy is about knowing ourselves, and the universe. The search for meaning. Stupidity is one of the most meaningful things there is. One of our purest ways of interacting with the universe."</p>
<p>She affected a flat expression at all times, but he thought he saw the faintest quiver of an eyebrow at this. "Sounds stupid — and when I say stupid, I <em>don't</em> mean profound — but go on."</p>
<p>He could feel himself slipping into lecturer mode. Like Scout before him, he'd moved into a largerly supervisory role at Falconer University now that he had tenure and his cover was intact, but he still delivered the occasional academic harangue, and it was not unlike riding a bicycle. "Mistakes are how we understand the way things work. You don't learn much from doing everything right. Doing everything wrong? That's practically communion."</p>
<p>She managed to raise her eyebrows without opening her eyes even a sliver wider. "Now he gets religious at me."</p>
<p>"I'd rather jump out that window." He knocked the glass; he would never have had the courage to do so when the water was still there. His overweening sense of responsibility was already demanding that he tell Nascimbeni he'd done this, and the rest of him was dreading the condescenscion he'd get in return. "But you get what I mean, don't you? Despair, and shame, and hopelessness, or even just irritation, those are all just ways for our emotions to help our brains get smarter. We fuck up, we get mad, we get sad, we get better. If things never got worse, they'd never improve."</p>
<p>She twisted her mouth to one side of her face, and her nose followed suit. "What do you think they learned when they blew up the universe? Was it proportional? Must've been one hell of an insight."</p>
<p>He puffed in mild agreement. "Must've been. But we'll never know."</p>
<p>They turned back to the glass. He let her sit with her thoughts in silence for a while.</p>
<p>She didn't look at him when she started speaking again. "Know what I think?"</p>
<p>"Nope."</p>
<p>"I think everybody's trying to make this mean something because they haven't got enough meaning themselves already."</p>
<p>"Enough for what?"</p>
<p>She scuffed the floor with her sneakers. "To keep going."</p>
<p>He had the sense that this had suddenly become a dangerously important conversation. He considered his next words carefully. "That's <em>why</em> we keep going."</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes.</p>
<p>"Because things don't mean anything. And that isn't good enough. So we keep moving forward, until they do."</p>
<p>"Structurally unsound."</p>
<p>He felt a sudden stab of panic. Did she mean the glass? <em>I knew I shouldn't have touched it.</em> "What is?"</p>
<p>"Your, whatever you call it. Literary construction. We keep moving forward until things mean something? What the fuck does <em>that</em> mean."</p>
<p>He laughed, as much in relief as good humour. "I dunno. I think it means… perspective."</p>
<p>"Perspective."</p>
<p>"Yeah. You can't see things clearly from up close. You don't know how big they are, you can't see the whole shape, you don't really understand all three dimensions. So you move forward, as far as you can, and then you look back, and then you understand. Then it all makes sense."</p>
<p>She seemed to be considering this seriously. "So it doesn't make sense when it's happening, but then you get some <em>distance,</em> and it does?"</p>
<p>"Maybe. Or maybe it means something now, and it means more later, with context. Perspective. A different vantage point. But that's only possible if you don't stay stuck in the same spot forever." He paused. "Or if you're dead."</p>
<p>She grunted. "Nothing means anything when you're dead."</p>
<p>"Nothing meaning anything <em>is</em> being dead. So keep looking out that window. Maybe you'll see something today. Maybe you won't know what it was until tomorrow. You'll have to wait and see."</p>
<p>She put a hand to the glass, and didn't say anything.</p>
<p>After a few minutes more, he walked back to the tram. Billie was softly humming behind him, and it echoed through the window on the worldlessness.</p>
<p>When it was all over, he thought, he might ask if there were any courses to teach at Falconer.</p>
<p>Just a thought.</p>
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<h2 id="toc4"><span>10 October</span></h2>
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<hr/>
<p>It was only by chance that LeClair noticed the wall panel was slightly out of place.</p>
<p>She'd been staring into space, trying to remember something, when she'd instead forgotten she was holding her pen, and dropped it. It rolled to the wall, and she bent to retrieve it — her body certainly knew this activity had once been much, much less of a trial — and saw that the panel disguising her escape route was not quite properly seated in its frame. There was a button under her desk for perfecting the illusion, which only she knew about. She tapped it, and the panel readjusted itself to blend in seamlessly with the rest of the wall.</p>
<p>So she stood up, and tapped her keycard against the panel to open it up.</p>
<p>She knew she ought to call security, but curiosity got the better of her. She walked a ways into the tunnel, and didn't spot anything out of the ordinary until she reached the side door providing cave access. She hadn't given it a moment's thought since the lockdown, but apparently someone had.</p>
<p>The light on the reader was dead. She bent down to examine it, and saw that someone had cut the thing open and pulled out all the wires that made it work. The door to nowhere had been disabled, from the inside.</p>
<p>She didn't think security would have handled it quite like this, but then, they had been in something of a hurry at the start. It was certainly worth reporting.</p>
<p>She wondered why anyone sneaking around in the Site's second skin would intentionally deprive themselves of an escape route, even one leading to a sheer and profound drop.</p>
<p><em>Cabin fever,</em> she thought, and not for the last time.</p>
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<h2 id="toc5"><span>12 October</span></h2>
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<hr/>
<p>Imogen Tarrow slammed the dorm door shut.</p>
<p>Her sister didn't react; each had always been able to sense when the other was near. She did ask: "Rough day?"</p>
<p>Imogen threw off her labcoat, and kicked her shoes across the room. "It didn't work."</p>
<p>Madchen Tarrow stretched, and pushed back from her desk. She'd spent the entire afternoon trying, and failing, to perform some delicate electronics work that one very angry Argentinean woman wouldn't want her performing. She'd been ready to vent off some steam about it when her sister returned, but apparently she was doomed to be upstaged. Such was life. "It didn't work?"</p>
<p>"He must be a eunuch." Imogen flopped down on the couch, then bounced on the cushions and sprang back to her feet to pace. "Or maybe he's gay. I wish we had Oscar."</p>
<p>"You went the seduction route? Real subtle."</p>
<p>Imogen glared at her. "It gets results. Most of these people think with their dicks, and they're all going stir crazy to boot. It should've worked. Madchen, they're fucking around with something down there. Something we need to know about."</p>
<p>Madchen shrugged. "You could try seducing Bremmel, instead of his assistant?"</p>
<p>They stared at each other for a few moments. Things had been tense between them since they'd been released from custody, and not only because they knew their every move was being tracked. Madchen wondered if Imogen suspected what she'd been up to. That would be a problem.</p>
<p>"Because you're my sister," Imogen said, very slowly, very carefully, "I am going to pretend I didn't hear that."</p>
<p>Madchen returned to her tablet and screwdriver. "I'm sure you got <em>something.</em>"</p>
<p>Imogen rooted around in the minifridge. "They've been fucking around in F-A for days now. They're bringing down all sorts of equipment, to the bottom sublevel, and they're not bringing anything back up. It's just Bremmel and whatsisface down there, and Bremmel never leaves. Whatsisface only comes up to report to McInnis."</p>
<p>"Why doesn't Bremmel report to McInnis?"</p>
<p>"Whatsisface says Bremmel is borderline incoherent. Lost in the sauce. Speaks in volts and tolerances exclusively. They're figuring it out, whatever it is."</p>
<p><em>Whatever it is.</em> They both had a pretty good sense of what it could be. Not in concrete terms, but in terms of import.</p>
<p>Whatever it was, it was the difference between nine wasted years and a nine-year march to triumph.</p>
<p>It was what they'd been sent here to find.</p>
<p>Madchen examined her sister. The rail-thin woman was pounding back a bottle of water, shivering in the air conditioning. A thought occurred.</p>
<p>"Maybe you're not his type?"</p>
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<h2 id="toc6"><span>15 October</span></h2>
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<hr/>
<p>"That ought to be your job."</p>
<p>Phil froze. Having been, until that moment, very much in motion, it was a painful and confusing transition. "What?"</p>
<p>Udo glared down at him. "It ought to be <em>your</em> job. You ought to be the deputy chief."</p>
<p>Phil slowly lowered his hands to his sides, rubbing sweat off onto the bedsheets. "Were you, uh. Thinking about that the entire time?"</p>
<p>She rolled off him, and then off the bed. He felt a sudden chill in the air, and it had little to do with the fact that she was no longer between him and the ceiling vents. "You've been here as long as Banerjee. Exactly as long as him. You shouldn't be taking orders from anybody but the Director by now."</p>
<p>He watched her snatch up and bunch up her scattered articles of clothing. "I mean, I've only been here twelve years."</p>
<p>She glared at him over her shoulder as she got dressed. "Twelve years. Your brother…"</p>
<p>He sat up. "My brother <em>what?</em>"</p>
<p>She wasn't looking at him now, a tanned expanse of back facing him as she pulled up her pants. "Your brother became one of the Foundation's leading thaumatologists in five years."</p>
<p>"Yeah, well." Phil found he was still massaging the sheets, like a kneading cat. He willed himself to stop. "I'm not my brother."</p>
<p>"That's for sure." Udo wrestled her hair through the neckhole of her shirt, which then lay loose around her clavicle; every shirt she owned hung like a blouse from this daily trauma. "You should at least demand to be made shift supervisor. There's no way someone else should be setting your hours after eleven years' service."</p>
<p>Phil didn't get angry easily. He didn't even irritate. But something in him rebelled against this treatment, particularly given what it was an abrupt sequel to. "Maybe I don't want to be a supervisor. What do you say to that?"</p>
<p>Her eyes were low-burning embers behind those thick, round glasses now. "At least it's a fucking <em>opinion.</em>" She smoothed out her labcoat, looked around the room, and sighed in frustration. "Now, would it kill you to get a mirror in here?"</p>
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<h2 id="toc7"><span>22 October</span></h2>
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<hr/>
<p>"Do you follow?"</p>
<p>McInnis smiled. "Not at all. Which is good! Dr. Lillihammer?"</p>
<p>Lillian had spent fully half of Bremmel's explanation with her head shoved in various compartments, making noises. Once the engineer had stopped her with a sharp "keep your spit off those wires, woman!" and twice he'd moved as if to kick her in the behind; she'd been saved the ignominy only by the fact that her behind was high up, and his feet low down. Still, she had been listening, and she nodded with enthusiasm. "There's nowhere you could go where I couldn't, Trev. But where's it getting all that power from, you figure?"</p>
<p>Bremmel shrugged. "No idea. Potentiality, maybe."</p>
<p>Lillian scoffed. "That's just a theory of a theory. Of a <em>theory.</em> That can't be it."</p>
<p>"It worked well enough for DR-RHETORIC. Which I shouldn't have to lecture you on."</p>
<p>"That's a different principle altogether. The ontokinetic reach interfaces with the—"</p>
<p>"Doctors," McInnis intervened smoothly. "I am asking if you're both clear on how this mechanism functions."</p>
<p>"Yes and no," Bremmel responded. "Yes, we can operate it. Yes, given the time and resources, we could make a second one. No, we have no idea why it actually works the way it does. We'd need a thaumatologist to consult if we really wanted to understand it."</p>
<p>"Or DR-RHETORIC," Lillian sighed. "But that ship has obviously sailed."</p>
<p>"Mm." McInnis nodded. "Do you have anything to add, doctor…?"</p>
<p>Bremmel's assistant, an olive-toned young man whose name McInnis could never quite remember, shook his head placidly. "No, sir. Dr. Bremmel did all the work, I just passed him the tools. But I'm confident he's got the machine figured out."</p>
<p>McInnis made a mental note to make time for encouraging the unassuming scientist. Anyone who could see such a fraught research project through under the supervision of Trevor Bremmel was not without talent; he certainly might have a future in admin. "Very well. Dr. Bremmel, I'm going to ask that you draw up the most detailed and precise technical specifications document you can, with Dr. Lillihammer's help."</p>
<p>The pudgy old man grinned. "Be maybe a month, but it'll be a fun month. Then what?"</p>
<p>McInnis smiled.</p>
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<h2 id="toc8"><span>17 November</span></h2>
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<hr/>
<p>Wettle felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up before he smelled her perfume, as though his nose had known she was coming before reporting the fact to the rest of him. The rest of him followed suit with the usual suite of physiological responses, and he turned to see Alis sashaying into the lab.</p>
<p>That wasn't a word he normally kept in his vocabulary, but the way she was walking brought it back to him in force. She looked mildly crestfallen as she took in the room, and Wettle realized it probably had something to do with the fact that Bremmel's assistant hadn't looked up, and hadn't seen.</p>
<p>"Heyyy," she said, and approached to where there was ostensibly a desk beneath a solid carpet of paper clutter. The assistant looked up, confused, in time for Alis to lean down over him and drop her elbows in his business.</p>
<p>"Hello," he offered.</p>
<p>She fluttered her eyelashes. Wettle felt sick to his stomach, and told himself it was saccharine overload. "We're busy," he snapped.</p>
<p>She wiggled her rear at him, but kept her eyes on the other man. "Engineers are talking, sweetie. I hear you've been conducting stress tests?"</p>
<p>The assistant nodded, arranging his hands strategically to block a few of his documents from sight. "That's right. But this is classified work. Need to know. No outside consults."</p>
<p>He couldn't see it, but Wettle could imagine the pouting face she was making now. "Aww. But I <em>love</em> stress tests. Pressure. Motion. <em>Tolerances.</em>" She reached out and drew a finger down the man's nose.</p>
<p>"Dr. Lane," the target of her affections said coldly, "I am going to have to ask you to leave. Dr. Wettle and I need to make sure we can reproduce the functionality of each component, and we're working on a tight time frame."</p>
<p>Wettle knew her well enough to know what the slight tensing of her shoulders meant, but she gave it another go nevertheless. Running her hands down both sides of the tube top she wore beneath her engineer's blues, she cooed, "Tight frames are my specialty."</p>
<p>Slowly, deliberately, the young man reached out.</p>
<p>"And then he called the FUCKING GUARDS on me!"</p>
<p>Imogen nodded.</p>
<p>"Gay it is," Madchen sighed. "Fuck."</p>
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<h2 id="toc9"><span>21 November</span></h2>
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<hr/>
<p>It wasn't as though Harry didn't enjoy it.</p>
<p>In his own way, he was in love.</p>
<p>It was only that sometimes, when he closed his eyes and kept them closed too long, then opened them again, he was surprised to see who he saw.</p>
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<h2 id="toc10"><span>3 December</span></h2>
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<hr/>
<p>Pensak slapped the book shut, appearing to relish the soft <em>thump.</em> "And we're good." He stood up from the duty desk, carried the bound daily record to the shelf, and slid it into place. "Pointless physical copy copied, all glorious four sentences of it."</p>
<p>Ibanez waved her hands in a mock hurrah. "Three loud arguments and one broken lightbulb, preserved for posterity. When it turns out Bremmel and whatsisname accidentally built an EMP bomb and they wipe the network, we'll still be able to tell each other the most boring fireside stories of all time."</p>
<p>"More likely use it as the firestarter." Pensak stretched, then detached his belt and headed for the lockup. "That's me out. See you tomorrow, boss."</p>
<p>"Want to catch a drink?" she called out, before she really thought about doing so.</p>
<p>He didn't miss a stride. "Nah. Card game in the mess. Still gives me a thrill, knowing the banks all disappeared and I don't actually owe anybody any money." He waggled a finger in her direction, without looking, as he slammed his locker shut. "That isn't to say I don't expect my back pay when it all comes howling back. Night boss."</p>
<p>She grimaced. "Goodnight."</p>
<p>She sat in the empty bullpen, holding down the fort until the second shift filtered in. She made her brief and pointless report to Holt, made brief and pointless small talk with Bosch and O, then surrendered to the inevitable and walked out. She didn't remove her uniform or check her firearm, because she was really never off-duty. Not even when she drank.</p>
<p>She really had wanted that drink.</p>
<p>William Wettle passed her going the other way, hands stuck into his labcoat pockets in a way that suggested they were balled into fists. He was eating his beard. His labcoat would probably have tasted better; there was a long streak of ketchup down the back. Somehow.</p>
<p>She caught him by the blue felt belt, and held on until he noticed he was trailing a cape behind him. That was what passed for a swift reaction from Wettle; normally he would have kept walking until he clotheslined himself. He turned back to face her, and she let go. "Hey."</p>
<p>Fight or flight fought fiercely in his eyes, producing as they always did a stalemate. "Hi…?"</p>
<p>"You want to catch a drink?"</p>
<p>He narrowed his eyes. They disappeared under his long lashes. She noticed he had long lashes. "Why, are you going to throw one at me?"</p>
<p>"Only if you make a pass."</p>
<p>If it were anyone else, they would have found a way to make a joke about throwing things and passing things, and how throwing things in football was <em>called</em> making a pass. Harry probably would have nailed it. Wettle never nailed anything. Well. That wasn't true. Though it ought to have been. "Why would I do that?"</p>
<p>She had the sudden desire to leap on him like an angry dog. Make him bleed. She suppressed it, but not without first doing serious damage, and not to him. "You've done it before, asshole."</p>
<p>He blinked.</p>
<p>"At 169?"</p>
<p>"One… sixty-nine," he repeated blankly.</p>
<p>"The survival training?"</p>
<p>He shook his head.</p>
<p>She turned and stormed away, blowing air between her lips in a long, sustained raspberry of rage. It wasn't until she'd turned three pointless corners on her way to nowhere in particular that she realized what she'd almost done, and began to cry.</p>
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<h2 id="toc11"><span>13 December</span></h2>
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<p>It hadn't come to a fight, and that made her fighting mad. So Udo did what she did every time her frustration reached a boiling point, and she needed to get away: she stalked to the nearest subway station, and got on. When it reached the Blue Line terminus, she switched trains and took the only trip she could in their less strange, far less brave new world. A nice little vacation to beautiful no-longer-shoreside AAF-A.</p>
<p>It was funny how the change in fortunes for everyone else had more dramatically affected the only person who should have been <em>un</em>affected. A small crowd of researchers and agents was walking away from the window to the Anomalous Documents Disposal Chamber as Udo walked up to it; Reynders almost always had visitors these days, in large quantities. She was the smartest person in the universe, and one of the kindest, and now that everyone was trapped under non-ground anyway, her company was much in demand. Her prison-within-a-prison contained the only person who really had perspective on what was going on.</p>
<p>Or perhaps it just made people feel better to think there was someone even worse off than them.</p>
<p>It was probably that.</p>
<p>It was why Udo was here, after all.</p>
<p>"Hey." She raised a hand in greeting.</p>
<p>Reynders was smearing grease paint on her window, crafting a mural. She'd taken up painting only recently, because the academic work she normally busied herself with was too difficult to manage with constant interruptions, and also because she said Helena Forsythe had told her to try it, for stress relief. Helena Forsythe denied having done this; Udo knew that if asked, the little genius would explain that she meant a different Helena Forsythe altogether.</p>
<p>But only if the Sampis asked, of course. Reynders had long since been briefed on what was going on. Considering she could see it anyway, it had been an easy call to make.</p>
<p>"Where's the hubby?" Reynders sang, painting a pale green streak across the glass. The grease paint had been in the ADDC for decades on decades on decades, and was only now seeing use. It had a shelf life, unopened, of perhaps a few years. It would nevertheless have lasted forever had she not decided to finally start expending it.</p>
<p>Udo scowled. "Don't call him that."</p>
<p>"Another argument, huh." Reynders was rendering — <em>ha</em> — a peculiarly vibrant sunset or sunrise. Something she hadn't seen since the world was last at war. Something no-one had seen since the world had last existed. Given its nature, the sun she'd seen had never been seen by another living soul. "Do you ever think you're being too hard on him?"</p>
<p>"No." Udo stamped her foot emphatically. It made her feel very foolish. "I don't think I'm being hard enough on him. I don't think anyone is. He falls back into the worst habits the moment I look away."</p>
<p>"One relates." Reynders reached up and tugged at a lock of her orange bowlcut; it sprang back into place, precisely, with unseemly speed. "We're all just cycles of ourselves."</p>
<p>Udo reached up to paw at her own hair. It was cut short, again, months ahead of the usual deadline schedule. She'd hoped it would give her a more severe look. She tried not to think about why she would want that.</p>
<p>"What's your endgame with him, anyway?" Reynders studded the green streak with dots of white, and began rubbing them in. "Is this a dry run for doing a better job in baseline, or is it just a fling?"</p>
<p>It was hard, sometimes, to remember that the other woman came from an era of strikingly different norms and morality. The Foundation was always ahead of most curves, of course, since most curves had some scientific basis and the Foundation had most science before most people, but a woman from the 1940s was still essentially a woman <em>of</em> the 1940s, unless she made the effort to change. Reynders had apparently made that effort, if she could conceptualize a <em>fling</em> as something that was acceptable for a young woman like Udo to embark upon.</p>
<p>Or maybe that was antihistorical bullshit. They'd had flappers and shit in the 1930s, hadn't they? She almost wished she could ask Harry.</p>
<p>Almost.</p>
<p>"I don't know," she admitted. "I just think… I don't know. We're here, now."</p>
<p>"Very true." Reynders was more here, more now, than anyone else. Ever.</p>
<p>"And I guess I see him, and I want to… help?" Was that right? Was that even remotely what she meant? "I want to do <em>something.</em> For him." <em>For him.</em> "There's a lot of potential."</p>
<p>"Raw material?" Reynders suggested, swiping a grey streak between green and orange for emphasis.</p>
<p>Udo rolled her eyes ruefully. "That makes me sound like some domineering bitch. And I don't think I am. Do you think I am?"</p>
<p>"I'll defer to your judgement on that. But I've always thought you were a fine young lady." There it was. The occasional turn of phrase that suggested this was a woman of more years, more <em>ages,</em> than her face hinted at. Even before the accident, she'd been older than she looked.</p>
<p>"Phil thinks so too. He thinks I'm a superhero and a supermodel at the same time. That's good enough for him. But I think… he could do better."</p>
<p>"Than you?"</p>
<p>"No, than what he's <em>doing.</em> Because he's doing <em>nothing!</em>" Again, infuriatingly, her foot stamped in fury. "I don't know how he doesn't realize he's wasting his life away. It's plain as day to everyone else. Do you think it matters, what happens to us in here? Since we're going to…" She paused, then pulled out her tablet and checked the subroutine Veiksaar had installed for her. There were no prying ears nearby. "Since we're going to reset it anyway."</p>
<p>"Character is who you are in the margins," Reynders smiled. She swirled her finger through the sun in speculative spirals.</p>
<p>"Mm." Udo sighed. "I guess. Maybe it <em>is</em> just a dry run. There's a version of him out there who's got it even worse, and that version is doing <em>better.</em> So I know <em>he</em> can be better. I see something…" She sighed. "I see something in him."</p>
<p>"That," Reynders smiled, stepping back and beaming at her through the light she'd drawn reflecting on the glass-still waters, "is only slightly the wrong way to put it."</p>
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<h2 id="toc12"><span>31 December</span></h2>
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<p>Harry awoke with the feeling of something profoundly heavy on his chest, forcing the breath and the life out of him, and he gasped as he sat bolt upright.</p>
<p>Beside him, she was still sleeping.</p>
<p>He stayed upright until his breathing became regular again, then fell back to the pillow and exhaled. Whether the impact beside her or the change in the air currents, something made Karen stir. She danced her fingers along his chest, nails probing but playful, and then she pressed her mouth to his shoulder. "Nightmare."</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"What about?"</p>
<p>He wrapped an arm around her, and scratched absently at her scalp. She scooted closer. "Same one I always have."</p>
<p>"You never told me." Her voice was soft and content.</p>
<p>"Didn't I?" He supposed he hadn't. "I'm standing on the shore…"</p>
<p>He paused.</p>
<p>"I've seen you in this dream before."</p>
<p>He caught the faintest glint from her eyes. She was very awake now. "Oh, so it's <em>that</em> sort of dream."</p>
<p>He smiled, wondering if she could see it. "No, it's not. Sorry to disappoint. It's…" He shook his head. "It varies. This time it was a ship, a huge, huge ship, underwater. I can see everything, and I <em>have</em> to see everything. It's my job, I guess. My responsibility. Sometimes it's a tremendous weight I'm holding up by one hand, or one finger. Sometimes—"</p>
<p>She yawned. "Oh, yeah. Obvious metaphor. Go back to sleep."</p>
<p>And to his shock, she audibly did.</p>
<p>"But you were there," he whispered.</p>
<p>She didn't so much as twitch in her sleep. But she did pull him closer, and he held her all the tighter in response.</p>
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<h1 id="toc13"><span><span style="color: #990011">2012</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc14"><span>1 January</span></h2>
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<p>Everything had fallen into place as though pre-ordained.</p>
<p>Much of it, of course, had been; part of the Foundation's business was preparing for apocalypses. Still, they'd handled this one with particular grace, given the complete and total lack of a safety net. Bremmel had been made the tech tsar for developing sustainability initiatives, and had come up trumps time and again; the hydroponics labs were now working at what Ghosh estimated to be four hundred percent efficiency, and the turfgrass manager himself had managed to speed-run the discovery of two entirely new strains of edible grass. The resultant fivefold increase in food production meant they would soar handily past the deadline, not that anyone involved was aware this was a consideration.</p>
<p>What Bremmel designed, Nascimbeni built and made work. He pushed himself to the limit, and past. He worked hours he'd not seen since he was a very young man, with something to prove. Some of his staff were inspired to rise to the occasion with him, but most were content to accept the lesson in leadership and hard work as something to aspire to, just not quite yet. When the resources came under more serious strain, he was confident they'd be up to the challenge.</p>
<p>"They'll have to be," LeClair muttered darkly as she scheduled him for his next weekly physical. "Since you'll be dead."</p>
<p>Du, scheduled for a dental checkup immediately after, had strolled in halfway through the appointment. LeClair had forgotten to close the door. "I think it's romantic," he said.</p>
<p>His friendship with Blank and Lillihammer had taught Nascimbeni to see an insult coming a mile off. "Romantic <em>how.</em>"</p>
<p>"You put it all into your work," the quantum mechanic explained with a grin. "Which you're married to."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni had snorted derisively, then spent the rest of the afternoon mad about it. It only made him angrier when he related the incident to Bremmel, who nodded amiably and agreed with Du.</p>
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<h2 id="toc15"><span>19 January</span></h2>
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<p>"Stand up straight."</p>
<p>Phil sighed.</p>
<p>"And don't sigh." She fiddled with his tie until it was clear the cause was lost, then pulled his lame knot loose and began tying it around his neck herself. She briefly considered making it too tight. Then even more briefly considered pulling it all the way taut, and attaching it to his ceiling fan.</p>
<p>He made a sort of strangled inhalation-exhalation sound, which was clearly a sigh crushed in the cradle of his esophagus.</p>
<p>Ever since Karen Elstrom had attended, through lack of anything better to do, one of J&M's Employee of the Month award ceremonies, an absurd rule still on the books from the 1940s that stipulated all technicians wear ties at dress occasions had been followed to the letter. The ties had looked silly when they were still hidden behind vinyl vests. They looked absolutely moronic hanging from jumpsuit collars, and everyone knew that the original legislators would have relaxed the rule if only they'd known where it would lead. But as Blank had put it, "standing on ceremony is only impressive because ceremony is unstable."</p>
<p>"It should be you getting that award."</p>
<p>He rolled his eyes. A month ago he wouldn't have dared. "I'm a shift supervisor. Wouldn't be appropriate."</p>
<p>"Banerjee was a shift supervisor when he got the award in '02."</p>
<p>"Banerjee is better than I am."</p>
<p>"That's true." She finished cinching the tie, having opted for a tightness just south of uncomfortable, and stepped back.</p>
<p>He relaxed into a slouch immediately, and turned to head for the door. She bent her hand into a claw, and goosed him as he went.</p>
<p>He nearly hit the ceiling tiles. "Jesus!"</p>
<p>"Stand up <em>straight,</em> I said," she said. She could have said it softly, and she could have said it playfully. She could even have said it erotically, since she had just grabbed his ass. But because she said it snappishly, the way she said most things now…</p>
<p>…he turned and pointed a finger at her. "You're not my mother."</p>
<p>She gestured at their shared bed. "Good thing."</p>
<p>It had been an attempt at defusal, but he didn't interpret it that way. The bed was of course unmade, because that was one of his chores. "Even my mother didn't harp on me about making my fucking <em>bed,</em> or doing my fucking <em>laundry.</em> She didn't bitch about every little thing, you know?"</p>
<p>Udo was no longer so invested in de-escalation. "It shows, Phil. It really does."</p>
<p>He pulled the tie off, making a little involuntary <em>glurk</em> sound in the process. "Meaning what, exactly?"</p>
<p>"Meaning you're a lazy slob, because nobody's ever expected more from you!" She found she was suddenly shouting.</p>
<p>"Maybe it's just that nobody <em>judges</em> me except for you!"</p>
<p>"You don't think you need judging? It took <em>nagging from your girlfriend</em> to get you promoted to <em>mop detail supervisor.</em> Left to your own devices, you'd be a toilet scrubber for the rest of your life!"</p>
<p>"Someone's got to scrub the fucking toilets! Maybe I don't <em>want</em> to be a supervisor!"</p>
<p>"What <em>do</em> you want, Phil? Do you want <em>anything?</em> Do you <em>care</em> about <em>anything?!"</em></p>
<p>They were both on the balls of their feet. All four hands were clenched.</p>
<p>"Maybe I do," he snarled. "But it's not like you'd ever ask. You just <em>tell.</em> You just <em>criticize.</em> You—"</p>
<p>"I'm trying to—"</p>
<p>"—never even—"</p>
<p>"—make you a—"</p>
<p>"—LET ME FINISH A FUCKING <span style="text-decoration: underline;">SENTENCE</span>! Jesus CHRIST, Udo, you act like my FUCKING BROTHER!"</p>
<p>"AT LEAST ONE OF US DOES!"</p>
<p>It didn't take long to clear her things out of his room.</p>
<p>She'd never even taken a drawer.</p>
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<h2 id="toc16"><span>25 January</span></h2>
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<p>It was kind of a dare.</p>
<p>Wettle wasn't really sure who or what he was daring, but there was no denying the stakes were real. One slip…</p>
<p>Well, nobody knew what would happen, actually. They'd probably send a drone down after him, get telemetry. Maybe let him record a message for his parents, if his parents still existed. Most likely there would be snapshots taken, and they would circulate throughout the Site: William Wettle falling end over end, endlessly, forever in his element. Failure.</p>
<p>But he never slipped. He won the dare. The subway rumbled alarmingly underneath, and Wettle walked the lonesomest of all roads.</p>
<p>But not alone.</p>
<p>Coming the other way, to his surprise and frustration, he saw her. <em>Why,</em> he wondered, <em>does it always have to be her?</em></p>
<p>When he could see her face, he could see that Alis was wincing. She would have spotted him long before he spotted her, so she'd have been preparing this wince specifically for him to see. That was either flattering, or it wasn't. He wasn't sure.</p>
<p>"Beep," she said.</p>
<p>"Huh?"</p>
<p>She made a shooing gesture. "Beep beep."</p>
<p>He glanced down. The curved concrete arch of the subway tunnel flattened out on top, and there was technically enough room for one person to slip past another, but if one of them was William Wettle and the other was hauling as much freightage as Alis, probably not so much.</p>
<p>He pointed. "No passing lane."</p>
<p>She shook her head in irritation. "Then lie down, and I'll walk all over you."</p>
<p>"What are you doing up here, anyway?"</p>
<p>She gave him a look that said <em>you're up here too.</em> He had a longstanding rule against letting people know he could read body language, so he just stared stupidly at her until she sighed and planted both hands on her wide hips. "I'm <em>walking.</em>"</p>
<p>"I'm walking here," he quoted. The impression was poor enough that it probably didn't parse as a quotation.</p>
<p>"Do you even know what that's from?"</p>
<p>He did not. "Of course I do. And you didn't answer my question."</p>
<p>"I answered it as much as I care to. Now get the hell out of my way before one of us has an <em>unfortunate accident.</em>"</p>
<p>He snorted. "That's just what they're waiting for."</p>
<p>She blinked.</p>
<p>He smiled.</p>
<p>She blinked again. "What's that mean?"</p>
<p>"Come on, Alis. Why else would Lillihammer let you walk around free? They're all waiting to see how you fuck up. So they can learn something from it."</p>
<p>She wrinkled her nose. "They tell you that?" She laughed. "Of course they did. You're not smart enough to have figured it out on your own."</p>
<p>He didn't correct her.</p>
<p>"Fine." She stepped forward, reached out, and took his hand. Before he could protest, she hauled him around — <em>We are both about to <span style="text-decoration: underline;">die</span>,</em> he thought as his feet left the concrete — and then they were both facing the same direction, back the way she'd come, and she was pressed against his side. "I choose <em>this</em> mistake."</p>
<p>And they went nowhere together.</p>
<p>It was only by random chance that Ibanez and Nascimbeni crossed paths these days. Her patrols were regular, and he usually had the sense to stay out of them. His tasks were scheduled, and as chief of security she had privileged access to all the schedules. Either one, or the other, or both, had slipped up. That was the likeliest explanation.</p>
<p>But only random chance could have placed them at the AAF-A subway stop at the precise moment that Alis Lane and William Wettle came down from the subway roof access together, she dismounting the ladder daintily, he, of course, falling.</p>
<p>She, surprisingly, laughing. He, even more surprisingly, laughing with her.</p>
<p>Most surprising to Ibanez was the intense well of frustration that boiled up inside of her stomach as she watched the scene unfold.</p>
<p>"Some things really don't change, do they?" Nascimbeni remarked from beside her.</p>
<p>She looked up at him.</p>
<p>He looked down at her.</p>
<p><em>Well,</em> she thought. <em>Since we've already fucked this up anyway.</em></p>
<p>Pensak responded to the call, service weapon raised. A suspected murder in progress. The pot had finally boiled over, and it was up to him to respond.</p>
<p>The tech who'd made the call pointed at the maintenance closet, face ashen, finger trembling. Pensak tried the door, but it wouldn't open. There was a crash from inside, and a muffled scream.</p>
<p>He pulled out his keycard, and swiped it.</p>
<p>Two error codes flashed on the reader:</p>
<div class="code">
<pre><code>ERR: ADMIN LOCK ENGAGED -- C/SC
ERR: ADMIN LOCK ENGAGED -- C/JM</code></pre></div>
<p>He was confused at first, and was about to shoot out the lock when he realized that what he had taken for someone banging on the door with their fist and demanding to be released was actually something altogether different.</p>
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<h2 id="toc17"><span>2 February</span></h2>
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<p>Karen yawned, and glanced up at the clock mounted over the sliding glass doors. <em>4:35.</em></p>
<p>It was the first time in living memory that the end of her shift hadn't crept up on her. Sometimes she even forgot there was a clock in the room.</p>
<p>She looked down at the neat little pile of paperwork in front of her. All issues resolved. All matters settled. Nothing outstanding.</p>
<p>She glanced past the edge of the daïs. The day shift at Admin were stretching, putting files away, chatting in hushed tones or yawning the way she had done. She reached up to rub the crick in her neck, and was surprised to find that it wasn't there.</p>
<p>It had always been there, from the very start.</p>
<p>She thought about that for the remaining twenty-five minutes, and by the time the clock struck five, she was grinning ear to ear.</p>
<p>She downed tools on time, down to the second, and left just a few minutes past the hour.</p>
<p>Another first.</p>
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<h2 id="toc18"><span>4 February</span></h2>
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<p>Nascimbeni fished the pager off her belt, and passed it to her. She heaved a tremendous sigh, as only she could heave, and squinted at the display. "God dammit."</p>
<p>He passed her the belt, and the jumpsuit attached to it, and stretched back on the bed. "Us problem, you problem?"</p>
<p>"Me problem," she growled as she flopped around on the mattress to worm into the suit. "Gonna make it everybody's."</p>
<p>"You always do," he smiled, and he kissed her on the forehead.</p>
<p>"He's gone," Bremmel blurted the instant she stepped through the door.</p>
<p>Ibanez glanced around the empty lab. "Evidently. Who he?"</p>
<p>"My assistant!" The engineer threw his hands up. "Who else? He's <em>gone!</em>"</p>
<p>She frowned. "What was his name again?"</p>
<p>"How should I know?!" Bremmel walked into the far corner, where a cheap and undersized desk was shoved between two storage lockers, and snatched an ID badge off the labcoat folded neatly on the back of the chair. He squinted at it. "Uh…"</p>
<p>"Today, please, Trev." She had plenty of energy left, but not for waiting.</p>
<p>He tossed the card at her. It landed on the floor. She sighed; it seemed beneath her dignity to pick up things people threw at her, but on the other hand, she <em>was</em> closer to the ground. She bent, and examined the badge.</p>
<p>She found she couldn't read the name either.</p>
<p>"Fuck," she said, and then she left it behind her in the rising dust.</p>
<p>One of these days she was going to break those fragile, birdlike bones.</p>
<p>Ibanez slammed one of the Tarrows — she was pretty sure it was Imogen — against the clinic wall and stuck her pistol under the other woman's nose. "What did you do with him?"</p>
<p>Probably-Imogen blinked. "Sokolsky?"</p>
<p>Ibanez bent the other woman's nose upward with the barrel. "What about Sokolsky? Did you take him too?"</p>
<p>The <em>geistschreiber</em> was raising both hands so slowly, it was like they were tied to helium balloons. "I didn't know what you were talking about, so I assumed you meant Sokolsky. I slept with Sokolsky. Last night."</p>
<p>Ibanez suppressed a laugh. She might have accidentally shot the woman's nose off. "Okay, pin that for me. Right now I'm looking for Bremmel's assistant, and I'm only seeing two possibilities max here. Either you fuckers erased him, or he was one of you. Which is it?"</p>
<p>Imogen's eyes were crossed, staring down the barrel at her. "Bremmel's…? That guy with the hair? I don't know anything about—"</p>
<p>She gulped as the barrel slid past her teeth. "Make this easy for me," Ibanez purred. "I dare you."</p>
<p>The other woman simply shook her head, very carefully, so as not to chip her enamel on the blue steel. From the way her pupils dilated, Ibanez decided she was telling the truth. "Fine. Where's your sister?"</p>
<p>"I dote doh."</p>
<p>Ibanez pulled the gun back out, and with a quick and efficient motion deposited Imogen on the exam table, none too gently. "If I find out you're lying to me, you're dead. All three of you."</p>
<p>She headed for the door, preparing to key in her emergency override and lock it behind her.</p>
<p>"Wait!"</p>
<p>She waited, but didn't turn.</p>
<p>"Bremmel doesn't <em>have</em> an assistant."</p>
<p>Ibanez did turn. "What?"</p>
<p>"He sent the last one topside for coffee every day."</p>
<p>"Bullshit. There's coffee every three feet in here."</p>
<p>"Yeah, but… you know. Bremmel."</p>
<p>Ibanez did know. She already realized she was being told the truth. Trevor Bremmel hated assistants the way an addict hated drugs. They got him where he needed to be, but given the choice, he'd rather go clean. Sending one on a topside coffee run was just the sort of pointless workplace humiliation he went in for.</p>
<p><em>Fuck.</em></p>
<p>She had the sudden and maddening feeling that she was only just now catching up with an earlier version of herself.</p>
<p>"<em>Fuck.</em>"</p>
<p>She locked the door behind her anyway.</p>
<p>"It's that fucking <em>guy</em> again."</p>
<p>The seven of them occupied their former stations around the perimiter of Udo's living space. Having turned the Director's Complex into the headquarters of their in-group, they'd needed a redoubt for this very much Sampis-only matter, and the obvious solution had been deemed best.</p>
<p>"What guy?" Wettle asked.</p>
<p>"I saw him a few times in the first deadline," Harry said. "Always at a distance. Like he was just watching things unfold. He had a weird labcoat, like the ones QS wear, but black and red." He always related information like this in a flat monotone, obviously uncomfortable reciting something that sounded like a memory but wasn't. He'd gotten it from playing the debriefing tapes back, just like everybody else.</p>
<p>"He approached me in that same deadline," McInnis nodded. "Helped me with our reformed O5 Council, and laying the groundwork for our new Foundation. He said his name was…"</p>
<p>McInnis scowled. It wasn't something he did often, and never in company, but the absence was like a hole being gnawed out and re-knit and gnawed again every time he tried to see what was in it. He simply shook his head, and gave up.</p>
<p>"One of the <em>geistschreiber,</em> then?" Udo suggested.</p>
<p>"Worse," Lillihammer muttered.</p>
<p>McInnis gestured at her to continue.</p>
<p>She wasn't looking at him, but she continued anyway. "He appears, and disappears. Popped in and out in dash-A, stayed for a stretch and then vanished in dash-B—"</p>
<p>"Don't," Nascimbeni begged her. "I didn't even like <em>reading</em> about that one."</p>
<p>"The point is," she continued with the edge her tone always acquired when she was interrupted, "he comes and goes as he pleases, he watches us, he sees what's important, and then he leaves."</p>
<p>"Oh," said Udo.</p>
<p>"Great." Delfina spat into the trash can. Nascimbeni gave her a disapproving look, and she shrugged at him.</p>
<p>"What am I missing?" Harry asked.</p>
<p>"I think there's something… yeah?" Udo glanced at Delfina, who nodded grimly. "Yeah. There's something we need to share with the group. Something we've been working on without you, for… reasons."</p>
<p>McInnis spread his hands wide.</p>
<p>Udo took a deep breath. "So, about Dougall Deering. When he died, I sent out this email…"</p>
<p>When they had finished, the others chewed on the information for a few seconds. As she always did, Lillian finished her mental mastication first. "So what we're saying," she said, "and I would have said this <em>without</em> all that lovely, inexplicably withheld extra detail… is that this fucker is <em>chasing us between the lines.</em>"</p>
<p>This time the silence was considerably longer, and more profound.</p>
<p>Wettle broke it first.</p>
<p>"Do you think we could hitch a ride, next time he goes?"</p>
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<h2 id="toc19"><span>5 February</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"See?" Ibanez pointed at the open door in the corner, and then the open doors on the cabinet over the sink. "And there's a bed, too. What the hell is inhumane about that?"</p>
<p>Imogen Tarrow was sitting on the examination bed, chewing a granola bar without enthusiasm. "I'm sure they've got bathrooms at Guantanamo, too."</p>
<p>"Yeah, but you have to share." Ibanez grabbed the other chair, then turned back to face the door. "Well? Come in. And get the lock for me while you're up."</p>
<p>Alis entered the room wordlessly, closing the door so softly that it didn't even click, though the lock did. She leaned against the wall, eyeing the other <em>giftschreiber</em> with obvious mistrust.</p>
<p>Imogen continued to munch, looking back and forth between them.</p>
<p>"Good news and bad news," Ibanez began. She leaned forward, hands on her knees. It made her look even smaller, but that didn't matter. "Good news: the missing guy isn't your problem. Bad news: can't find your sister."</p>
<p>The other woman stopped chewing, and swallowed. "Maybe she found out you locked me in the clinic."</p>
<p>"She would've come let you out," said Alis.</p>
<p>"Whose side are you on?"</p>
<p>"Me?" Alis stepped forward, coming up behind Ibanez. "Whose side are <em>you</em> on? If Madchen's disappearance is part of a plan, it's not one I'm aware of."</p>
<p>Imogen scoffed. "Why would you be? I've seen you with that dumb prick on the subway."</p>
<p>Ibanez glanced up. Alis wasn't blushing, but her eyes were narrow slits now. "I'm having trouble remembering, maybe you can remind me. It's been a long time now. Did they tell us to only do the really <em>fun</em> parts of espionage? The easy bits?"</p>
<p>"Oh, please. You're not pressing <em>William Wettle</em> for information. You're just <em>pressing him.</em>" A sharp bark of laughter, one syllable. "You're helping these fuckers, because you're afraid."</p>
<p>"Of course I'm <em>afraid.</em> They deleted the <em>world,</em> Imogen. I don't know the whole master plan, but I'm pretty sure it involves the world <em>existing</em> so it can properly <em>end.</em>"</p>
<p>Ibanez held up a hand. "I like a good catfight as much as the next dude, but can we focus? We're down one spooky word witch, and in the absence of a compelling explanation to the contrary, I'm assuming one or both of you knows where she is. You wanna spill?"</p>
<p>Imogen screwed her face up. Alis remained impassive.</p>
<p>Ibanez decided to give them one more chance. "Here's what I know. You're all members of a doomsday cult. You came here to figure out what happened to your boss, or whatever magic doohickey let you do the shit you do, or whatever. You didn't find it. But you kept looking; you were still looking right up to the point where we found Wirth. Now—"</p>
<p>"Wait." Imogen looked confused. "Still looking…?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, what?" Alis walked around the chair to stand between Ibanez and Imogen. "What're you talking about?"</p>
<p>"We've kept tabs on all of you since Lillian let you out. Obviously. Madchen tried to hack Veiksaar's half-done AI so she could shut down the cameras and go snooping, but Lillian had already hardened and double-tracked the routines, so it didn't take. That's part of how we figured out where Wirth was hiding."</p>
<p>Imogen stood up, and walked to stand beside Alis. "She… you're serious? You're <em>sure?</em>"</p>
<p>"That can't be right," Alis breathed.</p>
<p>This time it was Ibanez's turn to look from face to face. Nothing she saw there carried the faintest hint of deception, for a change.</p>
<p>"Am I to understand," she said slowly, "that you didn't know she was doing that?"</p>
<p>"I knew she was <em>trying</em> to hack the system," Imogen said. "But she told me it wasn't done yet."</p>
<p>"She told <em>me,</em>" Alis added, "that she didn't think it <em>could</em> be done. What the fuck?" She turned to face her erstwhile partner in crime. "What the fuck, <em>Imogen?</em>"</p>
<p>Imogen shook her head. "It doesn't make sense. It doesn't…" She looked down, at the floor, then turned away.</p>
<p>"Huh." Ibanez stood up. "Okay. Well, that clears a few things up, then."</p>
<p>Alis stared at her. "It does?"</p>
<p>"Yeah." She walked to the door. "I know I definitely can't trust either of you, but you're also definitely too useless to be worried about."</p>
<p>It was already early in the morning when she took Alis to meet with Imogen, and she still had a fugitive on the loose, so Ibanez chose simply not to go to bed. Nascimbeni would be up early — his old man metabolism thought three in the morning a fine time to wake up — and if she went back to her quarters now, and found him there, she wouldn't get much sleep anyway. She was far too frustrated not to take it out on someone one way or another. So, she headed back to the bullpen and took Pensak's nightly report.</p>
<p>Which was nothing. The entire facility was holding its breath, apparently, in anticipation of what the missing <em>geistschreiber</em> might get up to. With the unwarranted enthusiasm that came with her second wind, Ibanez went on a random walk to see if she might surprise her quarry in the act of… whatever. Surely there was an act in the offing. It wasn't like Madchen Tarrow was going to <em>escape</em> from Site-43.</p>
<p>The first thing she thought of was the broken keycard reader in LeClair's escape tunnel, but that didn't seem related. She trusted her gut instincts. They'd had a remarkable run of luck back in Zevala, and had rarely let her down since.</p>
<p>To her surprise, her own act of simply going for a stroll resolved the situation entirely in her own mind. She took the subway to AAF-A, passed the guards stationed at the undergantry without asking them if they'd noticed anything unusual, and walked into Reuben Wirth's repurposed factory.</p>
<p>Madchen stood in the middle of the empty space, eyes rimmed red, hands clenching and unclenching, plain as day. There was a security camera looking right at her; apparently her hacking efforts hadn't been quite so unsuccessful as both Eileen and Lillian thought, or else her memetic camouflage had hitherto unsuspected, entirely more upsetting dimensions.</p>
<p>"Where?" the other woman demanded, hoarsely. Her fingers were bleeding; she'd been pulling metal panels off the wall. It was a miracle the guards hadn't heard her, glamour or no. "Where is it?"</p>
<div class="flashboss">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc20"><span>22 October</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"Very well. Dr. Bremmel, I'm going to ask that you draw up the most detailed and precise technical specifications document you can, with Dr. Lillihammer's help."</p>
<p>The pudgy old man grinned. "Be maybe a month, but it'll be a fun month. Then what?"</p>
<p>"And then," McInnis smiled, "you're going to destroy it."</p>
<p>The assistant raised both eyebrows. "The machine, or the document?"</p>
<p>McInnis continued to smile.</p>
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<h2 id="toc21"><span>5 February</span></h2>
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<p>Ibanez considered shooting her, but it wasn't worth the expended bullet. She could have tossed the woman into the black, but there were problems with that idea too; it might, conceivably, reunite her with Wirth after all.</p>
<p>In the end she settled on the easiest option. They'd cleared out a lot of dangerous anomalies since SCP-5243 made the Site a poor candidate for long-term containment — fewer than back in baseline, since the Breach was only a one-time event here, but the Foundation was superstitious by the nature of its work — and there were plenty of empty chambers available.</p>
<p>Maybe some time in the next six months, fed through a slot and left to her own devices, the snarling cryptomancer might be willing to talk.</p>
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<h2 id="toc22"><span>6 February</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>It was past midnight when Ibanez finally did give in to the temptations of flesh; specifically the need to sleep, since Nascimbeni would long since have passed out and she didn't trust herself to find an alternate that wouldn't come with a bevy of added complications. He was in his dorm, so she went to hers instead — almost never used, as she preferred to bunk down in the barracks with the rest of the grunts. She soon found, however, despite her solitary choice of quarters, that she wouldn't be spending the morning alone.</p>
<p>She noticed Alis Lane before Alis Lane knew she'd been noticed, but if the <em>geistschreiber</em> had decided to become a threat, the altercation would already be over. So she went through the motions of closing and locking the door, unzipping her jumpsuit, and flopping down on the couch before saying: "Well, get on with it."</p>
<p>A shape on the easy chair gradually became recognizable as a human being. Alis wore her engineer's blues wrapped tight, and her bright green hair was tucked away in a neat, if vast, bun behind her head. This lame camouflage did little to lessen the impact of her gradual appearance from out of nowhere. "How'd you know I was here?"</p>
<p>"Months of knowing things were there that I couldn't see. What do you want?"</p>
<p>The other woman looked haggard. Ibanez had never seen her as anything less than aggressively pristine, save for the brief stretch where she'd been incarcerated back in baseline. "I want to talk about the Tarrows."</p>
<p>Ibanez yawned. "That's convenient. I want to talk about them too. But the problem is, I'm talking to <em>you,</em> and I don't trust you more than I trust them. I <em>know</em> you better, but… well, that's <em>why</em> I don't trust you."</p>
<p>Alis sighed. "You know what I've been doing the past few months? When you haven't been throwing me into your series of decreasingly-clever makeshift holding cells?"</p>
<p>Ibanez shrugged in vague invitation to continue.</p>
<p>"I've been doing the job I'm supposed to have. Working on engineering projects. I've got a bit of expertise in the matter; they had very good teachers, where I come from, and all the illusion in the world can't disguise a genuine fraud forever."</p>
<p>"I dunno," Ibanez mused. "I've seen a lot of episodes of <em>The Fugitive.</em>"</p>
<p>Alis didn't acknowledge the sidebar at all. "What I'm saying is, this isn't completely an act. I'm at least a little of what I claim to be. I've done some good work over the years. I've probably done less spying on Foundation employees than you have."</p>
<p>Ibanez smiled, and stood up. "That's good. I like that. You want a beer?"</p>
<p>Alis sprawled back in the chair. "Sure. You'll want to have a prop to play with while you pretend not to listen to what I have to say."</p>
<p>When Ibanez had tossed her a bottle and sat back down, immediately beginning to peel away the neck label, Alis continued. "So, the Tarrows. You should kill them."</p>
<p>Ibanez took a pull on the bottle, savouring the flat and bitter taste a little before swallowing both the beer and her first, harsher response. It <em>was</em> safer to have a prop, sometimes. "Why's that?"</p>
<p>"Because they're true believers. You know what <em>they've</em> been up to the last few months? Exactly the same thing they've been doing since we got here. Trying to find the missing link."</p>
<p>"Wettle's lab's just off the main drag."</p>
<p>"You know what I mean. I know you know. They're trying to find… he, she, it, whatever. The source. Because they're still working to the plan. They still want it to happen. They're true believers."</p>
<p>"And you aren't?"</p>
<p>"You already know I'm not. Willie…"</p>
<p>She grimaced.</p>
<p>"Wettle told me what happened in the other timelines. It's no different now—"</p>
<p>Ibanez held up a hand. "I'm sorry, back up. Did you say I need to kill the Tarrows? Because it's SOUNDING," and she scooted her feet up onto the cushion, and it was all she could do to avoid standing on the couch, "like I need to shoot WILLIAM fucking WETTLE."</p>
<p>Alis waved the rage off with a gentle <em>swoosh</em> of her bottle. "He didn't do it on purpose. I cheated it out of him. He's not as stupid as you think he is, but he can't keep a secret from me. I'm willing to bet not many of you could. But you're not really angry, because you don't really care. You know my staying alive depends on the situation here remaining stable, and you know I'm smart enough to know that, so you know I'm not going to rock the boat. You've known that all along, or you wouldn't have let me go free. You didn't want me to know what was really going on, but it doesn't change much that I do."</p>
<p>Gradually, Ibanez returned her legs to their former position. "That," she said, "is more or less correct. I guess. But still, I think I'll kneecap him for symbolic purposes."</p>
<p>Alis chugged down half the beer, and wiped her lips with her labcoat sleeve. "Fair enough."</p>
<p>"But what's your point, anyway?"</p>
<p>"My point," and the other woman leaned forward, as she instinctually did whenever she wanted to be extra convincing — <em>props again,</em> Ibanez thought, and had to stifle a laugh — and made eye contact for a long, long moment. "My point is that <em>I</em> don't care to see everything burned down. The spell is broken. I don't know why it didn't break for them, but I'm my own person now. I might not be precisely on your side, but I'm sure as hell not on either of theirs."</p>
<p>"If that's true," and Ibanez left little doubt what she thought on the matter in her tone, "then maybe you'll be even more forthcoming than all the other yous I've known. Yeah? Maybe you'll tell me something about that death cult of yours I don't already know."</p>
<p>"Sure." Alis sat back again; was it Ibanez's imagination, or did she seem to be curling up into herself, as though recoiling from an outburst that hadn't happened yet, but inevitably would? Probably it was the sleep deprivation, the frustration, and the beer working together with her undernourished imagination. Life in a blank expanse was dull indeed, and the mind would have its fascinations one way or another. "Here's the first thing. Madchen and Imogen? I don't think they're both in the same death cult."</p>
<p>Ibanez raised an eyebrow. "What?"</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"No, what?" They'd had their suspicions since the monitoring process, and of course Ibanez had heard the five-second foreshadowing in Alis' speech, but she had to keep up the façade. Never let the enemy know how much you know. "I thought they were both with you."</p>
<p>"Yeah, I thought so too. But Madchen was going behind Imogen's back, and I was watching you today. Yesterday. Whatever. She was trying to find Wirth, but not like her sister was. I think she wanted to kill him."</p>
<p>Ibanez whistled. "Why would she want to do that?"</p>
<p>"Search me."</p>
<p>"Don't tempt. What's the second thing?"</p>
<p>It wasn't her imagination. The other woman was definitely tensed against a coming strike now. "You were talking earlier about spending months surrounded by unseen threats. You were talking about Zevala, right?"</p>
<p>Ibanez leaned forward and gently placed her beer on the ground, against the leg of the couch. She did this because the feeling was suddenly draining out of her hands, and she didn't want to spill it. "That's right." She wanted to ask: <em>Where did you hear that name?</em> But she couldn't, because she had no feeling in her mouth, either. It was rapidly going dry.</p>
<p>"Do you know who destroyed it?"</p>
<p>"The Chaos Insurgency." The answer was so ingrained in her being that she could utter it even now, when all other syllables were in open revolt on the tip of her tongue.</p>
<p>"Do you know what the Chaos Insurgency <em>is?</em>"</p>
<p>Ibanez stared at her.</p>
<p>The other woman smiled grimly, and nodded. She had no way of knowing how close she was to a sudden, spectacular death as she said: "Yeah. You know, now. You see it."</p>
<p>Alis was disappearing again, but it had nothing to do with memetics and everything to do with the red haze that melted into the gloom of Ibanez's quarters to render the entire landscape a featureless blur.</p>
<p>"Did you see anyone special there? Anyone particularly memorable?"</p>
<p>The woman in white. The cane. The scarred lip. A voice she could never forget.</p>
<p>"Do you want to know why she did it?"</p>
<p>Ibanez stuck her jaw out so far it hurt, and in that flash of here-and-now reality, came back to herself enough to growl: "No."</p>
<p>Something in her voice and visage made the <em>geistchreiber</em> wince. "No?"</p>
<p>"No." Ibanez stood up, and kicked her bottle of beer against the far wall where it shattered with a wet and musical crash. "I just need to know her <em>name.</em>"</p>
<p>Six months.</p>
<p>Six <em>fucking</em> months.</p>
<p>She could wait.</p>
<p>She could wait precisely that long.</p>
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<h2 id="toc23"><span>12 March</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>He'd never been given this assignment before.</p>
<p>There were only two facilities that Phil had never cleaned during his tenure at Site-43. The first was Applied Occultism; it had never been explained to him why he should be banned from Upstairs, but given that upstairs was full of wizards, he'd never felt the need to complain.</p>
<p>The other was AAF-A, and much as with the former case, he was not at all sure why the latter was no longer off-limits.</p>
<p>Well, okay. That wasn't entirely true. He had an inkling.</p>
<p>Udo hadn't taken the subway north since Phil had been reassigned, and the timing of that reassignment had been… pointed, he felt.</p>
<p><em>At least it's warmer than Antarctica.</em></p>
<p>He had heard about Dr. Reydners, of course. Everyone at Site-43 had heard about Dr. Reynders. Truth be told, there were few people at the Foundation who hadn't. She was a living legend, textbook case, and textbook <em>writer</em> in most esoteric fields of study. But he'd never actually seen her in person before, to the extent that anyone living had, so that was a positive experience he could chalk up to their overall terrible stretch of luck since early September of last year.</p>
<p>It felt deeply inappropriate, even insulting to look at someone who had more PhDs than he had years of formal education and think <em>she's pretty cute,</em> but the nice thing about thoughts was that no-one could criticize you for them.</p>
<p>He'd had enough criticism for one year.</p>
<p>"Good morning, Philip."</p>
<p>He smiled, and waved. "Hey, Dr. Reynders."</p>
<p>"Does that floor really need to be mopped again already?"</p>
<p>He considered the question, then considered the floor. "Dunno. There's plenty of scuff marks; somebody's popular."</p>
<p>She shrugged.</p>
<p>"As for dust and dirt, I dunno." He paused. "Where do you think it even comes from? Now?"</p>
<p>It was her turn to consider. "I'm not sure. If we really are surrounded by a featureless void, then we should be slowly haemorrhaging material into it that we can't get back. New material shouldn't be cycling back in…" She placed the pencil she used to transmit her voice to the audio enhancers in the glass, into her mouth, and chewed it thoughtfully. If gingerly. Very gingerly. If she wore it out, she'd need to get another, and she was already damned lucky not to have run out of things to write with and on in her sixty-something years of hermetic sealage. "Maybe the air systems are drawing the detritus back inside. If there's new dust, it could be coming from the lower membrane as it crumbles with exposure to the air. Though where that air is coming from… hmm." Her eyes focused, and she looked at him as though seeing him for the first time today. "Where's your friend?"</p>
<p>"Eh?" He wasn't pleased to realize that nobody he knew precisely fit that open-ended bill.</p>
<p>She tapped the glass of her enclosure. <em>Don't call it that!</em> "Your friend. Fifty…"</p>
<p>She closed her mouth.</p>
<p>He tilted his head.</p>
<p>She shook hers. "Don't worry about it. I've been seeing things. You know how it is."</p>
<p>He nodded. "Stir crazy. You've got more right to it than anyone else down here." It was easy to talk to her. Easy to forget she was so far out of his league. The fact that she was unobtainable was softened considerably by the fact that she was… well. Unobtainable. Literally. "Was that insensitive? It was probably insensitive. Sorry."</p>
<p>She smiled. "Just because I'm suffering doesn't mean you're not. That isn't how it works."</p>
<p>"It just seems unfair." He leaned on the mop, and tentatively glanced into the line of her big blue eyes. Good lord, but they <em>were</em> big. "If they fix whatever's wrong, you'll still be down here, but the rest of us will get to leave."</p>
<p>He wasn't sure what the look on her face meant. She was still smiling, but she looked nevertheless on the very edge of tears. "Yeah," she agreed. "Yeah, you sure will. I'm happy for you."</p>
<p>He was also unsure, deeply unsure, why he found this response so unsettling.</p>
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<h2 id="toc24"><span>16 March</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Stacey Laiken was, as before, sitting on a vinyl couch in a flat little fort of her files and devices. Udo sat down on the couch nearest her chair, and slid all the way to the armrest so that their feet were almost touching.</p>
<p>"I have a problem."</p>
<p>Laiken smiled at her. Udo tried to remember a time when Laiken had looked at her without smiling. Maybe there hadn't ever been one. "Go on."</p>
<p>"I still miss Dougall."</p>
<p>The smile didn't fade, it just acquired extra nuance. "Of course you do. So do I."</p>
<p>"But he was a bastard."</p>
<p>Laiken's lips thinned out as she pressed them together. They wiggled back and forth, as though she were churning up a response, and then she spat it out: "Yes. Yes, he was. But he didn't deserve what happened to him."</p>
<p>Udo had more complex feelings about that, but she wasn't sure if sharing them was the right thing to do. She had a purpose in coming here today, and it wouldn't work out if she alienated Laiken. "I think… I think he made me a worse person, Stacey."</p>
<p>Laiken reached out to take her hand. As before, the touch was soft, gentle, and faintly electric. "Then you must have been <em>such</em> an amazing person before, Rabbit."</p>
<p>Udo bit her lip, hard. It hurt, but it hurt less than explaining Dougall's nickname for her would have hurt the other woman.</p>
<p>"I think you're too hard on yourself." Laiken patted the back of her hand. It would have been an absurd, comical gesture from anyone other than her.</p>
<p>"Well, you didn't see me with Phil." Udo practically spat out the last word, her now very definitively ex-boyfriend's name. "I was trying to make him a worse person, too."</p>
<p>Laiken squeezed. "What makes you think you have that kind of power?"</p>
<p>Udo squeezed back.</p>
<p>Laiken straightened her back, and looked Udo directly in the eye. "I propose an experiment."</p>
<p>"I'm listening," Udo whispered.</p>
<p>The other woman leaned in.</p>
<p>"See if you can make <em>me</em> worse."</p>
<p>And she breathed into Udo's lips:</p>
<p>"I'll bet you can't."</p>
<p>She had just enough presence of mind left to tint the common room windows a deep, dark orange, and gum up the works in the door lock so it wouldn't open for anyone. She could probably have flown Laiken's keycard over and put in a proper administrative override, but that would just have been showing off.</p>
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<h2 id="toc25"><span>22 May</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Harry traced the line of her nose with one finger, then cupped her cheek with one hand and tested the pores of her skin with his thumb. Karen smiled. "You're going to get tired of this eventually, right?"</p>
<p>He ran a fingernail along the edge of the bags under her eyes, the ones she stamped out every morning in her makeup routine. Except after the past nine months, they were barely even visible; she looked years younger now than she'd looked since as far back as he could remember. "Get tired of art? I'd rather die."</p>
<p>She laughed, ungracefully. There was half of a snort in it. Sometimes she almost giggled. It was the most profound kind of beautiful: wonderful and sad in equal measure. "Is that all I am? A pretty face."</p>
<p>"Of course not." He brushed her silvering hair back out of her face. "It's just that you're a <em>very</em> pretty face, so I get distracted from all the other things I love about you."</p>
<p>Her upper lip receded a little. "We should probably talk about it."</p>
<p>He pulled her upper lip back out, with both of his. "The things I love about you?"</p>
<p>"No." But she craned her neck forward and kissed him back. "No."</p>
<p>He pressed the tips of their noses together, and looked into her eyes. "No?"</p>
<p>She sighed. "Yes."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc26"><span>9 July</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Nascimbeni sat down without being asked. It was McInnis; McInnis always, <em>always</em> asked, so what was the point of waiting?</p>
<p>"Can you guess why I'm here?" he asked.</p>
<p>McInnis steepled his fingers over the desk. "Possibly. You're not carrying an envelope, at least not that I can see, but…" He unknitted his digits and tapped his temple with two of them. "I suspect you're carrying it up here, instead. Should I deny the request before you make it, or is the entire pantomime necessary?"</p>
<p>Just like that, Nascimbeni's deadly calm evaporated. He felt raw and dry without it, and leaned forward to shake some of the strain out of his muscles. "It isn't really a request you can deny, Allan. When we get back to baseline, I am going to <em>quit.</em> Unless you fire me first."</p>
<p>The Director put his steeple back in place. "Why would I do that?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni laughed harshly. "Because this time, <em>this time,</em> I killed almost the entire fucking human race. If that isn't gross negligence to you, you must be… grossly negligent. Yourself. You see it, right? Of course you see it. I can't keep doing what we're doing. I'm done."</p>
<p>The other man's expression didn't change an iota. "How nice it must be for you to have that option. How did you come by it, if I might ask?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni blinked. "What?"</p>
<p>"The option to withdraw. The rest of us are set in our duties. There is a schedule we must keep, and it keeps us also. You imagine this to be something from which you can simply walk away. How precisely does that work?"</p>
<p>"Look." Nascimbeni sighed. "We don't know what happens if someone else takes our places, right? And I don't see how what I do can't be done by any old tech. Wirth didn't even know who I was, Allan. It didn't need to be me sending the techs in to die, and Markey… I don't know if I even had any effect at all on what happened to Markey."</p>
<p>"I see." McInnis nodded. "You're saying it would be trivial for any other man to act as you did."</p>
<p>"That's right."</p>
<p>"You're saying that what happened on the eighth of September, 2002, would have happened precisely the same way no matter who answered that call and ran to the AAF-D airlock."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni shifted in his seat. "Okay, that's not…" He sighed again. "You know that isn't…"</p>
<p>McInnis smiled sadly. "You know what I'm going to ask you."</p>
<p><em>If it doesn't have to be you, it didn't have to be you. If it didn't have to be you, then why do you feel so guilty?</em></p>
<p>The Director sat back. "If you can articulate a response I find convincing, perhaps I'll reconsider. But only perhaps."</p>
<p>"Why are you doing this?" Nascimbeni hung his head, so that the brim of his cap broke eye contact for both of them. "Why can't you just…"</p>
<p>"Let you off the hook?" For the first time in memory, McInnis sighed as well. "Noè, I'm hanging right there beside you."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc27"><span>8 September</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Nascimbeni kept his hands in his pockets as he approached the airlock. They were all carrying portable tape players now, with their lines pre-recorded. It had been Sokolsky's idea, in case any of them froze up.</p>
<p>He ended up not needing it.</p>
<p>The previous year, he'd cared too much to go through with it.</p>
<p>He didn't have that problem anymore.</p>
<p>The Survivors meeting was brief, and to the point. Harry made it back to his dorm just an hour after the Breach.</p>
<p>Karen was pacing his living room, and she wheeled on him like some wild thing when he entered.</p>
<p>"Are you alright?" he asked.</p>
<p>Her voice was shaking. "For the walking dead."</p>
<p>"That's not…" He sighed. "So, no. You're not alright."</p>
<p>"I thought I would be." She took a step towards him, and then a step back. "But no. Not really. No."</p>
<p>He took two steps towards her, and reached out to take her hands. "This isn't the end. I'm going to see you again tomorrow. And you're going to see me."</p>
<p>Her hands were cold. "But not this version of me. This version of me is going into the universal waste paper bin."</p>
<p>He pulled her into an embrace. "It's just a year's variance. You're the same person, deep down."</p>
<p>"So, it hasn't been an important year?"</p>
<p>He pulled back to examine her face. She wouldn't meet his eyes. "That's not—"</p>
<p>"Nothing meaningful occurred?" Her eyes were closed.</p>
<p>He kissed her, and she opened her eyes. "That's <em>not</em> what I meant. Look. When this fades, I'm not going to forget it. I'm going to remember what we had. What happened to you. How you changed."</p>
<p>"And what are you going to do with that information?" Now she met his gaze, and he almost shrank away from what he saw there. Almost.</p>
<p>"Sweep you off your feet," he said. He'd barely had to think about it.</p>
<p>She laughed. "Right. 'Hey, Karen. Guess what? If you don't have any serious responsibilities or outside pressure, you're not actually a bitch! So quit your job and run away with me.' That sort of thing?"</p>
<p>"Well, <em>I'm</em> not quitting, so it's not like we'd be running anywhere."</p>
<p>"Speaking as someone who only forked from their baseline incarnation twelve months ago, I can guarantee you I'm not quitting my job either. So what are you going to do? How are you going to convince me?" Her blue eyes suddenly went very cold. "<em>Are</em> you going to convince me?"</p>
<p>He took a deep breath. Butterflies died and were born again in his stomach. "Of course I am."</p>
<p>"Is that a promise?" There was a vulnerability in her voice that he had never once heard before.</p>
<p>"Of course it's a promise! I love you." The look that spread across her face brought him up short. "What?"</p>
<p>"Do you love her?"</p>
<p>He wasn't sure what she meant. His first thought was Melissa Bradbury, so he kept his first thought to himself.</p>
<p>Which was for the best, because she clarified. "Do you love the <em>other</em> me? The one you're going to spend the rest of your life around?"</p>
<p>"With." He squeezed her tightly. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life <em>with</em> her. And I <em>do</em> love her."</p>
<p>"Then why did you never get involved with her?"</p>
<p>There could be only one response.</p>
<p>"The time was never right."</p>
<p>Stacey Laiken looked like a wet red shirt. Udo had never met anyone who cried so ugly. It was adorable. "Do I get a last request?"</p>
<p>They were lying on Stacey's bed. It wasn't Dougall's bed, but it was where Dougall's bed had once been. "You're not dying." Udo stroked her girlfriend's hair.</p>
<p>"Am I not?"</p>
<p>Udo sighed. "What's the request?"</p>
<p>"Actually, some… historical background, would be nice." The other woman curled up against her, hands clawing the two of them closer than physics preferred to allow.</p>
<p>"I don't remember most of what happened in the other timelines."</p>
<p>Stacey's voice was hoarse and raw, but there was a strain of certainty in it. "You'd remember this, because you would have had to decide whether to act on it or not. Do people normally ask you to do things back in baseline, after the change? Do things for them?"</p>
<p>She had no idea where this was going. "Sometimes?"</p>
<p>"And do you do them?"</p>
<p>Udo took too long to respond, this time.</p>
<p>"I kinda didn't think so." There was bitterness behind the tears, now. "Like promises to the dead, right?"</p>
<p>Udo held her partner so close, it hurt. "You're <em>not</em> dying. We don't know what's going to happen. We never get to see that end of things."</p>
<p>"If you had to guess," Stacey asked with the same expression she might wear when opening up stitches on a wound, "would you say that these timelines keep… persisting, when you leave them?"</p>
<p>Udo thought of Ilse Reynders, and her mouth was honest before her brain had time to dissimulate. "No."</p>
<p>"So, promises to the dead." Stacey pressed her head to Udo's chest, and closed her eyes. "But I am an occultist, Udo Okorie, so if you make me a promise and then break it, <em>I</em> absolutely promise that I will haunt you."</p>
<p>Should she laugh, or cry, or both? She felt paralyzed. "What's the promise? Or should I guess."</p>
<p>"You can guess." The other woman's voice was very quiet now. Exhausted. Resigned."</p>
<p>"You want me to ask you out, in baseline."</p>
<p>"Yes." Barely a whisper.</p>
<p>"I mean, I was going to anyway. I've made a note. I'm going to bring it up in my debriefing. We're all set."</p>
<p>Stacey raised her head to press their lips together. Her eyes were still closed. "But will you do it? Will you actually do it?"</p>
<p>"I just said—"</p>
<p>The eyes opened, big and blue and vulnerable. "You said you intend to, right now. Will you want to, back home?" She reached up to touch Udo's hair. They'd cut it short just last week, as a sort of act of rebellion against the universe. "Are you the same person there that you are here?"</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc28"><span>9 September</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong>Baseline Temporality</strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>It was the briefest debriefing they'd ever had.</p>
<p>Lillian recited the things they had learned in a monologue. Harry rattled off the narrative like it was the outline of a book he was writing, but didn't really want to be. Nascimbeni and Ibanez didn't say much, but they occasionally held hands. Wettle didn't say anything.</p>
<p>Udo asked to be excused.</p>
<p>McInnis said he could handle the rest. He was, after all, the only one who really knew what had happened.</p>
<p>Udo swept into the chair's office and flopped down on the visitor's chair, labcoat and wizard sleeves fluttering around her in the self-made breeze. "Hey boss. Run a theoretical past you?"</p>
<p>Stacey pushed the paperwork to the side of her desk, and smiled. "Always." Then she recoiled at something she saw. "Did you cut your hair?"</p>
<p>"I'm sure it'll all be back tomorrow. But about the thing."</p>
<p>"Okay." The Chair of Applied Occultism was still staring at her hairline, but that was fine by Udo. She wasn't sure she'd be able to do what had to be done if their eyes were locked together.</p>
<p>"It's a relationship thing."</p>
<p>Two blonde eyebrows rose. "Whose?"</p>
<p>Udo felt herself grinning manically. "It's going to stop being theoretical if I explain that."</p>
<p>The brows knitted together. "You're blushing."</p>
<p>"Yeah." Her hands were shaking, too. "Probably."</p>
<p>Stacey sat back in her chair. "I thought you and Dr. Blank were declared."</p>
<p>"We're not together anymore."</p>
<p>The blue eyes widened. Not vulnerable. Not yet. "Really? I thought…" She suddenly seemed to come to a realization. "This has something to do with the Breach, doesn't it."</p>
<p>Udo shook and nodded her head. "Sort of. Kind of. Not really?"</p>
<p>Stacey exhaled. Not in frustration, just confusion. "It might be easier if you just came out and said it. Rip the Band-Aid off."</p>
<p>This was precisely what Udo had been waiting for. "What's the policy for relationships with power differentials?"</p>
<p>"As in, between supervisors and the supervised?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. That."</p>
<p>Stacey made the kind of pouting face she used when she was thinking carefully about something important. "It has to be very transparent. Has to go through all three of H&R, P&P, and A&O for approval. Constant monitoring. Regular check-ins to ensure there's no abuse going on."</p>
<p>Udo whistled. "Wow. I was kind of expecting it to be, uh, 'No. You can't do that'. Sort of thing."</p>
<p>"I was engaged to be married to Dougall," Laiken reminded her.</p>
<p>"You were, weren't you."</p>
<p>"Also, Dr. Blank is a Section Chair, and you were dating him."</p>
<p>"I was, wasn't I." She took a deep, deep breath. "But he's not <em>my</em> Section Chair."</p>
<p>"Well," Stacey laughed, "I think I'd know if you were dating <em>your</em> Section Chair."</p>
<p>"That's true. You would." She took another deep breath. "If I was."</p>
<p>Stacey frowned. "Oh?" She stopped frowning. The vulnerability suddenly appeared. "<em>Oh.</em>"</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>The other woman stood up, and walked to her filing cabinet. Her legs seemed unsteady. "I'll, uh. I'll look. The paperwork. I'll look into the paperwork."</p>
<p>"Okay," said Udo.</p>
<p>Stacey pulled open the top drawer. "Okay."</p>
<p>"Okay."</p>
<p>Stacey suddenly smiled, and the room perceptibly brightened — though it might have been Udo's own eyes flashing with pleasure. "Okay!"</p>
<p>Everyone got Breachmas off early, except for the Survivors, but the ninth was a day like any other. It was late when he finally got out of the briefing, and found Karen right where he'd thought he would: sitting at her desk, in the cavernous emptiness of Admin and Oversight's main foyer. Every other desk was unoccupied.</p>
<p>He leaned on her wooden cubicle, and smiled. "Hey, Karey. Got a minute?"</p>
<p>She shook her head without looking up. "Not really."</p>
<p>It was, in a weird way, like seeing an old friend he hadn't seen in several months. This was how she'd always been. The difference was night and day. "Well, will you have a minute <em>later?</em> Like, today later."</p>
<p>"What?" She looked up, and blew out a frustrated breath. "What is it you want, Harry? I've got… you don't care." She shoved off from her desk, and stood up. "You don't need to know what I've got going on today. You're just going to ignore that information, and make me deal with whatever bullshit is on your mind, like always. You might as well do it now." She crossed her arms. "I'm listening. What?"</p>
<p>He tried to say it. He really, really tried. But what he said instead was "What?"</p>
<p>In his labcoat, his phone buzzed. Stunlocked by Karen's furious glare, he pulled it out.</p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<div class="text-container">
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
How'd it go?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
Status quo ante bellum, I'm hoping?<br/></span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>He looked dumbly back up at Karen, who was now looking at her watch.</p>
<p>"Nothing," Harry told her. "It was nothing."</p>
<div class="Ngo">
<p><strong>Debriefing Log 5243-C</strong> (Cont'd)</p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> Noè Nascimbeni (Chief, Janitorial and Maintenance Section, Site-43)</p>
<p><strong>Officer of Record:</strong> Nhung T. Ngo (Deputy Chair, Psychology and Parapsychology Section, Site-43)</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> It was a long year.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> I'm sure. But do you… do you understand the ramifications of your actions?</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> No, actually, I don't. I don't understand why I'm still Chief of J&M. I don't understand why they can't just find someone else to take my place. Someone who doesn't give a shit. We've got a whole Foundation full of button-pushers. Why does it have to be me?</p>
</div>
<div class="Ngo">
<p><strong>Debriefing Log 5243-C</strong> (Cont'd)</p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> Allan J. McInnis (Director, Site-43)</p>
<p><strong>Officer of Record:</strong> Nhung T. Ngo (Deputy Chair, Psychology and Parapsychology Section, Site-43)</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> It has to be him.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> I'm still surprised he hasn't been removed from active duty, though. He directly disobeyed containment protocols and endangered… well, everyone. Every<em>thing.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> Yes, he did. But that has no bearing on his work with J&M, and I have his word it won't happen again. As long as we need him to keep playing his part, we might as well continue to take advantage of his experience. He still has a job to do.</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis</strong>: We all have jobs to do.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Nothing to Worry About">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/45-nothing-to-worry-about">Nothing to Worry About</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="The Breach Goes On: Deadlined">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub">The Breach Goes On: Deadlined</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Past Caring">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/47-past-caring">Past Caring</a></p>
</div>
</div>
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<p>Cite this page as:</p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/46-nothing-changes">Nothing Changes</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/46-nothing-changes">https://scpwiki.com/46-nothing-changes</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:</p>
<p>Philip Deering: "Twitter 365 Project - Day 55" and "Tokyo" by Richard Giles, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076</a></p>
<p>Karen Elstrom: "Natalya" by Anastasia Pavlenko, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/zamerzla/50841210177">https://www.flickr.com/photos/zamerzla/50841210177</a></p>
<p>Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653</a></p>
<p>Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023</a></p>
<p>Noè Nascimbeni: "abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992">https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992</a></p>
<p>Ilse Reynders: "Practicing that blank stare" and "Quinn working" by Quinn Dombrowski, both released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529">https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529</a> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028">https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028</a></p>
<p>Imogen and Madchen Tarrow: "Teacher Leader Conference 2 August 2012," courtesy US Department of Education, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/48445211@N06/7733033618">https://www.flickr.com/photos/48445211@N06/7733033618</a></p>
<p>Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470</a></p>
<p>William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260">https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260</a></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Everything!<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736522092" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
</blockquote>
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**Nothing Changes**
And it stays that way.
[[image http://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/]]
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
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+ Nothing Changes
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ ##990011|2011##
++ 6 October
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**Timeline 5243-C**[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
He was a distant echo of the man he wasn't.
Where his brother had been firm and toned, Phil was soft and airbrush-monotonous. But the frame was the same; he was tall enough for her tastes, his figure hadn't completely gone to seed, he had the straw-brown hair (even if it was thinner, whether on his scalp or his jaw or his chest or even lower) and the soulful brown eyes (even if the look of fiery intellect had been replaced by one of sorrowful apology) and the wide shoulders (it was certainly her imagination that Phil's seemed almost rounded). They were practically identical where it counted, however. She had no intention of putting it to him this way, but her new boyfriend had precisely his late, unlamented brother's cute butt.
It was presently out of sight. Phil was slumped over the edge of the mattress, inverted, watching her dress. He seemed to have a thing for that. She didn't mind; after eight years, she and Harry had long since ceased to ogle each other after bed. He'd taken longer than she had, but then, she knew he had more to look at than she did.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/DL_46_01_Phudo.jpg]]
Truth be told, he'd never taken very good care of himself. Sometimes she thought that was her fault, playing so easy to get. If she'd given him an uphill battle, he might at least have gotten in the habit of exercising.
Phil, at least, spent a lot of his time walking from station to broken station. He was not wholly without muscle mass, and she'd felt quite safe in his arms after their awkward mutual struggling beneath the sheets. Of course, there was probably no threat in the world he could neutralize half as effectively as she could, but the checklist of attraction hadn't been substantively updated in centuries. A solid arm lock went a long way.
"What's on for today?" she asked, as she turned away and wriggled into her underpants.
He didn't answer. She had a sudden image of Phil making cartoon awooga eyes at her backside, and sighed.
He reached out and poked her in the buttock.
She sighed again, and turned around. "Philip Deering. What is your schedule for today?"
He looked up at her, though not quite making it all the way to her eyes. She refused to sigh for a third time, so instead she bent down and kissed him on the lips, upside-down, as a sort of very, very soft reset.
When she withdrew, his eyes were closed. That was almost as cute as his butt, but it wasn't getting her any closer to a response, so she lightly slapped him on the cheek. "Speak."
"I dunno." He rolled over, planted his face into the mattress, and spoke into it. "What day is it?"
"Tuesday."
"Oh, Tuesday." He nodded, still into the mattress. "That would be the same as Monday. And Wednesday, for that matter. Shift starts in... what time is it?"
She picked the digital alarm clock off the bedstand and tossed it onto the bed. The cord reached, so the plastic thudded into his scalp. He looked up, grunting, and stared blearily into the red glow. "Two hours? Wow. Don't normally get up this early. Guess I have time for a shower?"
He looked up again, and waggled his brows.
She snorted. "Yes, you have time for a shower. But //only// a shower. I don't rush for anybody."
"Me either." He yawned, rolled onto his back again, and closed his eyes. "Shit happens whether I'm running around or not. If I'm standing still, at least I've got perspective."
She suddenly felt she very much wanted to reach down and haul him back up. She continued reassembling her wardrobe instead. "Except you're not standing. You're lying on the bed."
She almost didn't believe it when the only response she got was a light, snuffled snore.
[!-- [[=image Phudo_Bed.jpg]] --]
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[[/=]]
She had always had a way of folding herself into a scene, finding a pose-shaped hole into which she could contort herself and pull focus, as though there might be a photographer waiting in the wings at all hours to document perfect poise in still life.
Karen had done just that several times the preceding night, in a remarkable display of control under strain -- he'd been put in mind of someone acting out moves from memory, or perhaps a ballerina transitioning between positions -- and she was doing it now as well, less theatrically but for no less intimate effect. She lay on the bed, stomach to mattress, legs kicked up in carefully carefree form, hands splayed regally over the pillow which preserved just enough of her modesty to enhance the allure. This, on the morning after. It was by no means unpleasant, but it did leave him wondering how long it would take her to stop putting on a show and allow a little unaffected spontaneity... if her years of emotional self-sequestration hadn't already made that impossible.
//It's not like we have all the time in the world.//
Well. They had all the everything in the world, actually, and would until next September. It was still a sobering thought, though not enough so that her intoxicating pinup pose did nothing for him. Chin down, irises barely visible as curved slits beneath her pointed brows; yes, she was pulling out all the stops this morning. As if to beg the question: if this was all there was, was this enough?
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/DL_46_02_Elstrom_Bed.jpg]]
As his senses came back to him with a yawn and a stretch that took him to the tips of his toes, oxygen flooding his brain, he suddenly remembered that by contrast with this private spectacle he was doughy, unkempt and wholly devoid of grace. He went searching for a shirt, and pants. She adjusted the tilt of her head to keep the provocative angle intact; whether the product of instinct or mindfulness, he couldn't say.
"Rushing out?" she teased. There was a hint, just the faintest trace of anxiety preparing to blossom into insult in her husky morning tone.
"Covering my shame." His jeans were on the floor. They were freezing, and he squirmed a little extra as he squirmed into them. He'd never understood how denim caught on in coldest Canada.
She waved one hand as though dismissing a fly, the other remaining fixed to catch it when it fell back into place. "I didn't come for your physique, just like you didn't come for mine."
He cocked a brow as he found his socks beneath the bed, conscious as he did so that no brow cocked half as handily as hers. "What's wrong with your physique?"
"Nothing, I guess." She was still looking up the curve of her long lashes at him, and as he pulled on his pants, he found himself unable to stop looking back. That she could do something with her eyes to distract from what was going on astern was a testament to long years' practice managing appearances. "Any plans for tonight?"
And there it was, nakedly, which of course was half-appropriate to the situation. She was wondering if this had been a one night thing. She was hoping it wouldn't be. He felt a complex wash of empathy, sadness, and... well, pride. On a great many metrics, Karen Elstrom would be considered a serious catch. She was certainly out of his league, and always had been.
//So what changed?//
"Meet up again?" he suggested, tone wavering across the line between encouraging and anxious.
Her blue eyes lit up, though the smile became no less salacious. "Bring me a present, and I'll think about it."
"Yeah," he agreed without thinking -- he was reorienting his hoodie to put it on -- "I'll pop up to the grocery store to grab some flowers."
He spent a second longer than he needed to in the bowels of the sweater, mouthing curses, before emerging. If she'd reacted to his doom and gloom, the mask was already back in place.
"You'll just have to get creative," she smirked. "I'm sure you'll think of something."
[!-- [[=image Elstrom_Bed.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
The Inter-Sectional Subway ran on a wholly unreasonable schedule.
There was no good reason for it to cycle continuously in the middle of a shift. The entire system rarely had more than a handful of riders during these off-hours, and yet it had long been mandated that the timetable must be kept to regardless. Every few minutes, every stop saw the modified Red Rockets roaring into view. They stopped. Perhaps one person would get off. Perhaps another would get on. Then off again they went, gradually wearing down their bearings and other moving parts, demanding constant upkeep. The only way Nascimbeni could justify it was the fact that his technicians very quickly learned the skills they needed to repair the trains, and were never afforded the opportunity to forget them. If it hadn't been for that, he would have put his foot down ages ago. If folks didn't want to walk, there ought to be some sort of tradeoff. It wasn't like anyone ever had to stop and //wait// for a train at Site-43, and he rather felt that sometimes they should be made to.
Nascimbeni did not, as a rule, have a very open mind in his early middle age, but he was right now having cause to reconsider this position.
He'd arrived at precisely the moment that the train shot off to its next destination, and so he would need to wait the full ten minutes it took for the Green Line to cycle back 'round again. His back ached, and he wasn't about to push this heavy cart all the way to R&E on Trevor Bremmel's say-so, and so he would need to do precisely the thing he thought nobody ever did. He sat down on one of the pristine benches, which few butts had ever touched, crossed his legs and arms, and pulled the brim of his cap down over his eyes.
"Guess we just missed it."
Nascimbeni didn't shift out of his snoozing pose. It was never good to offer yourself up for conversation before you knew who the potential partners were, and the new arrival wasn't talking to himself. The voice was familiar; it was either Mataxas or the junior doctor on Forsythe's totem pole, that hotshot from Athens. What was his name?
//It's LeClair's totem pole now.//
"Excellent." //That// was Mataxas, Nascimbeni realized. The coarser tones of age.
"What's excellent about it?" The second speaker's voice was strikingly similar, hence Nascimbeni's confusion with the young physician he couldn't quite put a name to. Mataxas junior, then, the fresh MTF recruit. Rasmus.
"Come on, Ras," a woman's voice sighed. "You should know better than to invite a lecture. He does them often enough of his own volition." This would be Polyxeni, Rasmus' sister, junior researcher in nothing much. She wanted, like her father, to be a ghost hunter. Like her father, she found no position to fill at Site-43 which would satisfy her criteria.
As though he hadn't heard his daughter, Anastasios Mataxas adopted a sort of sing-song tone as he responded to his son. "It tells us that time keeps on ticking, even down here, even when 'down here' has no meaning, even when 'up there', where the sun once was, is gone. Without the sun, without the moon, without time zones, Greenwich Mean Time, without even //Greenwich,// we could be forgiven for forgetting that there's still continuity from moment to moment. That time even exists. But it does, for behold! We have missed our train."
Under his heavy lids, Nascimbeni rolled his eyes.
The younger man wasn't having it. "Not everything is a teachable moment, dad."
"But of course it is. Any moment that isn't teachable is empty, and no moment is empty. Even with our horizons cinched around us like a belt, there are things to learn from every instant we're awake. That is why we're here. To learn, so we might know. To know, so we might teach. I give you my knowledge, and you build upon it. So that when the world returns, the three of us will return to it better than we were before."
"Assuming it returns," Polly muttered.
"Which of course it will," her father chastisted her.
"Why?" Rasmus asked.
"Because if it didn't, then this would be a prelude to nothing. And I refuse to admit that I might have stood around hectoring you ungrateful little shits for no reason at all."
Not able to see their faces, Nascimbeni was caught off-guard when this provoked not a sullen silence or recipricol recriminations, but a round of hearty laughter from both children. Their father joined in soon after, and they were still playfully bantering when the train finally arrived.
Nascimbeni pretended to be asleep. He could catch the next one.
He had time.
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
Bremmel couldn't whistle, but he was blowing a lot of air out of his mouth anyway. "Would you look at //that.//"
"Yes, sir," his assistant agreed.
"And none of it the slightest bit otherworldly." The old engineer paced back and forth, admiring the tangle of cables and the embarassment of panels with more blinking lights and unlabelled switches than the bridge of the original //Enterprise.// He ran his fingers along each one, not to press, merely to caress. It was a beautiful mess, the kind of thing you might cook up in your garage if you were a billionaire and your garage was the size of the Batcave. "All made from perfectly standard components, cobbled together into... something wonderful."
"Yes, sir," his assistant agreed.
"Multimeter."
The hand had barely stretched out, piggy little fingers grasping, before his assistant slapped the requested device in his palm. Bremmel grunted, grumbled, and began affixing leads. "This is going to take //months,// you know. This is going to be like reverse-engineering how the DUAL Core works, only worse. Much worse."
"Yes, sir."
"You're on sixteen-hour shifts until further notice. The fourteen I'm on, and one on either side to prepare what I need and then review what I've accomplished."
"Of course, sir."
The slight variation produced a slight response from his boss. Bremmel glanced at him, once. His eyes unfocused, and he glanced away again. "You don't have much to say for yourself. What was your name again?"
"Who cares?"
Bremmel laughed. "You know what? It's only been a day, but you're already the best assistant I've ever had." He consulted the multimeter, clicked his tongue, and nodded. "Let's see how long it takes you to fuck that up. NCV tester?"
It was already in his hand. "Yes, sir," his assistant smiled.
[[=]]
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++ 9 October
[[/=]]
----
[[div class="muddle"]]
The Acroamatic Abatement systems of Site-43 require, among other things, a great deal of water. The water in Lake Huron is more pure than anywhere else on the continent, owing to the efforts of the army of mystic cats and the presence of the vast veins of anomalous copper they protect, so pure that the Foundation has been tampering with civilian tests since the Second World War to hide that fact. It is therefore ideal for our purposes, and we pump it in and out in vast quantities via vast pipelines, some leading merely to the water's edge, some stretching far into the heart of the lake's basin.
Intake Point-94 represents our farthest point of incursion into the wetter side of the beneath-world, a glassed enclosure five kilometres from the shore and two hundred metres from the sunlight, accessed via a dedicated open-air tram line that glides overtop of a cluster of 32-inch water mains. It wasn't pure practicality that dictated construction of a glass observation dome at this juncture of the Site's distribution system; though it's too far from the main facility to see much recreational use, the aesthetic value of this expensive aquarium is dramatic. There is something soothing about looking out into the rippling blue... except, of course, on the not infrequent occasions when something looks back in at you.
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
Like the Inter-Sectional Subway System, Intake Point-94 had been spared by Wirth's comprehensive conceptualization of the Site's interior footprint. The long glass tunnel and broad glass dome now looked out on nothing at all; there had been some concern that the pressure change from the lake's disappearance might cause structural difficulties, but these had so far not come to pass. Unlike the subway tunnel, which was already becoming enough of a thrilling footpath that Security and Containment were having to restrict access, nobody was trying to walk the glass road to the middle of nowhere. Few, fewer than even before, were bothering to take the little tram. It was a long way to go just to look at nothing.
Still, Harry had thought it might be a nice change from their perch beyond the elevator. There were already enough experiments being run from the platform that it lacked much in the way of privacy, and the increasing intimacy of their arrangement was easier to manage beyond the reach of prying eyes.
He shouldn't have been surprised to find that someone else had had the same idea, for different reasons.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/DL_46_03_Billie.jpg]]
"Your mom know you're out here?" Harry asked, and instantly knew it was the wrong thing to say, even before the girl's pug nose twisted itself into a knot.
"No," Billie Forsythe snapped. "So don't narc."
He put both hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Who, me?" He was feeling older by the second, between having actually asked someone if their //mom knew they were out here// and being accused of being a cop.
Billie was standing at the glass, looking out. Harry took up station beside her, at a distance equal parts respectful and practical. In his experience, young adults tended to smell. "Taking in the sights?"
She snorted. "Yeah."
"You find you want to keep looking at it, even though there's nothing to look at?"
She glanced at him, just for a moment. "Yeah. Doesn't make any fucking sense, does it."
"Not really, no. Must be something philosophical."
She snorted again. "Everything stupid people do isn't philosophical. Sometimes it's just stupid."
"What makes you think there's a distinction?"
She turned to look at him, and he returned the gesture. The exposed skin around her raccoon makeup looked red and raw. "Between what? Philosophy and stupidity?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Philosophy is about knowing ourselves, and the universe. The search for meaning. Stupidity is one of the most meaningful things there is. One of our purest ways of interacting with the universe."
She affected a flat expression at all times, but he thought he saw the faintest quiver of an eyebrow at this. "Sounds stupid -- and when I say stupid, I //don't// mean profound -- but go on."
He could feel himself slipping into lecturer mode. Like Scout before him, he'd moved into a largerly supervisory role at Falconer University now that he had tenure and his cover was intact, but he still delivered the occasional academic harangue, and it was not unlike riding a bicycle. "Mistakes are how we understand the way things work. You don't learn much from doing everything right. Doing everything wrong? That's practically communion."
She managed to raise her eyebrows without opening her eyes even a sliver wider. "Now he gets religious at me."
"I'd rather jump out that window." He knocked the glass; he would never have had the courage to do so when the water was still there. His overweening sense of responsibility was already demanding that he tell Nascimbeni he'd done this, and the rest of him was dreading the condescenscion he'd get in return. "But you get what I mean, don't you? Despair, and shame, and hopelessness, or even just irritation, those are all just ways for our emotions to help our brains get smarter. We fuck up, we get mad, we get sad, we get better. If things never got worse, they'd never improve."
She twisted her mouth to one side of her face, and her nose followed suit. "What do you think they learned when they blew up the universe? Was it proportional? Must've been one hell of an insight."
He puffed in mild agreement. "Must've been. But we'll never know."
They turned back to the glass. He let her sit with her thoughts in silence for a while.
She didn't look at him when she started speaking again. "Know what I think?"
"Nope."
"I think everybody's trying to make this mean something because they haven't got enough meaning themselves already."
"Enough for what?"
She scuffed the floor with her sneakers. "To keep going."
He had the sense that this had suddenly become a dangerously important conversation. He considered his next words carefully. "That's //why// we keep going."
She rolled her eyes.
"Because things don't mean anything. And that isn't good enough. So we keep moving forward, until they do."
"Structurally unsound."
He felt a sudden stab of panic. Did she mean the glass? //I knew I shouldn't have touched it.// "What is?"
"Your, whatever you call it. Literary construction. We keep moving forward until things mean something? What the fuck does //that// mean."
He laughed, as much in relief as good humour. "I dunno. I think it means... perspective."
"Perspective."
"Yeah. You can't see things clearly from up close. You don't know how big they are, you can't see the whole shape, you don't really understand all three dimensions. So you move forward, as far as you can, and then you look back, and then you understand. Then it all makes sense."
She seemed to be considering this seriously. "So it doesn't make sense when it's happening, but then you get some //distance,// and it does?"
"Maybe. Or maybe it means something now, and it means more later, with context. Perspective. A different vantage point. But that's only possible if you don't stay stuck in the same spot forever." He paused. "Or if you're dead."
She grunted. "Nothing means anything when you're dead."
"Nothing meaning anything //is// being dead. So keep looking out that window. Maybe you'll see something today. Maybe you won't know what it was until tomorrow. You'll have to wait and see."
She put a hand to the glass, and didn't say anything.
After a few minutes more, he walked back to the tram. Billie was softly humming behind him, and it echoed through the window on the worldlessness.
When it was all over, he thought, he might ask if there were any courses to teach at Falconer.
Just a thought.
[!-- [[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/Blank_Billie.jpg]] --]
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++ 10 October
[[/=]]
----
It was only by chance that LeClair noticed the wall panel was slightly out of place.
She'd been staring into space, trying to remember something, when she'd instead forgotten she was holding her pen, and dropped it. It rolled to the wall, and she bent to retrieve it -- her body certainly knew this activity had once been much, much less of a trial -- and saw that the panel disguising her escape route was not quite properly seated in its frame. There was a button under her desk for perfecting the illusion, which only she knew about. She tapped it, and the panel readjusted itself to blend in seamlessly with the rest of the wall.
So she stood up, and tapped her keycard against the panel to open it up.
She knew she ought to call security, but curiosity got the better of her. She walked a ways into the tunnel, and didn't spot anything out of the ordinary until she reached the side door providing cave access. She hadn't given it a moment's thought since the lockdown, but apparently someone had.
The light on the reader was dead. She bent down to examine it, and saw that someone had cut the thing open and pulled out all the wires that made it work. The door to nowhere had been disabled, from the inside.
She didn't think security would have handled it quite like this, but then, they had been in something of a hurry at the start. It was certainly worth reporting.
She wondered why anyone sneaking around in the Site's second skin would intentionally deprive themselves of an escape route, even one leading to a sheer and profound drop.
//Cabin fever,// she thought, and not for the last time.
[[=]]
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++ 12 October
[[/=]]
----
Imogen Tarrow slammed the dorm door shut.
Her sister didn't react; each had always been able to sense when the other was near. She did ask: "Rough day?"
Imogen threw off her labcoat, and kicked her shoes across the room. "It didn't work."
Madchen Tarrow stretched, and pushed back from her desk. She'd spent the entire afternoon trying, and failing, to perform some delicate electronics work that one very angry Argentinean woman wouldn't want her performing. She'd been ready to vent off some steam about it when her sister returned, but apparently she was doomed to be upstaged. Such was life. "It didn't work?"
"He must be a eunuch." Imogen flopped down on the couch, then bounced on the cushions and sprang back to her feet to pace. "Or maybe he's gay. I wish we had Oscar."
"You went the seduction route? Real subtle."
Imogen glared at her. "It gets results. Most of these people think with their dicks, and they're all going stir crazy to boot. It should've worked. Madchen, they're fucking around with something down there. Something we need to know about."
Madchen shrugged. "You could try seducing Bremmel, instead of his assistant?"
They stared at each other for a few moments. Things had been tense between them since they'd been released from custody, and not only because they knew their every move was being tracked. Madchen wondered if Imogen suspected what she'd been up to. That would be a problem.
"Because you're my sister," Imogen said, very slowly, very carefully, "I am going to pretend I didn't hear that."
Madchen returned to her tablet and screwdriver. "I'm sure you got //something.//"
Imogen rooted around in the minifridge. "They've been fucking around in F-A for days now. They're bringing down all sorts of equipment, to the bottom sublevel, and they're not bringing anything back up. It's just Bremmel and whatsisface down there, and Bremmel never leaves. Whatsisface only comes up to report to McInnis."
"Why doesn't Bremmel report to McInnis?"
"Whatsisface says Bremmel is borderline incoherent. Lost in the sauce. Speaks in volts and tolerances exclusively. They're figuring it out, whatever it is."
//Whatever it is.// They both had a pretty good sense of what it could be. Not in concrete terms, but in terms of import.
Whatever it was, it was the difference between nine wasted years and a nine-year march to triumph.
It was what they'd been sent here to find.
Madchen examined her sister. The rail-thin woman was pounding back a bottle of water, shivering in the air conditioning. A thought occurred.
"Maybe you're not his type?"
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++ 15 October
[[/=]]
----
"That ought to be your job."
Phil froze. Having been, until that moment, very much in motion, it was a painful and confusing transition. "What?"
Udo glared down at him. "It ought to be //your// job. You ought to be the deputy chief."
Phil slowly lowered his hands to his sides, rubbing sweat off onto the bedsheets. "Were you, uh. Thinking about that the entire time?"
She rolled off him, and then off the bed. He felt a sudden chill in the air, and it had little to do with the fact that she was no longer between him and the ceiling vents. "You've been here as long as Banerjee. Exactly as long as him. You shouldn't be taking orders from anybody but the Director by now."
He watched her snatch up and bunch up her scattered articles of clothing. "I mean, I've only been here twelve years."
She glared at him over her shoulder as she got dressed. "Twelve years. Your brother..."
He sat up. "My brother //what?//"
She wasn't looking at him now, a tanned expanse of back facing him as she pulled up her pants. "Your brother became one of the Foundation's leading thaumatologists in five years."
"Yeah, well." Phil found he was still massaging the sheets, like a kneading cat. He willed himself to stop. "I'm not my brother."
"That's for sure." Udo wrestled her hair through the neckhole of her shirt, which then lay loose around her clavicle; every shirt she owned hung like a blouse from this daily trauma. "You should at least demand to be made shift supervisor. There's no way someone else should be setting your hours after eleven years' service."
Phil didn't get angry easily. He didn't even irritate. But something in him rebelled against this treatment, particularly given what it was an abrupt sequel to. "Maybe I don't want to be a supervisor. What do you say to that?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/DL_46_04_Okorie_Snap.jpg]]
Her eyes were low-burning embers behind those thick, round glasses now. "At least it's a fucking //opinion.//" She smoothed out her labcoat, looked around the room, and sighed in frustration. "Now, would it kill you to get a mirror in here?"
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++ 22 October
[[/=]]
----
"Do you follow?"
McInnis smiled. "Not at all. Which is good! Dr. Lillihammer?"
Lillian had spent fully half of Bremmel's explanation with her head shoved in various compartments, making noises. Once the engineer had stopped her with a sharp "keep your spit off those wires, woman!" and twice he'd moved as if to kick her in the behind; she'd been saved the ignominy only by the fact that her behind was high up, and his feet low down. Still, she had been listening, and she nodded with enthusiasm. "There's nowhere you could go where I couldn't, Trev. But where's it getting all that power from, you figure?"
Bremmel shrugged. "No idea. Potentiality, maybe."
Lillian scoffed. "That's just a theory of a theory. Of a //theory.// That can't be it."
"It worked well enough for DR-RHETORIC. Which I shouldn't have to lecture you on."
"That's a different principle altogether. The ontokinetic reach interfaces with the--"
"Doctors," McInnis intervened smoothly. "I am asking if you're both clear on how this mechanism functions."
"Yes and no," Bremmel responded. "Yes, we can operate it. Yes, given the time and resources, we could make a second one. No, we have no idea why it actually works the way it does. We'd need a thaumatologist to consult if we really wanted to understand it."
"Or DR-RHETORIC," Lillian sighed. "But that ship has obviously sailed."
"Mm." McInnis nodded. "Do you have anything to add, doctor...?"
Bremmel's assistant, an olive-toned young man whose name McInnis could never quite remember, shook his head placidly. "No, sir. Dr. Bremmel did all the work, I just passed him the tools. But I'm confident he's got the machine figured out."
McInnis made a mental note to make time for encouraging the unassuming scientist. Anyone who could see such a fraught research project through under the supervision of Trevor Bremmel was not without talent; he certainly might have a future in admin. "Very well. Dr. Bremmel, I'm going to ask that you draw up the most detailed and precise technical specifications document you can, with Dr. Lillihammer's help."
The pudgy old man grinned. "Be maybe a month, but it'll be a fun month. Then what?"
McInnis smiled.
[!-- [[=image Bremmel_Lillihammer_McInnis.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 17 November
[[/=]]
----
Wettle felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up before he smelled her perfume, as though his nose had known she was coming before reporting the fact to the rest of him. The rest of him followed suit with the usual suite of physiological responses, and he turned to see Alis sashaying into the lab.
That wasn't a word he normally kept in his vocabulary, but the way she was walking brought it back to him in force. She looked mildly crestfallen as she took in the room, and Wettle realized it probably had something to do with the fact that Bremmel's assistant hadn't looked up, and hadn't seen.
"Heyyy," she said, and approached to where there was ostensibly a desk beneath a solid carpet of paper clutter. The assistant looked up, confused, in time for Alis to lean down over him and drop her elbows in his business.
"Hello," he offered.
She fluttered her eyelashes. Wettle felt sick to his stomach, and told himself it was saccharine overload. "We're busy," he snapped.
She wiggled her rear at him, but kept her eyes on the other man. "Engineers are talking, sweetie. I hear you've been conducting stress tests?"
The assistant nodded, arranging his hands strategically to block a few of his documents from sight. "That's right. But this is classified work. Need to know. No outside consults."
He couldn't see it, but Wettle could imagine the pouting face she was making now. "Aww. But I //love// stress tests. Pressure. Motion. //Tolerances.//" She reached out and drew a finger down the man's nose.
"Dr. Lane," the target of her affections said coldly, "I am going to have to ask you to leave. Dr. Wettle and I need to make sure we can reproduce the functionality of each component, and we're working on a tight time frame."
Wettle knew her well enough to know what the slight tensing of her shoulders meant, but she gave it another go nevertheless. Running her hands down both sides of the tube top she wore beneath her engineer's blues, she cooed, "Tight frames are my specialty."
Slowly, deliberately, the young man reached out.
[!-- [[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/Placeholder_Alis_Wettle.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
"And then he called the FUCKING GUARDS on me!"
Imogen nodded.
"Gay it is," Madchen sighed. "Fuck."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 21 November
[[/=]]
----
It wasn't as though Harry didn't enjoy it.
In his own way, he was in love.
It was only that sometimes, when he closed his eyes and kept them closed too long, then opened them again, he was surprised to see who he saw.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 3 December
[[/=]]
----
Pensak slapped the book shut, appearing to relish the soft //thump.// "And we're good." He stood up from the duty desk, carried the bound daily record to the shelf, and slid it into place. "Pointless physical copy copied, all glorious four sentences of it."
Ibanez waved her hands in a mock hurrah. "Three loud arguments and one broken lightbulb, preserved for posterity. When it turns out Bremmel and whatsisname accidentally built an EMP bomb and they wipe the network, we'll still be able to tell each other the most boring fireside stories of all time."
"More likely use it as the firestarter." Pensak stretched, then detached his belt and headed for the lockup. "That's me out. See you tomorrow, boss."
"Want to catch a drink?" she called out, before she really thought about doing so.
He didn't miss a stride. "Nah. Card game in the mess. Still gives me a thrill, knowing the banks all disappeared and I don't actually owe anybody any money." He waggled a finger in her direction, without looking, as he slammed his locker shut. "That isn't to say I don't expect my back pay when it all comes howling back. Night boss."
She grimaced. "Goodnight."
She sat in the empty bullpen, holding down the fort until the second shift filtered in. She made her brief and pointless report to Holt, made brief and pointless small talk with Bosch and O, then surrendered to the inevitable and walked out. She didn't remove her uniform or check her firearm, because she was really never off-duty. Not even when she drank.
She really had wanted that drink.
William Wettle passed her going the other way, hands stuck into his labcoat pockets in a way that suggested they were balled into fists. He was eating his beard. His labcoat would probably have tasted better; there was a long streak of ketchup down the back. Somehow.
She caught him by the blue felt belt, and held on until he noticed he was trailing a cape behind him. That was what passed for a swift reaction from Wettle; normally he would have kept walking until he clotheslined himself. He turned back to face her, and she let go. "Hey."
Fight or flight fought fiercely in his eyes, producing as they always did a stalemate. "Hi...?"
"You want to catch a drink?"
He narrowed his eyes. They disappeared under his long lashes. She noticed he had long lashes. "Why, are you going to throw one at me?"
"Only if you make a pass."
If it were anyone else, they would have found a way to make a joke about throwing things and passing things, and how throwing things in football was //called// making a pass. Harry probably would have nailed it. Wettle never nailed anything. Well. That wasn't true. Though it ought to have been. "Why would I do that?"
She had the sudden desire to leap on him like an angry dog. Make him bleed. She suppressed it, but not without first doing serious damage, and not to him. "You've done it before, asshole."
He blinked.
"At 169?"
"One... sixty-nine," he repeated blankly.
"The survival training?"
He shook his head.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/DL_46_05_Ibanez_Rejected.jpg]]
She turned and stormed away, blowing air between her lips in a long, sustained raspberry of rage. It wasn't until she'd turned three pointless corners on her way to nowhere in particular that she realized what she'd almost done, and began to cry.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 13 December
[[/=]]
----
It hadn't come to a fight, and that made her fighting mad. So Udo did what she did every time her frustration reached a boiling point, and she needed to get away: she stalked to the nearest subway station, and got on. When it reached the Blue Line terminus, she switched trains and took the only trip she could in their less strange, far less brave new world. A nice little vacation to beautiful no-longer-shoreside AAF-A.
It was funny how the change in fortunes for everyone else had more dramatically affected the only person who should have been //un//affected. A small crowd of researchers and agents was walking away from the window to the Anomalous Documents Disposal Chamber as Udo walked up to it; Reynders almost always had visitors these days, in large quantities. She was the smartest person in the universe, and one of the kindest, and now that everyone was trapped under non-ground anyway, her company was much in demand. Her prison-within-a-prison contained the only person who really had perspective on what was going on.
Or perhaps it just made people feel better to think there was someone even worse off than them.
It was probably that.
It was why Udo was here, after all.
"Hey." She raised a hand in greeting.
Reynders was smearing grease paint on her window, crafting a mural. She'd taken up painting only recently, because the academic work she normally busied herself with was too difficult to manage with constant interruptions, and also because she said Helena Forsythe had told her to try it, for stress relief. Helena Forsythe denied having done this; Udo knew that if asked, the little genius would explain that she meant a different Helena Forsythe altogether.
But only if the Sampis asked, of course. Reynders had long since been briefed on what was going on. Considering she could see it anyway, it had been an easy call to make.
"Where's the hubby?" Reynders sang, painting a pale green streak across the glass. The grease paint had been in the ADDC for decades on decades on decades, and was only now seeing use. It had a shelf life, unopened, of perhaps a few years. It would nevertheless have lasted forever had she not decided to finally start expending it.
Udo scowled. "Don't call him that."
"Another argument, huh." Reynders was rendering -- //ha// -- a peculiarly vibrant sunset or sunrise. Something she hadn't seen since the world was last at war. Something no-one had seen since the world had last existed. Given its nature, the sun she'd seen had never been seen by another living soul. "Do you ever think you're being too hard on him?"
"No." Udo stamped her foot emphatically. It made her feel very foolish. "I don't think I'm being hard enough on him. I don't think anyone is. He falls back into the worst habits the moment I look away."
"One relates." Reynders reached up and tugged at a lock of her orange bowlcut; it sprang back into place, precisely, with unseemly speed. "We're all just cycles of ourselves."
Udo reached up to paw at her own hair. It was cut short, again, months ahead of the usual deadline schedule. She'd hoped it would give her a more severe look. She tried not to think about why she would want that.
"What's your endgame with him, anyway?" Reynders studded the green streak with dots of white, and began rubbing them in. "Is this a dry run for doing a better job in baseline, or is it just a fling?"
It was hard, sometimes, to remember that the other woman came from an era of strikingly different norms and morality. The Foundation was always ahead of most curves, of course, since most curves had some scientific basis and the Foundation had most science before most people, but a woman from the 1940s was still essentially a woman //of// the 1940s, unless she made the effort to change. Reynders had apparently made that effort, if she could conceptualize a //fling// as something that was acceptable for a young woman like Udo to embark upon.
Or maybe that was antihistorical bullshit. They'd had flappers and shit in the 1930s, hadn't they? She almost wished she could ask Harry.
Almost.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I just think... I don't know. We're here, now."
"Very true." Reynders was more here, more now, than anyone else. Ever.
"And I guess I see him, and I want to... help?" Was that right? Was that even remotely what she meant? "I want to do //something.// For him." //For him.// "There's a lot of potential."
"Raw material?" Reynders suggested, swiping a grey streak between green and orange for emphasis.
Udo rolled her eyes ruefully. "That makes me sound like some domineering bitch. And I don't think I am. Do you think I am?"
"I'll defer to your judgement on that. But I've always thought you were a fine young lady." There it was. The occasional turn of phrase that suggested this was a woman of more years, more //ages,// than her face hinted at. Even before the accident, she'd been older than she looked.
"Phil thinks so too. He thinks I'm a superhero and a supermodel at the same time. That's good enough for him. But I think... he could do better."
"Than you?"
"No, than what he's //doing.// Because he's doing //nothing!//" Again, infuriatingly, her foot stamped in fury. "I don't know how he doesn't realize he's wasting his life away. It's plain as day to everyone else. Do you think it matters, what happens to us in here? Since we're going to..." She paused, then pulled out her tablet and checked the subroutine Veiksaar had installed for her. There were no prying ears nearby. "Since we're going to reset it anyway."
"Character is who you are in the margins," Reynders smiled. She swirled her finger through the sun in speculative spirals.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/DL_46_06_Reynders_Smile.jpg]]
"Mm." Udo sighed. "I guess. Maybe it //is// just a dry run. There's a version of him out there who's got it even worse, and that version is doing //better.// So I know //he// can be better. I see something..." She sighed. "I see something in him."
"That," Reynders smiled, stepping back and beaming at her through the light she'd drawn reflecting on the glass-still waters, "is only slightly the wrong way to put it."
[!-- [[=image Reynders_Okorie_Hair.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 31 December
[[/=]]
----
Harry awoke with the feeling of something profoundly heavy on his chest, forcing the breath and the life out of him, and he gasped as he sat bolt upright.
Beside him, she was still sleeping.
He stayed upright until his breathing became regular again, then fell back to the pillow and exhaled. Whether the impact beside her or the change in the air currents, something made Karen stir. She danced her fingers along his chest, nails probing but playful, and then she pressed her mouth to his shoulder. "Nightmare."
"Yeah."
"What about?"
He wrapped an arm around her, and scratched absently at her scalp. She scooted closer. "Same one I always have."
"You never told me." Her voice was soft and content.
"Didn't I?" He supposed he hadn't. "I'm standing on the shore..."
He paused.
"I've seen you in this dream before."
He caught the faintest glint from her eyes. She was very awake now. "Oh, so it's //that// sort of dream."
He smiled, wondering if she could see it. "No, it's not. Sorry to disappoint. It's..." He shook his head. "It varies. This time it was a ship, a huge, huge ship, underwater. I can see everything, and I //have// to see everything. It's my job, I guess. My responsibility. Sometimes it's a tremendous weight I'm holding up by one hand, or one finger. Sometimes--"
She yawned. "Oh, yeah. Obvious metaphor. Go back to sleep."
And to his shock, she audibly did.
"But you were there," he whispered.
She didn't so much as twitch in her sleep. But she did pull him closer, and he held her all the tighter in response.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ ##990011|2012##
++ 1 January
[[/=]]
----
Everything had fallen into place as though pre-ordained.
Much of it, of course, had been; part of the Foundation's business was preparing for apocalypses. Still, they'd handled this one with particular grace, given the complete and total lack of a safety net. Bremmel had been made the tech tsar for developing sustainability initiatives, and had come up trumps time and again; the hydroponics labs were now working at what Ghosh estimated to be four hundred percent efficiency, and the turfgrass manager himself had managed to speed-run the discovery of two entirely new strains of edible grass. The resultant fivefold increase in food production meant they would soar handily past the deadline, not that anyone involved was aware this was a consideration.
What Bremmel designed, Nascimbeni built and made work. He pushed himself to the limit, and past. He worked hours he'd not seen since he was a very young man, with something to prove. Some of his staff were inspired to rise to the occasion with him, but most were content to accept the lesson in leadership and hard work as something to aspire to, just not quite yet. When the resources came under more serious strain, he was confident they'd be up to the challenge.
"They'll have to be," LeClair muttered darkly as she scheduled him for his next weekly physical. "Since you'll be dead."
Du, scheduled for a dental checkup immediately after, had strolled in halfway through the appointment. LeClair had forgotten to close the door. "I think it's romantic," he said.
His friendship with Blank and Lillihammer had taught Nascimbeni to see an insult coming a mile off. "Romantic //how.//"
"You put it all into your work," the quantum mechanic explained with a grin. "Which you're married to."
Nascimbeni had snorted derisively, then spent the rest of the afternoon mad about it. It only made him angrier when he related the incident to Bremmel, who nodded amiably and agreed with Du.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 19 January
----
[[/=]]
"Stand up straight."
Phil sighed.
"And don't sigh." She fiddled with his tie until it was clear the cause was lost, then pulled his lame knot loose and began tying it around his neck herself. She briefly considered making it too tight. Then even more briefly considered pulling it all the way taut, and attaching it to his ceiling fan.
He made a sort of strangled inhalation-exhalation sound, which was clearly a sigh crushed in the cradle of his esophagus.
Ever since Karen Elstrom had attended, through lack of anything better to do, one of J&M's Employee of the Month award ceremonies, an absurd rule still on the books from the 1940s that stipulated all technicians wear ties at dress occasions had been followed to the letter. The ties had looked silly when they were still hidden behind vinyl vests. They looked absolutely moronic hanging from jumpsuit collars, and everyone knew that the original legislators would have relaxed the rule if only they'd known where it would lead. But as Blank had put it, "standing on ceremony is only impressive because ceremony is unstable."
"It should be you getting that award."
He rolled his eyes. A month ago he wouldn't have dared. "I'm a shift supervisor. Wouldn't be appropriate."
"Banerjee was a shift supervisor when he got the award in '02."
"Banerjee is better than I am."
"That's true." She finished cinching the tie, having opted for a tightness just south of uncomfortable, and stepped back.
He relaxed into a slouch immediately, and turned to head for the door. She bent her hand into a claw, and goosed him as he went.
He nearly hit the ceiling tiles. "Jesus!"
"Stand up //straight,// I said," she said. She could have said it softly, and she could have said it playfully. She could even have said it erotically, since she had just grabbed his ass. But because she said it snappishly, the way she said most things now...
...he turned and pointed a finger at her. "You're not my mother."
She gestured at their shared bed. "Good thing."
It had been an attempt at defusal, but he didn't interpret it that way. The bed was of course unmade, because that was one of his chores. "Even my mother didn't harp on me about making my fucking //bed,// or doing my fucking //laundry.// She didn't bitch about every little thing, you know?"
Udo was no longer so invested in de-escalation. "It shows, Phil. It really does."
He pulled the tie off, making a little involuntary //glurk// sound in the process. "Meaning what, exactly?"
"Meaning you're a lazy slob, because nobody's ever expected more from you!" She found she was suddenly shouting.
"Maybe it's just that nobody //judges// me except for you!"
"You don't think you need judging? It took //nagging from your girlfriend// to get you promoted to //mop detail supervisor.// Left to your own devices, you'd be a toilet scrubber for the rest of your life!"
"Someone's got to scrub the fucking toilets! Maybe I don't //want// to be a supervisor!"
"What //do// you want, Phil? Do you want //anything?// Do you //care// about //anything?!"//
They were both on the balls of their feet. All four hands were clenched.
"Maybe I do," he snarled. "But it's not like you'd ever ask. You just //tell.// You just //criticize.// You--"
"I'm trying to—"
"--never even—"
"--make you a—"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/DL_46_07_Phil_Yell.jpg]]
"--LET ME FINISH A FUCKING __SENTENCE__! Jesus CHRIST, Udo, you act like my FUCKING BROTHER!"
"AT LEAST ONE OF US DOES!"
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
It didn't take long to clear her things out of his room.
She'd never even taken a drawer.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 25 January
[[/=]]
----
It was kind of a dare.
Wettle wasn't really sure who or what he was daring, but there was no denying the stakes were real. One slip...
Well, nobody knew what would happen, actually. They'd probably send a drone down after him, get telemetry. Maybe let him record a message for his parents, if his parents still existed. Most likely there would be snapshots taken, and they would circulate throughout the Site: William Wettle falling end over end, endlessly, forever in his element. Failure.
But he never slipped. He won the dare. The subway rumbled alarmingly underneath, and Wettle walked the lonesomest of all roads.
But not alone.
Coming the other way, to his surprise and frustration, he saw her. //Why,// he wondered, //does it always have to be her?//
When he could see her face, he could see that Alis was wincing. She would have spotted him long before he spotted her, so she'd have been preparing this wince specifically for him to see. That was either flattering, or it wasn't. He wasn't sure.
"Beep," she said.
"Huh?"
She made a shooing gesture. "Beep beep."
He glanced down. The curved concrete arch of the subway tunnel flattened out on top, and there was technically enough room for one person to slip past another, but if one of them was William Wettle and the other was hauling as much freightage as Alis, probably not so much.
He pointed. "No passing lane."
She shook her head in irritation. "Then lie down, and I'll walk all over you."
"What are you doing up here, anyway?"
She gave him a look that said //you're up here too.// He had a longstanding rule against letting people know he could read body language, so he just stared stupidly at her until she sighed and planted both hands on her wide hips. "I'm //walking.//"
"I'm walking here," he quoted. The impression was poor enough that it probably didn't parse as a quotation.
"Do you even know what that's from?"
He did not. "Of course I do. And you didn't answer my question."
"I answered it as much as I care to. Now get the hell out of my way before one of us has an //unfortunate accident.//"
He snorted. "That's just what they're waiting for."
She blinked.
He smiled.
She blinked again. "What's that mean?"
"Come on, Alis. Why else would Lillihammer let you walk around free? They're all waiting to see how you fuck up. So they can learn something from it."
She wrinkled her nose. "They tell you that?" She laughed. "Of course they did. You're not smart enough to have figured it out on your own."
He didn't correct her.
"Fine." She stepped forward, reached out, and took his hand. Before he could protest, she hauled him around -- //We are both about to __die__,// he thought as his feet left the concrete -- and then they were both facing the same direction, back the way she'd come, and she was pressed against his side. "I choose //this// mistake."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/DL_46_08_Wettle_Alis.jpg]]
And they went nowhere together.
[!-- [[=image Wettis.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
It was only by random chance that Ibanez and Nascimbeni crossed paths these days. Her patrols were regular, and he usually had the sense to stay out of them. His tasks were scheduled, and as chief of security she had privileged access to all the schedules. Either one, or the other, or both, had slipped up. That was the likeliest explanation.
But only random chance could have placed them at the AAF-A subway stop at the precise moment that Alis Lane and William Wettle came down from the subway roof access together, she dismounting the ladder daintily, he, of course, falling.
She, surprisingly, laughing. He, even more surprisingly, laughing with her.
Most surprising to Ibanez was the intense well of frustration that boiled up inside of her stomach as she watched the scene unfold.
"Some things really don't change, do they?" Nascimbeni remarked from beside her.
She looked up at him.
He looked down at her.
//Well,// she thought. //Since we've already fucked this up anyway.//
[!-- [[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/Nascimbanez.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Pensak responded to the call, service weapon raised. A suspected murder in progress. The pot had finally boiled over, and it was up to him to respond.
The tech who'd made the call pointed at the maintenance closet, face ashen, finger trembling. Pensak tried the door, but it wouldn't open. There was a crash from inside, and a muffled scream.
He pulled out his keycard, and swiped it.
Two error codes flashed on the reader:
[[code]]
ERR: ADMIN LOCK ENGAGED -- C/SC
ERR: ADMIN LOCK ENGAGED -- C/JM
[[/code]]
He was confused at first, and was about to shoot out the lock when he realized that what he had taken for someone banging on the door with their fist and demanding to be released was actually something altogether different.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 2 February
[[/=]]
----
Karen yawned, and glanced up at the clock mounted over the sliding glass doors. //4:35.//
It was the first time in living memory that the end of her shift hadn't crept up on her. Sometimes she even forgot there was a clock in the room.
She looked down at the neat little pile of paperwork in front of her. All issues resolved. All matters settled. Nothing outstanding.
She glanced past the edge of the daïs. The day shift at Admin were stretching, putting files away, chatting in hushed tones or yawning the way she had done. She reached up to rub the crick in her neck, and was surprised to find that it wasn't there.
It had always been there, from the very start.
She thought about that for the remaining twenty-five minutes, and by the time the clock struck five, she was grinning ear to ear.
She downed tools on time, down to the second, and left just a few minutes past the hour.
Another first.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 4 February
----
[[/=]]
Nascimbeni fished the pager off her belt, and passed it to her. She heaved a tremendous sigh, as only she could heave, and squinted at the display. "God dammit."
He passed her the belt, and the jumpsuit attached to it, and stretched back on the bed. "Us problem, you problem?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/DL_46_09_Nascimbeni_Bed.jpg]]
"Me problem," she growled as she flopped around on the mattress to worm into the suit. "Gonna make it everybody's."
"You always do," he smiled, and he kissed her on the forehead.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
"He's gone," Bremmel blurted the instant she stepped through the door.
Ibanez glanced around the empty lab. "Evidently. Who he?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/DL_46_10_Bremmel_Yell.jpg]]
"My assistant!" The engineer threw his hands up. "Who else? He's //gone!//"
She frowned. "What was his name again?"
"How should I know?!" Bremmel walked into the far corner, where a cheap and undersized desk was shoved between two storage lockers, and snatched an ID badge off the labcoat folded neatly on the back of the chair. He squinted at it. "Uh..."
"Today, please, Trev." She had plenty of energy left, but not for waiting.
He tossed the card at her. It landed on the floor. She sighed; it seemed beneath her dignity to pick up things people threw at her, but on the other hand, she //was// closer to the ground. She bent, and examined the badge.
She found she couldn't read the name either.
"Fuck," she said, and then she left it behind her in the rising dust.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
One of these days she was going to break those fragile, birdlike bones.
Ibanez slammed one of the Tarrows -- she was pretty sure it was Imogen -- against the clinic wall and stuck her pistol under the other woman's nose. "What did you do with him?"
Probably-Imogen blinked. "Sokolsky?"
Ibanez bent the other woman's nose upward with the barrel. "What about Sokolsky? Did you take him too?"
The //geistschreiber// was raising both hands so slowly, it was like they were tied to helium balloons. "I didn't know what you were talking about, so I assumed you meant Sokolsky. I slept with Sokolsky. Last night."
Ibanez suppressed a laugh. She might have accidentally shot the woman's nose off. "Okay, pin that for me. Right now I'm looking for Bremmel's assistant, and I'm only seeing two possibilities max here. Either you fuckers erased him, or he was one of you. Which is it?"
Imogen's eyes were crossed, staring down the barrel at her. "Bremmel's...? That guy with the hair? I don't know anything about--"
She gulped as the barrel slid past her teeth. "Make this easy for me," Ibanez purred. "I dare you."
The other woman simply shook her head, very carefully, so as not to chip her enamel on the blue steel. From the way her pupils dilated, Ibanez decided she was telling the truth. "Fine. Where's your sister?"
"I dote doh."
Ibanez pulled the gun back out, and with a quick and efficient motion deposited Imogen on the exam table, none too gently. "If I find out you're lying to me, you're dead. All three of you."
She headed for the door, preparing to key in her emergency override and lock it behind her.
"Wait!"
She waited, but didn't turn.
"Bremmel doesn't //have// an assistant."
Ibanez did turn. "What?"
"He sent the last one topside for coffee every day."
"Bullshit. There's coffee every three feet in here."
"Yeah, but... you know. Bremmel."
Ibanez did know. She already realized she was being told the truth. Trevor Bremmel hated assistants the way an addict hated drugs. They got him where he needed to be, but given the choice, he'd rather go clean. Sending one on a topside coffee run was just the sort of pointless workplace humiliation he went in for.
//Fuck.//
She had the sudden and maddening feeling that she was only just now catching up with an earlier version of herself.
"//Fuck.//"
She locked the door behind her anyway.
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
"It's that fucking //guy// again."
The seven of them occupied their former stations around the perimiter of Udo's living space. Having turned the Director's Complex into the headquarters of their in-group, they'd needed a redoubt for this very much Sampis-only matter, and the obvious solution had been deemed best.
"What guy?" Wettle asked.
"I saw him a few times in the first deadline," Harry said. "Always at a distance. Like he was just watching things unfold. He had a weird labcoat, like the ones QS wear, but black and red." He always related information like this in a flat monotone, obviously uncomfortable reciting something that sounded like a memory but wasn't. He'd gotten it from playing the debriefing tapes back, just like everybody else.
"He approached me in that same deadline," McInnis nodded. "Helped me with our reformed O5 Council, and laying the groundwork for our new Foundation. He said his name was..."
McInnis scowled. It wasn't something he did often, and never in company, but the absence was like a hole being gnawed out and re-knit and gnawed again every time he tried to see what was in it. He simply shook his head, and gave up.
"One of the //geistschreiber,// then?" Udo suggested.
"Worse," Lillihammer muttered.
McInnis gestured at her to continue.
She wasn't looking at him, but she continued anyway. "He appears, and disappears. Popped in and out in dash-A, stayed for a stretch and then vanished in dash-B--"
"Don't," Nascimbeni begged her. "I didn't even like //reading// about that one."
"The point is," she continued with the edge her tone always acquired when she was interrupted, "he comes and goes as he pleases, he watches us, he sees what's important, and then he leaves."
"Oh," said Udo.
"Great." Delfina spat into the trash can. Nascimbeni gave her a disapproving look, and she shrugged at him.
"What am I missing?" Harry asked.
"I think there's something... yeah?" Udo glanced at Delfina, who nodded grimly. "Yeah. There's something we need to share with the group. Something we've been working on without you, for... reasons."
McInnis spread his hands wide.
Udo took a deep breath. "So, about Dougall Deering. When he died, I sent out this email..."
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[[/=]]
When they had finished, the others chewed on the information for a few seconds. As she always did, Lillian finished her mental mastication first. "So what we're saying," she said, "and I would have said this //without// all that lovely, inexplicably withheld extra detail... is that this fucker is //chasing us between the lines.//"
This time the silence was considerably longer, and more profound.
Wettle broke it first.
"Do you think we could hitch a ride, next time he goes?"
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++ 5 February
----
[[/=]]
"See?" Ibanez pointed at the open door in the corner, and then the open doors on the cabinet over the sink. "And there's a bed, too. What the hell is inhumane about that?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/DL_46_11_Madchen_Grumpy.jpg]]
Imogen Tarrow was sitting on the examination bed, chewing a granola bar without enthusiasm. "I'm sure they've got bathrooms at Guantanamo, too."
"Yeah, but you have to share." Ibanez grabbed the other chair, then turned back to face the door. "Well? Come in. And get the lock for me while you're up."
Alis entered the room wordlessly, closing the door so softly that it didn't even click, though the lock did. She leaned against the wall, eyeing the other //giftschreiber// with obvious mistrust.
Imogen continued to munch, looking back and forth between them.
"Good news and bad news," Ibanez began. She leaned forward, hands on her knees. It made her look even smaller, but that didn't matter. "Good news: the missing guy isn't your problem. Bad news: can't find your sister."
The other woman stopped chewing, and swallowed. "Maybe she found out you locked me in the clinic."
"She would've come let you out," said Alis.
"Whose side are you on?"
"Me?" Alis stepped forward, coming up behind Ibanez. "Whose side are //you// on? If Madchen's disappearance is part of a plan, it's not one I'm aware of."
Imogen scoffed. "Why would you be? I've seen you with that dumb prick on the subway."
Ibanez glanced up. Alis wasn't blushing, but her eyes were narrow slits now. "I'm having trouble remembering, maybe you can remind me. It's been a long time now. Did they tell us to only do the really //fun// parts of espionage? The easy bits?"
"Oh, please. You're not pressing //William Wettle// for information. You're just //pressing him.//" A sharp bark of laughter, one syllable. "You're helping these fuckers, because you're afraid."
"Of course I'm //afraid.// They deleted the //world,// Imogen. I don't know the whole master plan, but I'm pretty sure it involves the world //existing// so it can properly //end.//"
Ibanez held up a hand. "I like a good catfight as much as the next dude, but can we focus? We're down one spooky word witch, and in the absence of a compelling explanation to the contrary, I'm assuming one or both of you knows where she is. You wanna spill?"
Imogen screwed her face up. Alis remained impassive.
Ibanez decided to give them one more chance. "Here's what I know. You're all members of a doomsday cult. You came here to figure out what happened to your boss, or whatever magic doohickey let you do the shit you do, or whatever. You didn't find it. But you kept looking; you were still looking right up to the point where we found Wirth. Now--"
"Wait." Imogen looked confused. "Still looking...?"
"Yeah, what?" Alis walked around the chair to stand between Ibanez and Imogen. "What're you talking about?"
"We've kept tabs on all of you since Lillian let you out. Obviously. Madchen tried to hack Veiksaar's half-done AI so she could shut down the cameras and go snooping, but Lillian had already hardened and double-tracked the routines, so it didn't take. That's part of how we figured out where Wirth was hiding."
Imogen stood up, and walked to stand beside Alis. "She... you're serious? You're //sure?//"
"That can't be right," Alis breathed.
This time it was Ibanez's turn to look from face to face. Nothing she saw there carried the faintest hint of deception, for a change.
"Am I to understand," she said slowly, "that you didn't know she was doing that?"
"I knew she was //trying// to hack the system," Imogen said. "But she told me it wasn't done yet."
"She told //me,//" Alis added, "that she didn't think it //could// be done. What the fuck?" She turned to face her erstwhile partner in crime. "What the fuck, //Imogen?//"
Imogen shook her head. "It doesn't make sense. It doesn't..." She looked down, at the floor, then turned away.
"Huh." Ibanez stood up. "Okay. Well, that clears a few things up, then."
Alis stared at her. "It does?"
"Yeah." She walked to the door. "I know I definitely can't trust either of you, but you're also definitely too useless to be worried about."
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[[/=]]
It was already early in the morning when she took Alis to meet with Imogen, and she still had a fugitive on the loose, so Ibanez chose simply not to go to bed. Nascimbeni would be up early -- his old man metabolism thought three in the morning a fine time to wake up -- and if she went back to her quarters now, and found him there, she wouldn't get much sleep anyway. She was far too frustrated not to take it out on someone one way or another. So, she headed back to the bullpen and took Pensak's nightly report.
Which was nothing. The entire facility was holding its breath, apparently, in anticipation of what the missing //geistschreiber// might get up to. With the unwarranted enthusiasm that came with her second wind, Ibanez went on a random walk to see if she might surprise her quarry in the act of... whatever. Surely there was an act in the offing. It wasn't like Madchen Tarrow was going to //escape// from Site-43.
The first thing she thought of was the broken keycard reader in LeClair's escape tunnel, but that didn't seem related. She trusted her gut instincts. They'd had a remarkable run of luck back in Zevala, and had rarely let her down since.
To her surprise, her own act of simply going for a stroll resolved the situation entirely in her own mind. She took the subway to AAF-A, passed the guards stationed at the undergantry without asking them if they'd noticed anything unusual, and walked into Reuben Wirth's repurposed factory.
Madchen stood in the middle of the empty space, eyes rimmed red, hands clenching and unclenching, plain as day. There was a security camera looking right at her; apparently her hacking efforts hadn't been quite so unsuccessful as both Eileen and Lillian thought, or else her memetic camouflage had hitherto unsuspected, entirely more upsetting dimensions.
"Where?" the other woman demanded, hoarsely. Her fingers were bleeding; she'd been pulling metal panels off the wall. It was a miracle the guards hadn't heard her, glamour or no. "Where is it?"
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[[/=]]
[[div class="flashboss"]]
[[=]]
++ 22 October
----
[[/=]]
"Very well. Dr. Bremmel, I'm going to ask that you draw up the most detailed and precise technical specifications document you can, with Dr. Lillihammer's help."
The pudgy old man grinned. "Be maybe a month, but it'll be a fun month. Then what?"
"And then," McInnis smiled, "you're going to destroy it."
The assistant raised both eyebrows. "The machine, or the document?"
McInnis continued to smile.
[[/div]]
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++ 5 February
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[[/=]]
Ibanez considered shooting her, but it wasn't worth the expended bullet. She could have tossed the woman into the black, but there were problems with that idea too; it might, conceivably, reunite her with Wirth after all.
In the end she settled on the easiest option. They'd cleared out a lot of dangerous anomalies since SCP-5243 made the Site a poor candidate for long-term containment -- fewer than back in baseline, since the Breach was only a one-time event here, but the Foundation was superstitious by the nature of its work -- and there were plenty of empty chambers available.
Maybe some time in the next six months, fed through a slot and left to her own devices, the snarling cryptomancer might be willing to talk.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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++ 6 February
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[[/=]]
It was past midnight when Ibanez finally did give in to the temptations of flesh; specifically the need to sleep, since Nascimbeni would long since have passed out and she didn't trust herself to find an alternate that wouldn't come with a bevy of added complications. He was in his dorm, so she went to hers instead -- almost never used, as she preferred to bunk down in the barracks with the rest of the grunts. She soon found, however, despite her solitary choice of quarters, that she wouldn't be spending the morning alone.
She noticed Alis Lane before Alis Lane knew she'd been noticed, but if the //geistschreiber// had decided to become a threat, the altercation would already be over. So she went through the motions of closing and locking the door, unzipping her jumpsuit, and flopping down on the couch before saying: "Well, get on with it."
A shape on the easy chair gradually became recognizable as a human being. Alis wore her engineer's blues wrapped tight, and her bright green hair was tucked away in a neat, if vast, bun behind her head. This lame camouflage did little to lessen the impact of her gradual appearance from out of nowhere. "How'd you know I was here?"
"Months of knowing things were there that I couldn't see. What do you want?"
The other woman looked haggard. Ibanez had never seen her as anything less than aggressively pristine, save for the brief stretch where she'd been incarcerated back in baseline. "I want to talk about the Tarrows."
Ibanez yawned. "That's convenient. I want to talk about them too. But the problem is, I'm talking to //you,// and I don't trust you more than I trust them. I //know// you better, but... well, that's //why// I don't trust you."
Alis sighed. "You know what I've been doing the past few months? When you haven't been throwing me into your series of decreasingly-clever makeshift holding cells?"
Ibanez shrugged in vague invitation to continue.
"I've been doing the job I'm supposed to have. Working on engineering projects. I've got a bit of expertise in the matter; they had very good teachers, where I come from, and all the illusion in the world can't disguise a genuine fraud forever."
"I dunno," Ibanez mused. "I've seen a lot of episodes of //The Fugitive.//"
Alis didn't acknowledge the sidebar at all. "What I'm saying is, this isn't completely an act. I'm at least a little of what I claim to be. I've done some good work over the years. I've probably done less spying on Foundation employees than you have."
Ibanez smiled, and stood up. "That's good. I like that. You want a beer?"
Alis sprawled back in the chair. "Sure. You'll want to have a prop to play with while you pretend not to listen to what I have to say."
When Ibanez had tossed her a bottle and sat back down, immediately beginning to peel away the neck label, Alis continued. "So, the Tarrows. You should kill them."
Ibanez took a pull on the bottle, savouring the flat and bitter taste a little before swallowing both the beer and her first, harsher response. It //was// safer to have a prop, sometimes. "Why's that?"
"Because they're true believers. You know what //they've// been up to the last few months? Exactly the same thing they've been doing since we got here. Trying to find the missing link."
"Wettle's lab's just off the main drag."
"You know what I mean. I know you know. They're trying to find... he, she, it, whatever. The source. Because they're still working to the plan. They still want it to happen. They're true believers."
"And you aren't?"
"You already know I'm not. Willie..."
She grimaced.
"Wettle told me what happened in the other timelines. It's no different now--"
Ibanez held up a hand. "I'm sorry, back up. Did you say I need to kill the Tarrows? Because it's SOUNDING," and she scooted her feet up onto the cushion, and it was all she could do to avoid standing on the couch, "like I need to shoot WILLIAM fucking WETTLE."
Alis waved the rage off with a gentle //swoosh// of her bottle. "He didn't do it on purpose. I cheated it out of him. He's not as stupid as you think he is, but he can't keep a secret from me. I'm willing to bet not many of you could. But you're not really angry, because you don't really care. You know my staying alive depends on the situation here remaining stable, and you know I'm smart enough to know that, so you know I'm not going to rock the boat. You've known that all along, or you wouldn't have let me go free. You didn't want me to know what was really going on, but it doesn't change much that I do."
Gradually, Ibanez returned her legs to their former position. "That," she said, "is more or less correct. I guess. But still, I think I'll kneecap him for symbolic purposes."
Alis chugged down half the beer, and wiped her lips with her labcoat sleeve. "Fair enough."
"But what's your point, anyway?"
"My point," and the other woman leaned forward, as she instinctually did whenever she wanted to be extra convincing -- //props again,// Ibanez thought, and had to stifle a laugh -- and made eye contact for a long, long moment. "My point is that //I// don't care to see everything burned down. The spell is broken. I don't know why it didn't break for them, but I'm my own person now. I might not be precisely on your side, but I'm sure as hell not on either of theirs."
"If that's true," and Ibanez left little doubt what she thought on the matter in her tone, "then maybe you'll be even more forthcoming than all the other yous I've known. Yeah? Maybe you'll tell me something about that death cult of yours I don't already know."
"Sure." Alis sat back again; was it Ibanez's imagination, or did she seem to be curling up into herself, as though recoiling from an outburst that hadn't happened yet, but inevitably would? Probably it was the sleep deprivation, the frustration, and the beer working together with her undernourished imagination. Life in a blank expanse was dull indeed, and the mind would have its fascinations one way or another. "Here's the first thing. Madchen and Imogen? I don't think they're both in the same death cult."
Ibanez raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Yeah."
"No, what?" They'd had their suspicions since the monitoring process, and of course Ibanez had heard the five-second foreshadowing in Alis' speech, but she had to keep up the façade. Never let the enemy know how much you know. "I thought they were both with you."
"Yeah, I thought so too. But Madchen was going behind Imogen's back, and I was watching you today. Yesterday. Whatever. She was trying to find Wirth, but not like her sister was. I think she wanted to kill him."
Ibanez whistled. "Why would she want to do that?"
"Search me."
"Don't tempt. What's the second thing?"
It wasn't her imagination. The other woman was definitely tensed against a coming strike now. "You were talking earlier about spending months surrounded by unseen threats. You were talking about Zevala, right?"
Ibanez leaned forward and gently placed her beer on the ground, against the leg of the couch. She did this because the feeling was suddenly draining out of her hands, and she didn't want to spill it. "That's right." She wanted to ask: //Where did you hear that name?// But she couldn't, because she had no feeling in her mouth, either. It was rapidly going dry.
"Do you know who destroyed it?"
"The Chaos Insurgency." The answer was so ingrained in her being that she could utter it even now, when all other syllables were in open revolt on the tip of her tongue.
"Do you know what the Chaos Insurgency //is?//"
Ibanez stared at her.
The other woman smiled grimly, and nodded. She had no way of knowing how close she was to a sudden, spectacular death as she said: "Yeah. You know, now. You see it."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/DL_46_12_Alis_Reveal.jpg]]
Alis was disappearing again, but it had nothing to do with memetics and everything to do with the red haze that melted into the gloom of Ibanez's quarters to render the entire landscape a featureless blur.
"Did you see anyone special there? Anyone particularly memorable?"
The woman in white. The cane. The scarred lip. A voice she could never forget.
"Do you want to know why she did it?"
Ibanez stuck her jaw out so far it hurt, and in that flash of here-and-now reality, came back to herself enough to growl: "No."
Something in her voice and visage made the //geistchreiber// wince. "No?"
"No." Ibanez stood up, and kicked her bottle of beer against the far wall where it shattered with a wet and musical crash. "I just need to know her //name.//"
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Alis_Visit.jpg]] --]
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[[/=]]
Six months.
Six //fucking// months.
She could wait.
She could wait precisely that long.
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++ 12 March
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[[/=]]
He'd never been given this assignment before.
There were only two facilities that Phil had never cleaned during his tenure at Site-43. The first was Applied Occultism; it had never been explained to him why he should be banned from Upstairs, but given that upstairs was full of wizards, he'd never felt the need to complain.
The other was AAF-A, and much as with the former case, he was not at all sure why the latter was no longer off-limits.
Well, okay. That wasn't entirely true. He had an inkling.
Udo hadn't taken the subway north since Phil had been reassigned, and the timing of that reassignment had been... pointed, he felt.
//At least it's warmer than Antarctica.//
He had heard about Dr. Reydners, of course. Everyone at Site-43 had heard about Dr. Reynders. Truth be told, there were few people at the Foundation who hadn't. She was a living legend, textbook case, and textbook //writer// in most esoteric fields of study. But he'd never actually seen her in person before, to the extent that anyone living had, so that was a positive experience he could chalk up to their overall terrible stretch of luck since early September of last year.
It felt deeply inappropriate, even insulting to look at someone who had more PhDs than he had years of formal education and think //she's pretty cute,// but the nice thing about thoughts was that no-one could criticize you for them.
He'd had enough criticism for one year.
"Good morning, Philip."
He smiled, and waved. "Hey, Dr. Reynders."
"Does that floor really need to be mopped again already?"
He considered the question, then considered the floor. "Dunno. There's plenty of scuff marks; somebody's popular."
She shrugged.
"As for dust and dirt, I dunno." He paused. "Where do you think it even comes from? Now?"
It was her turn to consider. "I'm not sure. If we really are surrounded by a featureless void, then we should be slowly haemorrhaging material into it that we can't get back. New material shouldn't be cycling back in..." She placed the pencil she used to transmit her voice to the audio enhancers in the glass, into her mouth, and chewed it thoughtfully. If gingerly. Very gingerly. If she wore it out, she'd need to get another, and she was already damned lucky not to have run out of things to write with and on in her sixty-something years of hermetic sealage. "Maybe the air systems are drawing the detritus back inside. If there's new dust, it could be coming from the lower membrane as it crumbles with exposure to the air. Though where that air is coming from... hmm." Her eyes focused, and she looked at him as though seeing him for the first time today. "Where's your friend?"
"Eh?" He wasn't pleased to realize that nobody he knew precisely fit that open-ended bill.
She tapped the glass of her enclosure. //Don't call it that!// "Your friend. Fifty..."
She closed her mouth.
He tilted his head.
She shook hers. "Don't worry about it. I've been seeing things. You know how it is."
He nodded. "Stir crazy. You've got more right to it than anyone else down here." It was easy to talk to her. Easy to forget she was so far out of his league. The fact that she was unobtainable was softened considerably by the fact that she was... well. Unobtainable. Literally. "Was that insensitive? It was probably insensitive. Sorry."
She smiled. "Just because I'm suffering doesn't mean you're not. That isn't how it works."
"It just seems unfair." He leaned on the mop, and tentatively glanced into the line of her big blue eyes. Good lord, but they //were// big. "If they fix whatever's wrong, you'll still be down here, but the rest of us will get to leave."
He wasn't sure what the look on her face meant. She was still smiling, but she looked nevertheless on the very edge of tears. "Yeah," she agreed. "Yeah, you sure will. I'm happy for you."
He was also unsure, deeply unsure, why he found this response so unsettling.
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++ 16 March
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[[/=]]
Stacey Laiken was, as before, sitting on a vinyl couch in a flat little fort of her files and devices. Udo sat down on the couch nearest her chair, and slid all the way to the armrest so that their feet were almost touching.
"I have a problem."
Laiken smiled at her. Udo tried to remember a time when Laiken had looked at her without smiling. Maybe there hadn't ever been one. "Go on."
"I still miss Dougall."
The smile didn't fade, it just acquired extra nuance. "Of course you do. So do I."
"But he was a bastard."
Laiken's lips thinned out as she pressed them together. They wiggled back and forth, as though she were churning up a response, and then she spat it out: "Yes. Yes, he was. But he didn't deserve what happened to him."
Udo had more complex feelings about that, but she wasn't sure if sharing them was the right thing to do. She had a purpose in coming here today, and it wouldn't work out if she alienated Laiken. "I think... I think he made me a worse person, Stacey."
Laiken reached out to take her hand. As before, the touch was soft, gentle, and faintly electric. "Then you must have been //such// an amazing person before, Rabbit."
Udo bit her lip, hard. It hurt, but it hurt less than explaining Dougall's nickname for her would have hurt the other woman.
"I think you're too hard on yourself." Laiken patted the back of her hand. It would have been an absurd, comical gesture from anyone other than her.
"Well, you didn't see me with Phil." Udo practically spat out the last word, her now very definitively ex-boyfriend's name. "I was trying to make him a worse person, too."
Laiken squeezed. "What makes you think you have that kind of power?"
Udo squeezed back.
Laiken straightened her back, and looked Udo directly in the eye. "I propose an experiment."
"I'm listening," Udo whispered.
The other woman leaned in.
"See if you can make //me// worse."
And she breathed into Udo's lips:
"I'll bet you can't."
[!-- [[=image Okorie_Laiken_Bonding.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
She had just enough presence of mind left to tint the common room windows a deep, dark orange, and gum up the works in the door lock so it wouldn't open for anyone. She could probably have flown Laiken's keycard over and put in a proper administrative override, but that would just have been showing off.
[[=]]
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++ 22 May
----
[[/=]]
Harry traced the line of her nose with one finger, then cupped her cheek with one hand and tested the pores of her skin with his thumb. Karen smiled. "You're going to get tired of this eventually, right?"
He ran a fingernail along the edge of the bags under her eyes, the ones she stamped out every morning in her makeup routine. Except after the past nine months, they were barely even visible; she looked years younger now than she'd looked since as far back as he could remember. "Get tired of art? I'd rather die."
She laughed, ungracefully. There was half of a snort in it. Sometimes she almost giggled. It was the most profound kind of beautiful: wonderful and sad in equal measure. "Is that all I am? A pretty face."
"Of course not." He brushed her silvering hair back out of her face. "It's just that you're a //very// pretty face, so I get distracted from all the other things I love about you."
Her upper lip receded a little. "We should probably talk about it."
He pulled her upper lip back out, with both of his. "The things I love about you?"
"No." But she craned her neck forward and kissed him back. "No."
He pressed the tips of their noses together, and looked into her eyes. "No?"
She sighed. "Yes."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 9 July
----
[[/=]]
Nascimbeni sat down without being asked. It was McInnis; McInnis always, //always// asked, so what was the point of waiting?
"Can you guess why I'm here?" he asked.
McInnis steepled his fingers over the desk. "Possibly. You're not carrying an envelope, at least not that I can see, but..." He unknitted his digits and tapped his temple with two of them. "I suspect you're carrying it up here, instead. Should I deny the request before you make it, or is the entire pantomime necessary?"
Just like that, Nascimbeni's deadly calm evaporated. He felt raw and dry without it, and leaned forward to shake some of the strain out of his muscles. "It isn't really a request you can deny, Allan. When we get back to baseline, I am going to //quit.// Unless you fire me first."
The Director put his steeple back in place. "Why would I do that?"
Nascimbeni laughed harshly. "Because this time, //this time,// I killed almost the entire fucking human race. If that isn't gross negligence to you, you must be... grossly negligent. Yourself. You see it, right? Of course you see it. I can't keep doing what we're doing. I'm done."
The other man's expression didn't change an iota. "How nice it must be for you to have that option. How did you come by it, if I might ask?"
Nascimbeni blinked. "What?"
"The option to withdraw. The rest of us are set in our duties. There is a schedule we must keep, and it keeps us also. You imagine this to be something from which you can simply walk away. How precisely does that work?"
"Look." Nascimbeni sighed. "We don't know what happens if someone else takes our places, right? And I don't see how what I do can't be done by any old tech. Wirth didn't even know who I was, Allan. It didn't need to be me sending the techs in to die, and Markey... I don't know if I even had any effect at all on what happened to Markey."
"I see." McInnis nodded. "You're saying it would be trivial for any other man to act as you did."
"That's right."
"You're saying that what happened on the eighth of September, 2002, would have happened precisely the same way no matter who answered that call and ran to the AAF-D airlock."
Nascimbeni shifted in his seat. "Okay, that's not..." He sighed again. "You know that isn't..."
McInnis smiled sadly. "You know what I'm going to ask you."
//If it doesn't have to be you, it didn't have to be you. If it didn't have to be you, then why do you feel so guilty?//
The Director sat back. "If you can articulate a response I find convincing, perhaps I'll reconsider. But only perhaps."
"Why are you doing this?" Nascimbeni hung his head, so that the brim of his cap broke eye contact for both of them. "Why can't you just..."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/DL_46_13_McInnis_Stuck.jpg]]
"Let you off the hook?" For the first time in memory, McInnis sighed as well. "Noè, I'm hanging right there beside you."
[!-- [[=image Nascimbeni_McInnis_Argue.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 8 September
[[/=]]
----
Nascimbeni kept his hands in his pockets as he approached the airlock. They were all carrying portable tape players now, with their lines pre-recorded. It had been Sokolsky's idea, in case any of them froze up.
He ended up not needing it.
The previous year, he'd cared too much to go through with it.
He didn't have that problem anymore.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
The Survivors meeting was brief, and to the point. Harry made it back to his dorm just an hour after the Breach.
Karen was pacing his living room, and she wheeled on him like some wild thing when he entered.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
Her voice was shaking. "For the walking dead."
"That's not..." He sighed. "So, no. You're not alright."
"I thought I would be." She took a step towards him, and then a step back. "But no. Not really. No."
He took two steps towards her, and reached out to take her hands. "This isn't the end. I'm going to see you again tomorrow. And you're going to see me."
Her hands were cold. "But not this version of me. This version of me is going into the universal waste paper bin."
He pulled her into an embrace. "It's just a year's variance. You're the same person, deep down."
"So, it hasn't been an important year?"
He pulled back to examine her face. She wouldn't meet his eyes. "That's not--"
"Nothing meaningful occurred?" Her eyes were closed.
He kissed her, and she opened her eyes. "That's //not// what I meant. Look. When this fades, I'm not going to forget it. I'm going to remember what we had. What happened to you. How you changed."
"And what are you going to do with that information?" Now she met his gaze, and he almost shrank away from what he saw there. Almost.
"Sweep you off your feet," he said. He'd barely had to think about it.
She laughed. "Right. 'Hey, Karen. Guess what? If you don't have any serious responsibilities or outside pressure, you're not actually a bitch! So quit your job and run away with me.' That sort of thing?"
"Well, //I'm// not quitting, so it's not like we'd be running anywhere."
"Speaking as someone who only forked from their baseline incarnation twelve months ago, I can guarantee you I'm not quitting my job either. So what are you going to do? How are you going to convince me?" Her blue eyes suddenly went very cold. "//Are// you going to convince me?"
He took a deep breath. Butterflies died and were born again in his stomach. "Of course I am."
"Is that a promise?" There was a vulnerability in her voice that he had never once heard before.
"Of course it's a promise! I love you." The look that spread across her face brought him up short. "What?"
"Do you love her?"
He wasn't sure what she meant. His first thought was Melissa Bradbury, so he kept his first thought to himself.
Which was for the best, because she clarified. "Do you love the //other// me? The one you're going to spend the rest of your life around?"
"With." He squeezed her tightly. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life //with// her. And I //do// love her."
"Then why did you never get involved with her?"
There could be only one response.
"The time was never right."
[!-- [[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/Blank_Elstrom_Goodbye.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Stacey Laiken looked like a wet red shirt. Udo had never met anyone who cried so ugly. It was adorable. "Do I get a last request?"
They were lying on Stacey's bed. It wasn't Dougall's bed, but it was where Dougall's bed had once been. "You're not dying." Udo stroked her girlfriend's hair.
"Am I not?"
Udo sighed. "What's the request?"
"Actually, some... historical background, would be nice." The other woman curled up against her, hands clawing the two of them closer than physics preferred to allow.
"I don't remember most of what happened in the other timelines."
Stacey's voice was hoarse and raw, but there was a strain of certainty in it. "You'd remember this, because you would have had to decide whether to act on it or not. Do people normally ask you to do things back in baseline, after the change? Do things for them?"
She had no idea where this was going. "Sometimes?"
"And do you do them?"
Udo took too long to respond, this time.
"I kinda didn't think so." There was bitterness behind the tears, now. "Like promises to the dead, right?"
Udo held her partner so close, it hurt. "You're //not// dying. We don't know what's going to happen. We never get to see that end of things."
"If you had to guess," Stacey asked with the same expression she might wear when opening up stitches on a wound, "would you say that these timelines keep... persisting, when you leave them?"
Udo thought of Ilse Reynders, and her mouth was honest before her brain had time to dissimulate. "No."
"So, promises to the dead." Stacey pressed her head to Udo's chest, and closed her eyes. "But I am an occultist, Udo Okorie, so if you make me a promise and then break it, //I// absolutely promise that I will haunt you."
Should she laugh, or cry, or both? She felt paralyzed. "What's the promise? Or should I guess."
"You can guess." The other woman's voice was very quiet now. Exhausted. Resigned."
"You want me to ask you out, in baseline."
"Yes." Barely a whisper.
"I mean, I was going to anyway. I've made a note. I'm going to bring it up in my debriefing. We're all set."
Stacey raised her head to press their lips together. Her eyes were still closed. "But will you do it? Will you actually do it?"
"I just said--"
The eyes opened, big and blue and vulnerable. "You said you intend to, right now. Will you want to, back home?" She reached up to touch Udo's hair. They'd cut it short just last week, as a sort of act of rebellion against the universe. "Are you the same person there that you are here?"
[!-- [[=image Okaiken.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 9 September
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**Baseline Temporality**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
It was the briefest debriefing they'd ever had.
Lillian recited the things they had learned in a monologue. Harry rattled off the narrative like it was the outline of a book he was writing, but didn't really want to be. Nascimbeni and Ibanez didn't say much, but they occasionally held hands. Wettle didn't say anything.
Udo asked to be excused.
McInnis said he could handle the rest. He was, after all, the only one who really knew what had happened.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Udo swept into the chair's office and flopped down on the visitor's chair, labcoat and wizard sleeves fluttering around her in the self-made breeze. "Hey boss. Run a theoretical past you?"
Stacey pushed the paperwork to the side of her desk, and smiled. "Always." Then she recoiled at something she saw. "Did you cut your hair?"
"I'm sure it'll all be back tomorrow. But about the thing."
"Okay." The Chair of Applied Occultism was still staring at her hairline, but that was fine by Udo. She wasn't sure she'd be able to do what had to be done if their eyes were locked together.
"It's a relationship thing."
Two blonde eyebrows rose. "Whose?"
Udo felt herself grinning manically. "It's going to stop being theoretical if I explain that."
The brows knitted together. "You're blushing."
"Yeah." Her hands were shaking, too. "Probably."
Stacey sat back in her chair. "I thought you and Dr. Blank were declared."
"We're not together anymore."
The blue eyes widened. Not vulnerable. Not yet. "Really? I thought..." She suddenly seemed to come to a realization. "This has something to do with the Breach, doesn't it."
Udo shook and nodded her head. "Sort of. Kind of. Not really?"
Stacey exhaled. Not in frustration, just confusion. "It might be easier if you just came out and said it. Rip the Band-Aid off."
This was precisely what Udo had been waiting for. "What's the policy for relationships with power differentials?"
"As in, between supervisors and the supervised?"
"Yeah. That."
Stacey made the kind of pouting face she used when she was thinking carefully about something important. "It has to be very transparent. Has to go through all three of H&R, P&P, and A&O for approval. Constant monitoring. Regular check-ins to ensure there's no abuse going on."
Udo whistled. "Wow. I was kind of expecting it to be, uh, 'No. You can't do that'. Sort of thing."
"I was engaged to be married to Dougall," Laiken reminded her.
"You were, weren't you."
"Also, Dr. Blank is a Section Chair, and you were dating him."
"I was, wasn't I." She took a deep, deep breath. "But he's not //my// Section Chair."
"Well," Stacey laughed, "I think I'd know if you were dating //your// Section Chair."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/DL_46_14_Laiken_Beam.jpg]]
"That's true. You would." She took another deep breath. "If I was."
Stacey frowned. "Oh?" She stopped frowning. The vulnerability suddenly appeared. "//Oh.//"
"Yeah."
The other woman stood up, and walked to her filing cabinet. Her legs seemed unsteady. "I'll, uh. I'll look. The paperwork. I'll look into the paperwork."
"Okay," said Udo.
Stacey pulled open the top drawer. "Okay."
"Okay."
Stacey suddenly smiled, and the room perceptibly brightened -- though it might have been Udo's own eyes flashing with pleasure. "Okay!"
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Everyone got Breachmas off early, except for the Survivors, but the ninth was a day like any other. It was late when he finally got out of the briefing, and found Karen right where he'd thought he would: sitting at her desk, in the cavernous emptiness of Admin and Oversight's main foyer. Every other desk was unoccupied.
He leaned on her wooden cubicle, and smiled. "Hey, Karey. Got a minute?"
She shook her head without looking up. "Not really."
It was, in a weird way, like seeing an old friend he hadn't seen in several months. This was how she'd always been. The difference was night and day. "Well, will you have a minute //later?// Like, today later."
"What?" She looked up, and blew out a frustrated breath. "What is it you want, Harry? I've got... you don't care." She shoved off from her desk, and stood up. "You don't need to know what I've got going on today. You're just going to ignore that information, and make me deal with whatever bullshit is on your mind, like always. You might as well do it now." She crossed her arms. "I'm listening. What?"
He tried to say it. He really, really tried. But what he said instead was "What?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/46-nothing-changes/DL_46_15_Elstrom_Snap.jpg]]
In his labcoat, his phone buzzed. Stunlocked by Karen's furious glare, he pulled it out.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
How'd it go?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
Status quo ante bellum, I'm hoping?
[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
He looked dumbly back up at Karen, who was now looking at her watch.
"Nothing," Harry told her. "It was nothing."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="Ngo"]]
**Debriefing Log 5243-C** (Cont'd)
**Subject:** Noè Nascimbeni (Chief, Janitorial and Maintenance Section, Site-43)
**Officer of Record:** Nhung T. Ngo (Deputy Chair, Psychology and Parapsychology Section, Site-43)
----
**Chief Nascimbeni:** It was a long year.
**Dr. Ngo:** I'm sure. But do you... do you understand the ramifications of your actions?
**Chief Nascimbeni:** No, actually, I don't. I don't understand why I'm still Chief of J&M. I don't understand why they can't just find someone else to take my place. Someone who doesn't give a shit. We've got a whole Foundation full of button-pushers. Why does it have to be me?
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="Ngo"]]
**Debriefing Log 5243-C** (Cont'd)
**Subject:** Allan J. McInnis (Director, Site-43)
**Officer of Record:** Nhung T. Ngo (Deputy Chair, Psychology and Parapsychology Section, Site-43)
----
**Dir. McInnis:** It has to be him.
**Dr. Ngo:** I'm still surprised he hasn't been removed from active duty, though. He directly disobeyed containment protocols and endangered... well, everyone. Every//thing.//
**Dir. McInnis:** Yes, he did. But that has no bearing on his work with J&M, and I have his word it won't happen again. As long as we need him to keep playing his part, we might as well continue to take advantage of his experience. He still has a job to do.
//<Silence on recording.>//
**Dir. McInnis**: We all have jobs to do.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
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| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/45-nothing-to-worry-about | previous-title=Nothing to Worry About
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/47-past-caring | next-title=Past Caring
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub | hub-title=The Breach Goes On: Deadlined
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[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
[[<]]
Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:
Philip Deering: "Twitter 365 Project - Day 55" and "Tokyo" by Richard Giles, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076
Karen Elstrom: "Natalya" by Anastasia Pavlenko, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/zamerzla/50841210177
Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653
Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023
Noè Nascimbeni: "abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992
Ilse Reynders: "Practicing that blank stare" and "Quinn working" by Quinn Dombrowski, both released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529 https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028
Imogen and Madchen Tarrow: "Teacher Leader Conference 2 August 2012," courtesy US Department of Education, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/48445211@N06/7733033618
Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470
William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260
> **Filename:** Everything!
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
[[/<]]
=====
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Nothing Changes - SCP Foundation
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<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
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<div class="code">
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<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
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<p><strong>Past Caring</strong><br/>
And present.</p>
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<h1 id="toc0"><span>Past Caring</span></h1>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #990011">2012</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>9 September</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
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<hr/>
<p>"And you're sure we failed?" Wettle asked for what felt like the fiftieth time. Everything he did wrong had a multiplicative effect on Nascimbeni's mood. He was an expert thorn.</p>
<p>"Yes. I'm sure." Nascimbeni tapped the executive debriefing summary Ngo had sent to each of them. Ibanez had taken Wettle's copy, reasoning that their operational security wouldn't last long if Wettle lost it in the halls somewhere. "We just spent a year in nowhere land."</p>
<p>"Like, from the Beatles?"</p>
<p>He sighed. "Sure. Like from the Beatles." He had good memories in this office. It was a warm, working space. The walls were homely red tiles, there was well-loved equipment in every corner, there was a mirror — the omnipresent reminder that Philip Deering, for all his faults, was still plugging along. Nascimbeni loved his office. He resented feeling trapped within it, a feeling he almost never had except for when William Wettle was standing there. "You were saying, Eileen?"</p>
<p>Veiksaar opened her mouth, but Wettle cut her off. "No, look. I was just asking for confirmation, because it… uh… <em>confirms</em> something pretty major. This is a replication study. The biggest replication study of all time, in terms of consequences. I want to make absolutely sure the data is right."</p>
<p>Eileen got her mouth all of the way open this time. "I can't speak to that data, but <em>this</em> data," and she tapped a much thicker sheaf of papers — they were printing these things out to keep them off the network, because nothing said security like an air gap — "confirms what Noè's seeing. It's the same situation with all the computer systems."</p>
<p>"Restate that situation?" Wettle reached up to adjust his glasses, hitting the lens as he always did and tracing a greasy smear across it. He wouldn't bother trying to clean it off until the end of the day, because what would be the point? "Chief? Other Chief? Technician Chief? <em>Maintenance</em> technician Chief? <em>Hardware</em>—"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni slapped the table, and Wettle jumped in his seat. "You can call me Noè too, Wettle."</p>
<p>Wettle blinked. "Oh. Okay. Thanks? Uh."</p>
<p>"I'm still going to call you Wettle."</p>
<p>"That makes sense. But yeah… yeah?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni nodded. "Yeah. The situation. Every piece of containment apparatus in the Site, judging by the representative sample my people have looked at already, is down in operational efficiency due to damage, unusual wear or component failure, by about forty-four percent."</p>
<p>"How confident are you in that figure?" Wettle almost sounded like an intelligent person when he talked about his area of expertise. It was jarring.</p>
<p>"Very. The only thing keeping me from saying 'forty-three point nine zero percent' is that it feels silly being that precise about something like this. But I really do think it's that precise."</p>
<p>"Uh huh." Wettle consulted the papers in front of him, which were dogeared and stained despite having only been printed maybe an hour ago, tops. "Thirty-six point four four last year, after the Breach. Thirty-three point…" He was looking down, so of course his glasses fell off. He put them back on, nearly stabbing his own eye out with the armature. "Where was I…?"</p>
<p>Veiksaar leaned over and pointed.</p>
<p>"Yeah. Okay. Thirty-three point seven seven the year before that. Thirty point five nine before that… we had a good long stretch where nothing fucked up, eh?"</p>
<p>"Yeah." Nascimbeni looked away.</p>
<p>"That's good. A long control period. Confirms the initial hypothesis that under normal circumstances, the damage the Breach does increases in strength by just over three percent each year. Not exactly the same number, but that makes sense."</p>
<p>"Explain your preconceptions." Eileen's voice was strained, but then it usually was when Wettle was in the room. Particularly when he made up such a large percentage of the people who were. Nascimbeni felt a weird sense of solidarity with her over it. "Why does that make sense?"</p>
<p>"Because this is a weird, goofy magical explosion." Wettle was still running his stubby fingers over the numbers. "Of course it's not going to go like clockwork. But the general trend is solid. Three, three and a half percent extra damage every year. If this goes on too long, we're definitely fucked."</p>
<p>"But that isn't the worst of it." Veiksaar said this; Nascimbeni had tried to, but it had gotten stuck deep down in his throat.</p>
<p>"No." Wettle nodded. "Because now that we've got three fucked-up Breaches to look at, we can confirm that they take out around <em>seven</em> percent of our available budget. Of one hundred percent."</p>
<p>"So that's all settled, then." Veiksaar glanced down at her calculator, and pressed the memory button once before continuing. "If everything goes swimmingly in F-D each September from now on, every subject in containment at Site-43 will be decontained in sixteen years. 2027."</p>
<p>"Or if it goes <em>drowningly</em> each September," Wettle agreed, "we've got an even, tidy eight."</p>
<p>"Except neither of those things are true," Nascimbeni rumbled.</p>
<p>They both turned to look at him.</p>
<p>"Because plenty of the stuff we've got contained will break out of containment well before efficiency hits zero." He collected his papers, and stood up. "I'd say we're working with a range of, oh, six to ten years before SCP-5243 kills every single person at this facility."</p>
<p>It wasn't going to be one of his better memories.</p>
<p>Her eyes were half-lidded, and for a moment McInnis thought that Ilse Reynders was asleep. But no; she smiled when he approached the window, and as always, placed one palm against her side.</p>
<p>He reciprocated the gesture, as he always did. "You're looking relaxed."</p>
<p>"I am." She exhaled, shuddering. Relief, pleasure, or both? "I am <em>very</em> relaxed. It's stopped again."</p>
<p>He nodded, and looked down at his duty tablet. "You've been telling such interesting stories."</p>
<p>She laughed. "Not so interesting, this time. More apocalyptic, though."</p>
<p>"The spiders were quite apocalyptic, I thought."</p>
<p>"Yes, but they didn't literally erase the entire world."</p>
<p>Ilse had been telling the baseline counterparts of Sampi-5243 all about the events of the alternate timeline, such as they were. They'd also witnessed her sharing stories of baseline itself with her fellow prisoners; there had been fierce debate among the Chairs and Chiefs about whether to tell her to stop doing that. Cross-contamination of information between baseline and the alternate lines was a sticky issue, and they'd eventually called in Alice Forth and Thaddeus Xyank for a consult.</p>
<p>The local timeline cops had said it was probably fine. It wasn't like they could actually stop Reynders from doing anything she wanted to do, short of killing her by breaking the glass, and there was no will either at Site-43 or Overwatch Command to do that. And demanding she keep mum would make the denizens of the alternate timelines suspicious, potentially leading to cross-contamination anyway when they realized they were living on a branch that would grow no farther than next September.</p>
<p>The multiversal timeline cops had said that they had standing orders not to intervene on any matters pertaining to Ilse Reynders, and had declined to explain why.</p>
<p>A third timeline cop, with credentials that scanned and a name that appeared in no Foundation database McInnis could access — Danica Azzopardi — hadn't come with advice, but rather musings. "You're already living in the corrected timeline," she'd said. "Isn't that fun? You're able to perceive Dr. Reynders as spinning tall tales because the correction that won't be made, where she is, until September 8 has <em>already ontologically been made,</em> or else baseline wouldn't be able to exist to perceive it. We already know they're going to succeed. But we can't tell them that, because that would be a paradox. Or would it?" Her enthusiasm had suddenly vanished, and then in a blink of an eye, so had she.</p>
<p>One hour before she arrived, two postdated messages to be opened one hour after she left reached McInnis from both the Department of Temporal Anomalies and the Temporal Anomalies Department, absolutely forbidding them from using Ilse Reynders to channel information to their alternate selves.</p>
<p>Which, really, was fine.</p>
<p>What information did they even have to share?</p>
<p>"I take it the bad dreams have passed, then," McInnis said.</p>
<p>"The waking nightmares are over, yes. Again." This had happened twice already, as Wettle would be pleased to hear. After the alternate timelines were collapsed, Ilse stopped seeing them. This suggested the dying elseworlds were really and truly dead, which was… interesting, academically. The emotional import was something else entirely, and that was what McInnis had come here to discuss.</p>
<p>"I think it would be for the best if you didn't share that information with the others."</p>
<p>She raised a brow. "Really. Why?"</p>
<p>"It might be a cause of some distress to realize that everyone we interacted with for an entire calendar year has effectively died."</p>
<p>"Except it's one day later, and all your memories have switched over to the canon track. So…"</p>
<p>"Nevertheless." McInnis struggled to find the words to explain what he meant, which wasn't how things usually went. But this was a philosophically, perhaps even theologically sticky matter. "I believe, in some sense, that the experiences of the dead timelines—"</p>
<p>"Let's call them deadlines," she suggested.</p>
<p>He nodded. "The experiences of the <em>deadlines</em> are effecting change on my personnel. Something of the years they spend outside the natural course of reality…" He spread his hands, as though reaching out for the proper words. "…clings," he finished. It was close enough.</p>
<p>Ilse nodded, lips funneling into an expression of open pondering. "Interesting. And why do you think that?"</p>
<p>"Because Harry didn't remember to mention his renewed interest in teaching at the debriefing, and he didn't write it down, and no-one else raised the subject, and yet this morning before his shift he applied to teach a course at Falconer University."</p>
<p>The funnel became a full-on purse. "Not fully dead lines, then, perhaps."</p>
<p>"Perhaps. But if not fully dead, then… what?"</p>
<p>She canted her head, and those half-lidded eyes shut fully before snapping back open again. "Converging?" she suggested.</p>
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<h2 id="toc3"><span>15 September</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Grand Cove</strong></span><strong>: Grand Bend, Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
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<hr/>
<p>She put on her glasses—</p>
<p>—and saw it in an instant. It wasn't there, but she saw it anyway.</p>
<p>The silhouette.</p>
<p>An elongated skull, no hair, distension on each side in rough approximation of ears, a wide and knobbly jaw set in a cruel eternal smirk, a long gaunt neck and emaciated chest and inhumanly elongated, bony shoulders. She saw it, and she saw through it, and what she saw through it was not her darkened living room where no light entered through the thick black shades and no light was cast by the ceiling fixture or the lamp on her coffee table, because she'd taken all the bulbs out, and therefore there could be no reflections, and therefore the silhouette could not actually be there, but it was, and through it she could see the past.</p>
<p>All of it. All at once. All of it wrong, all of it <em>bad.</em> She couldn't even focus on a single image, there were simply too many of them and they all hurt far too much.</p>
<p>Her eyes filled with tears in the dark, and she tore the glasses off and threw them across the room. They landed on the carpet, and she fell back on the couch, and she cried until she couldn't cry anymore.</p>
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<h2 id="toc4"><span>19 September</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
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<p>The word came down from on high, which was appropriate.</p>
<p>The Chair of Theology and Teleology at Site-43 had taken a complaint from one of his researchers, and kicked it up the ladder to his own boss at Tactical Theology. Tactical Theology had taken the matter up with Overwatch Command, which had consulted the two temporal departments, and after a few more years of waiting and seeing, a decision was made and kicked all the way back down to Udo Okorie.</p>
<p>She could, was in fact directed to, explain her encounters with Corbin's so-called semigods in detail.</p>
<p>She wasn't sure why it had to be her, outside of the fact that she was a thaumaturge. Blank was the storyteller. Lillian was the theorist. McInnis was their leader, both in the provisional taskforce and Site-wide. But the directive, like Corbin, had targeted her directly, and so here they were.</p>
<p>"What you're saying," the wiry theologian mused as she chewed on the end of her pencil, "is that there's consistency between iterations."</p>
<p>"You shouldn't do that."</p>
<p>Corbin blinked. "Do what?"</p>
<p>"Chew your eraser. Wettle did in the last deadline, and he ended up swallowing rubber."</p>
<p>The other woman raised her eyebrows without opening her eyes an iota wider.</p>
<p>"What? You wanted privileged extrauniversal information, and I'm obliging."</p>
<p>Corbin set put the pencil down. She already had a full page of notes, just from their awkward five minutes of discussion. "Why are you so opposed to talking about this?"</p>
<p>"Because I don't have anything to tell you. That's why they assigned <em>me</em> to do it."</p>
<p>This time the lids crept up toward the brows. "What do you mean?"</p>
<p>Udo leaned forward. "Brenda, I didn't see Wirth in the last timeline. All I know is what Allan told me, and Allan didn't tell anyone much, and what Lillian explained to me, and for all her genius and bluster, Lillian was only guessing. So, yeah. It seems like Wirth could control minds in the two deadlines we saw him in — only we never saw him at <em>all</em> in the first one, and only Allan saw him in the second one. That doesn't qualify as data. It's hearsay."</p>
<p>"Hearsay <em>is</em> data in theological matters." Corbin grinned. "Have you ever actually read the Bible? It's wall to wall 'trust me on this'. A comprehensive record of all the things somebody might have heard a burning bush talk about. It all gets compiled, and then the editors come in to sort the hearsay that tracks with the hearsay that doesn't, and they reconfigure the latter as <em>heresy.</em>"</p>
<p>Udo rolled her eyes. "They're blowing you off, Brenda. Giving you access to me is their way of placating TactTheo without giving away the gritty details of what's actually going on."</p>
<p>All the mirth disappeared from Corbin's face. "You think this is about me? What's it say about you?"</p>
<p>Udo frowned. "What?"</p>
<p>"Maybe your time isn't worth as much as McInnis' or Lillihammer's."</p>
<p>Udo shrugged. "I mean, it isn't. That's a Site Director and a Section Chair you're talking about."</p>
<p>Corbin picked up the pencil again, and began expertly twiddling it through her fingers. It was kind of hypnotic. "That doesn't bother you? Being low on the totem pole?"</p>
<p>"Low, but not the bottom."</p>
<p>"Who's the bottom, then?"</p>
<p>A moment passed, and they both answered the question at once. "Wettle."</p>
<p>Corbin laughed. "Fair."</p>
<p>"It doesn't bother <em>you?</em>"</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"Never getting the answers you're looking for. They consult you on the nature of these things, and then they go away and reach conclusions you never get to hear about."</p>
<p>"I think of it as assembling an automobile." There was something disingenuous about Corbin's tone, now. "Everyone supplies one piece, one weld, one step of the process. It's a group thing."</p>
<p>"That sounds… not true. At all."</p>
<p>Corbin shrugged. "Maybe I've just made peace with the fact that I don't get to know how this ends. Can you say the same?"</p>
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<h2 id="toc5"><span>30 September</span></h2>
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<p>Flora Nascimbeni pressed her hands to the purification tanks, and cooed. "I can feel the water circulating."</p>
<p>Her grandfather smiled. "That's the lifeblood of every community for miles around you're feeling." They were standing on the premises of Lake Huron Supply, Control and Purification, the not-quite-false front for Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-A. These legitimate, not at all anomalous topside systems provided clean drinking water to the indigenous reservations all around Lake Huron, pre-empting a federal government that regularly fell far short of its obligations.</p>
<p>"That's awesome." She tapped the metal and cocked her head to one side, as though listening for variations in the tone. "What're these made of?"</p>
<p>"Polyethylene."</p>
<p>"Not copper?"</p>
<p>He frowned. "Why would they be made of copper?"</p>
<p>"I've got this… memory." Flora sighed, and pressed her back up against the tank, eyes downcast. "You know what, never mind."</p>
<p>Flora had neatly transitioned from bouncy, energetic child to thoughtful, reserved teenager without passing first through the usual set of awkward, explosive life stages. Her father had done the same. Nascimbeni wondered if it had something to do with him. "No, go ahead."</p>
<p>She looked guilty. "It's just… I remember this thing. You were arguing with Uncle Romo."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni tried not to let it show, the sudden perceived drop in his internal temperature. He nodded with an encouragement he did not feel.</p>
<p>"Maybe not arguing. Discussing." She smiled a little, and met his eyes. "Sometimes hard to tell with our family."</p>
<p><em>Our family.</em> Romolo Ambrogi. He reached up to massage the lump in his throat, smiled, and nodded again. "What were we discussing?"</p>
<p>"Copper pipes. Something about…" Her eyes rolled back a little as she tried to call up the scene. "Homeopathic… theophysics?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni glanced around the factory floor. None of the LHSCP employees were anywhere near earshot. "You heard that?"</p>
<p>She nodded. "What does it mean?"</p>
<p>"It means…"</p>
<p>Suddenly, he laughed. Her hands slipped a little on the tank as she started in surprise. "It means you've got an <em>incredible</em> memory. What were you, four? Five? Remind me to introduce you to a friend of mine, some day. You two would have a lot to talk about."</p>
<p>She smiled again, this time in earnest. "As long as we do it here, you can introduce me to anyone you want."</p>
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<h2 id="toc6"><span>12 October</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Grand Cove</strong></span><strong>: Grand Bend, Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
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<hr/>
<p>She put on her glasses, and saw it again. The same silhouette. Her living room was still dark, though she'd left the curtains open; she'd waited until the evening, fortified with a glass of wine, to try again. She could take it this time. It'd been a month.</p>
<p>She still couldn't take it. She <em>could</em> focus on the images, if she tried, and she wondered if that was because she was simply replaying an old memory, and the tapes in her head were winding down, running slower. She zeroed in, and saw herself sitting on the edge of her bed, crying up a storm. She was eight years old, and holding the wallet her mother had bought her for her seventh birthday. She kept pennies in it. She bought candy with the pennies, for herself, for all her friends. And for no reason she could adequately explain — not that she would ever speak a word of this to anyone — she went along with her friend Christina's scheme to put the pennies on the tracks down the road and test a theory that it would derail the train.</p>
<p>She stayed up all that night, horrified, petrified, thinking that she might have done something unforgivable for no better reason than because one of her friends had told her to. Her mother wouldn't understand. Her father wouldn't understand. They always told her to get her head out of the clouds, focus on what was happening in front of her, realize the consequences of her actions. And now she'd derailed a train, probably.</p>
<p>That wasn't the night that she saw, through the reflection in her glasses that wasn't there. She saw the next night, when the news filtered into her house through dad's old transistor radio that a homeless man was run down on the tracks in the early morning, run down by the late-running midnight special. Nobody knew what he was doing on the tracks.</p>
<p>She was holding the empty wallet, and she knew. The droids were staring up, tilted back as though in shock, trying to get farther away from her.</p>
<p>Because she was a murderer, at eight years old.</p>
<p>Her eyes blurred again, and it got harder to focus, and the things she saw next all in a rush were so terrible that she didn't even notice for several minutes that the act of clawing the glasses off her face coincided with the act of tearing a deep gash in her forehead with one long fingernail. She didn't notice this until she started to see red.</p>
<p>She'd loved that wallet. Her mother had known that she loved it. Her mother had bought it for her because she knew she'd love it, because she loved her.</p>
<p>A murderer.</p>
<p>She'd put it in a dresser drawer that night, and never took it out again. When her mother found it there, years later, helping to clean her room, she'd said "So that's where that went. I thought you liked this one."</p>
<p>She could see that without the glasses, in her mind's eye. She could hear the inscrutable tone of her mother's voice. She could remember the confusion of guilt.</p>
<p>She waited until her eye started to sting before getting up.</p>
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<h2 id="toc7"><span>19 October</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
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<hr/>
<p>Koda Anoki placed both hands on the manila folder in front of him. It compressed thin as a sheet; perhaps there was nothing inside of it at all. Anoki knew the value of props as well as Ngo did. It was psychological. "She's been quite insistent, you know."</p>
<p>Ngo nodded. "Karen is consistently insistent. Yes, sir."</p>
<p>The Chair of Psychology and Parapsychology narrowed his eyes at her. He had a very judgemental office. Glowering portraits, framed degrees, awards, motivational posters with a rhetorical edge. Like the office of Michael Nass, only secularized. But Anoki was psychologist to the other Chairs and Chiefs, of course, and they regularly played gods themselves. This was probably the only place in the Site where they were ever made to account for their decisions, so the decor made a certain good sense. "Chief Elstrom has the authority to make these requests, and hold us to them. You know that."</p>
<p>Ngo shifted in her chair. "Of course. It's just…"</p>
<p>"It's just what?"</p>
<p>She sighed. "It's just that I don't much care for the ethical ramifications of <em>setting up dates for someone</em> we're already gaslighting into—"</p>
<p>Anoki raised a hand. "Gas lighting?"</p>
<p>She backed up her train of thought. "From an old movie where a man tries to drive his wife insane by changing the brightness of the gas lights in their house, and insisting she's imagining it. Lying to people to make them believe the truth is crazy."</p>
<p>Anoki tutted. "Insane and crazy. Very professional terminology."</p>
<p>Ngo tried not to rise to the bait. "What I'm saying, sir, is that Phil is already going through a lot, and a lot of that is stuff we're putting him through. I don't think it's particularly moral to interfere with his love life like this."</p>
<p>"I see." Anoki tapped the probably empty folder again. "You seem to care a lot about him."</p>
<p>"Of course I do. He's one of my patients."</p>
<p>"He is. He is in fact one of your patients." She had the sudden sense of having committed an error. "And as such, you should take care not to take your personal feelings into account when considering his course of treatment."</p>
<p>She wanted to laugh in his face, but that wouldn't have helped anyone. "This is not a course of treatment, sir. This is an abuse of authority, to keep him complacent."</p>
<p>Anoki's composure was unshaken. "If you don't think you can continue to offer Mr. Deering the care that will enable him to retain his mobility within this Site, then just let me know. I'll take up the duty myself, and lighten your case load."</p>
<p>"That's not—"</p>
<p>Anoki sat back. "And maybe then, when some time has passed, you can ask the man on a date yourself. Since you're so very concerned about the legitimacy of his love life."</p>
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<h2 id="toc8"><span>23 October</span></h2>
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<p>It wasn't something she could pursue during work hours, because it had little to no bearing on the security of Site-43. The woman she was investigating <em>had</em> once invaded the facility, a squad of brainwashed Mounties in tow, had even taken potshots at the Director before being chased off by immortal Austrian memeticist Thilo Zwist — that file had been a hell of a read — but by 2012, Elizabeth Crocker was no longer considered a threat.</p>
<p>Because by all accounts, she should be dead.</p>
<p>The woman would be ancient by now. She'd never been particularly subtle with her machinations; she'd nearly disassembled the Foundation in the 1960s through a series of devastating attacks and leaks which had turned most of the world's governments against the cause of normalcy, in what was now known internally as the Panopticon Crisis. She'd assassinated an Overseer, probably (the records were, not surprisingly, spotty on this matter). She'd evicted a Site Director from his post — Daniil Sokolsky's father, coincidentally. And then she'd vanished into the ether, presumably to die.</p>
<p>But there were traces…</p>
<p>Donations to right-wing think tanks from public figures whose records just <em>stopped</em> abruptly if you followed them too far back or too far forward. Blurry photographs of fascist action leagues — photographs of fascist action leagues were often blurry, because hate was rarely brave — where a familiar bouffant hairdo was visible in the back row. Always in the back row. And deep in the government records filched from the RCMP's Occult and Supernatural Activities Taskforce, scattered references to infiltration by an E.C. who had thoroughly embarrassed the organization by provoking direct conflict with the Foundation.</p>
<p>It was possible, just possible, that Elizabeth Crocker was still out there somewhere. An historical outlier.</p>
<p>And if she was, well. Outliers were vulnerable. Isolated. Often fragile.</p>
<p>And Ibanez was in the prime of her life.</p>
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<h2 id="toc9"><span>1 November</span></h2>
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<hr/>
<p>The cat lurched across the carpet, and Lillian noted his hesitation before leaping up onto the couch and crawling onto her lap. She razzed him like he was a tiny dog, and he began to purr as he always did.</p>
<p>"Getting old," she remarked.</p>
<p>"Are you?" Harry asked, from the kitchen table. He was going over personnel evaluations for Archives and Revision.</p>
<p>She looked around for something to throw at him, but didn't find anything physical until the moment had nearly passed. The cat certainly wouldn't play ball. Something verbal, then. "You talk to Udo lately?"</p>
<p>He didn't look up. "Why would I?"</p>
<p>It took almost a solid minute for her penetrating stare to discomfit him enough to sigh, theatrically, and make eye contact. "No, seriously. Why would I?"</p>
<p>"Because when fuck buddies stop fucking, they can still be <em>buddies.</em>"</p>
<p>His face expanded a little as it filled with air. He stifled the guffaw, literally swallowing it down. "I'm busy, and she's busy."</p>
<p>"She's <em>getting</em> busy. With Laiken." Lillian made a complex and vulgar gesture. Her long fingers were perfect for that sort of thing.</p>
<p>He rolled his eyes, and looked down again. "Good talk, Lil. Don't you have some mischief to make somewhere else?"</p>
<p>Scout meowed. It sounded a little hoarse to her ears.</p>
<p>She suddenly smiled. "You know what?"</p>
<p>Stacey Laiken made perhaps half a dozen stammering excuses and left in a blur of blush and golden hair. Udo watched her go, bemused. "She seriously cannot be real."</p>
<p>"She isn't," Lillian agreed. She flopped down on the recliner that was now, by everything but actual law, hers. "I just thought of an experiment. Can I run it past you?"</p>
<p>Udo gathered her hair back behind her head, and tied it. Lillian had the sense she might have interrupted something intimate; she had a good sense for that, since she'd done it so often. "Shoot."</p>
<p>"Exactly. Shots. The ones we think might be… are you going to lie to me?"</p>
<p>Udo frowned. "Huh?"</p>
<p>Lillian pointed at her. "Your expression changed when I mentioned the shots."</p>
<p>"It did not."</p>
<p>"It did! You've got something to hide."</p>
<p>"Lillian." Udo sat up straight, and considered her quite gravely. "You can't tell someone is going to lie with one second of face-reading. Not even you."</p>
<p>"You're just a really shit liar, is all." Lillian kicked back in the chair, and its springs <em>sproing</em>ed in protest. "Okay, putting a pin in that. The shots. The ones we think might be holy water from the fountain of youth. I know how we can check that out."</p>
<p>Udo shrugged. "Why bother? We already pretty much know."</p>
<p>Lillian sneered at her. "I realize you're a <em>witch,</em> Udo, but some of us are <em>scientists.</em>"</p>
<p>"Uh huh." Udo shifted on the couch, and Lillian realized she was trying to hide the fact that the button on her jeans was popped out of its slit. She felt a sudden rush of sympathy for the other woman. Fooling around with jeans on was the hard mode of heavy petting. "This is about science, then. Not your pathological inability to leave well enough alone."</p>
<p>"I just heard you say the same thing twice."</p>
<p>"Uh huh," she said again. "Okay. How do you propose to get a sample of the water, for whatever test you've got planned?"</p>
<p>"You'll just give me yours, obviously."</p>
<p>Udo blinked.</p>
<p>"Hey, that's really good."</p>
<p>"What is?"</p>
<p>"Either you're not planning to lie to me this time, or you're hiding it better already. I'm really proud of you, either way."</p>
<p>Udo didn't say anything.</p>
<p>"I know you haven't been taking the shots, Udo. How've you been tricking Forsythe? Micamancy?"</p>
<p>Still nothing.</p>
<p>"Abusing your thaumaturgy so they don't find out about your deep, dark secret is <em>hot,</em> I don't mind saying."</p>
<p>She finally rose to the bait. "What secret would that be?"</p>
<p>Lillian smiled, and took her own turn not responding.</p>
<p>Udo sighed. "Speaking theoretically… if I <em>did</em> fake taking the shots, what makes you think I'd still have them?"</p>
<p>"Because they're anomalous, and you don't know how to safely and secretly dispose of them. For all you know, pouring that shit down the drains will set off some filter and get Ibanez down here on your ass, or else contaminate the groundwater and make everyone in the Site into some immortal grey goo shit. You're too careful for that, and you picked up some of Harry's OCD responsibility bullshit while you were banging. So, no. You've still got them here somewhere, and you're going to share."</p>
<p>The other woman's eyes flashed orange. "Or what? You'll turn me in?"</p>
<p>Lillian grinned. "Of course not. I'm not a monster. I'll just tell Stacey about all the Barbie doll shit you did with Corbin in 5243-A."</p>
<p>She could see that it was almost enough, but not quite.</p>
<p>"And I'll tell Corbin, too."</p>
<p>"I'll go get the shots."</p>
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<h2 id="toc10"><span>5 November</span></h2>
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<p>He massaged her shoulders. "Come on."</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Come <em>on.</em>"</p>
<p>"No!" Eileen wanted to reach up and slap Sokolsky's hands away, but…</p>
<p>…but damned if he didn't know just the right pressure points on her stiff neck and back.</p>
<p>He leaned over her shoulder, and whispered in her ear: "It would be really, really funny."</p>
<p>She shivered. Being nuzzled by Daniil Sokolsky's bald head was like rubbing your cheek against a deflated balloon. "Is that what we've come to now? Assigning people custody of dangerous anomalies because their suggested use cases are <em>funny?</em>"</p>
<p>He slid away, clutched the back of her chair, and turned her to face him. He was, in many ways, like a male version of Lillian Lillihammer. "Eileen, everyone else's suggested use cases are <em>dreadful.</em> They're <em>boring.</em> We don't learn anything from them, except how dreadful and boring everyone who works here can be when they really, <em>really</em> do not put their minds to it. And by 'it' I mean <em>interesting</em> things to do with the most interesting anomaly we have in containment." He tapped her upturned forehead. "Or rather, <em>you</em> have in containment. As for 'dangerous', well. I don't know what you're talking about."</p>
<p>She suppressed the urge to knee him in the groin. It was far too Ibanez a move. "LeClair tried to use the unforgettable password to cure her Alzheimer's. When that didn't work, she used it as a private password to store the files she was <em>stealing from other facilities</em> that were <em>also</em> studying Alzheimer's. You used it to defraud your research team—"</p>
<p>"I was teaching them a lesson on infosec, actually—"</p>
<p>"—and Pensak got the damn thing stuck in his head for a month because laryngitis wouldn't let him pass it on."</p>
<p>"It's been stuck in your head a lot longer, Eileen. Months and months. Am I to believe that no worthy projects have been proposed in that interim?"</p>
<p>"Oh, sure they have." She spun away from him, and called up a program so quickly that he couldn't have reproduced the keystrokes with a high-framerate camera to aid him. She began reading from the resulting display. "Lillian already wants to use it for another AI thing, despite the fact that she caused a runaway singularity and had to erase all her files the last time."</p>
<p>"You should see about restricting her permissions," Sokolsky mused. "She's not a programmer anymore."</p>
<p>"I should restrict <em>all</em> of your permissions. Bremmel wants to use it to generate pseudo-passwords algorithmically. He thinks he can find a way to replicate the anomaly in code. Can you imagine? More than one of this fucking thing?"</p>
<p>"I'm imagining it." She could hear the grin.</p>
<p>"Zlatá — who doesn't even work here anymore, he sent this in <em>remotely</em> — wants to try combining it with one of those thaumaturgical computers they're developing at Site-36. Reynders wants to test how transmission works through atemporal space, which is to say the incinerator she lives in. Astrauskas wants to see if it changes people's auras, and frankly, that's the only one I'm seriously considering for approval right now. Because Daniil," and she spun back around, "I'm convinced there's something in this thing that rots people's brains. It's an unforgettable, one-person password. It's not an eigenweapon. But every time we loan it to somebody, something horrible happens."</p>
<p>He placed one hand over his heart. "If it's corrupting your brain, Eileen, I owe it to you to carry that burden in your stead. Please, let me be the one to get the brain tumour. I'll let you have co-author when I write up my results."</p>
<p>"Your results will probably get written up by S&C, at this point. Or a mission report by Hammer Down, when they have to reclaim the Site from whatever eldritch monstrosities you end up releasing." She found herself raising her voice. She couldn't help it. It was just a fact.</p>
<p>He affected a wounded expression. "I don't do <em>eldritch,</em> Eileen. My schemes are strictly of the non-world-ending variety."</p>
<p>She stood up, and unzipped her sweater. The room suddenly felt too warm. "Get out."</p>
<p>He blinked.</p>
<p>"I said, <em>get out.</em> I'm done with this."</p>
<p>"Define <em>this.</em>"</p>
<p>"<em>This.</em> No more schemes. No more bullshit. No more fucking NECK MASSAGES. I'm not your partner in crime. Get out of my office."</p>
<p>He nodded. "Business only, then. Alright. If you change your mind—"</p>
<p>"I'll turn myself in." She sat back down, and turned her chair's back to him. "Your requisition request is denied."</p>
<p>She expected him to say something like "For now," or "Perhaps I'll submit it to someone more qualified, next time," or something equally scathing, biting or cruel. Instead he said nothing, and eventually she turned around to see that he'd left without closing the door behind him.</p>
<p>She closed it herself.</p>
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<h2 id="toc11"><span>2 December</span></h2>
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<p><em>The Federal Bureau of Investigation.</em></p>
<p>She threw a punch. The bag absorbed much of the impact, but still went rocketing away well out of proportion to the size of her tiny fist.</p>
<p><em>The Central Intelligence Agency.</em></p>
<p>Another punch. The leather creaked, and the chain jangled. People were staring. Let them stare.</p>
<p><em>The National Security Administration.</em></p>
<p>It was just her imagination that the leather was threatening to split.</p>
<p><em>The Department of Homeland Security.</em></p>
<p>The bag did not explode into a shower of stuffing and rubber strips, but the pain did reverberate down the bones of her hand, forearm, upper arm and shoulder, so she fell back against the mirrored well and relented. <em>The federal government of the United States of America,</em> her newest nemesis, conceptually reeled from the violence of her attacks against its constituent elements. Months of research, months of stonewalling. Threats from her, protestations of innocence and ignorance from them. Few governmental agencies were willing to outright deny requests from the SCP Foundation, but her every inquiry on the matter of Elizabeth Crocker met with dead end after dead end. They were hiding something. They were <em>afraid</em> of something.</p>
<p>Perhaps Crocker was afraid of something.</p>
<p>Perhaps that something was <em>her.</em></p>
<p>"It fucking should be," she growled as she bent to collect her discarded jumpsuit.</p>
<p>"Talking to yourself?"</p>
<p>Ibanez glanced across the gymnasium at the yoga mats, where Nhung Ngo was performing a few easy practice stretches. She didn't answer.</p>
<p>"I always find dialogues more productive than monologues," the other woman smiled as she completed her final deep lunge. "We don't have to make an appointment. We could just—"</p>
<p>"Mind our own business?" Ibanez suggested. "Sounds <em>great.</em>" She collected her jumpsuit, ID badge and firearm in a heap, and stomped off for the showers before the psychologist could riposte.</p>
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<h2 id="toc12"><span>31 December</span></h2>
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<p>It was a typical Canadian celebration.</p>
<p>The saloon was packed — which didn't take much, since serving alcohol to the entire Site population had never been a desirable function — and everyone was mingling, in that way you did when every breath you took came directly out of someone else's lungs anyway. The big screen on the north wall kept flipping back and forth between the local New Year's Eve programming and the big ball countdown in New York, as whoever had the remote kept hoping against hope that Toronto would put on some decent music or the presenters might say something interesting. By eleven thirty, patriotism be damned, Anderson Cooper had won out.</p>
<p>There was cheering, hand shaking, back slapping and a little overdramatic snogging when the hour finally struck, and the compressed crowd proceeded to split in twain. Half of everybody started making their excuses and heading out, while the other half settled into the task of poisoning their bloodstreams in earnest. When there was enough space to move, little cliques formed. When a few of those dispersed, there was dancing. Harry found himself at the bar, spiked tomato juice in hand, and he didn't notice who else was there until the final phase began: just him and the rest of the dregs with nowhere better to go, propped up by their stools and not a lot else.</p>
<p>Udo yawned, breaking the silence that had rushed in to fill the space between them when technician third class Jessie MacCrum had stumbled off to use the washroom and never returned. He glanced at her, and she glanced back blearily. She blinked. She looked him up and down, and said: "You mess up alright."</p>
<p>It took him a moment to make the connection, recognize the reference. He glanced down at his rumpled sweater, his track pants, and even the hairs of a beard that projected far enough forward he could see it past his nose, and grunted. "I'm always messed up. This is just me being overt."</p>
<p>She pulled on a long strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face. Pulled it taut, straight, then let it go. It sprang back into curls as though composed of twisted wire. "We should probably get out of here."</p>
<p>He nodded. "Laiken'll be wondering where you are."</p>
<p>She frowned. "Why?"</p>
<p>He frowned back at her, noticing for the first time that she was wearing the same golden dress she'd worn at Area-21, a decade prior. If anything, she filled it out better than she had before. And before…</p>
<p>He shook his head. "What do you mean, why? Aren't you two…?"</p>
<p>She looked down at her empty glass — he had no idea what she'd been drinking — and then pressed four fingertips to it, and <em>flicked.</em> It tumbled off the counter on the empty bartender's side, and disappeared. There was no crash; the glasses at Site-43 weren't actually made of glass. "We <em>were.</em>"</p>
<p>"Oh." He shrugged, "That's… okay."</p>
<p>"What?" Her orange eyes flashed,</p>
<p>"I mean… in the deadline…?"</p>
<p>"So you'll be heading home to Karen, then?" she snapped. "No wonder you're drinking."</p>
<p>He felt his cheeks flush, and thought he must be getting angry. But when he opened his mouth to say something cutting, what came out instead was "I'm heading home alone."</p>
<p>She nodded. "Me too."</p>
<p>He took a breath. "Want to go together?"</p>
<p>They went together.</p>
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<h1 id="toc13"><span>2013</span></h1>
<h2 id="toc14"><span>12 January</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Grand Cove</strong></span><strong>: Grand Bend, Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
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<p>She put on her glasses, and this time she was ready. It had been another month, and she'd had time to think. To grow. It was late again, and the lights were on.</p>
<p><em>I'm not living in the dark anymore. I'm starting to see things more clearly, and it's time I started <span style="text-decoration: underline;">seeing things more clearly</span>.</em></p>
<p>She wasn't ready.</p>
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<h2 id="toc15"><span>24 January</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-s-c-plastics-hub">Site-87</a>: Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin, United States of America</strong></span></p>
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<p>Ibanez longed for the days when the Temporal Anomalies Department had been a mysterious, distant threat.</p>
<p>One of the first things she'd done on returning to baseline was put in a request for a meeting with one Dr. Placeholder McDoctorate, Senior Researcher in Pataphysics at Site-87, to find out why his alternate universe counterpart was acting as some kind of interdimensional spoiler, and also to ask him in person what the fuck was going on with his name. The first result she'd gotten was a cease and desist order from TAD, which arrived in her inbox the instant she sent out the email. TAD was going to do its own investigation first, armed with Ngo's debriefing reports, and they'd get back to her when that was over and done with.</p>
<p>It had apparently taken them five months to achieve this goal.</p>
<p>But now here she was, standing at the base of a hideous square office building on a hill surrounded by forests in rural Wisconsin, waiting for the man with the ridiculous name to come trotting out for their lunch date. When the sliding doors slid open and he appeared, her first thought was <em>he looks like he should work at 43.</em></p>
<p>Placeholder McDoctorate was statuesque — Classical Greek, specifically — with a very full head of curly hair. He looked like the movie version of himself. He saw her sitting at the picnic table near the path to the parking lot, and jogged over. "Hey!"</p>
<p>She raised a hand in greeting.</p>
<p>"Nice to finally meet you." He slid onto the bench seat across from her. "Heard so much about."</p>
<p>She raised a brow.</p>
<p>"Meaning," he stammered, "uh, that the TAD… they talked a lot about… well." He drummed the tabletop. "Told me what you guys had been up to. Out there." He waved vaguely.</p>
<p>She raised the other brow. "The TAD shared confidential timeline information with you?"</p>
<p>He almost looked offended. "Chief, I have Level 4 clearance. I used to be Director of Site-15."</p>
<p>"That wasn't in your file."</p>
<p>"It is, actually." He sighed. "You just can't remember reading it."</p>
<p>Her brows wouldn't go any higher.</p>
<p>He gripped the tabletop. "But let's not talk about me. Let's talk about you. And me. What do I have to do with you? It's been years since I was involved in anything important enough for Department heads to come calling, and it's been over a decade since the TAD bothered with me."</p>
<p>"Sounds like you already know."</p>
<p>He shook his head. "No. They showed me the L4 version of your file, 5243, and then audited all my activities since 2002, and asked me about correlations. Had I ever had administrative aspirations? I had not, beyond the obvious. Had I ever considered branching out to arachnology? I <em>absolutely</em> had not. Had I ever been involved in high technology? Obviously yes, and I refamiliarized them with that, but it apparently wasn't what they were looking for. Then they asked me about time travel and dimensional shifts, and I had to explain to them that the only dimensions I'm interested in these days are narrative."</p>
<p>She wrinkled her nose. The first time she'd heard about pataphysics, only the vaguest of superficial descriptions, she'd resolved to look no deeper. It sounded uniquely capable of both driving her to drink, and driving her nuts. It had something to do with the anomalous fiction (she didn't like fiction) and/or anomalous means of interacting with fiction (even worse) and/or the possibility that the real world was responsive to the 'laws' of fiction (potentially the worst thing possible). She was determined that no matter how this conversation went, it would not involve this man's area of specialty.</p>
<p>Except so far as it could explain what the hell was going on with his name.</p>
<p>"I don't want to talk about pataphysics," she told him. "I want to know why you showed up in every dead timeline, changed maybe one or two details, then fucked off again."</p>
<p>He blinked. "That's the most directly I've heard it stated. You're sure it was me?"</p>
<p>"No. I can't picture the guy at all, and you're plenty memorable." It couldn't have been the heat that was making him blush. Not in grey February. "But Allan, the Director, brought up a mysterious figure in his 2004 debrief whose name and face he couldn't remember, but he <em>could</em> remember a tag on the guy's uniform that said 'PHMD'."</p>
<p>"Ah."</p>
<p>"And that guy helped us refound the Foundation, apparently, although none of the rest of us ever even saw him. But in the next line, I remembered a computer scientist trying co-opt a spider hivemind to do complex calculations."</p>
<p>"Hmm. Wait, a sp—"</p>
<p>"And from the last deadline, Lillian remembered your face in perfect detail. You were helping to reverse-engineer a world-altering machine created by a dead god."</p>
<p>The pataphysicist's memorable face was squirming and contorting. He finally managed: "Perfect detail? I thought this figure was supposed to be antimemetic?"</p>
<p>"Sure. But Lillian's got eidetic memory."</p>
<p>"That wouldn't help."</p>
<p>"Better than eidetic, then. Perfect. Invincible. She never forgets anything, even if it stops having ever happened."</p>
<p>"Wow." A faraway look entered into his eyes. "That sounds… promising. I wonder if—"</p>
<p>"So what I want to know from <em>you,</em>" and she leaned far forward to grab his hands and press them to the rough tabletop, "is why you'd be a dimension-hopping dilettante while the rest of us are trying to keep the entire world from falling apart."</p>
<p>He winced, and tried to withdraw his hands without success. "I don't know. I told you, I'm not into dimensional studies or time travel or anything like that. All I do now is pataphysics. I don't even do computers anymore, except where those fields intersect."</p>
<p>She pressed harder. "If you had to imagine a motive, something that would make you want to do this, what would it be?"</p>
<p>He tried to shrug, but lacked the leverage on his own arms now. "I don't know. Curiosity? It sounds like… could you loosen up, please? I'm not going anywhere." She released the pressure, and he winced before continuing. "It sounds like whoever this is, is looking for the most interesting things going on in each timeline. A new Foundation. Whatever that spider thing was. Your god-machine."</p>
<p>"But he wasn't just looking. He was poking and prodding."</p>
<p>"Maybe, I don't know…" He looked up at the treeline, then back down at her suddenly. "It might be pataphysics."</p>
<p>She tightened her grip again. "It is <em>not</em> pataphysics."</p>
<p>He yanked his hands back, yelped, and pulled a splinter out of one palm. "But it might be. Think about it. Intervening to shape the course of events. Learning from the story, and helping to write it. You could be dealing with the world's first hands-on pataphysicist."</p>
<p>She scowled. "You."</p>
<p>He raised both hands, one now reddening in the middle. "<em>Not</em> me. An alternate me."</p>
<p>"What might be so important about an alternate you? What's important about <em>this</em> you?"</p>
<p>"I used to be the Director of Site-15," he said. "And I got my identity abstracted by an extranarrative entity I was looking at too closely."</p>
<p>She snapped her fingers. "I did mean to ask you about that. I bet if you and Marion Wheeler scheduled a meeting together with somebody, they'd think it was just a prank."</p>
<p>His pretty face closed in on itself in confusion. "Who's Marion Wheeler?"</p>
<p>"Never mind. Is it possible…" She realized she was about to ask him something both ridiculous and dangerous. But that didn't mean she didn't have to ask. "Is it possible this… identity abstraction… Might make you desperate at some point later in life? Enough to want to play fast and loose with temporal laws?"</p>
<p>He shook his head emphatically. "My condition has already done all of the harm it's ever going to do to my personal life and career. Whatever this is, it's something else. And I'm still not convinced I have anything to do with it. I've been thoroughly vetted. Everybody at my clearance level is under frequent surveillance. And I hardly ever leave the Site!" A thought visibly occurred to him, pinging around in his head hard enough to cock it sideways. "You know TAD has agents who can hop from timeline to timeline?"</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"So it might be someth—"</p>
<p>She reached for his hands again, and he recoiled out of reach. "No. Go back. Timeline-hopping agents? They can travel from line to line?"</p>
<p>He nodded.</p>
<p>She took a deep breath.</p>
<p>"THEN WHY THE FUCK DON'T THEY?!"</p>
<p>It took her a moment to recognize the old man who approached across the green as she headed for her vehicle. He'd shrunken considerably, and his pallor was now such that the cold sunlight seemed almost an existential threat. But the bowtie tipped her off, and so after unlocking the driver's side door of the little sedan, she stopped and waited.</p>
<p>"Any luck?" Arik Euler seemed out of breath just from the effort of crossing the lawn.</p>
<p>Ibanez felt like offering him a hand, or somewhere to sit, but she didn't know him well enough, so she didn't. "Waste of time."</p>
<p>"That's a shame. I assume this is about your ongoing… predicament?"</p>
<p>She nodded.</p>
<p>"I've had a few thoughts about that. Are you heading back to Site-43 now, by any chance?" Euler was still <em>de facto</em> the Chair of Memetics and Countermemetics, despite having long since returned to his home turf of Site-87. Nobody wanted the job, because all of the candidates were memeticists, a cohort that produced and valued leaders about as often as did anarchists.</p>
<p>"Yes," and she drew the single syllable out to two or three, "why?"</p>
<p>He gestured at the car. "I was wondering if you might offer me a ride. It would be nice to see the old stomping grounds again. Familiar faces."</p>
<p>"Lillian's, for example."</p>
<p>"For example."</p>
<p>She popped the door open. "Sure, I guess. Let me get the heater going before you freeze."</p>
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<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
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<p>As security chief, Ibanez had always liked Ilse Reynders. She was the only member of personnel whose location was a perpetual certainty.</p>
<p>Reynders held up a finger as Ibanez approached the glass. "One moment. One moment… okay." Her eyes fluttered open. "Sorry. Was calculating."</p>
<p>"How did you know I was coming?"</p>
<p>Reynders gestured at the complex array of machinery affixed to the outside edge of her glass enclosure. "We've worked out how to make the glass into an amplifier," she explained. Whenever Reynders attributed something to <em>we,</em> she generally meant <em>me.</em> Ibanez never knew whether this was modesty or the ragged remnant of the way things had been done when the polymath had last circulated in society; when a woman claimed sole credit for a discovery, the reception had often been chilly and the conclusions considered suspect.</p>
<p>"So you heard my footsteps?"</p>
<p>The other woman nodded miserably. "Yeah. Can't wait for you guys to mess up the timeline again. I'll probably be hearing footsteps at all hours, and only seeing half the feet at a time."</p>
<p>Ibanez did not put her hand on the glass. She'd always found the gesture patronizing. She looped her fingers through her belt, and took a wide stance in front of the glass. "So, I had a chat with Arik Euler just now. In my car."</p>
<p>Reynders smiled sadly. "What's he smell like?"</p>
<p>Ibanez was taken aback. "What's…?"</p>
<p>Reynders blushed furiously. "Sorry. Sorry. We just… we worked together. A lot. For months. On the most important project of either of our lives. He was standing," and she tapped the glass, "right… <em>there.</em> Where you are now. And I don't know what he smelled like. His aftershave. His clothes. I don't know what his voice sounded like; back then it was all I could do to make out the words people were saying unless they put a little <em>oomph</em> into it, and Arik was always so soft-spoken." She sighed. "I'm sorry. You were going to ask me a question, presumably."</p>
<p>"Yeah. Weirdo. What do you know about Elizabeth Crocker?"</p>
<p>The blue eyes widened. Nobody else at the Site had blue eyes that could widen that far. "She was the reason we made the Frontispiece in the first place."</p>
<p>"Go on."</p>
<p>The other woman's gaze was strong and steady. She didn't have to work hard to draw out the memories. Her brain hadn't aged an iota since those memories had first been formed. "She had a grudge against the Foundation, and she used the Cold War to destroy us. Turned every developed nation against us, one by one. Strangled our operations, globally. Even assassinated an Overseer. Got us tossed out of Russia — you ought to ask Sokolsky about that."</p>
<p>Ibanez made a mental note, and nodded.</p>
<p>"She made it impossible for us to keep doing the Work." A select few of Director Scout's old cadre still said that word like it meant something special, the way a Christian might name their God. Reverence. "People were afraid to leave their facilities. National security forces were circulating lists of our personnel, arrest or shoot on sight. Diplomatic talks with Groups of Interest broke down. Our front companies were all liquidated, nationalized or bankrupted. That one woman nearly managed to take the whole Foundation down in a matter of months."</p>
<p>"How?"</p>
<p>"She was a <em>giftschreiber.</em>"</p>
<p>"Okay, sure, but <em>how?</em> Where did she get the intel? The materiel? Boots on the ground? How did one woman wage a war against the planetary shadow government?"</p>
<p>Reynders shrugged. "We never knew. It was apparent that some of the cult was on her side, maybe all of it. <em>Giftschreiber</em> are anarchists, and they don't often work together — or at least, not well — but she must have had a small army to achieve what she did."</p>
<p>Ibanez nodded. "The Chaos Insurgency."</p>
<p>Those bright blue eyes blinked, twice. "What?"</p>
<p>"The Chaos Insurgency. She had the Chaos Insurgency. She was there, in Zevala, when they destroyed my village. I think she was in charge of them."</p>
<p>Reynders whistled. It came out curiously flat, whether naturally or thanks to the equipment transmitting sound to Ibanez's side of the glass. "That's a new one on me. Why haven't I heard it before?"</p>
<p>"Because I told Scout everything I knew, and a few years later I told Allan, and apparently neither of them thought it was worth making the connection for me, so nobody's done anything with this information in almost twenty fucking years." She was fuming, and she let it happen. Better to get it out now than to leave it bottled up.</p>
<p>Reynders was shaking her head. "I suppose it makes sense, but we've never suspected a connection like that before. Crocker always preferred organized chaos. Chaos to a <em>plan.</em> The Insurgency, they're practically a randomizing factor. I don't see how the one works with the other. And to what end? What was so special about your village? No offence intended."</p>
<p>Ibanez ran a finger along the sill, careful not to disturb the grouting. "There was… a facility. I don't know much about it. But I spent a long, long time cooped up in there."</p>
<p>"One relates." Reynders' voice was very soft.</p>
<p>Ibanez ignored it. "A long, long, <em>long</em> time. Longer for me, inside, than it was for them. Outside."</p>
<p>"You mean time dilation?"</p>
<p>Ibanez nodded.</p>
<p>"How much time dilation?"</p>
<p>Ibanez smiled. "I don't remember. They'd just started working out targeted amnestics when they picked me up — us, I mean, the Foundation — and they were very selective about what I was allowed to keep knowing. All I can tell you now is that there was some sort of R&D Site in my village, and it let me do in one day what should have taken me a year."</p>
<p>"Meaning what? What did you do?"</p>
<p>"I invented myself."</p>
<p>She let the silence hang until the other woman broke it.</p>
<p>"I assume you think Crocker is still alive."</p>
<p>"I've got reason to believe."</p>
<p>"So, you're going to try to find her."</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"And stop whatever she's doing."</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Even though you now have reason to believe she's at the head of <em>two</em> death cults, instead of just one."</p>
<p>Ibanez grinned. "The great thing about death cults," she said through gritted teeth, "is that nobody much complains when you fucking kill them all."</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc16"><span>26 January</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Far across the Site from where they sat, the DUAL Core was humming up a storm and Xinyi Du was fussing over it, his entire staff mustered for monitoring and maintenance. The results poured across Lillian's screen, organized themselves, slotted into each category, populating each list.</p>
<p>Euler shook his head in amazement. "It's like mapping the human genome."</p>
<p>Lillian yawned. "That was last year. Small potatoes. Just a matter of effort. Mapping a thaumaturgical effect is… well. Pretty much magic."</p>
<p>"Not so much." Eileen was paging through a terminal of her own; they were sitting back to back at I&T's main horseshoe conference table, while Euler watched them both from the middle. "It's still just code and data. Much, much more code and data, but still."</p>
<p>"The photon profiles seem solid." Lillian turned the monitor so the old man could see it better. "We've got everything. Wavelength, angle, brightness. Every microscopic speck on the page, run through our makeshift demonics—"</p>
<p>"Demonics?" Euler repeated.</p>
<p>Lillian waved it off. "We needed a translator for the thaumaturgy. Something that can understand how cryptomancy functions on an EVE basis, but also speak computer code. It needs to know what it's looking at to compile it. So, demonics. It's what it sounds like. You don't want to know more."</p>
<p>"I believe you," he agreed. "In both senses."</p>
<p>"Good. Well, listen. From what I can see — assuming the translations are accurate?"</p>
<p>"They're accurate." Eileen was typing now. "And the Core is spinning them through every mathematical permutation exactly as programmed."</p>
<p>"Well, of course. That program was designed by the three best programmers Canadian money can buy. And the demonic containment subroutines—"</p>
<p>"—have gotten much better since that farce with the rogue AI."</p>
<p>"Rogue AI?" Euler repeated again, looking back and forth between them.</p>
<p>Lillian waved this off more urgently, but Eileen continued to speak. "Lillian's last bit of coding almost accidentally started the technological singularity. Her pet project actually stole an SCP from her and held it ransom until she was able to purge the whole thing from the system."</p>
<p>"With the <em>totally worth it result,</em>" Lillian sighed, "that now we know how to build electronic prisons not even techno-Beelzebub could wriggle out of. And now that the data's all in," she almost imagined she could hear the Core winding down, and certainly the lights in the room seemed brighter now, "we've got everything we need to replicate your test image electronically."</p>
<p>"Meaning a computerized stun agent," Euler prompted.</p>
<p>"Right. Of course, they're going to want something stronger for the double-oh-one database project—"</p>
<p>"I'll have nothing to do with kill agents," the old man snapped crossly.</p>
<p>"Yeah, of course you won't. Point is," and she turned to face him directly, "yes. I'll be able to digitize your cryptomancy, and replicate its effects using only scientific principles."</p>
<p>He looked impressed. Awed. More than a little apprehensive, as he should have. "And how long will that take your people to do? The first example, I mean. Ballpark."</p>
<p>"Ballpark?" She frowned. "Oh, I don't know. It's their first time. Maybe a year?"</p>
<p>He stared at her.</p>
<p>"Unless I help, in which case we'll probably have something to show you by lunchtime tomorrow."</p>
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<h2 id="toc17"><span>27 January</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Sunset Cove, Pensacola:</strong></span> <strong>Florida, United States of America</strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>The old folks' home smelled too clean.</p>
<p>Billie had spent years in her mother's workplace at Site-43, and she'd gotten used to this specific smell. It was the smell of something filthy having happened, then been cleaned up so efficiently that the space ended up tidier than it had been before. It was the smell of failed biology covered up with alcohol and bleach.</p>
<p>The car had smelled only slightly less antiseptic. The charter plane that had brought them here from Canada was similar. The brief burst of actual fresh Florida air had been bracing, a rare unfamiliarity in the grey of her existence, and she knew that if her mother could have connected the two vehicles with an airtight umbilical, she would have. Billie's shoulders still ached from the antiviral injections she'd been forced to endure to come along on this little trip.</p>
<p>She was starting to think they hadn't been worth it.</p>
<p>"I spoke to Van Rompay," her mother was telling the withered little wheelchair-bound woman. "He wanted me to tell you he's doing well."</p>
<p>Émilie LeClair blinked up at them both. Her eyes looked very small without the eyeshadow and eyeliner, and they were unfocused. "Gedeon? Gedeon was just here."</p>
<p>Billie's mother smiled and nodded encouragingly. "Well, he just wanted you to know, anyhow."</p>
<p>LeClair made eye contact with Billie. Billie looked away, at the neatly-made bed and neatly-folded laundry and neatly-vacuumed carpet, wondering what it must be like for everything around you to be fiddled with by other people, to not have anything of your own that was exempt from outside interference. LeClair kept staring at her, nevertheless, and said: "She thinks I'm making it up."</p>
<p>Billie looked back at the old woman. "I think you're making it up, too."</p>
<p>"Billie." Her mother's tone was dangerous.</p>
<p>LeClair laughed, her brittle bones shaking with the effort. "Good girl. Don't take any shit from this one." She pointed up at Billie's mother. "She's after my job."</p>
<p>Helena Forsythe looked pained. "Em…"</p>
<p>LeClair waved her off. "I know. I know. I'm in Florida. I'm in a home. You put me in a home. Not that I blame you!" She reached down and pushed her wheelchair forward, and both Billie and her mother stumbled aside to let her pass. "I would have done the same. I <em>should</em> have done the same. Maybe I was going to, but I forgot. Wouldn't that be funny?"</p>
<p>"Where are you going?" Billie's mother asked.</p>
<p>LeClair had rolled over to a steam trunk wedged between the dresser and the bookcase. "Nowhere. Here. Come and help me with this, ah…" She looked back at Billie, and snapped her fingers as though trying to light a spark. "Ah… come help me with this, child."</p>
<p>Billie decided not to protest the phrasing. She knelt down and lifted the lid on the trunk. It wasn't very heavy. Inside there were papers, scattered old articles of fancy dress, a few framed photographs, the usual detritus of extreme old age or extreme unhealth. She looked up at the old doctor. "What're you looking for?"</p>
<p>"There's something I want you to have."</p>
<p>Billie looked down at the trunk again, then back up. "What is it?"</p>
<p>LeClair leaned down, rummaged around a bit, then sat back up with a look of confusion on her face. "It's… it isn't here."</p>
<p>"What was it?" Billie pressed.</p>
<p>LeClair waved her off again. "It doesn't matter. It isn't there. Close the lid."</p>
<p>Billie closed the lid, and was about to ask again what LeClair had wanted to give her when she saw that the old woman was crying. She looked to her mother for support, but her mother was crying, too.</p>
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<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Ipperwash Provincial Park</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>"I'm still bothered by that demonic circuitry."</p>
<p>Lillian sighed. "It's only a stopgap. They're working on a mechanical thaumaturge at Site-36. When that's up and running, it'll handle the translations."</p>
<p>They were walking through Ipperwash Park, Euler puffing a little to keep up with her long strides. She'd already tried walking slowly, and he'd told her off for it.</p>
<p>"It's still immoral."</p>
<p>"I didn't expect you to get all Christian on me."</p>
<p>The old man glowered up at her. "That isn't what I mean. Forced impressment of a sapient being…"</p>
<p>Lillian laughed. "Arik, they're <em>demons.</em> Literal, actual demons. From hell. Thaumaturges have been binding them since back when they were honest enough to call themselves witches and wizards. And it's a bit of a bad joke, isn't it?"</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"Complaining about forced containment of sophonts. We both still work for the Foundation. And you," she tapped the grey fuzz on her mentor's head affectionately, "once stuck your finger in the ear of every man, woman and child on this planet, and <em>swizzled.</em> We do some things for the greater good."</p>
<p>Euler's expression solidified like cement. "How well did you know Vivian Scout?"</p>
<p>She shrugged. "Not well."</p>
<p>"But you've heard of the Good Work."</p>
<p>She nodded.</p>
<p>"Did you ever hear him talk about the greater good? With that same emphasis? That same faith?" He rounded on her, and they both stopped walking. "And don't tell me you don't remember. I'm not in the mood for jokes. I'm too old for delays."</p>
<p>She met his narrowed eyes. "No, I don't suppose I ever did. But unlike some people around here, I haven't outsourced my moral compass to a dead man. I make my own decisions."</p>
<p>"Like using demonic slave labour, and erasing sentient computer programs."</p>
<p>She snorted. "It was going to erase <em>me.</em> I just happened to be faster. And smarter."</p>
<p>"Lillian…" He sighed. "Please, just this once, can we drop the ironic façade and speak frankly? I am trying to tell you something."</p>
<p>"I'm listening."</p>
<p>"But are you <em>hearing?</em> I'm telling you that just because the ends can be made to justify the means, doesn't excuse you from trying to find <em>better</em> means. For Vivian, the Good Work was a process. Always striving to become better. To make each iteration an improvement on the last. To become more effective. More ethical. More <em>humane.</em> I know full well what your electronic system is going to do, by the time you're done with it. It's going to kill people stone dead at their machines for daring to open the wrong files. Tell me I'm wrong."</p>
<p>She didn't say anything.</p>
<p>"The greater good is not a proper noun. It is not a defined thing with known parameters. It is not an endpoint, it is not a goal. It is not the telos of the Good Work. The Good Work has no telos. It has no end. You do that work <em>forever.</em> You don't do it to justify horrid acts in pursuit of a single speck of time on the timeline of human existence. You strive each and every day in what you hope is the right direction, you correct course when you find yourself to be wrong, and you rest easy in the knowledge that you will never stop striving, and you will never see the work complete. We," and he reached up and tapped her on the shoulder, "are not ever complete. Not even when we die. We all fall short of what we could be. The best we can do is <em>reach.</em> Are you reaching?"</p>
<p>She took a steadying breath. "What do you think reaching looks like?"</p>
<p>He told her. "And how do you think that will end?"</p>
<p>She told him.</p>
<p>He searched her eyes for the truth, and finding that it matched the words she had spoken, he closed the space between them and enveloped her lower torso in a weak, but heartfelt embrace.</p>
<p>They held each other in the shadow of the canopy for some time. She moved them gently back towards the path, where there was light, but he withdrew again and smiled just as the dappled shadows on his hair gave way to silver shining streaks.</p>
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<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>When Euler was safely back on the road to Site-87, Lillian returned to her workspace. She passed through the Cognitive Decontamination Tunnel, running her fingers along the contours of its black slate antimemetic sheathe, musing on the accomplishment's import and the tasks ahead.</p>
<p>When she reached the office, there was an envelope waiting on her desk. Inside the envelope was a letter, and a new Clearance Level 4 security pass.</p>
<p>The ACT CHR code had been replaced with simply CHAIR.</p>
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<h2 id="toc18"><span>15 February</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>"He isn't serious." Ibanez's little hands were shaking, and the paper made a sound of weak thunder. She slapped it on Udo's table, and glowered at it like it owed her money.</p>
<p>"He's the fucking <em>definition</em> of unserious." Lillian crumpled up the sheet, then un-crumpled it and ran her eyes over it again. "I'm going to kill him."</p>
<p>Harry glanced at his own sheet, and shrugged. "Mine kinda makes sense. He says I've been making eye contact with Wirth when I say my thing. I didn't do that on the day. I just…" He sighed. "It's hard not to look at him, you know? With what's about to happen. Every time. What's yours say?"</p>
<p>"Mine," Ibanez growled, "says that <em>on the day,</em> I didn't actually look at each of them one by one, but just sort of scanned across the room and named them as I saw them. What's the fucking difference?"</p>
<p>"Making it a series of individual actions instead of one sweeping motion probably introduces a brief delay," Udo murmured.</p>
<p>The security chief grunted. "Maybe one fucking second."</p>
<p>"Still." Harry nudged Lillian's foot. "How about yours?"</p>
<p>"He says I'm reacting too quickly because I don't start out with my fucking eyes closed. I react exactly as quickly as I did before. I have the best muscle memory in human history. The only reason my eyes are open is because they're <em>rolled,</em> because of how fucking sick I am of this shit. And he's only making it fucking <em>worse.</em>"</p>
<p>"Allan?" Harry prompted.</p>
<p>"Dr. Wettle suggests my actions each year are a near-perfect analogue to the originals," the Director shrugged.</p>
<p>"Oh, fuck <em>you,</em>" Lillian snapped. "Sir."</p>
<p>McInnis smiled at her.</p>
<p>"I'm kind of impressed that he's able to make sense of my part at all," Udo admitted. "Not that I really, you know, <em>appreciate</em> instructions on how precisely to react to finding my dead boyfriend in the hall. Ex-boyfriend. Whatever."</p>
<p>Harry squeezed her free hand with his.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni turned his sheet so they could all see it. There was an itemized list of corrections running the entire page.</p>
<p>"Let's take a vote." Lillian stood up so quickly that the inclined recliner bobbed back and forth on the carpet. "Over fifty percent, and I kill agent him right now. I've been itching to test the system."</p>
<p>"I think I know why you're so pissed off," Harry remarked. Lillian walked over to the couch and raised her loafer, prepared to bring it down on his crotch. Udo scooted away from him as he continued. "You can't stand the idea that Willie's actually good at his job."</p>
<p>The foot of Damocles hung there for a second, then came down forcefully on the carpet. Lillian pirouetted away, the folds of her dazzle coat briefly brushing his face. "Replication Studies," she spat. "You'd think <em>he'd</em> have the decency to be consistent, too."</p>
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<h2 id="toc19"><span>1 March</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Yancy laughed. It filled the bullpen with bass to spare. "That's pretty bad! Pretty bad."</p>
<p>O flung a paper airplane across the room. It struck him in the heart with pinpoint accuracy; before it could fall to the floor, he caught it in his massive hands with the delicacy and dexterity of a pizza chef. "Well, go on. Do yours."</p>
<p>"My wife thought I was having an affair because she kept finding red smudges on my shirt collars. She makes me keep a ledger of all my girlfriends, and none of them wear lipstick."</p>
<p>In the corner, against the wall, Ibanez looked away and smirked.</p>
<p>"I had no idea where they were coming from, so I took all my laundry Upstairs. ApplOcc did some tests, and two days later they told me I'd just uncovered a Doppler leak in the chromatic residue circulators in AAF-B. I'd been patrolling through aerosolized red-shift at neck height for a week. LeClair gave me a physical, and she told me if I'd had lighter pigmentation, my wife would have probably taken one look at my neck and assumed my new mistress was into BDSM."</p>
<p>They all laughed at that one, Ibanez hardest of all.</p>
<p>"How about you?" Yancy asked, when the furor had died down. He pointed at the sullen figure in the corner opposite Ibanez. "What's the closest your people ever came to finding you out?"</p>
<p>Pensak rolled his eyes. "I don't have people."</p>
<p>"Oh, come on." O smiled encouragingly at him. "Your landlord, then. Or your grocer. Everybody has close shaves with the Veil. What's yours?"</p>
<p>He was suddenly halfway to the door. "There's that time my ex asked how I could afford to send my entire paycheck as alimony and still find food and shelter. You know, last month. And the month before that. And <em>next</em> month. Does that count?"</p>
<p>And he slammed his way out of the room.</p>
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<h2 id="toc20"><span>14 March</span></h2>
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<hr/>
<p>Lillian found him in his office. This meant that he wanted to be found, probably by her. Whenever she needed him and he wasn't in the mood to be needed, at least not in the way she meant, he was nowhere to be found. Probably his office had some sort of hidden back door. Probably it had two.</p>
<p>"Lillian." Sokolsky's desk was immaculate, and he was posed perfectly at the desk when she walked in without knocking. Probably he had cameras, too. She wondered if his watch had a Dick Tracy screen. "To what do I yada <em>et cetera?</em>"</p>
<p>"That," she said as she swung onto the cafeteria chair she'd brought with her — Sokolsky didn't get, or desire, many visitors — "was exactly as many words as saying the whole thing."</p>
<p>"More fun, though. But really. What can I do for you?"</p>
<p>Del had suggested a means of broaching the subject. Lillian had never seriously considered it. Instead, she said, "Del needs to talk to you, but doesn't <em>want</em> to talk to you. She sent me instead, because you're hot for me."</p>
<p>He nodded. "Makes sense. What's she looking for?"</p>
<p>"Reynders says you might know something about Elizabeth Crocker."</p>
<p>He blinked at the wrong moment. "That's on record."</p>
<p>"Del says the record reads like bullshit."</p>
<p>He smiled. He should have laughed. "That's distressing to hear. But I did write that bullshit a long time ago. I should take another crack at it, now that I'm more practiced."</p>
<p>Lillian leaned forward, affording him an easy glance down her shirt. He made no pretense of keeping eye contact as she said: "I am asking you to share the intimate details of your life with me, Daniil Sokolsky. And I know for a fact that you haven't been intimate with a woman since Eileen told you to fuck off."</p>
<p>He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You have cameras too, eh?"</p>
<p>She found what she was looking for in his wallet.</p>
<p>Of course, he'd known she would.</p>
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<h2 id="toc21"><span>30 March</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Nascimbeni waved his son off, and yawned. "I'm not dehydrating. I'm practically swimming right now."</p>
<p>"Gross." Gallo tossed the water bottle onto the sheet draped over his father's prone form, and flopped down in his recliner. "You need help getting up?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni gestured at the crutches leaning against the armrest. "I'm fractured, not indigent."</p>
<p>His son blinked. "Indigent means, like… poor."</p>
<p>"Whatever." Some of the vocabulary of the inner circle was rubbing off on him, but he didn't always grasp the nuances. He'd always preferred plain speech. "How'd it go today?"</p>
<p>The other man grinned. "Nailed it."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni pumped his fist in the air. "Knew you would. Congrats. There a pay hike involved?"</p>
<p>"Oh, for sure. They don't do that 'promotion in title' bullshit. That was one of the questions I asked when I first interviewed."</p>
<p>"Attaboy." Nascimbeni stretched back on the couch. It felt good to rest his back, and the embarrassing injury was healing at a remarkable rate; he wasn't sure whether to thank Gallo's hospitality, or blame the magic water running through his veins. Could be both. "When's the hurricane get here?"</p>
<p>Gallo checked his watch. "Should be about ten minutes." The corners of his eyes crinkled in a way Nascimbeni had seen in old, very old, photographs of himself. "I never hear the bus, but her footsteps on the walk are like gunfire."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni laughed. "Goddamn kids. I wish my brain worked that way still."</p>
<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"Happy all the time. Always running. Bouncing from one thing to the next. She's always…" He gestured futilely. "You know. All that energy." He yawned again, and closed his eyes.</p>
<p>Gallo smiled. "Not always."</p>
<p>But Nascimbeni didn't hear him.</p>
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<h2 id="toc22"><span>7 June</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>"That's… what… I'm… saying." Wettle did say it, out loud, as he punched the keyboard on his tablet display with his wide, blunt-ended fingers. "It's… not… just… that… field. It's… everything. Everything. EVERYTHING." He had to erase and retype the last word three times to get it right, as he always did. As he also always did, he noticed he'd made a typo anyway — 'everythong' — only after the message was sent.</p>
<p>The responses came much faster.</p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<div class="text-container">
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
It can't be everything.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
Most hard and social sciences only have superficial methodological similarities.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
The odds of them all having similar holes in their systems are extremely not high.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>He grunted. "Don't… tell… me… about… odds. You… don't… know… from… odds. Odds… are…"</p>
<p>The phone rang. He dropped it.</p>
<p>"Hello?" a tired female voice said from beneath his desk.</p>
<p>He knew better than to try and pick the phone up, so he just yelled at it instead from his chair. "WHO'S THIS?"</p>
<p>"Stop yelling. It's Bradbury. You type too slow. What were you going to say?"</p>
<p>He leaned in, resting his forehead on the edge of the desk above his keyboard tray. "I was going to say that I'm an expert in odds. I'm <em>the</em> expert in odds. Nobody knows probability like me. It's my whole thing. And I'm telling you, despite how ridiculous it sounds, most fields that run reproducible studies are finding them impossible to reproduce at a <em>much</em> higher rate than should be possible."</p>
<p>Bradbury coughed. "Mhmm. And you think this is an anomalous problem?"</p>
<p>"It has to be. Like you said, there isn't enough crossover between these things. Why would psychology and medicine and economics all experience this problem at the same time? One of those isn't rigorous, one isn't real, and the other is god damn <em>medicine.</em>"</p>
<p>"Some sort of inherent flaw in the scientific process?" Bradbury suggested. He could hear the shrug in her voice. "Or some element of random chance in the universe we don't presently understand?"</p>
<p>"And what do you call a thing in your dataset that doesn't correspond to the expected parameters?"</p>
<p>One beat. Two. "An anomaly."</p>
<p>"Exactly."</p>
<p>"So how do you propose to study this, then?"</p>
<p>Wettle stuck his head under the edge of the desk, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm going to try and replicate those results myself."</p>
<p>"Which results?"</p>
<p>"All of them."</p>
<p>The laughter was so unexpected, his jolt backward so violent, that neither the keyboard tray nor the skin on the back of his head stood any real chance of survival.</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc23"><span>8 September</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Phil stared into the locker.</p>
<p>Most days, he remembered it was protocol to store his uniform in there. He preferred to take it home with him, back to his dorm, and get dressed in the privacy of his own space, but yesterday he'd done things by the book. He was sure of it. There wasn't the faintest trace of doubt in his mind.</p>
<p>"You forgot," Doug's voice dragged across his mind like asphalt on a knee. "You're forgetting things, Philip."</p>
<p>It wasn't like the jumpsuit wasn't there, or rather, <em>a</em> jumpsuit. This wasn't his; or if it was, something rather remarkable had happened to it. Was it a prank? A message? What? He shook it out, and examined it in the light.</p>
<p>Where the top half of the suit met the bottom half, where the belt cinched everything tight around the waist, there was a seamless join. Above the belt, jumpsuit. Below, labcoat. A red labcoat. Like a cape. If he tried to put it on, he'd be walking around in the most dramatic underwear imaginable.</p>
<p>"Day by day, Philip. Things forgotten."</p>
<p>He glanced at the thing in the mirror. Its expression, as always, was extraordinarily detailed and utterly inscrutable.</p>
<p>"Gone forever."</p>
<p>Udo stood in the containment cell, one hand on her suit of teal polymer on its rack, and waited for the first break. <em>Should be right about</em></p>
<p>The suit was on its way out of the locker, attached to her hand, and she was drawing it toward her. The first time she'd gone through this part of the pantomime, she'd nearly dropped it. <em>But I'm so much</em></p>
<p>It was already half-on, and she couldn't even remember stepping into it. <em>Short thoughts. Think short thoughts. That way</em></p>
<p>Almost done. <em>There's a blur in the corner. Wonder what that</em></p>
<p>She wriggled her toes to the ends of each boot. <em>Can't seem to look at it. Lillian keeps talking about those mnestics; I know they're not for general distribution, and I know Allan's already nixed it, but I wonder if I could get a sample. Just for science. Just to see if I can see what the <span style="text-decoration: underline;">fuck</span> is standing in the</em></p>
<p>She was leaning on the wall of the cell, suit almost fully assembled. Her fingers were tingling, as they always did. <em>Here goes. Twelfth verse.</em></p>
<p><em>Same as the first. It never gets better and it never gets worse!</em></p>
<p>As she pulled up the zipper on the back of her suit, she smiled. <em>Finished those thoughts. Fuck you, whatever you</em></p>
<p>She didn't have time for a single coherent thought between these two breaks, just enough to shudder the suit into a more comfortable configuration.</p>
<p>"Alright," she said. "Let's do this." <em>Again.</em></p>
<p>The cell door cycled, and she walked in. Her legs tingled worse than her fingers had done. <em>Five, four, three, two</em></p>
<p><em>Missing the timing on that one. Oh well. There's always next year.</em> Now for the really fun part. <em>Lights!</em></p>
<p>She came to in a world of red. The breach alarm was sounding. There was lightning in the air. <em>Camera!</em></p>
<p>Her eyes swam as the hood of the conduit in front of her exploded into a colourless wash. There was a vignette on her vision. Something she wasn't meant to see lingered at the edges. She longed to know what it was. <em>Action!</em></p>
<p>The door cycled open behind her, and because she knew she must, not because she knew <em>why,</em> she shouted: "No!" And then</p>
<p>she was in motion, unlocking the door and watching as the protective layer of her hexmat gloves disintegrated. There had been a long, hard conversation about whether she needed to actually burn her fingertips every year. Wettle had ultimately decided that it probably didn't matter, so they'd printed out a transparent sheathe for her right hand which absorbed most of the heat. It withered against her skin, which puckered, and she was already daydreaming about ripping it off by the time she reached the exterior airlock. She escaped, sealed the room behind her, and even though she hardly felt the need, she slumped to the floor in a heap. The protocols were, by now, extremely precise and strict.</p>
<p>Another trip through the shortest, most eventful minute of her life, with her eyes half-closed.</p>
<p>She usually did this next part with her eyes shut tight, but for some reason this year felt different. She felt she could face it this time. So she did.</p>
<p>She looked down the hall at Dougall Deering.</p>
<p>He looked back at her.</p>
<p>"Oh my god," he cried. "Udo? What happened?!"</p>
<p>She screamed.</p>
<p>"Just let me talk to her."</p>
<p>Ibanez neither agreed nor disagreed. She just stared at the man in the expensive silk shirt and expensive tortoiseshell glasses, with his immaculate beard and his perfect slicked-back hair. The dead man. Dougall Deering.</p>
<p>"Please. Whatever's going on, I know she'll figure it out."</p>
<p>Her instructions had been clear. She was not to speak with the prisoner until after Xyank and Forth had finished speaking with McInnis. But that didn't mean she couldn't listen to him speaking. It would have been impossible not to hear him, shouting and whining and pleading in the tiny cell.</p>
<p>"Come on. Give me something to work with here. Is this because of the call?"</p>
<p><em>What call?</em> she thought, but she didn't say it. She had this thing about amnestics. She hated them. As far as she knew, she'd only been subjected to them once. She wasn't keen on hearing anything that might earn her a repeat of the experience. Udo was recuperating in H&P right now from the targeted removal of an entire day of her life; Ibanez had no idea how she was going to explain that to her friend.</p>
<p>Deering was frantic, but he stayed put in the steel chair behind the steel table in the steel room with the mirrored wall. He knew the drill, even if he seemed moments from losing the plot. "I know something. Okay? I know something <em>important.</em>" He took a deep breath. "What happened to Phil? Is Phil okay?"</p>
<p>So far as she knew, he'd never before expressed the faintest interest in the well-being of his brother. She wondered what had changed. But she didn't ask him, because he might have told her.</p>
<p>"Please." There were tears in his eyes. "Just tell me it worked. Tell me… tell me he's alright."</p>
<p>Her pager buzzed.</p>
<p>She left him there, sputtering impotently.</p>
<p>It was almost, <em>almost</em> enough to make her feel sorry for him.</p>
<p>The temporal experts were already gone when Ibanez reached the Director's office. He wasn't sitting behind the desk, as he usually was, but instead halfway to the washroom. He'd obviously been pacing.</p>
<p>"What's the verdict?" she asked.</p>
<p>He told her.</p>
<p>She stared at him.</p>
<p>What could she say? <em>Tell me you're not serious.</em> He was never not serious. <em>There must be another way.</em> When he was open to suggestions, he asked for them. <em>I won't do it.</em></p>
<p>Then who would?</p>
<p>"Please." There were tears streaming down Dougall's face now, and he reached over to her — not up, of course, though the idea was embedded in the gesture — with hands clasped together as though in prayer. Supplication. An appeal for relief.</p>
<p>"Sit still," she said, "and do exactly as I say."</p>
<p>His shoulders sagged in relief, but he complied. He forced himself to stop shaking. He blinked away the tears. "Okay. I'm listening. I'm ready."</p>
<p>She walked behind him, and to his credit, he didn't turn around. That was good. That made it easier.</p>
<p>But not, of course, easy.</p>
<p>"He was never meant to live." McInnis stood behind his desk, back to her, staring up at the painting on his wall.</p>
<p>Ibanez slumped into the visitor's chair. "He did, though."</p>
<p>"Our experts were in perfect agreement. Whatever brought him back, he couldn't be permitted to remain. It could have triggered another deadline."</p>
<p>"It still could." She marvelled at how flat and uninflected her own voice sounded now.</p>
<p>"They don't think so. They think this will have righted the issue."</p>
<p>"And what are they basing that on?"</p>
<p>He turned, and sat down. There was no outward sign that this was affecting him at all. She saw it anyway. "I don't know. But they were quite certain."</p>
<p>She gripped the armrests as soon as she noticed her hands were shaking. Her service weapon felt heavy on her belt, even sitting down. "5243 didn't change at all this year. Everything was exactly the same. Everything except for Dougall Deering."</p>
<p>He nodded.</p>
<p>"You know what that suggests to me?"</p>
<p>He nodded again.</p>
<p>She told him anyway. "It suggests that two different things are happening on September the eighth, and we've been treating them as one thing. You just forced <em>me</em> to treat them as one thing."</p>
<p>"I'm very sorry about that." He pursed his lips. "I wouldn't have asked you—"</p>
<p>She waved it off. "It had to be me. Nobody else knows. Keep it in the family. That's not the issue. What if him coming back was a sign that something's shifted? Something's changed, and we need to know about it? Fuck, Allan," and finally she felt a little flame rising up in her again, "what if he was the thing that lets us turn the tide on this shit, and you had me put a bullet in his brain?"</p>
<p>McInnis blinked. "I thought you were going to snap his neck. 5243—"</p>
<p>"IT WASN'T 5243!" She was on her feet. "If it was 5243, he would've just fucking died again on his own. Something new just happened, and we hammered it back into the shape of something old. You have no idea how bad we might have just fucked ourselves."</p>
<p>"I think it more likely," he said, "that Dr. Deering's survival was symptomatic of a much more serious issue."</p>
<p>Her hands were still shaking. This time she solved the problem in the usual way. "And what issue is that?"</p>
<p>McInnis sighed. "Our best experts have been working on it for months. I promise, you'll have an answer almost as soon as I do."</p>
<p>"So, trust you, then. Great. Fantastic." She turned away, then turned back again. "What about Udo? What do we tell her?"</p>
<p>"Nothing." McInnis looked pained. "Dr. Forsythe will inform her that the repeated temporal interruptions prompted a nervous breakdown, and are likely to do so again. She may need to be amnesticized each year, following the execution of her part of the containment procedures."</p>
<p>Ibanez gaped at him. "You… what? You think… you think he's coming back next year, too?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. It's possible."</p>
<p>"And if he does? You're going to make me murder him again?"</p>
<p>"Perhaps we'll know more by then." He smiled thinly at her. "Or perhaps not. It doesn't change our duty."</p>
<p>Her nails were cut very short, but by this point they were still digging into the flesh of her palms. She forced herself to relax. Anger wouldn't get her anywhere with him. On this topic, probably, nothing would. "That's easy for you to say," she growled. "From your fucking <em>chair.</em>"</p>
<p>"No doubt it appears that way," he agreed.</p>
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<h2 id="toc24"><span>24 November</span></h2>
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<hr/>
<p>Technician Second Class Jessie MacCrum was a ball of warm tones. Orange jumpsuit, coral hair, bright red face.</p>
<p>She was shouting. "You said he was <em>nice!</em> You used that <em>exact word!</em> You said 'Phil's a nice guy. You'll have fun!' What an asshole!"</p>
<p>Ngo never stood on ceremony. Asserting her authority always got in the way of the sort of relationships she wanted to forge with her patients. But MacCrum wasn't a patient, and Ngo's patience with this display was wearing very thin. "Calm down, technician. I'm not interested in indulging your temper tantrum."</p>
<p>MacCrum closed her mouth, mid-bitch. Her face grew even redder. Ngo wondered whether her head was about to explode. "You fulfilled your part of the arrangement, albeit apparently quite poorly. Your compliance is on record. It will help with your performance review, as discussed. I take it the two of you didn't schedule a second date?"</p>
<p>MacCrum laughed. "We didn't finish the first one. The f… the… <em>he</em> just started staring at that ugly grey shitstain… at <em>5056,</em> in the mirror, and stopped talking to me. Didn't even say goodbye. I dumped my plate in his lap and left."</p>
<p>Ngo frowned. "I might need to report that to H&R. That's practically assault."</p>
<p>Some of the colour drained out. "Come on. It was a bad date. That's… you know."</p>
<p>Ngo kept her face carefully neutral.</p>
<p>MacCrum searched her eyes for sympathy. "It wasn't like it was <em>hot</em> food. And we don't wash our jumpsuits ourselves anyway."</p>
<p>"You dated in your <em>jumpsuits?</em>"</p>
<p>The technician's eyes narrowed. "Of course we did. I didn't want him getting any <em>ideas.</em> This was just, you know. Transactional." Her cheeks ballooned out. "Don't judge me. You're the one making him think anyone finds him attractive."</p>
<p>Ngo nodded. "Your candor is noted. You want to get back to your shift, before I note anything else?"</p>
<p>Huffing and puffing, the other woman saw herself out.</p>
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<h2 id="toc25"><span>23 December</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/hecatoncheires-cycle-hub">Site-91</a>: Yorkshire, England, United Kingdom</strong></span></p>
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<hr/>
<p>"Does she still have the dreams?"</p>
<p>Harry watched Udo's mother busy herself in the stacks, taking grimoires off the library cart and returning them to their proper places. It seemed an awfully prosaic thing for a senior researcher and Class-3 thaumaturge to bother with, so he figured it was probably for show. To put him at ease.</p>
<p>To make this look like less of an interrogation.</p>
<p>"The desert?" he hazarded. "Those dreams?"</p>
<p>Anjali Okorie nodded. She was a handsome woman, very dark skinned, with a wide jaw and knowing eyes. She looked nothing like her daughter. "Those dreams. They were getting worse when she left for Canada. When she was young, she used to talk about them so fondly, Obi and I thought she was playing make-belief." She smiled. "She's always had too much imagination for her own good."</p>
<p>Harry would have preferred the third degree on a more personal subject, if it meant he didn't need to feel like he was tattling on his girlfriend. "You'd have to ask her for the details. She doesn't like to talk about them. But yeah, they still happen. More and more often."</p>
<p>Anjali pretended to read the back cover of the book in her hand. "You seem very close. I understand all of you are. Have been, for a long time." She glanced at him. "A very long time."</p>
<p>It had been Udo's idea to visit her parents. The stations of the cross, relationship edition. They'd both had plenty of vacation time built up, and a change of scenery from their underground abattoir between annual massacres had seemed, in the abstract, appealing. In reality they'd spent precious little time together, Udo reconnecting with her old friends and Harry left doing research in Site-91's spacious manor library. With charming company, no doubt, but he might have preferred a reading partner with fewer ulterior motives.</p>
<p>He closed the <em>Book of the Turning Gyre</em>, slipped it into the briefcase on the reading desk in front of him, and favoured Anjali with a grim smile of his own. "You're asking what we're up to that takes more than a decade to settle?"</p>
<p>She shook her head innocently. "Of course not. I know it's classified. I just want to know how well she's handling it, you know. She's never been one to commit to any one thing for very long."</p>
<p>He wasn't sure what to say to that.</p>
<p>"Sometimes I feel like she always does the <em>wrong</em> thing, just because it's more familiar and comfortable. Do you know what I mean?"</p>
<p>"That enough for a file, you think?"</p>
<p>Udo flipped through the pages, looking up at her father occasionally as she did so. He wasn't watching her, and no expression of apprehension crossed his placid features. She grunted. "Probably? It's all pretty loose, though. You're sure this is one entity?"</p>
<p>Obi shrugged, and the leather recliner creaked under him. The manor was filled with rooms like this, little sitting rooms in out-of-the-way nooks, the kind of home a man of means would build when he meant to spend most of his time thinking and needed a tiered set of spaces for thoughts of increasing or decreasing darkness. This one was high on the decline, the windows facing west for a modicum of sunlight but never an overpowering glare. "Every one of those apparitions… well, you tell me. When do they appear?"</p>
<p>The point had been clear enough. "Whenever they can frighten someone into accidentally killing someone else. A mischief monster?"</p>
<p>"Seems like." Obi yawned, and stretched. "All fits the profile of the Hammersmith Ghost. Project CLIO collated the early entries, but nobody noticed the later ones because this was never on anybody's radar. Old and discredited case. So who cares? But if it's still active…"</p>
<p>"<em>If</em> it's still active," she agreed. She set the papers down on the drawing room table. "Could just be people making thin excuses for murder, or manslaughter. Is this…" She frowned. "Is this the most important thing you could be doing with your time right now?</p>
<p>Obi laughed. "The value of my time isn't what it used to be. Well, it's more valuable than ever to <em>me,</em> but to the Foundation? Your mother and I aren't getting any younger. Most of our big projects are behind us."</p>
<p>She didn't like the sound of that. "You're still young. And anyway, you're <em>wizards.</em> You're supposed to appreciate with age."</p>
<p>"I appreciate the pep talk." Obi stood up, and walked to the lit fireplace to warm his hands. "But you don't need to worry about us. We're mostly content to slip into late middle age with grace. What projects are you working on?"</p>
<p>When she didn't answer, he turned to look at her. "<em>Wunderkind?</em> What projects are you…"</p>
<p>He could see something on her face, something she could feel but couldn't quite express. She wondered if he understood it better than she did. She shook her head. "I guess I'm chasing ghosts too? Have been for a while. Might be time to try something new."</p>
<p>"That's the spirit. No pun intended." Obi stretched again, then yanked his right hand back as it swung perilously close to the fire. "Yeouch. Okay, well. I won't have my genius daughter stuck in a rut, so when you get back to 43, I want you to promise me something."</p>
<p>"Sure."</p>
<p>"You'll find something to focus your energies on that has nothing to do with that annual circus of death."</p>
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<h2 id="toc26"><span>27 December</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Grand Cove</strong></span><strong>: Grand Bend, Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Melissa squinted at the screen. Her computer room was dark, as it usually was. The curtains were drawn, as they always were. Windows were too much like mirrors. "And there it is again. And <em>again.</em> He's right. He's proving it."</p>
<p>In the corner, the image of Anastasios Mataxas shook its head mournfully. "He'll have such a hard time making them take it seriously, though."</p>
<p>"Because he's him," Melissa agreed.</p>
<p>"Because he's him. Maybe we can loan a little clout."</p>
<p>She laughed, and rubbed her eyes. "Maybe you can. I haven't got any."</p>
<p>"You don't think so? You were quite the rising star, once."</p>
<p>"And now I'm fixed in the heavens." She sighed. "Okay, boss. What's our consensus here?"</p>
<p>"With the exception of his work on the SCP-5243 containment procedures, which are functioning as designed, Dr. Wettle's replication studies do not replicate the originals, despite an almost slavish accuracy to their procedures. And…?"</p>
<p>"And his replications of the replication studies don't replicate the originals <em>or</em> the original replication studies." She shook her head in amazement.</p>
<p>"Ergo?"</p>
<p>"Ergo," and she said the rest in a rush to avoid having to think through the implications, "science is failing."</p>
<p>"That's one possibility. What might be the other?"</p>
<p>She'd already thought through those implications. Something in the makeup or training of most Foundation personnel made apolcalyptic thinking second nature. She said it out loud for the first time.</p>
<p>He nodded. "Alright. Send over your highlights in batch form, and I'll compile the final packet for Dr. Wettle. I think we're almost ready for final submission."</p>
<p>"That'll be nice for him. A win, for a change. Isn't there a symposium coming up?" She'd never liked those internal conferences. Too many people standing up in other people's lectures and trying to change the subject to their own work or interests. She was unsurprised to find that she missed it.</p>
<p>Mataxas' face became grim. "I don't think this will make the symposium. I suspect, given the implications, that most of this will be Director's eyes only."</p>
<p>"Makes sense." She blinked blearily at him. "Well, alright. That's us for the day, yeah?"</p>
<p>"Almost." The frown transitioned to a sad smile. "Melissa, have you considered contact lenses?"</p>
<p>She shuddered. "Right on the eyes, huh? Right on the eyes." She shuddered again. "Contact. Yeah. Hey, uh," and she felt her hands shaking, even planted firmly against the keyboard and mouse, "I don't… I don't think…"</p>
<p>He raised his hands. "I'm sorry. I just thought it was worth mentioning. You're squinting a lot. It's not important."</p>
<p>"No." She tabbed over to her notepad application and began typing madly, to give her hands something to do, to stimulate her brain and move her mind down less well-worn channels. Like Ngo had taught her. "It's fine. I appreciate the concern. Maybe Forsythe can prescribe something for my dry eye. Thanks for asking."</p>
<p>He nodded. "Well, we'll speak again tomorrow. Fine work as always, Dr. Bradbury. You hardly need my help at this point."</p>
<p>She tried to laugh again, but only managed a shaky snort. "I do piece work. You're the one in charge."</p>
<p>"For today. Goodnight, Melissa."</p>
<p>She ignored the implication. "Goodnight."</p>
<p>The video feed shut itself.</p>
<p>She was about the turn off the screen when she noticed the words she'd been hammering into the notepad:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>IN DEEPEST DARK I OPE THE HOODS AND FIRMLY PORTALS SHUTTER<br/>
IN DEEPEST DARK I OPE THE HOODS AND FIRMLY PORTALS SHUTTER<br/>
IN DEEPEST DARK I OPE THE HOODS AND FIRMLY PORTALS SHUTTER<br/>
IN DEEPEST DARK I OPE THE HOODS AND FIRMLY PORTALS SHUTTER</p>
</blockquote>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc27"><span>2014</span></h1>
<h2 id="toc28"><span>1 January</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>McInnis smiled at the pile of papers as though they were a person in need of reassurance. He looked up at Wettle, and the smile grew slightly wider and even, somehow, more genuine. "You've been hard at work, this past year."</p>
<p>"Yeah." Wettle sniffled. "I think my immune system is breaking down now that it's over. Harry says that happens after you finish a big project, sometimes."</p>
<p>"You have several graduate degrees," McInnis noted. "Has this not happened to you before?"</p>
<p>"I dunno. I broke my leg in a ski lift accident after my master's, and fell down a hill after my PhD defence, so."</p>
<p>"So." The Director plucked the first report off the stack on his desk, and examined the abstract. "Your subSection has completed, what was it? Over five hundred independent studies as part of this initiative, and in almost every case you've shown that conventional methods are no longer fully reliable in all cases. Is there an overall thesis you're advancing to explain this?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. It's in the middle somewhere. Should have come out on the top, but, you know. Printers jammed. A lot. There's like two thousand pages in there."</p>
<p>"Perhaps you could summarize for me."</p>
<p>"Sure." Wettle reached up and tucked the edges of his clip-on tie beneath his shirt collar, something he only remembered to do in situations of the utmost formality. "Science only works about half the time these days. Something's mucking up the rules of the universe, or everyone who thinks they know those rules is wrong. Maybe a bit of both."</p>
<p>"I see. That's the effect, then, or a few possible candidates. Cause?"</p>
<p>"No idea," Wettle said cheerfully.</p>
<p>"Mm." McInnis turned his chair, glanced up at the painting, glanced back at Wettle. "Well, that can be your project for next year, then. See if it's something we need to address. Or something we <em>can.</em> And suggest first steps for handling the problem."</p>
<p>Wettle nodded. "I could use more staff."</p>
<p>"I'd prefer to keep this under wraps, as much as possible. I can spare a few more technicians for your experiments, and please feel more than free to keep utilizing the talents of Drs. Mataxas and Bradbury, but we don't want to start a Site-wide panic, or worse."</p>
<p>"Sure," and Wettle started rocking back and forth on his heels, "but hear me out. Replication Studies <em>Section.</em> Full on. Really go at it. Get it all done. Large scale." He pumped his fist, for emphasis.</p>
<p>"Mm," McInnis murmured again. "Again, I think that might be a step too far. If you could continue addressing this project as you have been doing, that would be my preference."</p>
<p>"But," said Wettle.</p>
<p>"But?"</p>
<p>Wettle sighed. The mass of paper sloughed over, and a few dozen sheets slid off the desk and onto his feet. "Nothing, I guess. Same old, same old, huh?"</p>
<p>The Director smiled again. "Doesn't that seem apropos?"</p>
<div class="muddle">
<p>Some things can't be explained.</p>
<p>But not at Site-43. Almost every aspect of this facility's unlikely functionality is made possible, at times simple or even inevitable, by a series of factors which can be, and have been in the preceding pages, explicated in precise detail. How there came to be enough space to build such a massive complex at such an unmanageable depth. Where the raw materials came from. Whence the heat, and the water, and the air. How anyone even knew to look for such a place in the first place. All of it tidily, conveniently compassable.</p>
<p>That, in the final analysis, is the only unexplained anomaly in the environs of Lake Huron.</p>
<p>Why does Site-43 seem to sit in a naturally-occuring Site-43-shaped hole?</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>He sent the excerpt, and waited.</p>
<p>The answer came almost immediately.</p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<div class="text-container">
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
These feel like the topic paragraphs for a conclusion.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
Are you finally finishing this thing?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
I think I am.<br/></span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
Finally stumbled on my thesis.<br/></span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
Took you long enough.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
Well, you know me.<br/></span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
It's my pattern.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>He waited for another response, but none came. Not from the screen, anyway.</p>
<p>A hand landed gently on his shoulder.</p>
<p>"So," said Udo. Very softly. "I've been thinking."</p>
<p>"Yeah." He reached up and held her hand. "I know."</p>
<p>It didn't take long to pack. She'd never really moved back in.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Nothing Changes">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/46-nothing-changes">Nothing Changes</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="The Breach Goes On: Deadlined">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub">The Breach Goes On: Deadlined</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Unforgettable Too">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/48-unforgettable-too">Unforgettable Too</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/47-past-caring">Past Caring</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/47-past-caring">https://scpwiki.com/47-past-caring</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:</p>
<p>Dougall Deering: "Twitter 365 Project - Day 55" and "Tokyo" by Richard Giles, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076</a></p>
<p>Karen Elstrom: "Natalya" by Anastasia Pavlenko, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/zamerzla/50841210177">https://www.flickr.com/photos/zamerzla/50841210177</a></p>
<p>Arik Euler: "Antonius Franken tuning into his favourite television program…" by David Portigal, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/28853433@N02/12656954695">https://www.flickr.com/photos/28853433@N02/12656954695</a> and "Man at city garage, 1961" courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/24256351@N04/4538545496">https://www.flickr.com/photos/24256351@N04/4538545496</a></p>
<p>Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653</a></p>
<p>Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023</a></p>
<p>Noè Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822">https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822</a> and<br/>
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992">https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992</a></p>
<p>Nhung Ngo: Nhi Dang, "Huyen," released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/nhi_dg/7186551316/">https://www.flickr.com/photos/nhi_dg/7186551316/</a> and Rod Waddington, "Hmong Woman," released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/rod_waddington/44409399060">https://www.flickr.com/photos/rod_waddington/44409399060</a></p>
<p>Placeholder McDoctorate: "ice cream" by richkidsunite, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/89186997@N00/3502548918">https://www.flickr.com/photos/89186997@N00/3502548918</a></p>
<p>Ilse Reynders: "Practicing that blank stare" and "Quinn working" by Quinn Dombrowski, both released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529">https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529</a> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028">https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028</a></p>
<p>Daniil Sokolsky: "Brett - 08-08-08" and "Waterpitts, 29-09-12" by Brett Jordan, both released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625">https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842">https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842</a></p>
<p>Imogen and Madchen Tarrow: "Teacher Leader Conference 2 August 2012," courtesy US Department of Education, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/48445211@N06/7733033618">https://www.flickr.com/photos/48445211@N06/7733033618</a></p>
<p>Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470</a></p>
<p>William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260">https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260</a></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Everything!<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735469622" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:text-style">:scp-wiki:component:text-style</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Caveat:wght@700&family=Lobster&display=swap');
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[[module CSS]]
.muddle {
padding: 4px 16px 4px 16px;
box-shadow: 0px 0px 3px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.3);
width: 85%;
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margin-bottom: 28px;
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[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[=]]
**Past Caring**
And present.
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[=]]
+ Past Caring
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ ##990011|2012##
++ 9 September
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
"And you're sure we failed?" Wettle asked for what felt like the fiftieth time. Everything he did wrong had a multiplicative effect on Nascimbeni's mood. He was an expert thorn.
"Yes. I'm sure." Nascimbeni tapped the executive debriefing summary Ngo had sent to each of them. Ibanez had taken Wettle's copy, reasoning that their operational security wouldn't last long if Wettle lost it in the halls somewhere. "We just spent a year in nowhere land."
"Like, from the Beatles?"
He sighed. "Sure. Like from the Beatles." He had good memories in this office. It was a warm, working space. The walls were homely red tiles, there was well-loved equipment in every corner, there was a mirror -- the omnipresent reminder that Philip Deering, for all his faults, was still plugging along. Nascimbeni loved his office. He resented feeling trapped within it, a feeling he almost never had except for when William Wettle was standing there. "You were saying, Eileen?"
Veiksaar opened her mouth, but Wettle cut her off. "No, look. I was just asking for confirmation, because it... uh... //confirms// something pretty major. This is a replication study. The biggest replication study of all time, in terms of consequences. I want to make absolutely sure the data is right."
Eileen got her mouth all of the way open this time. "I can't speak to that data, but //this// data," and she tapped a much thicker sheaf of papers -- they were printing these things out to keep them off the network, because nothing said security like an air gap -- "confirms what Noè's seeing. It's the same situation with all the computer systems."
"Restate that situation?" Wettle reached up to adjust his glasses, hitting the lens as he always did and tracing a greasy smear across it. He wouldn't bother trying to clean it off until the end of the day, because what would be the point? "Chief? Other Chief? Technician Chief? //Maintenance// technician Chief? //Hardware//--"
Nascimbeni slapped the table, and Wettle jumped in his seat. "You can call me Noè too, Wettle."
Wettle blinked. "Oh. Okay. Thanks? Uh."
"I'm still going to call you Wettle."
"That makes sense. But yeah... yeah?"
Nascimbeni nodded. "Yeah. The situation. Every piece of containment apparatus in the Site, judging by the representative sample my people have looked at already, is down in operational efficiency due to damage, unusual wear or component failure, by about forty-four percent."
"How confident are you in that figure?" Wettle almost sounded like an intelligent person when he talked about his area of expertise. It was jarring.
"Very. The only thing keeping me from saying 'forty-three point nine zero percent' is that it feels silly being that precise about something like this. But I really do think it's that precise."
"Uh huh." Wettle consulted the papers in front of him, which were dogeared and stained despite having only been printed maybe an hour ago, tops. "Thirty-six point four four last year, after the Breach. Thirty-three point..." He was looking down, so of course his glasses fell off. He put them back on, nearly stabbing his own eye out with the armature. "Where was I...?"
Veiksaar leaned over and pointed.
"Yeah. Okay. Thirty-three point seven seven the year before that. Thirty point five nine before that... we had a good long stretch where nothing fucked up, eh?"
"Yeah." Nascimbeni looked away.
"That's good. A long control period. Confirms the initial hypothesis that under normal circumstances, the damage the Breach does increases in strength by just over three percent each year. Not exactly the same number, but that makes sense."
"Explain your preconceptions." Eileen's voice was strained, but then it usually was when Wettle was in the room. Particularly when he made up such a large percentage of the people who were. Nascimbeni felt a weird sense of solidarity with her over it. "Why does that make sense?"
"Because this is a weird, goofy magical explosion." Wettle was still running his stubby fingers over the numbers. "Of course it's not going to go like clockwork. But the general trend is solid. Three, three and a half percent extra damage every year. If this goes on too long, we're definitely fucked."
"But that isn't the worst of it." Veiksaar said this; Nascimbeni had tried to, but it had gotten stuck deep down in his throat.
"No." Wettle nodded. "Because now that we've got three fucked-up Breaches to look at, we can confirm that they take out around //seven// percent of our available budget. Of one hundred percent."
"So that's all settled, then." Veiksaar glanced down at her calculator, and pressed the memory button once before continuing. "If everything goes swimmingly in F-D each September from now on, every subject in containment at Site-43 will be decontained in sixteen years. 2027."
"Or if it goes //drowningly// each September," Wettle agreed, "we've got an even, tidy eight."
"Except neither of those things are true," Nascimbeni rumbled.
They both turned to look at him.
"Because plenty of the stuff we've got contained will break out of containment well before efficiency hits zero." He collected his papers, and stood up. "I'd say we're working with a range of, oh, six to ten years before SCP-5243 kills every single person at this facility."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/47-past-caring/DL_47_01_Nascimbeni_Containment.jpg]]
It wasn't going to be one of his better memories.
[!-- [[=image Nascimbeni_Wettle_Veiksaar.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Her eyes were half-lidded, and for a moment McInnis thought that Ilse Reynders was asleep. But no; she smiled when he approached the window, and as always, placed one palm against her side.
He reciprocated the gesture, as he always did. "You're looking relaxed."
"I am." She exhaled, shuddering. Relief, pleasure, or both? "I am //very// relaxed. It's stopped again."
He nodded, and looked down at his duty tablet. "You've been telling such interesting stories."
She laughed. "Not so interesting, this time. More apocalyptic, though."
"The spiders were quite apocalyptic, I thought."
"Yes, but they didn't literally erase the entire world."
Ilse had been telling the baseline counterparts of Sampi-5243 all about the events of the alternate timeline, such as they were. They'd also witnessed her sharing stories of baseline itself with her fellow prisoners; there had been fierce debate among the Chairs and Chiefs about whether to tell her to stop doing that. Cross-contamination of information between baseline and the alternate lines was a sticky issue, and they'd eventually called in Alice Forth and Thaddeus Xyank for a consult.
The local timeline cops had said it was probably fine. It wasn't like they could actually stop Reynders from doing anything she wanted to do, short of killing her by breaking the glass, and there was no will either at Site-43 or Overwatch Command to do that. And demanding she keep mum would make the denizens of the alternate timelines suspicious, potentially leading to cross-contamination anyway when they realized they were living on a branch that would grow no farther than next September.
The multiversal timeline cops had said that they had standing orders not to intervene on any matters pertaining to Ilse Reynders, and had declined to explain why.
A third timeline cop, with credentials that scanned and a name that appeared in no Foundation database McInnis could access -- Danica Azzopardi -- hadn't come with advice, but rather musings. "You're already living in the corrected timeline," she'd said. "Isn't that fun? You're able to perceive Dr. Reynders as spinning tall tales because the correction that won't be made, where she is, until September 8 has //already ontologically been made,// or else baseline wouldn't be able to exist to perceive it. We already know they're going to succeed. But we can't tell them that, because that would be a paradox. Or would it?" Her enthusiasm had suddenly vanished, and then in a blink of an eye, so had she.
One hour before she arrived, two postdated messages to be opened one hour after she left reached McInnis from both the Department of Temporal Anomalies and the Temporal Anomalies Department, absolutely forbidding them from using Ilse Reynders to channel information to their alternate selves.
Which, really, was fine.
What information did they even have to share?
"I take it the bad dreams have passed, then," McInnis said.
"The waking nightmares are over, yes. Again." This had happened twice already, as Wettle would be pleased to hear. After the alternate timelines were collapsed, Ilse stopped seeing them. This suggested the dying elseworlds were really and truly dead, which was... interesting, academically. The emotional import was something else entirely, and that was what McInnis had come here to discuss.
"I think it would be for the best if you didn't share that information with the others."
She raised a brow. "Really. Why?"
"It might be a cause of some distress to realize that everyone we interacted with for an entire calendar year has effectively died."
"Except it's one day later, and all your memories have switched over to the canon track. So..."
"Nevertheless." McInnis struggled to find the words to explain what he meant, which wasn't how things usually went. But this was a philosophically, perhaps even theologically sticky matter. "I believe, in some sense, that the experiences of the dead timelines--"
"Let's call them deadlines," she suggested.
He nodded. "The experiences of the //deadlines// are effecting change on my personnel. Something of the years they spend outside the natural course of reality..." He spread his hands, as though reaching out for the proper words. "...clings," he finished. It was close enough.
Ilse nodded, lips funneling into an expression of open pondering. "Interesting. And why do you think that?"
"Because Harry didn't remember to mention his renewed interest in teaching at the debriefing, and he didn't write it down, and no-one else raised the subject, and yet this morning before his shift he applied to teach a course at Falconer University."
The funnel became a full-on purse. "Not fully dead lines, then, perhaps."
"Perhaps. But if not fully dead, then... what?"
She canted her head, and those half-lidded eyes shut fully before snapping back open again. "Converging?" she suggested.
[!-- [[=image Reynders_Silhouettes.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 15 September
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Grand Cove##: Grand Bend, Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
She put on her glasses--
--and saw it in an instant. It wasn't there, but she saw it anyway.
The silhouette.
An elongated skull, no hair, distension on each side in rough approximation of ears, a wide and knobbly jaw set in a cruel eternal smirk, a long gaunt neck and emaciated chest and inhumanly elongated, bony shoulders. She saw it, and she saw through it, and what she saw through it was not her darkened living room where no light entered through the thick black shades and no light was cast by the ceiling fixture or the lamp on her coffee table, because she'd taken all the bulbs out, and therefore there could be no reflections, and therefore the silhouette could not actually be there, but it was, and through it she could see the past.
All of it. All at once. All of it wrong, all of it //bad.// She couldn't even focus on a single image, there were simply too many of them and they all hurt far too much.
Her eyes filled with tears in the dark, and she tore the glasses off and threw them across the room. They landed on the carpet, and she fell back on the couch, and she cried until she couldn't cry anymore.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/47-past-caring/DL_47_02_Bradbury_Cry.jpg]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 19 September
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
The word came down from on high, which was appropriate.
The Chair of Theology and Teleology at Site-43 had taken a complaint from one of his researchers, and kicked it up the ladder to his own boss at Tactical Theology. Tactical Theology had taken the matter up with Overwatch Command, which had consulted the two temporal departments, and after a few more years of waiting and seeing, a decision was made and kicked all the way back down to Udo Okorie.
She could, was in fact directed to, explain her encounters with Corbin's so-called semigods in detail.
She wasn't sure why it had to be her, outside of the fact that she was a thaumaturge. Blank was the storyteller. Lillian was the theorist. McInnis was their leader, both in the provisional taskforce and Site-wide. But the directive, like Corbin, had targeted her directly, and so here they were.
"What you're saying," the wiry theologian mused as she chewed on the end of her pencil, "is that there's consistency between iterations."
"You shouldn't do that."
Corbin blinked. "Do what?"
"Chew your eraser. Wettle did in the last deadline, and he ended up swallowing rubber."
The other woman raised her eyebrows without opening her eyes an iota wider.
"What? You wanted privileged extrauniversal information, and I'm obliging."
Corbin set put the pencil down. She already had a full page of notes, just from their awkward five minutes of discussion. "Why are you so opposed to talking about this?"
"Because I don't have anything to tell you. That's why they assigned //me// to do it."
This time the lids crept up toward the brows. "What do you mean?"
Udo leaned forward. "Brenda, I didn't see Wirth in the last timeline. All I know is what Allan told me, and Allan didn't tell anyone much, and what Lillian explained to me, and for all her genius and bluster, Lillian was only guessing. So, yeah. It seems like Wirth could control minds in the two deadlines we saw him in -- only we never saw him at //all// in the first one, and only Allan saw him in the second one. That doesn't qualify as data. It's hearsay."
"Hearsay //is// data in theological matters." Corbin grinned. "Have you ever actually read the Bible? It's wall to wall 'trust me on this'. A comprehensive record of all the things somebody might have heard a burning bush talk about. It all gets compiled, and then the editors come in to sort the hearsay that tracks with the hearsay that doesn't, and they reconfigure the latter as //heresy.//"
Udo rolled her eyes. "They're blowing you off, Brenda. Giving you access to me is their way of placating TactTheo without giving away the gritty details of what's actually going on."
All the mirth disappeared from Corbin's face. "You think this is about me? What's it say about you?"
Udo frowned. "What?"
"Maybe your time isn't worth as much as McInnis' or Lillihammer's."
Udo shrugged. "I mean, it isn't. That's a Site Director and a Section Chair you're talking about."
Corbin picked up the pencil again, and began expertly twiddling it through her fingers. It was kind of hypnotic. "That doesn't bother you? Being low on the totem pole?"
"Low, but not the bottom."
"Who's the bottom, then?"
A moment passed, and they both answered the question at once. "Wettle."
Corbin laughed. "Fair."
"It doesn't bother //you?//"
"What?"
"Never getting the answers you're looking for. They consult you on the nature of these things, and then they go away and reach conclusions you never get to hear about."
"I think of it as assembling an automobile." There was something disingenuous about Corbin's tone, now. "Everyone supplies one piece, one weld, one step of the process. It's a group thing."
"That sounds... not true. At all."
Corbin shrugged. "Maybe I've just made peace with the fact that I don't get to know how this ends. Can you say the same?"
[!-- [[=image Corbin_Okorie_Press.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 30 September
[[/=]]
----
Flora Nascimbeni pressed her hands to the purification tanks, and cooed. "I can feel the water circulating."
Her grandfather smiled. "That's the lifeblood of every community for miles around you're feeling." They were standing on the premises of Lake Huron Supply, Control and Purification, the not-quite-false front for Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-A. These legitimate, not at all anomalous topside systems provided clean drinking water to the indigenous reservations all around Lake Huron, pre-empting a federal government that regularly fell far short of its obligations.
"That's awesome." She tapped the metal and cocked her head to one side, as though listening for variations in the tone. "What're these made of?"
"Polyethylene."
"Not copper?"
He frowned. "Why would they be made of copper?"
"I've got this... memory." Flora sighed, and pressed her back up against the tank, eyes downcast. "You know what, never mind."
Flora had neatly transitioned from bouncy, energetic child to thoughtful, reserved teenager without passing first through the usual set of awkward, explosive life stages. Her father had done the same. Nascimbeni wondered if it had something to do with him. "No, go ahead."
She looked guilty. "It's just... I remember this thing. You were arguing with Uncle Romo."
Nascimbeni tried not to let it show, the sudden perceived drop in his internal temperature. He nodded with an encouragement he did not feel.
"Maybe not arguing. Discussing." She smiled a little, and met his eyes. "Sometimes hard to tell with our family."
//Our family.// Romolo Ambrogi. He reached up to massage the lump in his throat, smiled, and nodded again. "What were we discussing?"
"Copper pipes. Something about..." Her eyes rolled back a little as she tried to call up the scene. "Homeopathic... theophysics?"
Nascimbeni glanced around the factory floor. None of the LHSCP employees were anywhere near earshot. "You heard that?"
She nodded. "What does it mean?"
"It means..."
Suddenly, he laughed. Her hands slipped a little on the tank as she started in surprise. "It means you've got an //incredible// memory. What were you, four? Five? Remind me to introduce you to a friend of mine, some day. You two would have a lot to talk about."
She smiled again, this time in earnest. "As long as we do it here, you can introduce me to anyone you want."
[!-- [[=image Nascimbeni_Flora_AAF-A.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 12 October
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Grand Cove##: Grand Bend, Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
She put on her glasses, and saw it again. The same silhouette. Her living room was still dark, though she'd left the curtains open; she'd waited until the evening, fortified with a glass of wine, to try again. She could take it this time. It'd been a month.
She still couldn't take it. She //could// focus on the images, if she tried, and she wondered if that was because she was simply replaying an old memory, and the tapes in her head were winding down, running slower. She zeroed in, and saw herself sitting on the edge of her bed, crying up a storm. She was eight years old, and holding the wallet her mother had bought her for her seventh birthday. She kept pennies in it. She bought candy with the pennies, for herself, for all her friends. And for no reason she could adequately explain -- not that she would ever speak a word of this to anyone -- she went along with her friend Christina's scheme to put the pennies on the tracks down the road and test a theory that it would derail the train.
She stayed up all that night, horrified, petrified, thinking that she might have done something unforgivable for no better reason than because one of her friends had told her to. Her mother wouldn't understand. Her father wouldn't understand. They always told her to get her head out of the clouds, focus on what was happening in front of her, realize the consequences of her actions. And now she'd derailed a train, probably.
That wasn't the night that she saw, through the reflection in her glasses that wasn't there. She saw the next night, when the news filtered into her house through dad's old transistor radio that a homeless man was run down on the tracks in the early morning, run down by the late-running midnight special. Nobody knew what he was doing on the tracks.
She was holding the empty wallet, and she knew. The droids were staring up, tilted back as though in shock, trying to get farther away from her.
Because she was a murderer, at eight years old.
Her eyes blurred again, and it got harder to focus, and the things she saw next all in a rush were so terrible that she didn't even notice for several minutes that the act of clawing the glasses off her face coincided with the act of tearing a deep gash in her forehead with one long fingernail. She didn't notice this until she started to see red.
She'd loved that wallet. Her mother had known that she loved it. Her mother had bought it for her because she knew she'd love it, because she loved her.
A murderer.
She'd put it in a dresser drawer that night, and never took it out again. When her mother found it there, years later, helping to clean her room, she'd said "So that's where that went. I thought you liked this one."
She could see that without the glasses, in her mind's eye. She could hear the inscrutable tone of her mother's voice. She could remember the confusion of guilt.
She waited until her eye started to sting before getting up.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 19 October
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
Koda Anoki placed both hands on the manila folder in front of him. It compressed thin as a sheet; perhaps there was nothing inside of it at all. Anoki knew the value of props as well as Ngo did. It was psychological. "She's been quite insistent, you know."
Ngo nodded. "Karen is consistently insistent. Yes, sir."
The Chair of Psychology and Parapsychology narrowed his eyes at her. He had a very judgemental office. Glowering portraits, framed degrees, awards, motivational posters with a rhetorical edge. Like the office of Michael Nass, only secularized. But Anoki was psychologist to the other Chairs and Chiefs, of course, and they regularly played gods themselves. This was probably the only place in the Site where they were ever made to account for their decisions, so the decor made a certain good sense. "Chief Elstrom has the authority to make these requests, and hold us to them. You know that."
Ngo shifted in her chair. "Of course. It's just..."
"It's just what?"
She sighed. "It's just that I don't much care for the ethical ramifications of //setting up dates for someone// we're already gaslighting into--"
Anoki raised a hand. "Gas lighting?"
She backed up her train of thought. "From an old movie where a man tries to drive his wife insane by changing the brightness of the gas lights in their house, and insisting she's imagining it. Lying to people to make them believe the truth is crazy."
Anoki tutted. "Insane and crazy. Very professional terminology."
Ngo tried not to rise to the bait. "What I'm saying, sir, is that Phil is already going through a lot, and a lot of that is stuff we're putting him through. I don't think it's particularly moral to interfere with his love life like this."
"I see." Anoki tapped the probably empty folder again. "You seem to care a lot about him."
"Of course I do. He's one of my patients."
"He is. He is in fact one of your patients." She had the sudden sense of having committed an error. "And as such, you should take care not to take your personal feelings into account when considering his course of treatment."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/47-past-caring/DL_47_03_Ngo_Date.jpg]]
She wanted to laugh in his face, but that wouldn't have helped anyone. "This is not a course of treatment, sir. This is an abuse of authority, to keep him complacent."
Anoki's composure was unshaken. "If you don't think you can continue to offer Mr. Deering the care that will enable him to retain his mobility within this Site, then just let me know. I'll take up the duty myself, and lighten your case load."
"That's not--"
Anoki sat back. "And maybe then, when some time has passed, you can ask the man on a date yourself. Since you're so very concerned about the legitimacy of his love life."
[!-- [[=image Anoki_Ngo_Dates.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 23 October
[[/=]]
----
It wasn't something she could pursue during work hours, because it had little to no bearing on the security of Site-43. The woman she was investigating //had// once invaded the facility, a squad of brainwashed Mounties in tow, had even taken potshots at the Director before being chased off by immortal Austrian memeticist Thilo Zwist -- that file had been a hell of a read -- but by 2012, Elizabeth Crocker was no longer considered a threat.
Because by all accounts, she should be dead.
The woman would be ancient by now. She'd never been particularly subtle with her machinations; she'd nearly disassembled the Foundation in the 1960s through a series of devastating attacks and leaks which had turned most of the world's governments against the cause of normalcy, in what was now known internally as the Panopticon Crisis. She'd assassinated an Overseer, probably (the records were, not surprisingly, spotty on this matter). She'd evicted a Site Director from his post -- Daniil Sokolsky's father, coincidentally. And then she'd vanished into the ether, presumably to die.
But there were traces...
Donations to right-wing think tanks from public figures whose records just //stopped// abruptly if you followed them too far back or too far forward. Blurry photographs of fascist action leagues -- photographs of fascist action leagues were often blurry, because hate was rarely brave -- where a familiar bouffant hairdo was visible in the back row. Always in the back row. And deep in the government records filched from the RCMP's Occult and Supernatural Activities Taskforce, scattered references to infiltration by an E.C. who had thoroughly embarrassed the organization by provoking direct conflict with the Foundation.
It was possible, just possible, that Elizabeth Crocker was still out there somewhere. An historical outlier.
And if she was, well. Outliers were vulnerable. Isolated. Often fragile.
And Ibanez was in the prime of her life.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 1 November
[[/=]]
----
The cat lurched across the carpet, and Lillian noted his hesitation before leaping up onto the couch and crawling onto her lap. She razzed him like he was a tiny dog, and he began to purr as he always did.
"Getting old," she remarked.
"Are you?" Harry asked, from the kitchen table. He was going over personnel evaluations for Archives and Revision.
She looked around for something to throw at him, but didn't find anything physical until the moment had nearly passed. The cat certainly wouldn't play ball. Something verbal, then. "You talk to Udo lately?"
He didn't look up. "Why would I?"
It took almost a solid minute for her penetrating stare to discomfit him enough to sigh, theatrically, and make eye contact. "No, seriously. Why would I?"
"Because when fuck buddies stop fucking, they can still be //buddies.//"
His face expanded a little as it filled with air. He stifled the guffaw, literally swallowing it down. "I'm busy, and she's busy."
"She's //getting// busy. With Laiken." Lillian made a complex and vulgar gesture. Her long fingers were perfect for that sort of thing.
He rolled his eyes, and looked down again. "Good talk, Lil. Don't you have some mischief to make somewhere else?"
Scout meowed. It sounded a little hoarse to her ears.
She suddenly smiled. "You know what?"
[!-- [[=image Lillihammer_Scout.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Stacey Laiken made perhaps half a dozen stammering excuses and left in a blur of blush and golden hair. Udo watched her go, bemused. "She seriously cannot be real."
"She isn't," Lillian agreed. She flopped down on the recliner that was now, by everything but actual law, hers. "I just thought of an experiment. Can I run it past you?"
Udo gathered her hair back behind her head, and tied it. Lillian had the sense she might have interrupted something intimate; she had a good sense for that, since she'd done it so often. "Shoot."
"Exactly. Shots. The ones we think might be... are you going to lie to me?"
Udo frowned. "Huh?"
Lillian pointed at her. "Your expression changed when I mentioned the shots."
"It did not."
"It did! You've got something to hide."
"Lillian." Udo sat up straight, and considered her quite gravely. "You can't tell someone is going to lie with one second of face-reading. Not even you."
"You're just a really shit liar, is all." Lillian kicked back in the chair, and its springs //sproing//ed in protest. "Okay, putting a pin in that. The shots. The ones we think might be holy water from the fountain of youth. I know how we can check that out."
Udo shrugged. "Why bother? We already pretty much know."
Lillian sneered at her. "I realize you're a //witch,// Udo, but some of us are //scientists.//"
"Uh huh." Udo shifted on the couch, and Lillian realized she was trying to hide the fact that the button on her jeans was popped out of its slit. She felt a sudden rush of sympathy for the other woman. Fooling around with jeans on was the hard mode of heavy petting. "This is about science, then. Not your pathological inability to leave well enough alone."
"I just heard you say the same thing twice."
"Uh huh," she said again. "Okay. How do you propose to get a sample of the water, for whatever test you've got planned?"
"You'll just give me yours, obviously."
Udo blinked.
"Hey, that's really good."
"What is?"
"Either you're not planning to lie to me this time, or you're hiding it better already. I'm really proud of you, either way."
Udo didn't say anything.
"I know you haven't been taking the shots, Udo. How've you been tricking Forsythe? Micamancy?"
Still nothing.
"Abusing your thaumaturgy so they don't find out about your deep, dark secret is //hot,// I don't mind saying."
She finally rose to the bait. "What secret would that be?"
Lillian smiled, and took her own turn not responding.
Udo sighed. "Speaking theoretically... if I //did// fake taking the shots, what makes you think I'd still have them?"
"Because they're anomalous, and you don't know how to safely and secretly dispose of them. For all you know, pouring that shit down the drains will set off some filter and get Ibanez down here on your ass, or else contaminate the groundwater and make everyone in the Site into some immortal grey goo shit. You're too careful for that, and you picked up some of Harry's OCD responsibility bullshit while you were banging. So, no. You've still got them here somewhere, and you're going to share."
The other woman's eyes flashed orange. "Or what? You'll turn me in?"
Lillian grinned. "Of course not. I'm not a monster. I'll just tell Stacey about all the Barbie doll shit you did with Corbin in 5243-A."
She could see that it was almost enough, but not quite.
"And I'll tell Corbin, too."
"I'll go get the shots."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 5 November
[[/=]]
----
He massaged her shoulders. "Come on."
"No."
"Come //on.//"
"No!" Eileen wanted to reach up and slap Sokolsky's hands away, but...
...but damned if he didn't know just the right pressure points on her stiff neck and back.
He leaned over her shoulder, and whispered in her ear: "It would be really, really funny."
She shivered. Being nuzzled by Daniil Sokolsky's bald head was like rubbing your cheek against a deflated balloon. "Is that what we've come to now? Assigning people custody of dangerous anomalies because their suggested use cases are //funny?//"
He slid away, clutched the back of her chair, and turned her to face him. He was, in many ways, like a male version of Lillian Lillihammer. "Eileen, everyone else's suggested use cases are //dreadful.// They're //boring.// We don't learn anything from them, except how dreadful and boring everyone who works here can be when they really, //really// do not put their minds to it. And by 'it' I mean //interesting// things to do with the most interesting anomaly we have in containment." He tapped her upturned forehead. "Or rather, //you// have in containment. As for 'dangerous', well. I don't know what you're talking about."
She suppressed the urge to knee him in the groin. It was far too Ibanez a move. "LeClair tried to use the unforgettable password to cure her Alzheimer's. When that didn't work, she used it as a private password to store the files she was //stealing from other facilities// that were //also// studying Alzheimer's. You used it to defraud your research team--"
"I was teaching them a lesson on infosec, actually--"
"--and Pensak got the damn thing stuck in his head for a month because laryngitis wouldn't let him pass it on."
"It's been stuck in your head a lot longer, Eileen. Months and months. Am I to believe that no worthy projects have been proposed in that interim?"
"Oh, sure they have." She spun away from him, and called up a program so quickly that he couldn't have reproduced the keystrokes with a high-framerate camera to aid him. She began reading from the resulting display. "Lillian already wants to use it for another AI thing, despite the fact that she caused a runaway singularity and had to erase all her files the last time."
"You should see about restricting her permissions," Sokolsky mused. "She's not a programmer anymore."
"I should restrict //all// of your permissions. Bremmel wants to use it to generate pseudo-passwords algorithmically. He thinks he can find a way to replicate the anomaly in code. Can you imagine? More than one of this fucking thing?"
"I'm imagining it." She could hear the grin.
"Zlatá -- who doesn't even work here anymore, he sent this in //remotely// -- wants to try combining it with one of those thaumaturgical computers they're developing at Site-36. Reynders wants to test how transmission works through atemporal space, which is to say the incinerator she lives in. Astrauskas wants to see if it changes people's auras, and frankly, that's the only one I'm seriously considering for approval right now. Because Daniil," and she spun back around, "I'm convinced there's something in this thing that rots people's brains. It's an unforgettable, one-person password. It's not an eigenweapon. But every time we loan it to somebody, something horrible happens."
He placed one hand over his heart. "If it's corrupting your brain, Eileen, I owe it to you to carry that burden in your stead. Please, let me be the one to get the brain tumour. I'll let you have co-author when I write up my results."
"Your results will probably get written up by S&C, at this point. Or a mission report by Hammer Down, when they have to reclaim the Site from whatever eldritch monstrosities you end up releasing." She found herself raising her voice. She couldn't help it. It was just a fact.
He affected a wounded expression. "I don't do //eldritch,// Eileen. My schemes are strictly of the non-world-ending variety."
She stood up, and unzipped her sweater. The room suddenly felt too warm. "Get out."
He blinked.
"I said, //get out.// I'm done with this."
"Define //this.//"
"//This.// No more schemes. No more bullshit. No more fucking NECK MASSAGES. I'm not your partner in crime. Get out of my office."
He nodded. "Business only, then. Alright. If you change your mind--"
"I'll turn myself in." She sat back down, and turned her chair's back to him. "Your requisition request is denied."
She expected him to say something like "For now," or "Perhaps I'll submit it to someone more qualified, next time," or something equally scathing, biting or cruel. Instead he said nothing, and eventually she turned around to see that he'd left without closing the door behind him.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/47-past-caring/DL_47_04_Veiksaar_Sokolsky.jpg]]
She closed it herself.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 2 December
[[/=]]
----
//The Federal Bureau of Investigation.//
She threw a punch. The bag absorbed much of the impact, but still went rocketing away well out of proportion to the size of her tiny fist.
//The Central Intelligence Agency.//
Another punch. The leather creaked, and the chain jangled. People were staring. Let them stare.
//The National Security Administration.//
It was just her imagination that the leather was threatening to split.
//The Department of Homeland Security.//
The bag did not explode into a shower of stuffing and rubber strips, but the pain did reverberate down the bones of her hand, forearm, upper arm and shoulder, so she fell back against the mirrored well and relented. //The federal government of the United States of America,// her newest nemesis, conceptually reeled from the violence of her attacks against its constituent elements. Months of research, months of stonewalling. Threats from her, protestations of innocence and ignorance from them. Few governmental agencies were willing to outright deny requests from the SCP Foundation, but her every inquiry on the matter of Elizabeth Crocker met with dead end after dead end. They were hiding something. They were //afraid// of something.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/47-past-caring/DL_47_05_Ibanez_Punch.jpg]]
Perhaps Crocker was afraid of something.
Perhaps that something was //her.//
"It fucking should be," she growled as she bent to collect her discarded jumpsuit.
"Talking to yourself?"
Ibanez glanced across the gymnasium at the yoga mats, where Nhung Ngo was performing a few easy practice stretches. She didn't answer.
"I always find dialogues more productive than monologues," the other woman smiled as she completed her final deep lunge. "We don't have to make an appointment. We could just--"
"Mind our own business?" Ibanez suggested. "Sounds //great.//" She collected her jumpsuit, ID badge and firearm in a heap, and stomped off for the showers before the psychologist could riposte.
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Ngo_Reject.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 31 December
[[/=]]
----
It was a typical Canadian celebration.
The saloon was packed -- which didn't take much, since serving alcohol to the entire Site population had never been a desirable function -- and everyone was mingling, in that way you did when every breath you took came directly out of someone else's lungs anyway. The big screen on the north wall kept flipping back and forth between the local New Year's Eve programming and the big ball countdown in New York, as whoever had the remote kept hoping against hope that Toronto would put on some decent music or the presenters might say something interesting. By eleven thirty, patriotism be damned, Anderson Cooper had won out.
There was cheering, hand shaking, back slapping and a little overdramatic snogging when the hour finally struck, and the compressed crowd proceeded to split in twain. Half of everybody started making their excuses and heading out, while the other half settled into the task of poisoning their bloodstreams in earnest. When there was enough space to move, little cliques formed. When a few of those dispersed, there was dancing. Harry found himself at the bar, spiked tomato juice in hand, and he didn't notice who else was there until the final phase began: just him and the rest of the dregs with nowhere better to go, propped up by their stools and not a lot else.
Udo yawned, breaking the silence that had rushed in to fill the space between them when technician third class Jessie MacCrum had stumbled off to use the washroom and never returned. He glanced at her, and she glanced back blearily. She blinked. She looked him up and down, and said: "You mess up alright."
It took him a moment to make the connection, recognize the reference. He glanced down at his rumpled sweater, his track pants, and even the hairs of a beard that projected far enough forward he could see it past his nose, and grunted. "I'm always messed up. This is just me being overt."
She pulled on a long strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face. Pulled it taut, straight, then let it go. It sprang back into curls as though composed of twisted wire. "We should probably get out of here."
He nodded. "Laiken'll be wondering where you are."
She frowned. "Why?"
He frowned back at her, noticing for the first time that she was wearing the same golden dress she'd worn at Area-21, a decade prior. If anything, she filled it out better than she had before. And before...
He shook his head. "What do you mean, why? Aren't you two...?"
She looked down at her empty glass -- he had no idea what she'd been drinking -- and then pressed four fingertips to it, and //flicked.// It tumbled off the counter on the empty bartender's side, and disappeared. There was no crash; the glasses at Site-43 weren't actually made of glass. "We //were.//"
"Oh." He shrugged, "That's... okay."
"What?" Her orange eyes flashed,
"I mean... in the deadline...?"
"So you'll be heading home to Karen, then?" she snapped. "No wonder you're drinking."
He felt his cheeks flush, and thought he must be getting angry. But when he opened his mouth to say something cutting, what came out instead was "I'm heading home alone."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/47-past-caring/DL_47_06_Okorie_Bar.jpg]]
She nodded. "Me too."
He took a breath. "Want to go together?"
[!-- [[=images Blank_Okorie_Resume.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
They went together.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ 2013
++ 12 January
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Grand Cove##: Grand Bend, Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
She put on her glasses, and this time she was ready. It had been another month, and she'd had time to think. To grow. It was late again, and the lights were on.
//I'm not living in the dark anymore. I'm starting to see things more clearly, and it's time I started __seeing things more clearly__.//
She wasn't ready.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 24 January
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-s-c-plastics-hub Site-87]: Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin, United States of America**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
Ibanez longed for the days when the Temporal Anomalies Department had been a mysterious, distant threat.
One of the first things she'd done on returning to baseline was put in a request for a meeting with one Dr. Placeholder McDoctorate, Senior Researcher in Pataphysics at Site-87, to find out why his alternate universe counterpart was acting as some kind of interdimensional spoiler, and also to ask him in person what the fuck was going on with his name. The first result she'd gotten was a cease and desist order from TAD, which arrived in her inbox the instant she sent out the email. TAD was going to do its own investigation first, armed with Ngo's debriefing reports, and they'd get back to her when that was over and done with.
It had apparently taken them five months to achieve this goal.
But now here she was, standing at the base of a hideous square office building on a hill surrounded by forests in rural Wisconsin, waiting for the man with the ridiculous name to come trotting out for their lunch date. When the sliding doors slid open and he appeared, her first thought was //he looks like he should work at 43.//
Placeholder McDoctorate was statuesque -- Classical Greek, specifically -- with a very full head of curly hair. He looked like the movie version of himself. He saw her sitting at the picnic table near the path to the parking lot, and jogged over. "Hey!"
She raised a hand in greeting.
"Nice to finally meet you." He slid onto the bench seat across from her. "Heard so much about."
She raised a brow.
"Meaning," he stammered, "uh, that the TAD... they talked a lot about... well." He drummed the tabletop. "Told me what you guys had been up to. Out there." He waved vaguely.
She raised the other brow. "The TAD shared confidential timeline information with you?"
He almost looked offended. "Chief, I have Level 4 clearance. I used to be Director of Site-15."
"That wasn't in your file."
"It is, actually." He sighed. "You just can't remember reading it."
Her brows wouldn't go any higher.
He gripped the tabletop. "But let's not talk about me. Let's talk about you. And me. What do I have to do with you? It's been years since I was involved in anything important enough for Department heads to come calling, and it's been over a decade since the TAD bothered with me."
"Sounds like you already know."
He shook his head. "No. They showed me the L4 version of your file, 5243, and then audited all my activities since 2002, and asked me about correlations. Had I ever had administrative aspirations? I had not, beyond the obvious. Had I ever considered branching out to arachnology? I //absolutely// had not. Had I ever been involved in high technology? Obviously yes, and I refamiliarized them with that, but it apparently wasn't what they were looking for. Then they asked me about time travel and dimensional shifts, and I had to explain to them that the only dimensions I'm interested in these days are narrative."
She wrinkled her nose. The first time she'd heard about pataphysics, only the vaguest of superficial descriptions, she'd resolved to look no deeper. It sounded uniquely capable of both driving her to drink, and driving her nuts. It had something to do with the anomalous fiction (she didn't like fiction) and/or anomalous means of interacting with fiction (even worse) and/or the possibility that the real world was responsive to the 'laws' of fiction (potentially the worst thing possible). She was determined that no matter how this conversation went, it would not involve this man's area of specialty.
Except so far as it could explain what the hell was going on with his name.
"I don't want to talk about pataphysics," she told him. "I want to know why you showed up in every dead timeline, changed maybe one or two details, then fucked off again."
He blinked. "That's the most directly I've heard it stated. You're sure it was me?"
"No. I can't picture the guy at all, and you're plenty memorable." It couldn't have been the heat that was making him blush. Not in grey February. "But Allan, the Director, brought up a mysterious figure in his 2004 debrief whose name and face he couldn't remember, but he //could// remember a tag on the guy's uniform that said 'PHMD'."
"Ah."
"And that guy helped us refound the Foundation, apparently, although none of the rest of us ever even saw him. But in the next line, I remembered a computer scientist trying co-opt a spider hivemind to do complex calculations."
"Hmm. Wait, a sp--"
"And from the last deadline, Lillian remembered your face in perfect detail. You were helping to reverse-engineer a world-altering machine created by a dead god."
The pataphysicist's memorable face was squirming and contorting. He finally managed: "Perfect detail? I thought this figure was supposed to be antimemetic?"
"Sure. But Lillian's got eidetic memory."
"That wouldn't help."
"Better than eidetic, then. Perfect. Invincible. She never forgets anything, even if it stops having ever happened."
"Wow." A faraway look entered into his eyes. "That sounds... promising. I wonder if--"
"So what I want to know from //you,//" and she leaned far forward to grab his hands and press them to the rough tabletop, "is why you'd be a dimension-hopping dilettante while the rest of us are trying to keep the entire world from falling apart."
He winced, and tried to withdraw his hands without success. "I don't know. I told you, I'm not into dimensional studies or time travel or anything like that. All I do now is pataphysics. I don't even do computers anymore, except where those fields intersect."
She pressed harder. "If you had to imagine a motive, something that would make you want to do this, what would it be?"
He tried to shrug, but lacked the leverage on his own arms now. "I don't know. Curiosity? It sounds like... could you loosen up, please? I'm not going anywhere." She released the pressure, and he winced before continuing. "It sounds like whoever this is, is looking for the most interesting things going on in each timeline. A new Foundation. Whatever that spider thing was. Your god-machine."
"But he wasn't just looking. He was poking and prodding."
"Maybe, I don't know..." He looked up at the treeline, then back down at her suddenly. "It might be pataphysics."
She tightened her grip again. "It is //not// pataphysics."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/47-past-caring/DL_47_07_Placeholder_Confused.jpg]]
He yanked his hands back, yelped, and pulled a splinter out of one palm. "But it might be. Think about it. Intervening to shape the course of events. Learning from the story, and helping to write it. You could be dealing with the world's first hands-on pataphysicist."
She scowled. "You."
He raised both hands, one now reddening in the middle. "//Not// me. An alternate me."
"What might be so important about an alternate you? What's important about //this// you?"
"I used to be the Director of Site-15," he said. "And I got my identity abstracted by an extranarrative entity I was looking at too closely."
She snapped her fingers. "I did mean to ask you about that. I bet if you and Marion Wheeler scheduled a meeting together with somebody, they'd think it was just a prank."
His pretty face closed in on itself in confusion. "Who's Marion Wheeler?"
"Never mind. Is it possible..." She realized she was about to ask him something both ridiculous and dangerous. But that didn't mean she didn't have to ask. "Is it possible this... identity abstraction... Might make you desperate at some point later in life? Enough to want to play fast and loose with temporal laws?"
He shook his head emphatically. "My condition has already done all of the harm it's ever going to do to my personal life and career. Whatever this is, it's something else. And I'm still not convinced I have anything to do with it. I've been thoroughly vetted. Everybody at my clearance level is under frequent surveillance. And I hardly ever leave the Site!" A thought visibly occurred to him, pinging around in his head hard enough to cock it sideways. "You know TAD has agents who can hop from timeline to timeline?"
"What?"
"So it might be someth--"
She reached for his hands again, and he recoiled out of reach. "No. Go back. Timeline-hopping agents? They can travel from line to line?"
He nodded.
She took a deep breath.
"THEN WHY THE FUCK DON'T THEY?!"
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Placeholder_Euler.jpg]] --]
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[[/=]]
It took her a moment to recognize the old man who approached across the green as she headed for her vehicle. He'd shrunken considerably, and his pallor was now such that the cold sunlight seemed almost an existential threat. But the bowtie tipped her off, and so after unlocking the driver's side door of the little sedan, she stopped and waited.
"Any luck?" Arik Euler seemed out of breath just from the effort of crossing the lawn.
Ibanez felt like offering him a hand, or somewhere to sit, but she didn't know him well enough, so she didn't. "Waste of time."
"That's a shame. I assume this is about your ongoing... predicament?"
She nodded.
"I've had a few thoughts about that. Are you heading back to Site-43 now, by any chance?" Euler was still //de facto// the Chair of Memetics and Countermemetics, despite having long since returned to his home turf of Site-87. Nobody wanted the job, because all of the candidates were memeticists, a cohort that produced and valued leaders about as often as did anarchists.
"Yes," and she drew the single syllable out to two or three, "why?"
He gestured at the car. "I was wondering if you might offer me a ride. It would be nice to see the old stomping grounds again. Familiar faces."
"Lillian's, for example."
"For example."
She popped the door open. "Sure, I guess. Let me get the heater going before you freeze."
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
As security chief, Ibanez had always liked Ilse Reynders. She was the only member of personnel whose location was a perpetual certainty.
Reynders held up a finger as Ibanez approached the glass. "One moment. One moment... okay." Her eyes fluttered open. "Sorry. Was calculating."
"How did you know I was coming?"
Reynders gestured at the complex array of machinery affixed to the outside edge of her glass enclosure. "We've worked out how to make the glass into an amplifier," she explained. Whenever Reynders attributed something to //we,// she generally meant //me.// Ibanez never knew whether this was modesty or the ragged remnant of the way things had been done when the polymath had last circulated in society; when a woman claimed sole credit for a discovery, the reception had often been chilly and the conclusions considered suspect.
"So you heard my footsteps?"
The other woman nodded miserably. "Yeah. Can't wait for you guys to mess up the timeline again. I'll probably be hearing footsteps at all hours, and only seeing half the feet at a time."
Ibanez did not put her hand on the glass. She'd always found the gesture patronizing. She looped her fingers through her belt, and took a wide stance in front of the glass. "So, I had a chat with Arik Euler just now. In my car."
Reynders smiled sadly. "What's he smell like?"
Ibanez was taken aback. "What's...?"
Reynders blushed furiously. "Sorry. Sorry. We just... we worked together. A lot. For months. On the most important project of either of our lives. He was standing," and she tapped the glass, "right... //there.// Where you are now. And I don't know what he smelled like. His aftershave. His clothes. I don't know what his voice sounded like; back then it was all I could do to make out the words people were saying unless they put a little //oomph// into it, and Arik was always so soft-spoken." She sighed. "I'm sorry. You were going to ask me a question, presumably."
"Yeah. Weirdo. What do you know about Elizabeth Crocker?"
The blue eyes widened. Nobody else at the Site had blue eyes that could widen that far. "She was the reason we made the Frontispiece in the first place."
"Go on."
The other woman's gaze was strong and steady. She didn't have to work hard to draw out the memories. Her brain hadn't aged an iota since those memories had first been formed. "She had a grudge against the Foundation, and she used the Cold War to destroy us. Turned every developed nation against us, one by one. Strangled our operations, globally. Even assassinated an Overseer. Got us tossed out of Russia -- you ought to ask Sokolsky about that."
Ibanez made a mental note, and nodded.
"She made it impossible for us to keep doing the Work." A select few of Director Scout's old cadre still said that word like it meant something special, the way a Christian might name their God. Reverence. "People were afraid to leave their facilities. National security forces were circulating lists of our personnel, arrest or shoot on sight. Diplomatic talks with Groups of Interest broke down. Our front companies were all liquidated, nationalized or bankrupted. That one woman nearly managed to take the whole Foundation down in a matter of months."
"How?"
"She was a //giftschreiber.//"
"Okay, sure, but //how?// Where did she get the intel? The materiel? Boots on the ground? How did one woman wage a war against the planetary shadow government?"
Reynders shrugged. "We never knew. It was apparent that some of the cult was on her side, maybe all of it. //Giftschreiber// are anarchists, and they don't often work together -- or at least, not well -- but she must have had a small army to achieve what she did."
Ibanez nodded. "The Chaos Insurgency."
Those bright blue eyes blinked, twice. "What?"
"The Chaos Insurgency. She had the Chaos Insurgency. She was there, in Zevala, when they destroyed my village. I think she was in charge of them."
Reynders whistled. It came out curiously flat, whether naturally or thanks to the equipment transmitting sound to Ibanez's side of the glass. "That's a new one on me. Why haven't I heard it before?"
"Because I told Scout everything I knew, and a few years later I told Allan, and apparently neither of them thought it was worth making the connection for me, so nobody's done anything with this information in almost twenty fucking years." She was fuming, and she let it happen. Better to get it out now than to leave it bottled up.
Reynders was shaking her head. "I suppose it makes sense, but we've never suspected a connection like that before. Crocker always preferred organized chaos. Chaos to a //plan.// The Insurgency, they're practically a randomizing factor. I don't see how the one works with the other. And to what end? What was so special about your village? No offence intended."
Ibanez ran a finger along the sill, careful not to disturb the grouting. "There was... a facility. I don't know much about it. But I spent a long, long time cooped up in there."
"One relates." Reynders' voice was very soft.
Ibanez ignored it. "A long, long, //long// time. Longer for me, inside, than it was for them. Outside."
"You mean time dilation?"
Ibanez nodded.
"How much time dilation?"
Ibanez smiled. "I don't remember. They'd just started working out targeted amnestics when they picked me up -- us, I mean, the Foundation -- and they were very selective about what I was allowed to keep knowing. All I can tell you now is that there was some sort of R&D Site in my village, and it let me do in one day what should have taken me a year."
"Meaning what? What did you do?"
"I invented myself."
She let the silence hang until the other woman broke it.
"I assume you think Crocker is still alive."
"I've got reason to believe."
"So, you're going to try to find her."
"Yes."
"And stop whatever she's doing."
"Yes."
"Even though you now have reason to believe she's at the head of //two// death cults, instead of just one."
Ibanez grinned. "The great thing about death cults," she said through gritted teeth, "is that nobody much complains when you fucking kill them all."
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Reynders.jpg]] --]
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++ 26 January
[[/=]]
----
Far across the Site from where they sat, the DUAL Core was humming up a storm and Xinyi Du was fussing over it, his entire staff mustered for monitoring and maintenance. The results poured across Lillian's screen, organized themselves, slotted into each category, populating each list.
Euler shook his head in amazement. "It's like mapping the human genome."
Lillian yawned. "That was last year. Small potatoes. Just a matter of effort. Mapping a thaumaturgical effect is... well. Pretty much magic."
"Not so much." Eileen was paging through a terminal of her own; they were sitting back to back at I&T's main horseshoe conference table, while Euler watched them both from the middle. "It's still just code and data. Much, much more code and data, but still."
"The photon profiles seem solid." Lillian turned the monitor so the old man could see it better. "We've got everything. Wavelength, angle, brightness. Every microscopic speck on the page, run through our makeshift demonics--"
"Demonics?" Euler repeated.
Lillian waved it off. "We needed a translator for the thaumaturgy. Something that can understand how cryptomancy functions on an EVE basis, but also speak computer code. It needs to know what it's looking at to compile it. So, demonics. It's what it sounds like. You don't want to know more."
"I believe you," he agreed. "In both senses."
"Good. Well, listen. From what I can see -- assuming the translations are accurate?"
"They're accurate." Eileen was typing now. "And the Core is spinning them through every mathematical permutation exactly as programmed."
"Well, of course. That program was designed by the three best programmers Canadian money can buy. And the demonic containment subroutines--"
"--have gotten much better since that farce with the rogue AI."
"Rogue AI?" Euler repeated again, looking back and forth between them.
Lillian waved this off more urgently, but Eileen continued to speak. "Lillian's last bit of coding almost accidentally started the technological singularity. Her pet project actually stole an SCP from her and held it ransom until she was able to purge the whole thing from the system."
"With the //totally worth it result,//" Lillian sighed, "that now we know how to build electronic prisons not even techno-Beelzebub could wriggle out of. And now that the data's all in," she almost imagined she could hear the Core winding down, and certainly the lights in the room seemed brighter now, "we've got everything we need to replicate your test image electronically."
"Meaning a computerized stun agent," Euler prompted.
"Right. Of course, they're going to want something stronger for the double-oh-one database project--"
"I'll have nothing to do with kill agents," the old man snapped crossly.
"Yeah, of course you won't. Point is," and she turned to face him directly, "yes. I'll be able to digitize your cryptomancy, and replicate its effects using only scientific principles."
He looked impressed. Awed. More than a little apprehensive, as he should have. "And how long will that take your people to do? The first example, I mean. Ballpark."
"Ballpark?" She frowned. "Oh, I don't know. It's their first time. Maybe a year?"
He stared at her.
"Unless I help, in which case we'll probably have something to show you by lunchtime tomorrow."
[!-- [[=image Lillihammer_Euler_Veiksaar.jpg]] --]
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++ 27 January
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Sunset Cove, Pensacola:## Florida, United States of America**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
The old folks' home smelled too clean.
Billie had spent years in her mother's workplace at Site-43, and she'd gotten used to this specific smell. It was the smell of something filthy having happened, then been cleaned up so efficiently that the space ended up tidier than it had been before. It was the smell of failed biology covered up with alcohol and bleach.
The car had smelled only slightly less antiseptic. The charter plane that had brought them here from Canada was similar. The brief burst of actual fresh Florida air had been bracing, a rare unfamiliarity in the grey of her existence, and she knew that if her mother could have connected the two vehicles with an airtight umbilical, she would have. Billie's shoulders still ached from the antiviral injections she'd been forced to endure to come along on this little trip.
She was starting to think they hadn't been worth it.
"I spoke to Van Rompay," her mother was telling the withered little wheelchair-bound woman. "He wanted me to tell you he's doing well."
Émilie LeClair blinked up at them both. Her eyes looked very small without the eyeshadow and eyeliner, and they were unfocused. "Gedeon? Gedeon was just here."
Billie's mother smiled and nodded encouragingly. "Well, he just wanted you to know, anyhow."
LeClair made eye contact with Billie. Billie looked away, at the neatly-made bed and neatly-folded laundry and neatly-vacuumed carpet, wondering what it must be like for everything around you to be fiddled with by other people, to not have anything of your own that was exempt from outside interference. LeClair kept staring at her, nevertheless, and said: "She thinks I'm making it up."
Billie looked back at the old woman. "I think you're making it up, too."
"Billie." Her mother's tone was dangerous.
LeClair laughed, her brittle bones shaking with the effort. "Good girl. Don't take any shit from this one." She pointed up at Billie's mother. "She's after my job."
Helena Forsythe looked pained. "Em..."
LeClair waved her off. "I know. I know. I'm in Florida. I'm in a home. You put me in a home. Not that I blame you!" She reached down and pushed her wheelchair forward, and both Billie and her mother stumbled aside to let her pass. "I would have done the same. I //should// have done the same. Maybe I was going to, but I forgot. Wouldn't that be funny?"
"Where are you going?" Billie's mother asked.
LeClair had rolled over to a steam trunk wedged between the dresser and the bookcase. "Nowhere. Here. Come and help me with this, ah..." She looked back at Billie, and snapped her fingers as though trying to light a spark. "Ah... come help me with this, child."
Billie decided not to protest the phrasing. She knelt down and lifted the lid on the trunk. It wasn't very heavy. Inside there were papers, scattered old articles of fancy dress, a few framed photographs, the usual detritus of extreme old age or extreme unhealth. She looked up at the old doctor. "What're you looking for?"
"There's something I want you to have."
Billie looked down at the trunk again, then back up. "What is it?"
LeClair leaned down, rummaged around a bit, then sat back up with a look of confusion on her face. "It's... it isn't here."
"What was it?" Billie pressed.
LeClair waved her off again. "It doesn't matter. It isn't there. Close the lid."
Billie closed the lid, and was about to ask again what LeClair had wanted to give her when she saw that the old woman was crying. She looked to her mother for support, but her mother was crying, too.
[!-- [[=image Forsythe_LeClair_Billie.jpg]] --]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Ipperwash Provincial Park]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
"I'm still bothered by that demonic circuitry."
Lillian sighed. "It's only a stopgap. They're working on a mechanical thaumaturge at Site-36. When that's up and running, it'll handle the translations."
They were walking through Ipperwash Park, Euler puffing a little to keep up with her long strides. She'd already tried walking slowly, and he'd told her off for it.
"It's still immoral."
"I didn't expect you to get all Christian on me."
The old man glowered up at her. "That isn't what I mean. Forced impressment of a sapient being..."
Lillian laughed. "Arik, they're //demons.// Literal, actual demons. From hell. Thaumaturges have been binding them since back when they were honest enough to call themselves witches and wizards. And it's a bit of a bad joke, isn't it?"
"What?"
"Complaining about forced containment of sophonts. We both still work for the Foundation. And you," she tapped the grey fuzz on her mentor's head affectionately, "once stuck your finger in the ear of every man, woman and child on this planet, and //swizzled.// We do some things for the greater good."
Euler's expression solidified like cement. "How well did you know Vivian Scout?"
She shrugged. "Not well."
"But you've heard of the Good Work."
She nodded.
"Did you ever hear him talk about the greater good? With that same emphasis? That same faith?" He rounded on her, and they both stopped walking. "And don't tell me you don't remember. I'm not in the mood for jokes. I'm too old for delays."
She met his narrowed eyes. "No, I don't suppose I ever did. But unlike some people around here, I haven't outsourced my moral compass to a dead man. I make my own decisions."
"Like using demonic slave labour, and erasing sentient computer programs."
She snorted. "It was going to erase //me.// I just happened to be faster. And smarter."
"Lillian..." He sighed. "Please, just this once, can we drop the ironic façade and speak frankly? I am trying to tell you something."
"I'm listening."
"But are you //hearing?// I'm telling you that just because the ends can be made to justify the means, doesn't excuse you from trying to find //better// means. For Vivian, the Good Work was a process. Always striving to become better. To make each iteration an improvement on the last. To become more effective. More ethical. More //humane.// I know full well what your electronic system is going to do, by the time you're done with it. It's going to kill people stone dead at their machines for daring to open the wrong files. Tell me I'm wrong."
She didn't say anything.
"The greater good is not a proper noun. It is not a defined thing with known parameters. It is not an endpoint, it is not a goal. It is not the telos of the Good Work. The Good Work has no telos. It has no end. You do that work //forever.// You don't do it to justify horrid acts in pursuit of a single speck of time on the timeline of human existence. You strive each and every day in what you hope is the right direction, you correct course when you find yourself to be wrong, and you rest easy in the knowledge that you will never stop striving, and you will never see the work complete. We," and he reached up and tapped her on the shoulder, "are not ever complete. Not even when we die. We all fall short of what we could be. The best we can do is //reach.// Are you reaching?"
She took a steadying breath. "What do you think reaching looks like?"
He told her. "And how do you think that will end?"
She told him.
He searched her eyes for the truth, and finding that it matched the words she had spoken, he closed the space between them and enveloped her lower torso in a weak, but heartfelt embrace.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/47-past-caring/DL_47_08_Euler_Lillihammer_Hug.jpg]]
They held each other in the shadow of the canopy for some time. She moved them gently back towards the path, where there was light, but he withdrew again and smiled just as the dappled shadows on his hair gave way to silver shining streaks.
[!-- [[=image Lillihammer_Euler_Hug.jpg]] --]
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[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
When Euler was safely back on the road to Site-87, Lillian returned to her workspace. She passed through the Cognitive Decontamination Tunnel, running her fingers along the contours of its black slate antimemetic sheathe, musing on the accomplishment's import and the tasks ahead.
When she reached the office, there was an envelope waiting on her desk. Inside the envelope was a letter, and a new Clearance Level 4 security pass.
The ACT CHR code had been replaced with simply CHAIR.
[[=]]
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++ 15 February
[[/=]]
----
"He isn't serious." Ibanez's little hands were shaking, and the paper made a sound of weak thunder. She slapped it on Udo's table, and glowered at it like it owed her money.
"He's the fucking //definition// of unserious." Lillian crumpled up the sheet, then un-crumpled it and ran her eyes over it again. "I'm going to kill him."
Harry glanced at his own sheet, and shrugged. "Mine kinda makes sense. He says I've been making eye contact with Wirth when I say my thing. I didn't do that on the day. I just..." He sighed. "It's hard not to look at him, you know? With what's about to happen. Every time. What's yours say?"
"Mine," Ibanez growled, "says that //on the day,// I didn't actually look at each of them one by one, but just sort of scanned across the room and named them as I saw them. What's the fucking difference?"
"Making it a series of individual actions instead of one sweeping motion probably introduces a brief delay," Udo murmured.
The security chief grunted. "Maybe one fucking second."
"Still." Harry nudged Lillian's foot. "How about yours?"
"He says I'm reacting too quickly because I don't start out with my fucking eyes closed. I react exactly as quickly as I did before. I have the best muscle memory in human history. The only reason my eyes are open is because they're //rolled,// because of how fucking sick I am of this shit. And he's only making it fucking //worse.//"
"Allan?" Harry prompted.
"Dr. Wettle suggests my actions each year are a near-perfect analogue to the originals," the Director shrugged.
"Oh, fuck //you,//" Lillian snapped. "Sir."
McInnis smiled at her.
"I'm kind of impressed that he's able to make sense of my part at all," Udo admitted. "Not that I really, you know, //appreciate// instructions on how precisely to react to finding my dead boyfriend in the hall. Ex-boyfriend. Whatever."
Harry squeezed her free hand with his.
Nascimbeni turned his sheet so they could all see it. There was an itemized list of corrections running the entire page.
"Let's take a vote." Lillian stood up so quickly that the inclined recliner bobbed back and forth on the carpet. "Over fifty percent, and I kill agent him right now. I've been itching to test the system."
"I think I know why you're so pissed off," Harry remarked. Lillian walked over to the couch and raised her loafer, prepared to bring it down on his crotch. Udo scooted away from him as he continued. "You can't stand the idea that Willie's actually good at his job."
The foot of Damocles hung there for a second, then came down forcefully on the carpet. Lillian pirouetted away, the folds of her dazzle coat briefly brushing his face. "Replication Studies," she spat. "You'd think //he'd// have the decency to be consistent, too."
[[=]]
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++ 1 March
[[/=]]
----
Yancy laughed. It filled the bullpen with bass to spare. "That's pretty bad! Pretty bad."
O flung a paper airplane across the room. It struck him in the heart with pinpoint accuracy; before it could fall to the floor, he caught it in his massive hands with the delicacy and dexterity of a pizza chef. "Well, go on. Do yours."
"My wife thought I was having an affair because she kept finding red smudges on my shirt collars. She makes me keep a ledger of all my girlfriends, and none of them wear lipstick."
In the corner, against the wall, Ibanez looked away and smirked.
"I had no idea where they were coming from, so I took all my laundry Upstairs. ApplOcc did some tests, and two days later they told me I'd just uncovered a Doppler leak in the chromatic residue circulators in AAF-B. I'd been patrolling through aerosolized red-shift at neck height for a week. LeClair gave me a physical, and she told me if I'd had lighter pigmentation, my wife would have probably taken one look at my neck and assumed my new mistress was into BDSM."
They all laughed at that one, Ibanez hardest of all.
"How about you?" Yancy asked, when the furor had died down. He pointed at the sullen figure in the corner opposite Ibanez. "What's the closest your people ever came to finding you out?"
Pensak rolled his eyes. "I don't have people."
"Oh, come on." O smiled encouragingly at him. "Your landlord, then. Or your grocer. Everybody has close shaves with the Veil. What's yours?"
He was suddenly halfway to the door. "There's that time my ex asked how I could afford to send my entire paycheck as alimony and still find food and shelter. You know, last month. And the month before that. And //next// month. Does that count?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/47-past-caring/DL_47_09_Pensak.jpg]]
And he slammed his way out of the room.
[!-- [[=image Yancy_O_Pensak.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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++ 14 March
[[/=]]
----
Lillian found him in his office. This meant that he wanted to be found, probably by her. Whenever she needed him and he wasn't in the mood to be needed, at least not in the way she meant, he was nowhere to be found. Probably his office had some sort of hidden back door. Probably it had two.
"Lillian." Sokolsky's desk was immaculate, and he was posed perfectly at the desk when she walked in without knocking. Probably he had cameras, too. She wondered if his watch had a Dick Tracy screen. "To what do I yada //et cetera?//"
"That," she said as she swung onto the cafeteria chair she'd brought with her -- Sokolsky didn't get, or desire, many visitors -- "was exactly as many words as saying the whole thing."
"More fun, though. But really. What can I do for you?"
Del had suggested a means of broaching the subject. Lillian had never seriously considered it. Instead, she said, "Del needs to talk to you, but doesn't //want// to talk to you. She sent me instead, because you're hot for me."
He nodded. "Makes sense. What's she looking for?"
"Reynders says you might know something about Elizabeth Crocker."
He blinked at the wrong moment. "That's on record."
"Del says the record reads like bullshit."
He smiled. He should have laughed. "That's distressing to hear. But I did write that bullshit a long time ago. I should take another crack at it, now that I'm more practiced."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/47-past-caring/DL_47_10_Lillian_Lean.jpg]]
Lillian leaned forward, affording him an easy glance down her shirt. He made no pretense of keeping eye contact as she said: "I am asking you to share the intimate details of your life with me, Daniil Sokolsky. And I know for a fact that you haven't been intimate with a woman since Eileen told you to fuck off."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You have cameras too, eh?"
[!-- [[=image Lillolsky.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
She found what she was looking for in his wallet.
Of course, he'd known she would.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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++ 30 March
[[/=]]
----
Nascimbeni waved his son off, and yawned. "I'm not dehydrating. I'm practically swimming right now."
"Gross." Gallo tossed the water bottle onto the sheet draped over his father's prone form, and flopped down in his recliner. "You need help getting up?"
Nascimbeni gestured at the crutches leaning against the armrest. "I'm fractured, not indigent."
His son blinked. "Indigent means, like... poor."
"Whatever." Some of the vocabulary of the inner circle was rubbing off on him, but he didn't always grasp the nuances. He'd always preferred plain speech. "How'd it go today?"
The other man grinned. "Nailed it."
Nascimbeni pumped his fist in the air. "Knew you would. Congrats. There a pay hike involved?"
"Oh, for sure. They don't do that 'promotion in title' bullshit. That was one of the questions I asked when I first interviewed."
"Attaboy." Nascimbeni stretched back on the couch. It felt good to rest his back, and the embarrassing injury was healing at a remarkable rate; he wasn't sure whether to thank Gallo's hospitality, or blame the magic water running through his veins. Could be both. "When's the hurricane get here?"
Gallo checked his watch. "Should be about ten minutes." The corners of his eyes crinkled in a way Nascimbeni had seen in old, very old, photographs of himself. "I never hear the bus, but her footsteps on the walk are like gunfire."
Nascimbeni laughed. "Goddamn kids. I wish my brain worked that way still."
"What do you mean?"
"Happy all the time. Always running. Bouncing from one thing to the next. She's always..." He gestured futilely. "You know. All that energy." He yawned again, and closed his eyes.
Gallo smiled. "Not always."
But Nascimbeni didn't hear him.
[!-- [[=image Nascimbenis_Improving.jpg]] --]
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++ 7 June
[[/=]]
----
"That's... what... I'm... saying." Wettle did say it, out loud, as he punched the keyboard on his tablet display with his wide, blunt-ended fingers. "It's... not... just... that... field. It's... everything. Everything. EVERYTHING." He had to erase and retype the last word three times to get it right, as he always did. As he also always did, he noticed he'd made a typo anyway -- 'everythong' -- only after the message was sent.
The responses came much faster.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
It can't be everything.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
Most hard and social sciences only have superficial methodological similarities.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
The odds of them all having similar holes in their systems are extremely not high.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
He grunted. "Don't... tell... me... about... odds. You... don't... know... from... odds. Odds... are..."
The phone rang. He dropped it.
"Hello?" a tired female voice said from beneath his desk.
He knew better than to try and pick the phone up, so he just yelled at it instead from his chair. "WHO'S THIS?"
"Stop yelling. It's Bradbury. You type too slow. What were you going to say?"
He leaned in, resting his forehead on the edge of the desk above his keyboard tray. "I was going to say that I'm an expert in odds. I'm //the// expert in odds. Nobody knows probability like me. It's my whole thing. And I'm telling you, despite how ridiculous it sounds, most fields that run reproducible studies are finding them impossible to reproduce at a //much// higher rate than should be possible."
Bradbury coughed. "Mhmm. And you think this is an anomalous problem?"
"It has to be. Like you said, there isn't enough crossover between these things. Why would psychology and medicine and economics all experience this problem at the same time? One of those isn't rigorous, one isn't real, and the other is god damn //medicine.//"
"Some sort of inherent flaw in the scientific process?" Bradbury suggested. He could hear the shrug in her voice. "Or some element of random chance in the universe we don't presently understand?"
"And what do you call a thing in your dataset that doesn't correspond to the expected parameters?"
One beat. Two. "An anomaly."
"Exactly."
"So how do you propose to study this, then?"
Wettle stuck his head under the edge of the desk, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm going to try and replicate those results myself."
"Which results?"
"All of them."
The laughter was so unexpected, his jolt backward so violent, that neither the keyboard tray nor the skin on the back of his head stood any real chance of survival.
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++ 8 September
[[/=]]
----
Phil stared into the locker.
Most days, he remembered it was protocol to store his uniform in there. He preferred to take it home with him, back to his dorm, and get dressed in the privacy of his own space, but yesterday he'd done things by the book. He was sure of it. There wasn't the faintest trace of doubt in his mind.
"You forgot," Doug's voice dragged across his mind like asphalt on a knee. "You're forgetting things, Philip."
It wasn't like the jumpsuit wasn't there, or rather, //a// jumpsuit. This wasn't his; or if it was, something rather remarkable had happened to it. Was it a prank? A message? What? He shook it out, and examined it in the light.
Where the top half of the suit met the bottom half, where the belt cinched everything tight around the waist, there was a seamless join. Above the belt, jumpsuit. Below, labcoat. A red labcoat. Like a cape. If he tried to put it on, he'd be walking around in the most dramatic underwear imaginable.
"Day by day, Philip. Things forgotten."
He glanced at the thing in the mirror. Its expression, as always, was extraordinarily detailed and utterly inscrutable.
"Gone forever."
[!-- [[=image Phil_Doug_Anomaly.jpg]] --]
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[[/=]]
Udo stood in the containment cell, one hand on her suit of teal polymer on its rack, and waited for the first break. //Should be right about//
The suit was on its way out of the locker, attached to her hand, and she was drawing it toward her. The first time she'd gone through this part of the pantomime, she'd nearly dropped it. //But I'm so much//
It was already half-on, and she couldn't even remember stepping into it. //Short thoughts. Think short thoughts. That way//
Almost done. //There's a blur in the corner. Wonder what that//
She wriggled her toes to the ends of each boot. //Can't seem to look at it. Lillian keeps talking about those mnestics; I know they're not for general distribution, and I know Allan's already nixed it, but I wonder if I could get a sample. Just for science. Just to see if I can see what the __fuck__ is standing in the//
She was leaning on the wall of the cell, suit almost fully assembled. Her fingers were tingling, as they always did. //Here goes. Twelfth verse.//
//Same as the first. It never gets better and it never gets worse!//
As she pulled up the zipper on the back of her suit, she smiled. //Finished those thoughts. Fuck you, whatever you//
She didn't have time for a single coherent thought between these two breaks, just enough to shudder the suit into a more comfortable configuration.
"Alright," she said. "Let's do this." //Again.//
The cell door cycled, and she walked in. Her legs tingled worse than her fingers had done. //Five, four, three, two//
//Missing the timing on that one. Oh well. There's always next year.// Now for the really fun part. //Lights!//
She came to in a world of red. The breach alarm was sounding. There was lightning in the air. //Camera!//
Her eyes swam as the hood of the conduit in front of her exploded into a colourless wash. There was a vignette on her vision. Something she wasn't meant to see lingered at the edges. She longed to know what it was. //Action!//
The door cycled open behind her, and because she knew she must, not because she knew //why,// she shouted: "No!" And then
she was in motion, unlocking the door and watching as the protective layer of her hexmat gloves disintegrated. There had been a long, hard conversation about whether she needed to actually burn her fingertips every year. Wettle had ultimately decided that it probably didn't matter, so they'd printed out a transparent sheathe for her right hand which absorbed most of the heat. It withered against her skin, which puckered, and she was already daydreaming about ripping it off by the time she reached the exterior airlock. She escaped, sealed the room behind her, and even though she hardly felt the need, she slumped to the floor in a heap. The protocols were, by now, extremely precise and strict.
Another trip through the shortest, most eventful minute of her life, with her eyes half-closed.
She usually did this next part with her eyes shut tight, but for some reason this year felt different. She felt she could face it this time. So she did.
She looked down the hall at Dougall Deering.
He looked back at her.
"Oh my god," he cried. "Udo? What happened?!"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/47-past-caring/DL_47_12_Okorie_Scream.jpg]]
She screamed.
[!-- [[=image Okorie_Dougall_Alive.jpg]] --]
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[[/=]]
"Just let me talk to her."
Ibanez neither agreed nor disagreed. She just stared at the man in the expensive silk shirt and expensive tortoiseshell glasses, with his immaculate beard and his perfect slicked-back hair. The dead man. Dougall Deering.
"Please. Whatever's going on, I know she'll figure it out."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/47-past-caring/DL_47_13_Dougall_Plead.jpg]]
Her instructions had been clear. She was not to speak with the prisoner until after Xyank and Forth had finished speaking with McInnis. But that didn't mean she couldn't listen to him speaking. It would have been impossible not to hear him, shouting and whining and pleading in the tiny cell.
"Come on. Give me something to work with here. Is this because of the call?"
//What call?// she thought, but she didn't say it. She had this thing about amnestics. She hated them. As far as she knew, she'd only been subjected to them once. She wasn't keen on hearing anything that might earn her a repeat of the experience. Udo was recuperating in H&P right now from the targeted removal of an entire day of her life; Ibanez had no idea how she was going to explain that to her friend.
Deering was frantic, but he stayed put in the steel chair behind the steel table in the steel room with the mirrored wall. He knew the drill, even if he seemed moments from losing the plot. "I know something. Okay? I know something //important.//" He took a deep breath. "What happened to Phil? Is Phil okay?"
So far as she knew, he'd never before expressed the faintest interest in the well-being of his brother. She wondered what had changed. But she didn't ask him, because he might have told her.
"Please." There were tears in his eyes. "Just tell me it worked. Tell me... tell me he's alright."
Her pager buzzed.
She left him there, sputtering impotently.
It was almost, //almost// enough to make her feel sorry for him.
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
The temporal experts were already gone when Ibanez reached the Director's office. He wasn't sitting behind the desk, as he usually was, but instead halfway to the washroom. He'd obviously been pacing.
"What's the verdict?" she asked.
He told her.
She stared at him.
What could she say? //Tell me you're not serious.// He was never not serious. //There must be another way.// When he was open to suggestions, he asked for them. //I won't do it.//
Then who would?
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
"Please." There were tears streaming down Dougall's face now, and he reached over to her -- not up, of course, though the idea was embedded in the gesture -- with hands clasped together as though in prayer. Supplication. An appeal for relief.
"Sit still," she said, "and do exactly as I say."
His shoulders sagged in relief, but he complied. He forced himself to stop shaking. He blinked away the tears. "Okay. I'm listening. I'm ready."
She walked behind him, and to his credit, he didn't turn around. That was good. That made it easier.
But not, of course, easy.
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
"He was never meant to live." McInnis stood behind his desk, back to her, staring up at the painting on his wall.
Ibanez slumped into the visitor's chair. "He did, though."
"Our experts were in perfect agreement. Whatever brought him back, he couldn't be permitted to remain. It could have triggered another deadline."
"It still could." She marvelled at how flat and uninflected her own voice sounded now.
"They don't think so. They think this will have righted the issue."
"And what are they basing that on?"
He turned, and sat down. There was no outward sign that this was affecting him at all. She saw it anyway. "I don't know. But they were quite certain."
She gripped the armrests as soon as she noticed her hands were shaking. Her service weapon felt heavy on her belt, even sitting down. "5243 didn't change at all this year. Everything was exactly the same. Everything except for Dougall Deering."
He nodded.
"You know what that suggests to me?"
He nodded again.
She told him anyway. "It suggests that two different things are happening on September the eighth, and we've been treating them as one thing. You just forced //me// to treat them as one thing."
"I'm very sorry about that." He pursed his lips. "I wouldn't have asked you--"
She waved it off. "It had to be me. Nobody else knows. Keep it in the family. That's not the issue. What if him coming back was a sign that something's shifted? Something's changed, and we need to know about it? Fuck, Allan," and finally she felt a little flame rising up in her again, "what if he was the thing that lets us turn the tide on this shit, and you had me put a bullet in his brain?"
McInnis blinked. "I thought you were going to snap his neck. 5243--"
"IT WASN'T 5243!" She was on her feet. "If it was 5243, he would've just fucking died again on his own. Something new just happened, and we hammered it back into the shape of something old. You have no idea how bad we might have just fucked ourselves."
"I think it more likely," he said, "that Dr. Deering's survival was symptomatic of a much more serious issue."
Her hands were still shaking. This time she solved the problem in the usual way. "And what issue is that?"
McInnis sighed. "Our best experts have been working on it for months. I promise, you'll have an answer almost as soon as I do."
"So, trust you, then. Great. Fantastic." She turned away, then turned back again. "What about Udo? What do we tell her?"
"Nothing." McInnis looked pained. "Dr. Forsythe will inform her that the repeated temporal interruptions prompted a nervous breakdown, and are likely to do so again. She may need to be amnesticized each year, following the execution of her part of the containment procedures."
Ibanez gaped at him. "You... what? You think... you think he's coming back next year, too?"
"I don't know. It's possible."
"And if he does? You're going to make me murder him again?"
"Perhaps we'll know more by then." He smiled thinly at her. "Or perhaps not. It doesn't change our duty."
Her nails were cut very short, but by this point they were still digging into the flesh of her palms. She forced herself to relax. Anger wouldn't get her anywhere with him. On this topic, probably, nothing would. "That's easy for you to say," she growled. "From your fucking //chair.//"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/47-past-caring/DL_47_14_McInnis_Murder.jpg]]
"No doubt it appears that way," he agreed.
[[=]]
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++ 24 November
[[/=]]
----
Technician Second Class Jessie MacCrum was a ball of warm tones. Orange jumpsuit, coral hair, bright red face.
She was shouting. "You said he was //nice!// You used that //exact word!// You said 'Phil's a nice guy. You'll have fun!' What an asshole!"
Ngo never stood on ceremony. Asserting her authority always got in the way of the sort of relationships she wanted to forge with her patients. But MacCrum wasn't a patient, and Ngo's patience with this display was wearing very thin. "Calm down, technician. I'm not interested in indulging your temper tantrum."
MacCrum closed her mouth, mid-bitch. Her face grew even redder. Ngo wondered whether her head was about to explode. "You fulfilled your part of the arrangement, albeit apparently quite poorly. Your compliance is on record. It will help with your performance review, as discussed. I take it the two of you didn't schedule a second date?"
MacCrum laughed. "We didn't finish the first one. The f... the... //he// just started staring at that ugly grey shitstain... at //5056,// in the mirror, and stopped talking to me. Didn't even say goodbye. I dumped my plate in his lap and left."
Ngo frowned. "I might need to report that to H&R. That's practically assault."
Some of the colour drained out. "Come on. It was a bad date. That's... you know."
Ngo kept her face carefully neutral.
MacCrum searched her eyes for sympathy. "It wasn't like it was //hot// food. And we don't wash our jumpsuits ourselves anyway."
"You dated in your //jumpsuits?//"
The technician's eyes narrowed. "Of course we did. I didn't want him getting any //ideas.// This was just, you know. Transactional." Her cheeks ballooned out. "Don't judge me. You're the one making him think anyone finds him attractive."
Ngo nodded. "Your candor is noted. You want to get back to your shift, before I note anything else?"
Huffing and puffing, the other woman saw herself out.
[!-- [[=image MacCrum_Ngo.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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++ 23 December
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/hecatoncheires-cycle-hub Site-91]: Yorkshire, England, United Kingdom**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
"Does she still have the dreams?"
Harry watched Udo's mother busy herself in the stacks, taking grimoires off the library cart and returning them to their proper places. It seemed an awfully prosaic thing for a senior researcher and Class-3 thaumaturge to bother with, so he figured it was probably for show. To put him at ease.
To make this look like less of an interrogation.
"The desert?" he hazarded. "Those dreams?"
Anjali Okorie nodded. She was a handsome woman, very dark skinned, with a wide jaw and knowing eyes. She looked nothing like her daughter. "Those dreams. They were getting worse when she left for Canada. When she was young, she used to talk about them so fondly, Obi and I thought she was playing make-belief." She smiled. "She's always had too much imagination for her own good."
Harry would have preferred the third degree on a more personal subject, if it meant he didn't need to feel like he was tattling on his girlfriend. "You'd have to ask her for the details. She doesn't like to talk about them. But yeah, they still happen. More and more often."
Anjali pretended to read the back cover of the book in her hand. "You seem very close. I understand all of you are. Have been, for a long time." She glanced at him. "A very long time."
It had been Udo's idea to visit her parents. The stations of the cross, relationship edition. They'd both had plenty of vacation time built up, and a change of scenery from their underground abattoir between annual massacres had seemed, in the abstract, appealing. In reality they'd spent precious little time together, Udo reconnecting with her old friends and Harry left doing research in Site-91's spacious manor library. With charming company, no doubt, but he might have preferred a reading partner with fewer ulterior motives.
He closed the //Book of the Turning Gyre//, slipped it into the briefcase on the reading desk in front of him, and favoured Anjali with a grim smile of his own. "You're asking what we're up to that takes more than a decade to settle?"
She shook her head innocently. "Of course not. I know it's classified. I just want to know how well she's handling it, you know. She's never been one to commit to any one thing for very long."
He wasn't sure what to say to that.
"Sometimes I feel like she always does the //wrong// thing, just because it's more familiar and comfortable. Do you know what I mean?"
[!-- [[=image Blank_Anjali.jpg]] --]
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[[/=]]
"That enough for a file, you think?"
Udo flipped through the pages, looking up at her father occasionally as she did so. He wasn't watching her, and no expression of apprehension crossed his placid features. She grunted. "Probably? It's all pretty loose, though. You're sure this is one entity?"
Obi shrugged, and the leather recliner creaked under him. The manor was filled with rooms like this, little sitting rooms in out-of-the-way nooks, the kind of home a man of means would build when he meant to spend most of his time thinking and needed a tiered set of spaces for thoughts of increasing or decreasing darkness. This one was high on the decline, the windows facing west for a modicum of sunlight but never an overpowering glare. "Every one of those apparitions... well, you tell me. When do they appear?"
The point had been clear enough. "Whenever they can frighten someone into accidentally killing someone else. A mischief monster?"
"Seems like." Obi yawned, and stretched. "All fits the profile of the Hammersmith Ghost. Project CLIO collated the early entries, but nobody noticed the later ones because this was never on anybody's radar. Old and discredited case. So who cares? But if it's still active..."
"//If// it's still active," she agreed. She set the papers down on the drawing room table. "Could just be people making thin excuses for murder, or manslaughter. Is this..." She frowned. "Is this the most important thing you could be doing with your time right now?
Obi laughed. "The value of my time isn't what it used to be. Well, it's more valuable than ever to //me,// but to the Foundation? Your mother and I aren't getting any younger. Most of our big projects are behind us."
She didn't like the sound of that. "You're still young. And anyway, you're //wizards.// You're supposed to appreciate with age."
"I appreciate the pep talk." Obi stood up, and walked to the lit fireplace to warm his hands. "But you don't need to worry about us. We're mostly content to slip into late middle age with grace. What projects are you working on?"
When she didn't answer, he turned to look at her. "//Wunderkind?// What projects are you..."
He could see something on her face, something she could feel but couldn't quite express. She wondered if he understood it better than she did. She shook her head. "I guess I'm chasing ghosts too? Have been for a while. Might be time to try something new."
"That's the spirit. No pun intended." Obi stretched again, then yanked his right hand back as it swung perilously close to the fire. "Yeouch. Okay, well. I won't have my genius daughter stuck in a rut, so when you get back to 43, I want you to promise me something."
"Sure."
"You'll find something to focus your energies on that has nothing to do with that annual circus of death."
[!-- [[=image Okorie_Obi.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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++ 27 December
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Grand Cove##: Grand Bend, Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
Melissa squinted at the screen. Her computer room was dark, as it usually was. The curtains were drawn, as they always were. Windows were too much like mirrors. "And there it is again. And //again.// He's right. He's proving it."
In the corner, the image of Anastasios Mataxas shook its head mournfully. "He'll have such a hard time making them take it seriously, though."
"Because he's him," Melissa agreed.
"Because he's him. Maybe we can loan a little clout."
She laughed, and rubbed her eyes. "Maybe you can. I haven't got any."
"You don't think so? You were quite the rising star, once."
"And now I'm fixed in the heavens." She sighed. "Okay, boss. What's our consensus here?"
"With the exception of his work on the SCP-5243 containment procedures, which are functioning as designed, Dr. Wettle's replication studies do not replicate the originals, despite an almost slavish accuracy to their procedures. And...?"
"And his replications of the replication studies don't replicate the originals //or// the original replication studies." She shook her head in amazement.
"Ergo?"
"Ergo," and she said the rest in a rush to avoid having to think through the implications, "science is failing."
"That's one possibility. What might be the other?"
She'd already thought through those implications. Something in the makeup or training of most Foundation personnel made apolcalyptic thinking second nature. She said it out loud for the first time.
He nodded. "Alright. Send over your highlights in batch form, and I'll compile the final packet for Dr. Wettle. I think we're almost ready for final submission."
"That'll be nice for him. A win, for a change. Isn't there a symposium coming up?" She'd never liked those internal conferences. Too many people standing up in other people's lectures and trying to change the subject to their own work or interests. She was unsurprised to find that she missed it.
Mataxas' face became grim. "I don't think this will make the symposium. I suspect, given the implications, that most of this will be Director's eyes only."
"Makes sense." She blinked blearily at him. "Well, alright. That's us for the day, yeah?"
"Almost." The frown transitioned to a sad smile. "Melissa, have you considered contact lenses?"
She shuddered. "Right on the eyes, huh? Right on the eyes." She shuddered again. "Contact. Yeah. Hey, uh," and she felt her hands shaking, even planted firmly against the keyboard and mouse, "I don't... I don't think..."
He raised his hands. "I'm sorry. I just thought it was worth mentioning. You're squinting a lot. It's not important."
"No." She tabbed over to her notepad application and began typing madly, to give her hands something to do, to stimulate her brain and move her mind down less well-worn channels. Like Ngo had taught her. "It's fine. I appreciate the concern. Maybe Forsythe can prescribe something for my dry eye. Thanks for asking."
He nodded. "Well, we'll speak again tomorrow. Fine work as always, Dr. Bradbury. You hardly need my help at this point."
She tried to laugh again, but only managed a shaky snort. "I do piece work. You're the one in charge."
"For today. Goodnight, Melissa."
She ignored the implication. "Goodnight."
The video feed shut itself.
She was about the turn off the screen when she noticed the words she'd been hammering into the notepad:
> IN DEEPEST DARK I OPE THE HOODS AND FIRMLY PORTALS SHUTTER
> IN DEEPEST DARK I OPE THE HOODS AND FIRMLY PORTALS SHUTTER
> IN DEEPEST DARK I OPE THE HOODS AND FIRMLY PORTALS SHUTTER
> IN DEEPEST DARK I OPE THE HOODS AND FIRMLY PORTALS SHUTTER
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ 2014
++ 1 January
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
McInnis smiled at the pile of papers as though they were a person in need of reassurance. He looked up at Wettle, and the smile grew slightly wider and even, somehow, more genuine. "You've been hard at work, this past year."
"Yeah." Wettle sniffled. "I think my immune system is breaking down now that it's over. Harry says that happens after you finish a big project, sometimes."
"You have several graduate degrees," McInnis noted. "Has this not happened to you before?"
"I dunno. I broke my leg in a ski lift accident after my master's, and fell down a hill after my PhD defence, so."
"So." The Director plucked the first report off the stack on his desk, and examined the abstract. "Your subSection has completed, what was it? Over five hundred independent studies as part of this initiative, and in almost every case you've shown that conventional methods are no longer fully reliable in all cases. Is there an overall thesis you're advancing to explain this?"
"Yeah. It's in the middle somewhere. Should have come out on the top, but, you know. Printers jammed. A lot. There's like two thousand pages in there."
"Perhaps you could summarize for me."
"Sure." Wettle reached up and tucked the edges of his clip-on tie beneath his shirt collar, something he only remembered to do in situations of the utmost formality. "Science only works about half the time these days. Something's mucking up the rules of the universe, or everyone who thinks they know those rules is wrong. Maybe a bit of both."
"I see. That's the effect, then, or a few possible candidates. Cause?"
"No idea," Wettle said cheerfully.
"Mm." McInnis turned his chair, glanced up at the painting, glanced back at Wettle. "Well, that can be your project for next year, then. See if it's something we need to address. Or something we //can.// And suggest first steps for handling the problem."
Wettle nodded. "I could use more staff."
"I'd prefer to keep this under wraps, as much as possible. I can spare a few more technicians for your experiments, and please feel more than free to keep utilizing the talents of Drs. Mataxas and Bradbury, but we don't want to start a Site-wide panic, or worse."
"Sure," and Wettle started rocking back and forth on his heels, "but hear me out. Replication Studies //Section.// Full on. Really go at it. Get it all done. Large scale." He pumped his fist, for emphasis.
"Mm," McInnis murmured again. "Again, I think that might be a step too far. If you could continue addressing this project as you have been doing, that would be my preference."
"But," said Wettle.
"But?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/47-past-caring/DL_47_15_Wettle_Disappointed.jpg]]
Wettle sighed. The mass of paper sloughed over, and a few dozen sheets slid off the desk and onto his feet. "Nothing, I guess. Same old, same old, huh?"
The Director smiled again. "Doesn't that seem apropos?"
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="muddle"]]
Some things can't be explained.
But not at Site-43. Almost every aspect of this facility's unlikely functionality is made possible, at times simple or even inevitable, by a series of factors which can be, and have been in the preceding pages, explicated in precise detail. How there came to be enough space to build such a massive complex at such an unmanageable depth. Where the raw materials came from. Whence the heat, and the water, and the air. How anyone even knew to look for such a place in the first place. All of it tidily, conveniently compassable.
That, in the final analysis, is the only unexplained anomaly in the environs of Lake Huron.
Why does Site-43 seem to sit in a naturally-occuring Site-43-shaped hole?
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
He sent the excerpt, and waited.
The answer came almost immediately.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
These feel like the topic paragraphs for a conclusion.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
Are you finally finishing this thing?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
I think I am.
[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
Finally stumbled on my thesis.
[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
Took you long enough.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
Well, you know me.
[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
It's my pattern.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
He waited for another response, but none came. Not from the screen, anyway.
A hand landed gently on his shoulder.
"So," said Udo. Very softly. "I've been thinking."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/47-past-caring/DL_47_16_Blank_Okorie_Breakup.jpg]]
"Yeah." He reached up and held her hand. "I know."
It didn't take long to pack. She'd never really moved back in.
[!-- [[=image Okorie_Blank_Finished.jpg]] --]
@@ @@
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| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/46-nothing-changes | previous-title=Nothing Changes
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/48-unforgettable-too | next-title=Unforgettable Too
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub | hub-title=The Breach Goes On: Deadlined
]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
[[<]]
Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:
Dougall Deering: "Twitter 365 Project - Day 55" and "Tokyo" by Richard Giles, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076
Karen Elstrom: "Natalya" by Anastasia Pavlenko, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/zamerzla/50841210177
Arik Euler: "Antonius Franken tuning into his favourite television program..." by David Portigal, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/28853433@N02/12656954695 and "Man at city garage, 1961" courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/24256351@N04/4538545496
Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653
Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023
Noè Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822 and
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992
Nhung Ngo: Nhi Dang, "Huyen," released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/nhi_dg/7186551316/ and Rod Waddington, "Hmong Woman," released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/rod_waddington/44409399060
Placeholder McDoctorate: "ice cream" by richkidsunite, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/89186997@N00/3502548918
Ilse Reynders: "Practicing that blank stare" and "Quinn working" by Quinn Dombrowski, both released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529 https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028
Daniil Sokolsky: "Brett - 08-08-08" and "Waterpitts, 29-09-12" by Brett Jordan, both released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625
https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842
Imogen and Madchen Tarrow: "Teacher Leader Conference 2 August 2012," courtesy US Department of Education, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/48445211@N06/7733033618
Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470
William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260
> **Filename:** Everything!
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
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Past Caring - SCP Foundation
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48-unforgettable-too
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</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
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/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
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<p><strong>Unforgettable Too</strong><br/>
You think?</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank">More by this author!</a></strong></p>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>Unforgettable Too</span></h1>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #990011">2014</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>26 January</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Capitol Hill</strong></span><strong>: Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America</strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>The man's head looked like a white balloon with a lot of the air let out, and his drawl was so deep as to almost be guttural. "I'm not in the habit of speaking out of class, miss… what was it?"</p>
<p>"Ibanez."</p>
<p>"Miss Ibanez. Not all of our volunteers and donors like to advertise their career and spending habits. These days, you can get a lot of trouble from the self-righteous masses if they find out you believe in things they don't."</p>
<p>She shifted in her chair. It was more expensive than the civilian clothes she was wearing, probably more expensive than any of the chairs at Site-43. "I understand that you don't want to talk about this," she said. "And I think you understand that you haven't got a choice, so I don't see any purpose to this prologue beyond expressing your own petulance."</p>
<p>She couldn't tell if the face he made was meant to convey offence or false humour. It was hard to clock the moods of a wizened reptile. "I'm not accustomed to taking orders from dual state actors. You'll have to forgive me."</p>
<p>She shrugged. "We can pretend I do. Now tell me about Ophelia Righting."</p>
<p>"Never met her. She was on President Bush's campaign staff. That's all I know."</p>
<p>That was all Ibanez knew, too, at least as far as the early 2000s was concerned. Decades earlier she'd been part of a think tank which had turned out to be a <em>giftschreiber</em> front, interfering with the results of a Canadian federal election. She wondered what 9/11 and its aftermath would have looked like under an Al Gore presidency. "The Senate Majority Whip never met one of the president's key advisors?"</p>
<p>He shook his head. His neck flaps wobbled like a wattle. "She vanished from his circle as soon as he was elected. That's not uncommon, as you should know. Politicians serve until political considerations shift. She's probably on a beach somewhere with Karl Rove." This time he did try to smile. It made him look like a police sketch from a Special Victims Unit bulletin.</p>
<p>"Maybe you met her, and you don't quite remember." He would assume this was a crack about his age, and she was content to let it be so. "Big bouffant hair, scar right here." She draw a finger vertically across her lower lip.</p>
<p>He frowned. It looked like he'd simply ceased to have lips of his own. "You sure you're after the right woman? That sounds more like, what's her name. Shenk. Geschenk."</p>
<p>"Lisbet Geschenk."</p>
<p>He moved to snap his fingers, but then didn't. Probably they would actually snap. She was reminded, as she often was when in the presence of necrocracy, of Edwin Falkirk. "That's it. You want to talk about donors? She's a donor's donor. I take back what I said. I'll tell you everything I know, because I don't want to end up in front of a grand jury."</p>
<p>She raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"</p>
<p>"Worse. Like I said, a donor's donor. Meaning she contributes everything she can contribute, and then contributes more. We think she's propping up other lobbyists and bankrolling people who wouldn't otherwise be moved to donate. We can't prove it, but maybe you can."</p>
<p>She frowned. "I'm not sure why you'd tell me that. If she's helping you clowns get your funding," for a moment she thought the old man might retract his head into his shirt, as his face screwed up tight, "isn't it shooting yourself in the foot to call foul? What about the next election?"</p>
<p>"You're not from around here, Miss Ibanez, so let me explain how Washington works right now. There is no next election. There is no future tense. You do whatever you can to make today go in your favour, you spend everything you've got on the present case, and you let tomorrow take care of itself. You're in my office with the name of Lisbet Geschenk on your lips, which means her time is up. Mine isn't. If I have my way, it never will be." His lip curled up so she could see his shrivelled gums and improbably white teeth. "If you're looking for someone who'll sacrifice their interests on principle, you're looking in the wrong place. The United States Capitol is the only hill nobody's ever willing to die on."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc3"><span>29 January</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Ipperwash Provincial Park</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Harry sat down on the bench beside the wizened old man, and put on his most condescending smile. "You have <em>got</em> to start meeting new people."</p>
<p>Zwist continued crumbling the piece of stale bread he had in his hands, and raised his eyebrows by perhaps a single centimeter. "I have met more new people than you could ever name." There were very few birds on the lakeshore in the dead of winter, but Zwist was a time-tested optimist.</p>
<p>"Yeah, but that's a timescale artifact. On a day-by-day basis—"</p>
<p>"I understand what you mean, Harold." The cryptomancer tossed the crumbs out in front of them. They made dark little indentations on the new-fallen snow. "But you need to understand my position. I trusted Vivian, and Vivian trusted you."</p>
<p>"So if you trust me—"</p>
<p>"I do <em>not</em> trust you." The old man fixed him with a grim glare. "That's not how the math works. I half-trust you. Anyone you recommend to me would have a quarter of my trust, at best. Nothing you and I have to talk about could conceivably be shared with such attenuation of confidence."</p>
<p>Harry whistled. "If I lived as long as you, would I be able to talk like that?"</p>
<p>"You might stop wasting time talking the way you presently do, with a better perspective on how valuable that time is. What did you call me here to talk about, Dr. Blank?"</p>
<p>"Elizabeth Crocker." He watched as easily half a dozen emotions flashed across Zwist's face in quick succession, blending into each other in various ways. "Bittersweet?"</p>
<p>"The memory is only bitter." Zwist stared out at the lake, then looked down at his spread of bread crumbs. "But ruefulness is like… coffee, with too much artificial sweetener. A false note of humour. Elizabeth Crocker was my enemy. She was also yours, when you were also mine."</p>
<p>"Not me-me," Harry clarified, "but the Foundation-me."</p>
<p>"That's right. She and hers, the <em>giftschreiber,</em> have interfered with my work time and again."</p>
<p>"What <em>is</em> your work? You always talk about it, the way Scout used to, but all we really know about is 5382." It was how the Foundation, or rather Vivian Scout, had first discovered the immortal Austrian in the aftermath of the First World War. A moment of weakness in the mid-1600s had caused Zwist to curse all Germanic languages with an immolation virus transmitted by the written word, which he'd then dedicated his life to eradicating. The Foundation knew it as SCP-5382. Just another number in their massive database, though one with long-lasting implications.</p>
<p>5382 was how the Foundation had first learned of the existence of the <em>giftschreiber.</em></p>
<p>"I am not about to tell you," Zwist half-smiled, "because you would interfere."</p>
<p>"Something Scout knew about?" Harry pressed.</p>
<p>"Oh, yes."</p>
<p>"And didn't approve of?" Harry tried to arrange himself more comfortably on the bench. He was wearing ski pants, and they weren't padded. His ass was freezing. "I know he used to run the hunt-and-capture teams, back in the day. Gave you a merry chase."</p>
<p>Zwist glanced down at Harry's shifting legs, and really smiled for the first time today. The old man was wearing thick snow pants. "I led, and he followed, but he had the sense never to consummate." The smile became impish, for an instant. "No, Vivian would have approved, and he knew some things that you do not. Perhaps some day. Rest assured that what I do is for the greater good, and where Crocker's path crossed mine, her intent was quite the opposite."</p>
<p>"It's hard to rest assured when someone who only half-trusts you says they're telling you all you need to know."</p>
<p>Zwist looked up. A blue jay was circling the clearing. "Oh, this isn't all you need to know. It's just all I'm willing to tell you, for now." He back glanced at Harry. "Is this how you wish to spend the goodwill between us, Harold? Do you want to talk about me, for you, or do you want to talk about Crocker, for your friend?"</p>
<p>Harry had tried to convince Zwist to meet with Del, not because he thought it would work out well, but because the security chief had asked. This chilly rendezvous was the compromise, and it wasn't a perfect one by any means. "Crocker."</p>
<p>"I hear the reluctance." Zwist brushed the remaining crumbs from his hands, as an afterthought, then patted Harry on the shoulder. "It's not an easy choice for you. I won't make this more difficult than it needs to be, then. Elizabeth Crocker is indeed still alive, and she is affiliated with a slowly growing cancer on the collective conscious. An organized cancer. The <em>neuer giftschreiber.</em>"</p>
<p>Harry had heard the term before, had used it himself, but the implications here were new. "I thought they didn't organize."</p>
<p>"They don't," Zwist nodded. "But <em>she</em> does. She's not a pure poisoner, you understand. She came to them from outside." His eyes got that faraway look they took on when he was about to monologue, and his words took on the character of recitation. "The <em>giftschreiber</em> have always been a true secret society. Incestuous and secretive. But sometimes a convert can become the best of all believers, and that is the case with her. She has helped mold them into the threat they are today, to face the things that threaten them."</p>
<p>"Us."</p>
<p>Zwist shook his head. "Not only you."</p>
<p>"No?"</p>
<p>"No. There are others. I suspect a schism. Another faction is at large."</p>
<p>"We already sort of know about that." He wasn't sure he should be explaining, but really… who was Zwist going to tell? As far as he knew, the old man spoke to nobody but him. "We've encountered them, or their agents, elsewhere."</p>
<p><em>That 'elsewhere' is doing heavier lifting than any other word has ever done.</em></p>
<p>"Is that a fact?" The bushy eyebrows had now shoved a lot of paper bag skin into furrows in the middle of Zwist's forehead. "I'm surprised you'd be so free with this information."</p>
<p>If Zwist thought it was too far, it probably was. <em>Oh well. Make up an excuse, or casually blow it off.</em> As he usually did, he took the second option with a seasoning of the first, crumbled in like the bread now being hungrily eyed by the descending scavenger. "Maybe I'm trying to up my trust quotient. Anyway it's nothing you'd be able to act on. The place where we learned it no longer exists, and neither do the versions of us who were there, and saw."</p>
<p>"Very cryptic." The corners of Zwist's eyes crinkled with mischief. "Perhaps we talk together too often, you and I."</p>
<p>Harry let the sidebar pass without comment. "So Crocker is leading the <em>giftschreiber</em> against us, and some other renegade bunch of cryptomancers. That much we already figured out. But to what end?"</p>
<p>"That is something I have never been able to ascertain." The old man reached down and began sliding his hands into a thick pair of woolen gloves. "They speak of an apocalypse."</p>
<p>"Heard that, too. They seem really excited about it."</p>
<p>"They frame it as a new beginning. Something beautiful. And <em>imminent.</em> But they've been doing so for decades. Perhaps centuries. Their organizational sense of time is <em>longue durée.</em>" Zwist certainly didn't seem worried.</p>
<p>"Do you know what an ancient Foundation facility in Argentina would have to do with it?"</p>
<p>That got his attention, if only because the change of topic was abrupt and probably confusing. "Ancient? How ancient?"</p>
<p>"Maybe a century, I don't know." It was true. Every time any of them tried to learn more about the place where Del had spent the planning phase of her eviction action on the Insurgency in Zevala, the upper echelons had slapped them with all manner of aggressive stop orders.</p>
<p>"So, not ancient at all, then." Zwist looked up at the sky, and squinted in the harsh winter light. "Consider to whom you speak. But that is odd… a chronological anomaly. Is it native to where it was found, do you think?"</p>
<p>"We don't know. Information is scattered, and… well." Harry smiled sheepishly, though Zwist's gaze was still on the clouds. "Parts of the Foundation trust me and my friends less than you do, so not everything that's known is known by <em>us.</em> But let's say it comes from an alternate universe, or an alternate timeline. What would that mean?"</p>
<p>The old man blinked. "It would mean that such things exist."</p>
<p>"Yeah. Well. Sorry for the revelation. Push past the shock. Why would Crocker want that? To learn how to travel through time? Through space?"</p>
<p>Zwist shook his head, and rubbed his face with both gloves until the skin was red. Harry had genuinely surprised him, apparently. "The <em>giftschreiber</em> are anathema to order. Everything they seek to know, or possess, must be bendable towards the aim of dissolution. I have never heard the faintest suggestion that they expect to escape the consequences of their actions."</p>
<p>"Oh. Well." Harry looked away. "We have."</p>
<p>"Do tell."</p>
<p>"I think maybe not all <em>giftschreiber</em> are created equal. Some are keeping secrets from the rest. Some of them expect to be whisked away at the end of all of this, and get the chance to start anew."</p>
<p>The jay finally got up its courage, and dove into the snow. They watched as it pecked away at the meager pickings.</p>
<p>"I have never heard that before," Zwist said finally. "And it doesn't sound like them, to be quite frank. Not at all."</p>
<p>Harry shrugged. "Maybe this is a new direction Crocker is leading them down."</p>
<p>"Lisbet does not lead them, Dr. Blank."</p>
<p>Something startled the bird, and it shot back up into the sky. A streak of blue on grey.</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc4"><span>30 January</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>The safe in Daniil Sokolsky's office — or at least the one Lillian was able to find, there were undoubtedly others — took the seventy-two digit code she'd liberated from his wallet, and <em>clicked</em> when she hit the final key. She turned the handle, opened it up, and…</p>
<p>…raised an eyebrow at the tidy white porcelain plate which dominated the interior space. In the middle of the plate was a multicoloured cube, textured like a 3D print but shot through with what looked like two competing spectrums, at a right angle to each other. One of Euler's memory pastings. Compressed thought.</p>
<p>She'd brought a tupperware container, and she slipped the cube inside. She'd need her equipment to take a look at the memory itself, to experience it. She considered leaving something in the safe to take its place, perhaps even heading to J&M and having them 3D print a believable replacement, but there was really no point. She'd known when she opened the safe that Sokolsky would know it had happened. That wasn't a problem, which was good, because it wasn't something she could prevent. The next time they spoke, she intended to talk to him about what was in the memory.</p>
<p>Although that would not be for quite some time.</p>
<p>In any case, that was that. She checked under the plate just in case, and chuckled.</p>
<p>She did close the safe before she left. No point being insulting about it.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc5"><span>2 February</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Georgian Bay</strong></span><strong>: Lake Huron, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>"Get back from there." Ibanez couldn't feel Van Rompay's hands on her shoulders, through the combat armour, but she could certainly feel it when he pulled her away from the open helicopter door.</p>
<p>She shook him off, and leaned out again, hands on handles on the door and its frame. "I want to see."</p>
<p>"You're not going to see anything the machines don't see first."</p>
<p>"Maybe."</p>
<p>The modified Sea King was soaring over the southern end of Georgian Bay. It was sheeted over with ice; this winter was colder than usual. There was a signal somewhere out there, and they were following it, though visibility was very poor. As Van Rompay had said, human eyes were unlikely to spot the target before the chopper's sensors did. Still, it felt right to keep on the lookout anyway, even if the pair of MTF agents along for the ride kept glaring at her for keeping the door open.</p>
<p>"You're taking this very personal," the gruff old soldier remarked.</p>
<p>Ibanez didn't look back at him. The wind chilled her face, and the roar of the rotors was loud enough that she could only hear him through the headset. "It's personal whether I take it that way or not. I captured these fuckers. Someone else let them go."</p>
<p>The evidence all added up. An intercepted tip to the London police about suspected cult activity in an abandoned warehouse. A taste of <em>geistschreiber</em> energy on the street corner outside. Imrich's calculations tracing a line up the coast, then onto the frozen bay. The signal.</p>
<p>They were out there, or at least one of them was.</p>
<p>"They blew up an entire Site," Van Rompay growled. "Nobody 'let them go'."</p>
<p>"I'm not disrespecting the dead." Ibanez squinted, as though that would help. The snow was melting on her forehead, and running into her eyes. "I'm saying that when I catch someone, I expect them to <em>stay caught.</em> If they don't, I want to catch them again."</p>
<p>"What <em>I</em> am saying," and the big man hauled her inside again, "is that you're leaning out the door of <em>my</em> helicopter, and if I have to pull you back in one more time, it will be to chain you to your seat." And he pulled the door shut.</p>
<p>"Fine." She glanced at the empty bench, but didn't sit down. She didn't think she could, and she certainly didn't want to. "But they'd better not miss anything."</p>
<p>"They won't, if there's anything out there not to miss." Van Rompay did sit down. He was at that age where he would rather conserve his energy than keep up appearances. "As long as you stop distracting them."</p>
<p>The pilot up ahead did not react. The copilot was examining his instruments.</p>
<p>"Easily distracted, your people?" Ibanez smirked. "That sounds like a you problem."</p>
<p>Van Rompay smiled, but his tone belied it. "They're used to working with professionals. I don't allow amateurs on my team."</p>
<p>Her smirk evolved to a grin. "You're a real piece of work, Ged. You know that?"</p>
<p>"And you're a liability." Van Rompay wasn't smiling anymore. "The Director says you get to come, you get to come. But I'm not going to let you put my people's lives in danger. Let them do their jobs. You—"</p>
<p>"What the fuck is <em>that?</em>" the copilot suddenly shouted.</p>
<p>And the helicopter banked to one side, hard.</p>
<p>Del had already reached for the handhold on the closed door, so she kept upright, if only barely. The two agents and Van Rompay shifted in their seats. "Report!" the MTF commander barked.</p>
<p>"Saw something," the pilot snapped, no panic in his voice. "Didn't hit us. Could have been a bird…"</p>
<p>There was a loud BANG, and the chopper suddenly fell for a brief, exhilirating second. Ibanez felt her boots leave the ground, then slam back down. "What…!" she managed, through a rush of breath.</p>
<p>"What now?" Van Rompay shouted.</p>
<p>"Different kind of bird. Took fire." The pilot still wasn't panicking, but his tone was very flat and professional now. Clipped. "We're supposed to own these skies. No civvies around. Gotta be a hostile."</p>
<p>"Dammit." Van Rompay gestured at the three of them, Ibanez and a pair of grunts. "Strap in."</p>
<p>She did, but only loosely. He didn't seem to notice, focused on his own belts.</p>
<p>"I see it!" There was finally excitement in the pilot's voice. The chopper banked hard again, in the other direction, and Ibanez felt her armour cutting into the padding of the bench back. "Looks like a Huey. Sniper at the door."</p>
<p>Van Rompay slapped the back of the copilot's chair. "Weapons free."</p>
<p>"In plain day?" Ibanez asked.</p>
<p>"You're goddamn right." Suddenly he was grinning at her.</p>
<p>Suddenly she was grinning back.</p>
<p>There was a roar from somewhere in front of the cockpit, and the entire cabin shook. Something rattled, and didn't stop rattling. Heavy machinegun fire. Ibanez fought the urge to stand up again and take in the view. There wasn't likely to be one, and if there was, she'd be pressing her face to the only thing on the chopper's exterior that couldn't block a bullet.</p>
<p>As this thought crossed her mind, the pilot pulled them into a corkscrew that threw her stomach into her mouth. A dozen points of daylight suddenly streamed through the roof, and she realized they were bullet holes. Fired between the rotors.</p>
<p>The sounds from outside now incorporated a high, threatening whine.</p>
<p>Van Rompay slapped again. "How bad?"</p>
<p>"Not great!" There was a grunt of effort between the two halves of the pilot's report. "She's sluggish."</p>
<p>Ibanez stood up, and slapped the back of the pilot's chair herself. "Can you get her alongside?"</p>
<p>The pilot glanced back at her, just for a fraction of a second. "Alongside what?"</p>
<p>She could see the other chopper, a black shape shrouded in white on a grey blanket, out the cockpit window. She pointed at it.</p>
<p>"Are you crazy?!" Van Rompay shouted.</p>
<p>She pulled the door open again and turned to face him, leaning in so he could clearly see the look in her eyes.</p>
<p>"They're closing!" the pilot shouted, and banked the chopper yet again.</p>
<p>"Can't get a clean shot!" the copilot cursed. Through the door, the black shape resolved into what looked like a Bell Iroquois. Long out of production, but sometimes still in service.</p>
<p>She didn't wonder whose service this one was in.</p>
<p>"You're not one of mine," Van Rompay was yelling. "You're a civilian. I'm supposed to protect you."</p>
<p>This time the cluster of holes appeared immediately between his face, and the face of the agent strapped in beside him. Both faces went sheet-white.</p>
<p>"Good!" Ibanez threw herself to the opposite door, which was closed, and watched as the other craft approached from the rear, its flank exposed. There was an armoured figure in the gap. He was levelling some sort of rifle; she couldn't tell at this range. "You can protect me by letting me save our sorry asses."</p>
<p>The pilot looked back at her, and nodded. The Sea King banked harder than it had banked before, and the deck rose up as it canted to forty-five degrees.</p>
<p>She ran, and jumped.</p>
<p>There was blood all over her. Some of it, uncharacteristically, was hers.</p>
<p>The sniper had managed a lucky shot right through her upper arm, where armour met armour, and a few seconds into the skirmish she'd lost all sensation and control on that side. But it hadn't mattered, because by that point she'd already driven the man's rifle into his nose, and put four rounds into the rest of his face. There was one other man in the cabin, and she put him out the door. There was a hole in the ice shaped like him, now.</p>
<p>The copilot was next, because she wanted a free hand when the crashing started. Her round went through his eye, and spiderwebbed the window, which held. The Huey was already in a spiral, the pilot attempting to throw her out after her first victim, and she used that fact to her advantage.</p>
<p>When her feet left the floor, the momentum was more than enough to let her snap the pilot's neck.</p>
<p>One of the landing struts had broken as they hit the lake at a bad angle, and the rotors had chewed up the ice something terrible, but under the circumstances she thought it had been a pretty good landing. The Sea King didn't land — the ice would never have held — but Van Rompay was already out on a rope ladder as she carefully slid from the Huey's open door and trotted out primly to meet him.</p>
<p>"What the FUCK?" he screamed over the rushing air.</p>
<p>"I missed the last chopper I tried to catch," she explained as she grabbed the lowest rungs. "I don't make mistakes twice."</p>
<p>Behind her, the Huey groaned over and began to sink.</p>
<p>She pointed at the much smaller hole. "Got any diving equipment? My witness apparently can't swim."</p>
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<h2 id="toc6"><span>4 February</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>"Have you ever been in here before?" Stacey Laiken asked her.</p>
<p>Udo glanced around the complex belonging to the Chair of Applied Occultism. She'd never made it this far during her first abortive attempt with Stacey, after the last deadline. But before that…</p>
<p>"Once or twice," she managed.</p>
<p>"It's weird, isn't it?"</p>
<p>Udo glanced around the sparsely appointed rooms, painted in primary colours and filled with cheerful <em>bric a brac</em> as it had never been when it had belonged to Dougall. "What about it?"</p>
<p>"It's been years and years," Stacey sat down on the nearest couch, plucking a pillow embroidered with a kitten's face out from behind her back and placing it to one side, "but I still think of these rooms as his. And now they're mine."</p>
<p>"It did occur to me," Udo lied as she sat down beside the other woman. "They couldn't let you keep your own place?"</p>
<p>"Well." Stacey shrugged. "Security. These rooms are better-protected than anywhere else in the Site, outside of maybe the Director's Quarters."</p>
<p>"Right. So the Serpent's Hand doesn't come after you."</p>
<p>Stacey laughed. "Is that what you heard? No. Dougall always liked to be dramatic."</p>
<p><em>Not more secrets. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Please</span> not more secrets.</em> "What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"There was never any Serpent's Hand threat. It was something else." Stacey's expression was now what passed for grim on her cherubic face. "He was afraid of something."</p>
<p>"Something he was able to convince McInnis was important enough for all those security measures?" Udo gestured at nothing. None of it was visible. But she'd seen it all, in various ways.</p>
<p>Stacey dropped her voice to a conspiratorial near-whisper. "He convinced the Overseer Council, Udo."</p>
<p>Udo realized she was going to have to really start paying attention. This was sounding like fodder for her investigation with Del. "Do you know what it was? The thing he was afraid of?"</p>
<p>"No." Stacey looked pained. "He didn't tell me everything. Not even me."</p>
<p>"Right." Udo hoped her burning face parsed as empathetic.</p>
<p>Stacey bounced on the cushions suddenly. "So, when should we make the big announcement?"</p>
<p>"Eh?"</p>
<p>"Us."</p>
<p>"Oh. Well." So much for new information. "I wonder."</p>
<p>"What about? You're not getting cold feet, again…?"</p>
<p>"My feet never get cold, Stace. No, I just… I mean maybe we should figure out what it was Dougall was worried about, before we tear down all his precautions. You know? Play it close to the chest until we're sure."</p>
<p>The other woman looked uncertain. "Close to the chest, huh."</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>She leaned in. "How close?"</p>
<p>Udo smiled in spite of herself. "Very close."</p>
<p>"Show me."</p>
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<h2 id="toc7"><span>7 February</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Falconer University</strong></span><strong>: Toronto, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>"The first thing you ought to know is that I'm rusty." Harry made eye contact with each of the three Master's students, in turn. "I haven't taught in a long time. I'm gonna need to figure out how everything works, and you're gonna need to be patient with me. But not <em>too</em> patient, because if I'm getting in the way of your education, I'll need a kick in the ass."</p>
<p>"Not literally, I hope," said the short blonde woman whose name, bizarrely, was apparently Reggie.</p>
<p>"Probably not, but I can take a kick better than you'd think." Harry looked over the chaos of his office, and smiled. Books everywhere. Random objects in awkward locations. Standing and sitting room only. He'd had it set up like that a decade ago, and was only now settling in in earnest. It wasn't all that different from his office back at 43. "The point is that I'm here to help you get through this program as quickly and painlessly as possible, so if I'm slowing you down or giving you grief, that's on me to fix. But you might need to remind me, because I've got other considerations on my mind from time to time, and it can be difficult to keep perspective."</p>
<p>The dark, tall man with the spectacles, whose name was Altan, looked surprised. "What sort of considerations?"</p>
<p>"The secret kind. I've got a government job, and I can't tell you what it is. Don't look into it, and if I'm not here, don't ask me where I've gone."</p>
<p>Reggie blinked. "That's… a lot."</p>
<p>"I had a prof at Western who did work with CSIS," Altan mused. "Academics end up in all sorts of weird places."</p>
<p>"Isn't that the truth," Harry agreed. "So, first things first. You're all thesis track, because for some reason you want to be here two years for a thing you can do in one."</p>
<p>"I wanted to do more research before my doctorate," Reggie shrugged. "I like being in the archives."</p>
<p>"I have no idea what I want to do with my life." Heng, a Chinese man with muscles that made Harry's arm hurt just to look at them, was grinning. "So I want this to take as long as possible."</p>
<p>"Those are both very good reasons. Altan?"</p>
<p>"Everyone says I write too much. I don't see any reason to stop."</p>
<p>"Good enough," Harry nodded. "Well, you've all got a few months before I need your thesis proposals, but you should be thinking about them as soon as possible. The more detailed, the better. You don't want to get stuck working on something that doesn't do anything for you, and you don't want to have to change tack halfway through."</p>
<p>"Is that what you did?" Reggie asked. "With your career?"</p>
<p>"Yes and no," he smiled. "Have you considered social history, Reggie?"</p>
<p>"Maybe. Why?"</p>
<p>"Because you keep asking pointed questions."</p>
<p>Altan snickered. "You might have a calling as an oral historian."</p>
<p>She gave him a wry look.</p>
<p>"I've got questions too," Heng grumbled. "I was just being polite."</p>
<p>"That might be for the best," Reggie told him. "I think our supervisor is a secret agent."</p>
<p>"Fair guess." Harry knotted his fingers behind his neck. "Mine was."</p>
<p>Altan shifted in his chair, trying not to look like he was leaning in. "Really?"</p>
<p>"How'd you figure him out?" Heng asked.</p>
<p>"He wanted me to."</p>
<p>Reggie frowned. "What? Why?"</p>
<p>"Because he figured <em>me</em> out."</p>
<p>"And you went to work where he worked?" Altan's eyes were wide.</p>
<p>"That's right."</p>
<p>"So," Reggie said, "why are you back here again?"</p>
<p>He hadn't felt such a genuine smile coming on for a long, long time.</p>
<p>"Because I figured me out, too."</p>
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<h2 id="toc8"><span>18 February</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Three different security systems confirmed the identity before the door to her office opened, but Ibanez said the line anyway: "You're not my five o'clock."</p>
<p>"Sure I am." Lillian flopped into the chair she'd brought in with her. The only thing Ibanez had seen eye-to-eye with Edwin Falkirk on was the inadvisibility of providing accomodation for visitors. "It's an anagram."</p>
<p>Ibanez glanced at her terminal. "There is no way this name spells 'Lillian Lillihammer'."</p>
<p>"Well, of course not. It's also a cipher. But that's not the point. I'm your next two hours." Lillian clapped, once. "Congratulations."</p>
<p>Del kicked her feet up on her desk, and leaned back. The other woman looked like a scene out of Gulliver's Travels; Ibanez had opted for a desk her own size, rather than attempting to project. "Is this something you couldn't bring up at the next Survivors meeting? Because I really do have to be working on this actual case." She pointed at the terminal, though the screen was out of Lillian's view. One side was full of chronologically-sorted reports; the other was a stock photograph of Elizabeth Crocker's face.</p>
<p>"The actual case is what I want to talk about," Lillian said. "But you've been dodging all my calls."</p>
<p>"I'm busy."</p>
<p>"On a case that's been cold for over a decade. To the exclusion of all else." Lillian tutted. "Yancy's run off his feet doing your job for you."</p>
<p>Ibanez cursed her laced-up boots. <em>Someone ought to kick their shoe into your head, for a change.</em> "Doing my job for me has always been part of his job. I've done his for him. We're a force."</p>
<p>"<em>You're</em> a force. I'm not here to tell you to give this thing up. I'm here to tell you what you need to know to finish it."</p>
<p>Ibanez sighed. "Fine. What do you think you know that I don't?"</p>
<p>"I know you've already killed Elizabeth Crocker once."</p>
<p>She felt her pulse increase, and tried to keep it off her face. "I'm listening."</p>
<p>"In the first Deadline. You hunted her down and murdered her, in hot blood. But you plotted it out cold beforehand, like a good little soldier."</p>
<p>There was little point in trying to fool Lillian. Ibanez let the confusion wash over her. "I don't remember that. In the briefings, I mean."</p>
<p>"It isn't in the briefings."</p>
<p>She narrowed her eyes. "Why not?"</p>
<p>"Because you didn't bring it up. Because there were fifty thousand other things to talk about, and honestly, after you shot that bitch in the face, she stopped mattering so much to you."</p>
<p>She wanted to sit back up in her chair, but she wasn't one of those people who twitched and changed position constantly over the course of a single conversation, so she didn't. It took some effort, though. "That's very good to know. But why didn't you tell me after? Put it on the record?"</p>
<p>"Because once I reported that my memories were still there, TAD made me tell them absolutely everything I'd missed mentioning to Ngo, and then they told me which of those things I could tell anybody else about."</p>
<p>Ibanez frowned. "Told you? They don't <em>tell</em> people things. Udo and I have spent—"</p>
<p>Lillian raised a hand. "You and Udo don't have my brain chemistry. There was a time they could have wiped my memories, but not anymore. I'm immune, at least to anything that wouldn't leave me a drooling husk. And they're never taking that chance, especially not with 5243. So, I remember. And I keep their secrets, because I have the vague idea that they want them kept for a good reason."</p>
<p>Ibanez blew out a long, frustrated breath. "And yet you're telling me this. And more?"</p>
<p>Lillian nodded. "A lot more. Everything I know that you knew. How you found her, and how you caught her."</p>
<p><em>Fuck it.</em> She rolled her chair back, and put her feet back under the desk. "Why?"</p>
<p>"Because I need you on the main line, Del. Not off on some fucking sidequest. If putting a bullet in Elizabeth Crocker will give you enough closure to get back on track, then honestly, fuck the timecops."</p>
<p>There was plenty of empty space at the bottom of the file. Ibanez paged down, cracked her knuckles, and pulled out the keyboard tray. "Tell me everything you know."</p>
<p>"There would never be enough time for that." Lillian grinned at her. "I'll settle for telling you everything you knew."</p>
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<h2 id="toc9"><span>20 April</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"You're seeing it too, right?"</p>
<p>Agent Charles Scrivens, retired, glanced over his wife's printout a second time for good measure. He nodded. "Of course. The numbers don't add up."</p>
<p>Agent Maureen McTeer, desk-bound, shook her head at him wearily. "She was right. As usual."</p>
<p>Maureen's office was sumptuously appointed by the standards of Security and Containment, full of the stuff of a long and successful career. Liberated artifacts with no lingering anomalous properties. Citations for bravery. Photographs with friends. No photographs with her husband, for very good reasons she neglected to explain to anyone who asked.</p>
<p>Charles, sitting across the desk from her in a comfortable chair he'd stolen from A&O during an equipment upgrade, rolled his eyes. "I don't know if she gets too much credit for it, in this case. Pensak has always been suspicious. And he doesn't make any effort to lessen it."</p>
<p>"And she's the one who hired him, too," Maureen reminded him. " I never understood that."</p>
<p>"Supposedly they go way back, in a way she can't explain and he can't remember."</p>
<p>She smiled to make it obvious that what she said next wasn't meant to be taken seriously. "Maybe we should be investigating her instead."</p>
<p>The smile he gave her back showed that he understood. "We'll make that our last case."</p>
<p>"You mean she'll make that our last case."</p>
<p>"Exactly."</p>
<p>She laughed. "You ever miss field work?"</p>
<p>"Sometimes." He shrugged. "But, you know."</p>
<p>"I know."</p>
<p>"Sacrifices."</p>
<p>She drummed her fingers on the desktop anxiously. "I don't know if that's the word I'd use for it, at this point. Sacrifices are usually a one-time thing."</p>
<p>He offered the look of melancholy sympathy that told her he wouldn't want to press this issue much further. It was showing up on his face more and more often as the decades wore on. "Dedication, then."</p>
<p>She didn't mean to scoff, but it still came out that way. "To what?"</p>
<p>"To the role. Just like him." Scrivens gestured at the file. "He's up to something, and he's been up to it for a while. Maybe he has a good reason."</p>
<p>She forced a smile. "I don't see much similarity between the two of you."</p>
<p>He glanced at the door, and the glass partition beside it that looked out on the S&C bullpen. Nobody had so much as batted an eye when he'd walked in, and they'd almost certainly forgotten he was there already. "Yeah, well, sometimes I'm difficult to see."</p>
<p>She reached across the desk. "Not for me."</p>
<p>He took her hands, and they shared a moment more private than any other couple on Earth could easily match.</p>
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<h2 id="toc10"><span>7 June</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-246">Site-246</a>: Lake Superior, United States of America</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Nascimbeni didn't realize he was clicking his tongue until the voice behind him said: "Something wrong?"</p>
<p>"These seals." He pointed at the submarine doors, before turning to face his questioner. "They were rated to last a lot longer than they have."</p>
<p>It was an older man. Still younger than Nascimbeni, but obviously a pretty boy. They aged into older men faster than workhorses like him. "Well, this place has been through a lot."</p>
<p>"Looks like it hasn't been through <em>enough,</em>" Nascimbeni grunted as he reached down for his tool belt. "Maintenance, that is."</p>
<p>"Care and attention," the other man sighed. "Two things you won't find much of at Site-246." He stretched out a hand. "Cody Westbrook."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni accepted the gesture. "Director." Westbrook's handshake was firm, but the skin on his hands was smooth.</p>
<p>It took a few moments to prise open the protective flaps around the seals, mostly because they'd been bent out of shape from either use, or disuse. Probably the latter. Nascimbeni stuck his tongue out as he worked his screwdriver through the gunk which had collected over the most recent oil application.</p>
<p>"You're wondering why I didn't come down to meet you earlier," Westbrook said, and Nascimbeni nearly jumped. He'd already forgotten the Director was there.</p>
<p>"Not really, sir." He finished screwing around, having already seen enough. Stripped threads and not nearly enough action. A dangerous combo. "I don't need the diplomatic treatment. Just here to do a job."</p>
<p>"You'd fit in well, then." Westbrook glanced over the submarine bay, where what seemed like not nearly enough workers were converging on a stripped-down hull with torches and clipboards. "Everyone here is just here to do a job. To varying degrees of effectiveness." He shrugged at the massive door, and by implication the busted seals. "Can you fix it?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni shrugged back at him. "I'll have to replace a few parts, but sure. Enough to keep it sealed until my next visit."</p>
<p>Westbrook made a sour face. "I doubt we have the budget for replacement parts."</p>
<p>"I'll bring them over from 43," Nascimbeni assured him. "We've got plenty left over from the last time we serviced our lake bulkeads."</p>
<p>"I would appreciate that. I don't mind a tomb you can walk around in, but a flooded tomb? No thank you."</p>
<p>Something came over the Director, and for a moment he seemed unsteady on his feet.</p>
<p>"Are you alright, sir? If you don't mind my asking." Nascimbeni minded having to ask, but politeness made its demands just the same.</p>
<p>"Of course." Westbrook took a deep breath. "Why wouldn't I be alright?" He reached up to rub his eyes.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni let it pass. "I'll get on the horn with my people. We'll fix her up tight."</p>
<p>"Thank you." An awkwardly-long pause. "I don't suppose you'd care to stay for dinner?"</p>
<p><em>Why do people do shit like this?</em> Nascimbeni thought, grateful for the knowledge that his beard and lowered cap would keep the thought from evidencing on his features. "Thanks for the offer," he said, "but I'll need to be getting back as soon as we're done here."</p>
<p>"Family." Westbrook nodded, too sharply, like a drinking bird. "Of course."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni frowned, though he wasn't sure why. "No, just more work. You know how it is."</p>
<p>Westbrook stopped nodding, and looked away. "Yes."</p>
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<h2 id="toc11"><span>10 August</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Rasmus Mataxas was aware, as he often was, that a few of the older staff members were watching him.</p>
<p>He was moving down the halls of H&S with no particular aim in mind, and the little group of oldsters — Blank, Nascimbeni, and Ibanez — were sitting on a pair of benches in front of some laboratory or other. They'd been talking animatedly amongst themselves, heedless of the traffic, when he turned the corner and saw them. When they saw him, they started pretending to talk and not to stare as he approached, passed, and moved on. He could still feel their stares on his back.</p>
<p><em>It's the Foundation,</em> he told himself. <em>You're always being judged.</em></p>
<p>The crowd ahead parted around an obstruction he couldn't see, and then suddenly he could: a little pear of a woman with wild, short black hair and a trainee engineer's jacket. She practically bounded up to him, and said: "I want to check out your equipment."</p>
<p>He stared at her. Was that a twinkle in her eye? He didn't know how to respond.</p>
<p>"Joanna Bremmel." She extended a hand, brown eyes nearly disappearing behind an epicanthic fold as she smiled in greeting. He took the hand, and for a moment wondered if he was supposed to kiss it before she shook, vigorously, and let go. "Starting at Arms and Equipment today. You're Rasmus Mataxas, aren't you? First day with the Home Invaders tomorrow?"</p>
<p>He nodded, still not trusting himself to speak. The only thing that had softened the blow of losing his son to the Mobile Task Forces for Anastasios Mataxas was that Rho-43 worked closely with anyone investigating bumps in the night; houses and ghosts went together like pods and pod people.</p>
<p>"Great." She beamed at him. "Then you and I need to have a talk. I've been over your new gear already, and—"</p>
<p>"Hey Jo." Another woman, an H&P nurse only slightly taller but much, much thinner, slid in beside Joanna and grinned up at him, hand raised in greeting behind the other woman's back. On her, the messy black hair looked like more of a stylistic choice. "Hey, agent. You ready to get physical?"</p>
<p>He blinked.</p>
<p>Joanna kept her eyes on him, smile never faltering. "We're talking, Billie."</p>
<p>"So let's talk! Containment is a team effort, that's what his dad always says." The nurse winked at him.</p>
<p>"You know what <em>my</em> dad says about that?" Joanna asked sweetly, still not turning her head to face the other woman.</p>
<p>Billie let her hand fall to rest on Joanna's shoulder. "I'm guessing 'fuck off' is in there somewhere."</p>
<p>"That's the whole thing." Joanna shifted on the balls of her feet, and Rasmus looked down. Her feet barely touched the ground. He looked back up. "Physical isn't for another hour."</p>
<p>"I've got time now." Billie flashed a lot of teeth at him.</p>
<p>"I was here first."</p>
<p>"What do you think?" Billie poked Rasmus in the chest with her free hand. "Explore the wonders of biology with me, or nerd shit with Jo?"</p>
<p>He looked at them both, Joanna first, then Billie, then glanced over his shoulder at the old timers still reclining on their benches. Nascimbeni was still staring at him; Blank and Ibanez were looking back and forth between him and each of the women. He couldn't read the expressions on their faces, and the distance between them had little to do with it.</p>
<p><em>Judgement,</em> he thought, and returned his attention to the impossible choice before him.</p>
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<h2 id="toc12"><span>8 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Perverse that it could become routine.</p>
<p>Ibanez started talking the instant the door was open. "This has to end."</p>
<p>McInnis was already waiting for her annual protest, hands tented, eyes alert. "If you have any suggestions, by all means."</p>
<p>"Contain him." Ibanez stalked up to the desk, and did not sit down. "Put him in a box. Like we're doing now, but <em>alive.</em>"</p>
<p>"I meant suggestions for ending the 5243 loop, Chief." The Director looked, if not precisely tired, perhaps just a little bit frustrated. Ibanez felt not the faintest trace of sympathy for him. "Our instructions regarding Dr. Deering, while the situation is ongoing, are very clear."</p>
<p>"Since when do we follow bad instructions to the letter?"</p>
<p>She thought she caught a flash of warning in his otherwise placid grey eyes. When next he spoke, his words came slowly and his voice was pitched very low. "I think there must have been some sort of misunderstanding between us. The Temporal Anomalies Department—"</p>
<p>"—is some unaccountable shadow-shadow-government <em>thing</em> that has no business telling us ours," she snapped. "Our business. We do things our way. We always have." She didn't cut McInnis off very often, but when she did, it always went like this. He wouldn't raise his voice over hers. He would wait for her to finish.</p>
<p>"They have the authority of Overwatch Command behind them," he reminded her patiently. "If Dr. Deering lives, Dr. Deering must die. I'm surprised you have such qualms."</p>
<p>Her nostrils flared. "Why?"</p>
<p>"I've never known you to be squeamish."</p>
<p>"I'm not fucking <em>squeamish.</em>" She wanted to clear his desk with a sweep of her hands; his desk, or perhaps his infuriatingly neutral expression. "I'll wade through a pile of stinking corpses any day. I'll get perforated bowel on my boot and blood on my face that isn't mine, and you won't hear me complain. What I will <em>not</em> do is put a clean little hole in the head of a man who has done <em>nothing wrong</em> except for overturning our precious theories about what's really going on here. He doesn't deserve that, and it doesn't serve any useful purpose." She was momentarily proud that she hadn't raised her voice, then momentarily concerned.</p>
<p>But then he gave her the opening she'd been waiting for, and the moments were all ended. "Could you please clarify what you mean, Chief, when you say you <em>will not</em> do this thing?"</p>
<p>"Sure." She turned to go. "Just give me five minutes with Roger's bullpen printer."</p>
<p>"Roger's?"</p>
<p>"Roger's. Unless you've got another fucking yes-man lined up to take my job."</p>
<p>Van Rompay was waiting for her at the door to her office when she arrived. She'd been seething the entire walk back, after handing in her notice, and she had no more fucks to give.</p>
<p>But he was uncharacteristically friendly once they were within speaking distance. "Did you kill him?"</p>
<p>"Of course I killed him." The MTF commander moved out of the way, to allow her to unlock her door. "I killed him last year, didn't I? Good little cop."</p>
<p>"I meant McInnis."</p>
<p>She laughed as she pulled the door open.</p>
<p>Van Rompay followed her in. "I take it you're falling on your Glock."</p>
<p>"Only choice I've got left." She walked behind the desk, but did not sit down. She didn't feel like sitting down.</p>
<p>She hardly ever did, anymore.</p>
<p>"You know they won't let you leave." Van Rompay shut the door, and leaned against it with his arms crossed.</p>
<p>"Yeah. I do know that." She kicked at the foot of her desk. "Maybe they'll put me in the cell they should be using for Deering."</p>
<p>"Maybe you could suggest a transfer instead."</p>
<p>She glanced over and up at him, surprised. She didn't care if he saw it. That amused him, and he didn't care if she saw it, either.</p>
<p>"I'm not working for you, Ged. We both know that's a non-starter."</p>
<p>He shook his head. "Not what I was going to suggest."</p>
<p>They stared at each other for what felt like several minutes.</p>
<p>"You serious?" she finally asked him.</p>
<p>He nodded. "Leg's not getting any better." An unfortunate incident a few years back, redacted heavily by the TAD but supposedly involving some sort of dimension-hopping crocodile squid monster, had taken a chunk out of Van Rompay and put him out of commission for a few months. Every now and then he needed to take health leave; the Foundation's preeminent Type Red — capable of anomalous energy transfer and healing — had already told him that the wound would probably never fully heal. Van Rompay's deputy, a sour little bulldog named Ullis, had spent almost as much time as Chief of Pursuit and Suppression over the past few years as the man himself had. Still…</p>
<p>"I thought Forsythe…"</p>
<p>"You thought Forsythe what?" Van Rompay laughed bitterly. "Would give me whatever it is they give you? Your friends?" He paused, scrutinizing her face as she reacted to the insinuation, then shrugged. "I'm just a grunt. All I've ever been. And I've hit the end of my, what do you call it. When a thing gets too old to be worth fixing up. Easier to get a new one."</p>
<p>"Amortization," the civic engineer said from deep down inside of her.</p>
<p>"Right. That. I'm amortized. But you? Seems like you might just be immortal."</p>
<p>She did feel like sitting down, now. She pulled out her chair. "I'm surprised you'd even suggest this. Why?"</p>
<p>"Maybe I'm ready to be done, and I don't think you are."</p>
<p>She lowered herself into the seat, hands on the low desktop, keeping eye contact. His expression was unhappy, but confident. "I don't believe that first part, and I don't believe you give a shit about the second."</p>
<p>"I'm not telling you my reasons." He glanced to one side, at nothing. Her office was furnished with only the bare necessities. No personal items. She barely had any to begin with. "I'm giving you excuses, so you'll do what I want you to do."</p>
<p>"And what's that?" She looked down reached up to scratch at her scalp, scattering streamers of hair she'd been pulling on in abject frustration in the subway not a few minutes back. "Just say it plainly, if you have to say it."</p>
<p>"You ever go to those annual security conferences they put on?"</p>
<p>She looked up again. "Once or twice. Waste of time."</p>
<p>"Sure." His eyes searched hers. "Ever talk to the other folks who go?"</p>
<p>"Try not to." She shrugged. "Not a big talker."</p>
<p>"Me either, but I had to know."</p>
<p>"Know what?"</p>
<p>"What they'd be like."</p>
<p>"Who?"</p>
<p>He approached the desk. Towered over it. "The kind of person who'd take my post. I talked to the other commanders. The hardasses they hire these days. Heard how they talked about their people. Their jobs. What mattered."</p>
<p>She blinked. "So?"</p>
<p>"So I don't want any of them riding my bird." He leaned forward, far forward, and pressed a fist into her blotter. "They're not getting better out there, Ibanez."</p>
<p>"They?" She shook her head. "They who?"</p>
<p>He tapped the Foundation insignia on his chest armour.</p>
<p>"So, what?" She wanted to laugh, but she couldn't work it up. "You think I'd be better than whoever they'd bring in to replace you?"</p>
<p>"I think you'd be better than me."</p>
<p>She stared at him.</p>
<p>"And that's what this whole place is supposed to be about, isn't it?"</p>
<p>She didn't know what to say, but he still wasn't done.</p>
<p>"And when it's your turn to go, just promise me you'll find someone better than <em>you.</em>"</p>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc13"><span>NOTICE FROM THE OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR, SITE-43</span></h4>
</div>
<p>After nearly thirty years of selfless service, Chief of Pursuit and Suppression Commander Gedeon Van Rompay is retiring to Foundation housing in Sunset Cove, Pensacola. He will be succeeded in his role by Commander Delfina Ibanez, whose post as Chief of Security and Containment will now be filled by Roger Pensak. Continuity of service is expected, and all three are to be congratulated on the exciting adventures ahead of them.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— McInnis, Allan J. (Director, Site-43)</p>
</div>
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<h2 id="toc14"><span>9 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Philip Deering was looking at the mirror when Nascimbeni looked up from his desk. As always, he wondered what snide thing the mirror monster had said to the technician in response. He cleared his throat, and Phil looked blearily back at him.</p>
<p>"You're saying someone robbed your locker?"</p>
<p>"No," Phil shook his head. "I'm saying someone made a <em>trade</em> with me, after breaking <em>into</em> my locker." His eyes flicked to the right, where the slit-faced grey thing's mouth hole was trembling. "I left a piece of cake in there—"</p>
<p>"You what?" Nascimbeni coughed. He put his coffee down, and pounded his chest.</p>
<p>"Look, don't judge, alright? It was Ruya's birthday." Phil mustered the presence to look embarrassed. "I left a piece of cake in there, and now it's a shoe."</p>
<p>"Your cake turned into a shoe," Nascimbeni repeated.</p>
<p>"No, I mean someone took the cake, and left me a shoe. I didn't want a shoe, Chief. I wanted the cake."</p>
<p>It took a lot to rouse Phil to make a statement like this. It almost always meant his statements were convoluted and confused, as this one was now. "You weren't allowed in your locker all day. That's protocol until we've got all the apparatus damage under wraps."</p>
<p>This time Phil looked to the left, shifty-eyed. "I know, but look."</p>
<p>"You were going to eat cake that had been in your locker for two days?" Nascimbeni pressed.</p>
<p>"Can we not talk about the cake?" Phil whined. "Why do you want to talk about the cake so much?"</p>
<p>"I just think maybe you need someone checking on you more often."</p>
<p>The technician clenched his hands into fists, and bobbed a bit on his heels. "That's not the point. The point is, there's a shoe in my locker and I don't know where it's from. Same as the weird labcoat-thing last year."</p>
<p>"You're sure it's not your shoe?" With Phil, it was always worth making sure.</p>
<p>"I don't own any shoes."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni blinked. "What?"</p>
<p>"All I have are my work boots."</p>
<p>He didn't precisely <em>want</em> to be travelling down these tangents, but it was hard not to. "What do you wear when your shift is through?"</p>
<p>Phil shrugged. "Socks."</p>
<p>"What if you have to leave your dorm? To go to the cafeteria?"</p>
<p>"I put my work boots on again. <em>Chief.</em>" Phil leaned on Nascimbeni's desk. "Something spooky is going on here."</p>
<p>"I'll tell Mataxas." Nascimbeni pulled up the reporting function on his duty tablet. "He'll be pleased for the chance to wave his magic wands. But I want to know for sure this isn't just you forgetting something again." He glanced up meaningfully, then said the meaning out loud. "For the thousandth time."</p>
<p>"Hey." Phil stepped back again. "That's not fair. No, Doug," and he turned all the way to face the mirror, finger raised in protest, "it <em>isn't.</em>"</p>
<p>"He's right." Phil turned back to him. "No, I meant <em>you're</em> right. It <em>wasn't</em> fair. I'm sorry. I'm just distracted." Nascimbeni leaned back without finishing the message, pushed back his cap and rubbed his eyes. "We've got half the Site to fix, as you know. As long as you promise me you've never seen this shoe before…"</p>
<p>"Well, that's… uh."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni opened his eyes. "Uh?"</p>
<p>"It does feel kind of familiar," Phil admitted, "but I'm not sure how exactly. Maybe I've seen it before. Maybe it's a prank by one of the doctors? It's kind of an expensive shoe."</p>
<p>"Could you get it for me?" Nascimbeni sighed.</p>
<p>"Sure." A look of vague hope crossed Phil's face. "You think they could, I don't know. Get an aura reading off it, or something?"</p>
<p>"I'll ask Astrauskas," said Nascimbeni, "but I don't think her auramancy is sensitive to foot odour."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni didn't recognize the shoe, but Ibanez did. She was glad he'd brought it to her first; if Udo had seen the loafer, they'd have had to amnesticize her twice in as many days.</p>
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<h2 id="toc15"><span>15 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"There's the smiling face I love to see," Forsythe drawled as Harry appeared from behind the curtain.</p>
<p>"What, people aren't always glad to see your bigass needles?" He sat down on the examination bench.</p>
<p>"Wettle faints," she said. "Every time."</p>
<p>"That's just his body's way of falling over when there's nothing to trip on."</p>
<p>She made a little 'ah' of realization. "I get it now. You talk through the anxiety."</p>
<p>"Who's anxious?" he shrugged. "I love these shots."</p>
<p>She gripped his shrugging arm, and pushed the sleeve of his t-shirt back. He'd left his hoodie in the hall. "Everyone else is suspicious of them."</p>
<p>"Even Wettle?"</p>
<p>"Everyone else with a brain."</p>
<p>He smiled. "I appreciate the implied compliment."</p>
<p>"Is it my imagination," and there it was, the pinprick and the uncomfortable tension of having a solid object inserted into a vein, "or are you extra chipper today?"</p>
<p>"Probably not your imagination." He didn't look at the needle. He wasn't afraid of them, but he wasn't really a fan, either.</p>
<p>Well, most of the time.</p>
<p>"Who's the unlucky lady?"</p>
<p>"They should be so unlucky," he scoffed. "No, it's just that I went to bed last night…"</p>
<p>"That <em>is</em> new for you."</p>
<p>He acknowledged the point. "Sorry. I was thinking of not saying this out loud, actually. I went to bed last night thinking I'd be turning fifty in March."</p>
<p>She consulted his chart. "You're forty-eight."</p>
<p>"Yeah. Thought I wasn't. Thought I was forty-nine, all year."</p>
<p>"How does a thing like that happen?"</p>
<p>"If I had to guess?" He was suddenly squirming on the bench. "2014 being the same as 2013 being the same as 2012 BEING THE SAME AS 2011—"</p>
<p>Still, the shot did help.</p>
<p>It always did.</p>
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<h2 id="toc16"><span>30 November</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Lillian slapped herself. "Sorry. Fuck. I hate this. We really need to set up a real Vegas room." The slate in the Cognitive Decontamination Tunnel seemed to vibrate when she looked at it. She could feel her brain cells peeling off, as though she were rubbing them against the rough black stone and its deeply-carved sigils.</p>
<p>"I would have thought the Division already had something like that," Euler yawned. She wasn't sure what accommodations he'd set up back at Site-87, but Wheeler's people had agreed that it would be sufficient to isolate his thoughts. The telephone calls were routed through recursive firewire lines looped between half a dozen interdimensional Ways, resulting in a transmission speed very slightly faster than realtime and a signal that could not under any circumstances be traced or hijacked. It had cost a mint.</p>
<p>When you were saving the world, the Foundation opened up wallets so secret they practically qualified as concealed carries.</p>
<p>"Maybe we did." Wheeler didn't sound tired, the way Euler did, but she did sound a little confused. Site-41's secure comms room benefited from an effect the Division ordinarily found frustrating, the one that made everyone forget who they were when they weren't in plain view, and that effect was bolstered in a variety of occult ways. Lillian had it on good authority that an hour in that room caused migraines that didn't go away without amnestic treatment, which was fine, because Wheeler took amnestics after every one of these long-distance meetings anyway. "But we don't have one anymore, and the budget isn't there to replace it."</p>
<p>"Why not?" Lillian asked.</p>
<p>"Because most days we don't have a budget at all. One of the first things I do when I get in every morning is remind the Accounting Department that we exist. One of these days they're not going to believe me."</p>
<p>"Which makes what we're doing that much more important," Euler yawned again. The meeting was running long, and he was yawning everything he said. If they didn't wrap up soon, he'd probably fall asleep. "Lillian will handle the report, of course."</p>
<p>"Of course," Wheeler agreed.</p>
<p>"Of course. Because I did most of the work." Lillian paused. "Well, that's not true."</p>
<p>"Certainly it is," Euler said. He managed to get it all out without taking an extra breath in the middle.</p>
<p>"No. I couldn't have done it without you."</p>
<p>"Certainly you—"</p>
<p>"Let me be uncharacteristically generous, would you?" The nice thing about audio-only communication was that she could offset the vocal generosity by pulling a truly outrageous face. <em>I hate being nice. I <span style="text-decoration: underline;">hate</span> being nice.</em> She let her tongue hang out in disgust as she continued to tell the old man how she felt. "Going against the grain gives me splinters, and we don't have time to listen to me sitting here sucking on my fucking hand."</p>
<p>He made a small noise of surrender.</p>
<p>"The new electronic systems have helped a lot," Lillian continued, "though we're still running into the squish factor. Automation doesn't help when people forget to check their machines. The new drugs have helped a lot with <em>that,</em> but obviously it's an uphill battle."</p>
<p>"And it's going to remain that way," Wheeler sighed. "I don't know how many groups there were studying antimemetic phenomena last year — I don't even know how many there are <em>this</em> year — but I'm sure there must have been more, because there aren't enough now. You're going to need to take up the slack."</p>
<p>"I've been visiting as many of our cells as I can," Euler yawned again. "We want to avoid cross-contamination, of course, keeping them all in their own unique headspaces, but—"</p>
<p>"But?" Wheeler's voice was suddenly hard and hyperfocused. "I'm sorry, Dr. Euler, but that sounds like a tremendous security threat. Why is it acceptable for you to be acting as a link between these groups? You're endangering the project, if I understand it correctly." Wheeler only occasionally made these little asides every year, when Lillian called and reminded her the project even existed. She was a woman who was used to being told she had forgotten something, but she was also a woman who would never be very happy about the fact.</p>
<p>"There is no linkage, Mrs. Wheeler. I've been cleared for this duty by medical personnel who are fully aware of the situation, and what it demands. There is no possibility of memetic contagion."</p>
<p>"If you say so." She didn't sound convinced, but then, he'd offered nothing convincing. Lillian hoped she'd remember to press him on it later. "The work is going well?"</p>
<p>"Of course not." Euler sounded very old, but then, he <em>was</em> very old. "It never does. But it <em>is</em> going. And it will continue to go."</p>
<p>"Then that's all I need to know. Unless there's anything else…?"</p>
<p>"No," Lillian interjected, "my back's cramped up bad enough as it is. And you've got your date with… whatever." She'd never understood what Wheeler's annual appointment was about, and the other woman had never elaborated. Perhaps she couldn't. "Let me know how it goes."</p>
<p>"If I ever find out myself," Wheeler said, "I'm sure you'll be the next in line. One way or another."</p>
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<h2 id="toc17"><span>January 6</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>She'd waited a long time to see what was on the memory cube, nearly a year. The thing was, she knew the cubes themselves didn't go bad, but she also knew there were all kinds of nasty things they could be coated with that did. So it took a lot of testing, and a lot of waiting, for her to decide that the thing was safe to get hooked up with — safer than Sokolsky himself was, certainly, though that wasn't saying much — and even longer for her schedule to open up to the point where she could waste time on things other people wanted her to look into. It wasn't like the others had hit any dead ends in their investigations, anyway. They could wait for whatever revelations were stored in that crystallized fragment of Russian memory.</p>
<p>She half-expected it to be irrelevant nonsense anyway, another little gem from Sokolsky's twisted sense of humour.</p>
<p>It wasn't.</p>
<div class="generic">
<p>Site-03 was on fire, and Daniil was paralyzed. He was six years old.</p>
<p>So he was old enough to figure this out.</p>
<p>Fire terrified him. It walked up the walls like a swarm of spiders. It ate everything. It turned everything into itself. It reminded him of the way his father had screamed at him for setting fire to toilet paper in the bathroom of the Director's Complex, just to watch it curl in on itself. Like a bug under a magnifying glass.</p>
<p>Almost everyone was gone. Daniil walked through the halls, where everything that could burn was burning, calling out for his father, but his father was gone, too. The few who weren't gone weren't much help, because they were lying on the floor, or sitting in their chairs, or walking past him, muttering, crying, laughing. One man's hair was on fire. It smelled terrible. He should have been screaming, but he wasn't.</p>
<p>Daniil knew he needed to <span style="color: #f7f7f7">██████</span>.</p>
<p>He clawed at his eyes. He needed <span style="color: #f7f7f7">██████</span>.</p>
<p>He sat down on the floor, and wept.</p>
<p>He hated to cry. When he cried, his father shouted at him. He could see it in his mind's eye. When he wiped the tears away, he realized he could see it with his regular eyes, too.</p>
<p>"Blubbering little baby," Abrasha Sokolsky snapped. "Grow up. <em>Stand</em> up. Solve your problems like a <em>man.</em>"</p>
<p>But he couldn't. And that made the fear worse. Because his father would never stop shouting at him, never stop shouting until finally he was shouted into nothing, and he would never, ever…</p>
<p>Would never, ever…</p>
<p><em>Escape.</em> That was the word. That was the word he needed. The thing he needed to do. He needed to escape.</p>
<p>How could he do that?</p>
<p>But as the answer dawned, obvious and clear, Daniil Sokolsky appeared in front of him and said "Next time you pick my brain, Lillian, look me in the eyes."</p>
</div>
<p>"Son of a bitch," Lillian muttered. "Really had me going, for a second there."</p>
<p>After dismantling the cube, it had taken months to recombine the particles to form a coherent engram. Sokolsky had discovered a means of encrypting the memory cubes, because of course he had. She wondered if it had a more practical purpose than making her solve a puzzle just to unlock half a story, and a mocking 'gotcha!' moment.</p>
<p>Probably it did. Daniil Sokolsky was a being of many layers.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc18"><span><span style="color: #990011">2015</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc19"><span>January 7</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>"This was a good idea," said Technician First Class Azad Banerjee. His voice was muffled by the metal between them.</p>
<p>"Right?" Lillian grinned. "So good."</p>
<p>Eileen glanced up at her, expression unreadable, then looked back down at what Lillian had never stopped looking at. The three of them were alone in the auxiliary tech control room of AAF-A,</p>
<div class="muddle">
<p>a room which purports to be a pastoral landscape: two of the four walls are covered in a painted mural, one is wall-to-wall circuitry, and the last is a massive console with space beneath to root around in <em>a la</em> a bridge set from <em>Star Trek.</em> (The number of things at Site-43 which can be profitably described in reference to <em>Star Trek</em> is quite high. This is because the only thing more inspirational to prospective engineers is the chance to be condescending to people you don't know.)</p>
<p>Many rooms in the undercroft of AAF-A are similarly decorated, the result of an initiative by Psychology and Parapsychology to offset a peculiar phenomenon: knowing that the rooms on the upper floors, where the front company operates, are often festooned with windows and naturally lit, persons working on the lower floors get topside-sick at a much higher rate than their counterparts working in the deepest depths of the main facility. Apparently, a few painted clouds and green hills can help offset this. The human mind and its workings may be the strangest anomaly of all.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Lillian's mind continued to work as she watched Banerjee, clueless, proceed with his work. "We're on the same page here, right?" he continued from beneath the console. "The reason for these upgrades?"</p>
<p>"Is this a quiz?" Eileen asked archly.</p>
<p>Banerjee crawled back out of the console, and rolled over on the floor to look up at them. They both pretended they hadn't been looking at him, and looked at him again. "I was just wondering if it was the reason I'm thinking."</p>
<p>"What's the reason you're thinking?" Lillian asked.</p>
<p>He scowled. "Well, now I'll never know. You could just pretend."</p>
<p>Eileen scowled back at him. It wasn't a remotely fair contest. "Are you calling us liars, technician?"</p>
<p>He recoiled at her withering glare. "No, I just know you're… very creative truth-tellers. We all work at the Foundation, after all."</p>
<p>"Fine," Lillian sighed, "I'll say it. We're doing the systems upgrade today because the containment damage already fucks it all up anyway, so why bother repairing when you can replace?"</p>
<p>"Knew it." Banerjee smirked. "That's great. I still work for geniuses. All I wanted to know."</p>
<p>And he crawled back in.</p>
<p>"Now he's implying we might be going senile," said Eileen.</p>
<p>Lillian raised her foot so that the tip of her shoe hovered just behind Banerjee's left buttock. Eileen shook her head <em>no</em> furiously, but she was smiling as she did it.</p>
<p>"Of course not," said the technician. "I know I'm not anywhere near your speed, ma'ams."</p>
<p>Lillian placed a hand on Eileen's shoulder. Neither woman moved to make eye contact. "He thinks we're the same speed, Eileen. Have you ever received such a lovely compliment?"</p>
<p>"You might be going faster," Eileen said, "but at least I'm not pointing at a cliff."</p>
<p>"I'm already impressed. Don't pull a muscle on my behalf."</p>
<p>"Some things are worth pulling a muscle for."</p>
<p>From beneath the console, a low, knowing chuckle.</p>
<p>Lillian waited longer than Eileen had expected. They were almost to the subway before she started leering, "So, Banerjee."</p>
<p>"What about him?" Eileen played coy, not because she thought it would work, but because she thought Lillian should have to work for what she wanted.</p>
<p>"You know what about him." The other woman elbowed her in the upper arm. At her height, Lillian had to lean over a little so as not to elbow Eileen in the head instead.</p>
<p>"You're disgusting."</p>
<p>"You know better than most."</p>
<p>Eileen gave Lillian a look of exaggerated, if only slightly, exhaustion. "Most people don't have to put up with innuendo from their exes."</p>
<p>"Nobody ever really gets rid of me. I'm like a fixture." Lillian tapped the steel sheathing on the next corner they turned. "A core structural element."</p>
<p>"I think of you more like black mold." A passing agent visibly suppressed a laugh, and Eileen smiled at him.</p>
<p>"But seriously. Banerjee." Lillian's voice became comically husky. "Who knew, right?"</p>
<p>"Finish the thought yourself."</p>
<p>"Who knew he'd have such a nice b—"</p>
<p>Eileen elbowed Lillian in the hip. The gut was too high, and anyway there wasn't much of it.</p>
<p>"The <em>beard,</em> I was going to say!" the other woman laughed. "Who knew he'd look that good with a beard? I never liked the whole babyface thing he had going on."</p>
<p>Eileen acknowledged the bait-and-switch with an eyeroll. "He's Indian. Beards were practically invented for Indian men."</p>
<p>"That's the spirit." Lillian clapped a hand to Eileen's shoulder, and kept it there as they approached the turnstiles. "We're not that different, you and me."</p>
<p>"Most people also don't have to take insults from their exes."</p>
<p>"That's not true at all, and anyway I'm only insulting myself. You ought to be flattered." They flashed their passes at the reader, and the stiles turned for them. "So, about how we're so similar."</p>
<p>"Uh huh."</p>
<p>"Daniil."</p>
<p>"There it is." Eileen walked to the yellow line at the end of the platform, and turned to face her friend. They were alone, which didn't really matter; Lillian was no more or less bold with an expanded audience. "Finally. I saw this coming from a mile off."</p>
<p>The look on Lillian's face was as filthy as any Eileen had seen. "What, you've got video feed on his quarters?"</p>
<p>"Ugh."</p>
<p>"So, come on." Lillian reached down to squeeze her shoulder, and Eileen reached up to brush the hand away. "Let's talk about him."</p>
<p>"Why don't you talk about him <em>with</em> him?" Eileen suggest. "He loves when people do that."</p>
<p>"Not on this topic, he doesn't."</p>
<p>"What topic? What're you trying to get out of him?" And then she saw it. "Oh, god. You're only dating him to squeeze him for information, aren't you? I should have seen that coming, too."</p>
<p>"No, my motives include more than one kind of squeezing." Lillian winked. "But I <em>am</em> trying to draw him on a particular issue, and he isn't biting."</p>
<p>"That's not how I remember him." She regretted the words the instant they were out.</p>
<p>"There she is again!" Lillian crowed. "I knew the woman I once repeatedly loved was still in there, somewhere. Now, help me out. I need some leverage. Something I have that he wants, that I can withold until he gives me what <em>I</em> want."</p>
<p>"Sounds like you've already played that card," Eileen smirked.</p>
<p>"Something better than sex."</p>
<p>"I'm amazed to hear you say there's something better than sex with you."</p>
<p>"Some people have skewed priorities. Come on, Eileen." Lillian made a comical pleading face, lips stuck out in an inch-deep pout. "Help me out here."</p>
<p>"With what? What do you think I know that you don't?"</p>
<p>"Precisely one thing, and only because that's how its rules work."</p>
<p>It took Eileen a few moments to realize what Lillian meant, and by then she knew her refusal had been foreseen and preemptively defeated by the monstrous thinking machine whirring behind those big blue eyes.</p>
<p>She made the protest anyway, just so she could later say that she had.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc20"><span>January 10</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p><em>Love is an advantage.</em></p>
<p>His mind was a trap, but not of steel. It was a chemical trap, and it was trivial to change the makeup. A little dopamine, some oxytocin and endorphins, and as the <em>coup de grace…</em></p>
<p>She flopped over beside him, pulled his wallet off the side table, pulled out the little card, and smiled at him. "Watch my eyes."</p>
<p>He watched her eyes, his pupils dilated as hers no doubt were as well.</p>
<p>She read the card. Not out loud, of course. That would be disastrous. When she was done, she flipped it off the side of the bed, and looked at him.</p>
<p>He was still looking into her eyes. So she asked: "Can you tell?"</p>
<p>"I can tell. You weren't faking. You can read it. You <em>have</em> it."</p>
<p>She kissed him. "Don't I always?"</p>
<p>"How did you get the Password? I'm assuming you murdered Eileen."</p>
<p>"Only with facts and logic." She pulled him close; with the height differential, curling up on his chest would have been more symbolic than practical, and after all he was the one who could see only symbols on the card. "Bet you'd like to take it for a spin."</p>
<p>"I'll bet I could make you <em>shout</em> it."</p>
<p>She laughed, plucked one of his eyebrow hairs out with her teeth, and spat it out. "I think you have our roles reversed. You should be so lucky. You with the Password…"</p>
<p>"And you with my deep, dark, and relevant backstory. Yeah?"</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"The things you do for friendship."</p>
<p>"And the friends I do for friendship."</p>
<p>He sighed, and rested his head on her chest. "Didn't find what you were looking for in my office safe?"</p>
<p>She shook her head. "Mm-mm. Knew I wouldn't as soon as it was as easy as stealing a piece of paper from your wallet."</p>
<p>"I appreciate you not taking the money."</p>
<p>"There was, what? Ten bucks in there. Tight-fisted bastard. But I got the message. Tit for tat."</p>
<p>He reached over and squeezed something relevant. "Tat it is. I'll collect the other cube from deep storage."</p>
<p>"You could just tell me the whole story yourself."</p>
<p>"Oh, I'd rather not."</p>
<p>"Why? Too emotional?"</p>
<p>"No. It's just that the long version would take longer than fifteen minutes."</p>
<div class="generic">
<p>It was easy. He'd been and gone from this place a hundred times. All he needed to do was find the <span style="color: #f7f7f7">█████ ████████,</span> and then…</p>
<p>It was all he could do to avoid crying again. He bit his lower lip, and his eyes remained clear.</p>
<p>His father was gone, because he'd never been there. There was a woman sitting cross-legged across the hall from him, pulling something red out of her face. He realized it was probably her tongue. She was laughing, and the blood was everywhere. She made eye contact with him, and nodded in a friendly manner.</p>
<p>These were some of the smartest adults in Russia, and Russia was the best of the Foundation. His father always told him so. If they couldn't figure out how to get to the <em>first sublevel…</em></p>
<p>That was it, again. That was the thing which had <span style="color: #f7f7f7">██████</span>d him, the thing he needed to know. If he was going to… if he was <em>going to…</em></p>
<p>The ceiling came crashing down, and he scrambled out of the way. He couldn't see it, because there were sparks in his eyes, but he could hear the woman laughing as she burned. And then another voice joined her, and another. All of them laughing. He turned and ran, ran so that he could <em>escape,</em> to the <em>first sublevel,</em> where he would just need his father's <span style="color: #f7f7f7">██████ █</span>, which was a problem, because his father was gone, and so were the words, and he was going to <em>die,</em> and he suddenly realized he couldn't breathe, and he suddenly realized that the word was KEYCARD.</p>
</div>
<p>The memory ended.</p>
<p>She hoped he wasn't any good at reading her expressions yet. "That… isn't anything Del can use. For anything."</p>
<p>He stretched out on the couch, and slung his hands behind his head. "I wouldn't think so, no."</p>
<p>She unhooked the EL-STA leads from her head, and set them on the hook attached to the stand. Euler hadn't been all that involved in the creation of the Euler-Lillihammer Somatic Transmission Array, but she thought he wouldn't object to his work being adapted to allow people to personally experience the memories of others, willingly extracted. It was the kind of positive, kumbaya-type thing he loved. "You made me work for that."</p>
<p>"I'm not sure I'd precisely call it <em>work.</em> And really," he yawned, and got more comfortable on the pillow, "do you expect me to believe you're only interested in things <em>she</em> can use?"</p>
<p>She raised a brow. "Daniil Sokolsky."</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Were you trying to be one step ahead of me?"</p>
<p>"I think I was <em>succeeding</em> at being one step ahead of you. It was a little exhilarating, if I'm being honest. And a little depressing to think I'll be behind you again, now. Metaphorically speaking." He showed his teeth. "Being literally behind you is never disappointing."</p>
<p>"We could never be in a relationship," she sighed.</p>
<p>"Why's that?"</p>
<p>She stood. "Because it would take up too much of my time, and I'd probably enjoy it."</p>
<p>"Where are you going?"</p>
<p>"To think about what you told me."</p>
<p>"You could think about it here."</p>
<p>"Not with that grin hanging over or under me."</p>
<p>He shifted onto his elbow. "Did you not hear what I just said, about being behind you?"</p>
<p>She considered.</p>
<p>She was a little proud of how long the consideration took her. "Fine, but you don't get the Password until I'm done with it."</p>
<p>He patted the cushion beneath him. "Challenge accepted."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc21"><span>January 11</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>It made perfect sense.</p>
<p>She was surprised she hadn't considered it before. She was even more surprised Sokolsky hadn't understood the meaning of his own memory. Or perhaps he did? Perhaps this was a gift he was giving to her, the knowledge of how…</p>
<p>She found herself shaking her head. Daniil Sokolsky did not share his toys. Daniil Sokolsky did not give other people the advantages he had. The only difference between him and a billionaire was that his wealth was knowledge.</p>
<p>That, and he wasn't making up for any deficiencies down below.</p>
<p>Obviously he'd been too close to the source material to fully comprehend its import. She understood that. She'd once had the same problem. But now that she had perspective, the perspectives of four different versions of her single self, she could see angles that didn't even exist in the geometry everyone else was used to.</p>
<p>She closed her eyes, and pictured the room.</p>
<p>The living room in Harry's childhood home, with its awkward angles and lines that only barely seemed to connect by random happenstance. Her little trick for clearing the mind of all distractions, and honing in with crystal clarity on what she needed.</p>
<p>As always, when her mind was completely still, she could take a breath and feel it fogging up against the impediment. The only thing which had ever happened to her that she could not in any sense remember. In her mind, she placed a single hand on the block, and conjured up the keys one after another.</p>
<p><em>She was standing at the bottom of the DUAL Core shaft, wielding a bottle of white vinegar as though it were a chemical weapon. Which, in this context, it was.</em></p>
<p><em>The carpet of corpses flowed over the edge of the catwalks above, forming and reforming, a new victim every time. People she knew. No-one she loved, not yet, but it was only a matter of time. She'd been a fool to get so attached. This should never have been her problem.</em></p>
<p><em>But it was. The bubbling mass of chittering chitin crept along the pipes and conduits, and she began to spray with targeted bursts. The first few came out as mist, and she screwed the tip of the bottle until it offered her more precision. The bubbling biomass retreated from each jet, and the space which already stunk of cutting oil now took on a vinegaric tang. The thing hissed, and pulled back, like a child which had burned its hand on the hob, and the hiss suddenly resolved into words.</em></p>
<p><em>"We are going to have you, brother."</em></p>
<p><em>She didn't respond, and she didn't stop spraying.</em></p>
<p><em>"We will be <span style="text-decoration: underline;">one</span>."</em></p>
<p><em>And a face emerged from the crawling horde of spiders, billions on billions of them, and the face was spiders, too, but it was also a man she loved, and had lost, and had been forced to lose over and over again.</em></p>
<p><em>Del Olmo's rippling face spoke in the same histrionic sussurus. "What do you see, Lillian?"</em></p>
<p><em>She raised the bottle higher, and sent the next stream into the thing's false mouth. "A bad imitation, and an easy target."</em></p>
<p><em>The face exploded, and the spiders came raining down…</em></p>
<p>She shuddered, but kept her hand firm on the obelisk. Had it been an obelisk before? It now had contour, form and shape. She could feel its weight, its chill.</p>
<p><em>Wettle was trying to scream, but his mouth was filled with spiders.</em></p>
<p><em>The effigy of Alis pressed its lips to hers, and the stream of wriggling legs continued to pour out of her, and into him.</em></p>
<p><em>"Shush," she hissed. "You know it's right."</em></p>
<p><em>He thrashed his head to one side, and spat out a tremendous globule of saliva-drenched skittering horror.</em></p>
<p>She was openly weeping in disgust, waves of revulsion travelling through her body and pulsating through the corridor wall.</p>
<p>It was a corridor.</p>
<p>She was standing in the middle of it.</p>
<p>She was almost there.</p>
<p><em>There were no eyes in the darkness this time. It didn't make any sense, but even her oldest memories were filled with segmented legs and twitching pedipalps. The refinery that towered over them was swaying back and forth, like the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, like a skyscraper made of jelly, only the jelly was a colony of arachnids numerous enough to encircle the moon ten times over.</em></p>
<p><em>"You can withstand," Rydderech told her, and there were spiders in his eyes. "You will endure. The memory of dead worlds lives in you." He pressed a hand to her forehead, and there were spiders beneath his fingernails. They separated, and the things came crawling out, into her hair, into her nose, and still she didn't break eye contact. She had to hear the end of it. "You carry them across the gulf between." Rydderech's voice was now a sibilant squeal, like all the rest, but it wasn't real, and he was still him. "You are the vessel," he told her, and she knew that it was true. "You are unsinkable."</em></p>
<p>And she was there.</p>
<div class="flashyhammer">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc22"><span><span style="color: #c5000b">2004</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc23"><span>9 October</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><span style="color: #990011">Site-06</span>: Outside Bad Karlshafen, Kassel District, Hesse, Federal Republic of Germany</strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Finally, urgently, as though realizing it was late to the party, a hollow screeching filled the halls. The solid red lights began to flash.</p>
<p>"Oh," said Wheeler.</p>
<p>"Uh," Lillian agreed.</p>
<p>It was the nuclear overload alarm.</p>
<p>"How long do we have?"</p>
<p>"Twenty-five minutes." Wheeler checked the magazine on her pistol, and grunted. It was a grunt neither of satisfaction nor alarm.</p>
<p>"I thought these things were supposed to go up in a flash."</p>
<p>"Not here. The nukes in containment facilities for slavering beasts, yes." The other woman's body language had changed in all sorts of interesting ways since the breach had begun. Lillian suddenly believed the unlikely story she'd heard about tentacles and the fire axe. "Cut short the rampage before it reaches the exit. But 06 is too important. There are vital assets here. They'll be evacuated."</p>
<p>"I'm a vital asset," Lillian said.</p>
<p>Wheeler didn't roll her eyes, because she was too busy scanning the corridors. But her voice carried the same implication. "Sure you are." Then her brow furrowed. "You might be more important to <em>them,</em> actually."</p>
<p>"You think so?"</p>
<p>Wheeler gestured back the way they'd come, where one of the <em>giftschreiber</em> attackers had made the brief error of attacking them. "He called you 'the vessel'. Thoughts on what that might mean?"</p>
<p>"Zero."</p>
<p>The other woman — was she an agent? Lillian didn't think she was a doctor, really she only thought of her as Wheeler — had apparently chosen a direction. Probably she'd memorized the Area's layout on the flight over. She was the type to be prepared like that. "Zero," she mused as they passed from pool after pool of red light. "The thing that makes all complex math possible."</p>
<p>"I wasn't trying to be clever."</p>
<p>"Maybe you don't even have to try. It just happens."</p>
<p>If Wheeler hadn't been holding a gun, Lillian might have patted her on the head. "Flattering. But what are you on about?"</p>
<p>"The <em>giftschreiber</em> are fascinated by your disaster." Wheeler poked her head around a corner, then swung around with her weapon at the ready, then ushered Lillian to follow her. "They think it's the key to understanding themselves. They think there's something intrinsic to it that relates to them."</p>
<p>"You're saying they think it's… <em>in</em> me, somehow?" It wasn't a pleasant thought, but neither was it totally a foreign one.</p>
<p>"Maybe. Or maybe you're the focus for it. Maybe it happens because of you. All of you."</p>
<p>"He didn't say I'm <em>a</em> vessel. He said I'm <em>the</em> vessel."</p>
<p>Wheeler shrugged. "Well, the most obvious connection would be your memory. Right?"</p>
<p>"Right. So it's probably not that."</p>
<p>"But what if it was? You're the only one who remembers everything."</p>
<p>"Well, not exactly."</p>
<p>"Not exactly?"</p>
<p>"The Victims remember, too."</p>
<p>That seemed to take Wheeler by surprise. "Do they?"</p>
<p>"Yes. That's why I said it."</p>
<p>"Don't get snotty while I'm saving your life."</p>
<p>Lillian didn't actually see the man at the end of the hall until they were stepping over his body. Wheeler had hit him centre mass, and he was passed out already from blood loss. Even the gunshot had been lost, as the periodic klaxon reminded them that there were things of this nature all around them, and they had really better leave.</p>
<p>"Ambrogi told Nascimbeni things he could only have seen in baseline," Lillian said as they moved through a windowless hall that put the words <em>kill box</em> in her mind, right where she didn't want them. "He remembered across the boundary."</p>
<p>Wheeler might have had the same thought, because she was moving like she had purpose enough for a woman twice her height now. "Anyone else, or just Ambrogi?"</p>
<p>"What does it matter? They were all the same. Variations on one mind."</p>
<p>"You know that for sure?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"They didn't display any differences between them?"</p>
<p>"Well, sure, but… hmm." Lillian scratched at the back of her head as they made the next corner, where an inset seating area complicated the otherwise dead simple cris-cross of passages.</p>
<p>"Yeah?" Wheeler's jacket might have been full of magnets, the way she pressed herself flush to each stainless steel wall as she took in every possible approach.</p>
<p>"Yeah, alright," Lillian allowed. "Maybe. <em>Maybe.</em> But that's not useful right now. Even if it's just one of them and just one of us, that doesn't explain why it's so damn important. It's just facts. Impressions. Tastes and sounds. What use is that?"</p>
<p>The coast was apparently still clear. Maybe they were going to make it after all. "What use is the only record of a world that doesn't exist anymore?"</p>
<p>"That's right." Lillian nodded, more to herself than to Wheeler. "Yes. What use is that? Because that world <em>doesn't exist anymore.</em>"</p>
<p>"I don't know," Wheeler said. "They're an apocalypse cult. Your memories are postapocalyptic. It's enough to go on."</p>
<p>"Go <em>nowhere.</em> Speaking of which…"</p>
<p>"They'll have locked down the elevators. I'm heading for the stairs."</p>
<p>"Good idea."</p>
<p>The next corner shaved itself off in a little cloud of polymer and metal shavings, and Wheeler pulled Lillian to the wall.</p>
<p>"But apparently not a unique one," the little woman muttered.</p>
<p>A voice rang out, a middle-aged man by the sound of it, in the direction they were heading. "Let's talk!</p>
<p>"Let's not," Lillian found herself shouting, "and don't say we did!"</p>
<p>Wheeler gave her a look.</p>
<p>"I've always wanted to say that," she shrugged.</p>
<p>Almost faster than Lillian could see, Wheeler stuck her head and arms around the corner and squeezed off a couple of shots.</p>
<p>"There's no reason for us to fight!" the man at the end of the hall shouted again.</p>
<p>"Says the reason this building is about to explode!" Wheeler called back.</p>
<p>"I think you'll find it was your people who set that in motion!"</p>
<p>"Yeah! For no reason at all! Just bored, I guess." It occurred to Lillian that she was making it easier for the explosion to kill all of them. By the look on Wheeler's face, she wasn't the only one thinking that.</p>
<p>It probably informed the other woman's decision to once again brave the corner, this time going low, and fire her weapon three times.</p>
<p>She had to be getting low.</p>
<p>"You don't need to keep doing that," the man shouted. "Listen to me!"</p>
<p>"You're a fucking <em>giftschreiber</em>!" Lillian yelled, and Wheeler took the opportunity to take yet another potshot. "'Don't listen to <em>giftschreiber</em>' is the first rule of memetics!"</p>
<p>"I know who you are! I know both of you! I know enough not to want to take my chances." The man's voice was dropping in volume; they were all getting used to the klaxons. "So let's talk, and then make our ways separately to separate exits while there's still time."</p>
<p>"What makes you think we'd ever let you go?" Wheeler yelled.</p>
<p>"Because you can't stop me, and be sure of surviving. I don't want to try my own luck, but if you force my hand, it will end badly for you."</p>
<p>Wheeler met Lillian's eyes. She expected some sort of resistance to what she was going to suggest, but she'd misjudged the other woman's own judgment. "This needs to stop," Wheeler said to her, much too quietly for their enemy to overhear. "Soon."</p>
<p>Lillian nodded.</p>
<p>"Okay, asshole." She took a deep breath, and stepped around the corner, hands spread. "Let's talk."</p>
<p>She was standing at one end of a short corridor. There was a man standing at the other end. There were two men not standing, and not crouching either, one on either side of him. Still, he didn't look worried. He was dressed for a brisk autumn stroll, and his hair was a shock of white.</p>
<p>"Dr. Lillihammer," he greeted her.</p>
<p>"And friend," Wheeler snarled from behind. Lillian could tell just by her tone of voice that the gun was levelled on him.</p>
<p>"We should all be friends," the old man smiled, "right now particularly."</p>
<p>As if on cue, the public address system announced: "Ten minutes to reactor overload."</p>
<p>The adrenaline almost made it hard for Lillian to hear. She found herself nodding frantically. "Yeah, let's all take the stairs up in friendly silence. Won't be awkward at all, and none of us will blow up."</p>
<p>"Actually, we're not on the way out." The pleasant smile became an almost as pleasant grin. <em>God, but he's confident.</em> "We're just coming in."</p>
<p>"Are you saying this wasn't you?" Wheeler snapped. She was beside Lillian now, and yes, her gun was raised. Lillian wondered if that would make any difference. "You're not with the attacking force?"</p>
<p>The old man nodded. "That's right."</p>
<p>"Then who are you?" Wheeler pressed. "And who are they?"</p>
<p>"Think of us as…" Lillian knew that look. He was choosing which lie to tell. "…two stones, in search of the same bird."</p>
<p>"I would rather think of you as what the fuck you <em>are.</em>" Lillian wished she had a gun of her own. She made herself a promise to figure out a way to weaponize some of her memetics for close-range combat, if they ever got out of here. "What the fuck are you? <em>Giftschreiber?</em>"</p>
<p>"I've been called that," he nodded. His hands were still spread wide, as though that might convince them of the goodness of his intentions and the honesty of their parley.</p>
<p>"And who started the attack?" Wheeler demanded. She was edging slowly forward. They really did need to be getting a move-on.</p>
<p>"They've been called the same thing."</p>
<p>Lillian sighed. "Cut the shit. We're about to get blown to kingdom come, and my impression is that you guys have made different travel plans for the apocalypse. What are you after? What <em>bird?</em>"</p>
<p>"Unless I miss my guess, you just left her."</p>
<p>Lillian blinked. "…Alis?"</p>
<p>"I'm not familiar with the name. But, then, I wouldn't be." His grin kept getting wider, and yet never more threatening. "Very likely yes."</p>
<p>Wheeler was solid on the trigger as a finger of rock. "You're trying to get her out of here?"</p>
<p>"No. I'm trying to kill her."</p>
<p>Lillian did a double-take. "Oh."</p>
<p>"If you think we're going to let you walk past us," Wheeler said darkly, "and take out a prisoner…"</p>
<p>"Oh, that's what's going to happen no matter what." The man's hands closed, and Lillian saw Wheeler <em>almost</em> put a hole in him, or attempt to. "I'm just taking this moment to lend you a helping hand on the way, since you so obviously need it." He waited a moment to see what response they would give. When they didn't give any, he suggested, "I believe your line here is 'I don't need your help'."</p>
<p>"Well, I don't know that." Lillian reached out, very slowly, so Wheeler could see it, and lowered her partner's gun. Wheeler allowed it; Lillian knew it was only a gesture, she'd seen how quick the other woman was on the draw. But gestures could go a long way between cryptomancers. "I like to keep my options open. You're not the first weird old man to offer me cryptic advice. Of course I think you're probably full of shit, but."</p>
<p>"I think someone already said this," Wheeler hissed, "but it's worth trying again: can you two skip the niceties and <em>get to the point?</em>"</p>
<p>"Good idea." The man pursed his lips in thought. "If you'll tell me where I can find… Alis, did you say? I'll tell you a few things you want to know."</p>
<p>"I want to know a lot more than a few things," Lillian snapped.</p>
<p>"I wasn't offering to let you choose. I have tidbits in particular in mind. You don't have to agree until you've heard them."</p>
<p>"Wow. Real generous." She glanced at Wheeler, who shrugged, as if to say <em>none of this will matter in about ten minutes anyway.</em> "Okay, spit it out then. We're on a schedule."</p>
<p>"DETONATION IN TEN MINUTES."</p>
<p>"Good timing," Lillian sighed.</p>
<p>The old man affected a voice that reminded Lillian of the transcripts she'd seen of Thilo Zwist. She wasn't sure how that could translate, but it did. "We are all marked by ideas, ladies, and ideas are marked by their origins. There are ideas in you which do not originate from here, but other heres. You carry them across the gulf between. Now that we understand, we will not harm you. We need you to finish what you've started."</p>
<p>"This isn't the deal." Wheeler raised her gun again. "This is just more psychobabble. Why don't you—"</p>
<p>"I am your mentor's mentor, Dr. Lillihammer, and he did our work before his demise. He does <em>their</em> work now, as does another. I don't know his name, but when I do, I will kill him, too."</p>
<p>They were out of time. "Marion, shoot th—"</p>
<p>"In deepest dark I ope the hoods," he continued without missing a beat, "and firmly portals shutter. <em>Stop.</em>"</p>
<p>It all went black.</p>
</div>
<div class="generic">
<p>"You didn't ask them what room she was in," Julia chided him as he climbed into the chopper.</p>
<p>"There wasn't time." He reached up for the belt. "We'd never make it before the detonation."</p>
<p>The roar of the rotors was too loud to be heard over. She waited patiently for him to put on his helmet before continuing. "This was a wasted trip, then?"</p>
<p>He glanced at the two unconscious women slumped in the back seat, and smiled. "Hardly. They'll make good use of what I've told them, after we drop them off."</p>
<p>"If they remember," Julia frowned.</p>
<p>"Oh, they'll remember. Eventually." He reached out to take her hand in reassurance. "It's what they do."</p>
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<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub">The Breach Goes On: Deadlined</a></p>
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<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Repent at Leisure">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/49-repent-at-leisure">Repent at Leisure</a></p>
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<p>"<a href="/48-unforgettable-too">Unforgettable Too</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/48-unforgettable-too">https://scpwiki.com/48-unforgettable-too</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:</p>
<p>Keil ("Kyle") Graf: "Portrait of an elderly man looking straight at the camera" by Ivan Radic, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/26344495@N05/30743423956">https://www.flickr.com/photos/26344495@N05/30743423956</a></p>
<p>Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653</a></p>
<p>Noè Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822">https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822</a> and<br/>
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992">https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992</a></p>
<p>Wynn Rydderech: "State Electricity Commission, Group of Four Men, Victoria, May 1940,” two images, courtesy State Electricity Commission of Australia, public domain:<br/>
<a href="https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547629">https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547629</a><br/>
<a href="https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547640">https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547640</a></p>
<p>Daniil Sokolsky: "Brett - 08-08-08" and "Waterpitts, 29-09-12" by Brett Jordan, both released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625">https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842">https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842</a></p>
<p>Marion Wheeler: Sketches by WasteButterscotch810, by default CC BY-SA 3.0: <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/SCP/comments/t6g7tz/marion_wheeler_sketches_bc_i_reread_there_is_no">https://www.reddit.com/r/SCP/comments/t6g7tz/marion_wheeler_sketches_bc_i_reread_there_is_no</a></p>
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<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Everything!<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735469634" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
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[[=]]
**Unforgettable Too**
You think?
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[=]]
+ Unforgettable Too
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ ##990011|2014##
++ 26 January
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Capitol Hill##: Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
The man's head looked like a white balloon with a lot of the air let out, and his drawl was so deep as to almost be guttural. "I'm not in the habit of speaking out of class, miss... what was it?"
"Ibanez."
"Miss Ibanez. Not all of our volunteers and donors like to advertise their career and spending habits. These days, you can get a lot of trouble from the self-righteous masses if they find out you believe in things they don't."
She shifted in her chair. It was more expensive than the civilian clothes she was wearing, probably more expensive than any of the chairs at Site-43. "I understand that you don't want to talk about this," she said. "And I think you understand that you haven't got a choice, so I don't see any purpose to this prologue beyond expressing your own petulance."
She couldn't tell if the face he made was meant to convey offence or false humour. It was hard to clock the moods of a wizened reptile. "I'm not accustomed to taking orders from dual state actors. You'll have to forgive me."
She shrugged. "We can pretend I do. Now tell me about Ophelia Righting."
"Never met her. She was on President Bush's campaign staff. That's all I know."
That was all Ibanez knew, too, at least as far as the early 2000s was concerned. Decades earlier she'd been part of a think tank which had turned out to be a //giftschreiber// front, interfering with the results of a Canadian federal election. She wondered what 9/11 and its aftermath would have looked like under an Al Gore presidency. "The Senate Majority Whip never met one of the president's key advisors?"
He shook his head. His neck flaps wobbled like a wattle. "She vanished from his circle as soon as he was elected. That's not uncommon, as you should know. Politicians serve until political considerations shift. She's probably on a beach somewhere with Karl Rove." This time he did try to smile. It made him look like a police sketch from a Special Victims Unit bulletin.
"Maybe you met her, and you don't quite remember." He would assume this was a crack about his age, and she was content to let it be so. "Big bouffant hair, scar right here." She draw a finger vertically across her lower lip.
He frowned. It looked like he'd simply ceased to have lips of his own. "You sure you're after the right woman? That sounds more like, what's her name. Shenk. Geschenk."
"Lisbet Geschenk."
He moved to snap his fingers, but then didn't. Probably they would actually snap. She was reminded, as she often was when in the presence of necrocracy, of Edwin Falkirk. "That's it. You want to talk about donors? She's a donor's donor. I take back what I said. I'll tell you everything I know, because I don't want to end up in front of a grand jury."
She raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"
"Worse. Like I said, a donor's donor. Meaning she contributes everything she can contribute, and then contributes more. We think she's propping up other lobbyists and bankrolling people who wouldn't otherwise be moved to donate. We can't prove it, but maybe you can."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/48-unforgettable-too/DL_48_01_Ibanez_Capitol.jpg]]
She frowned. "I'm not sure why you'd tell me that. If she's helping you clowns get your funding," for a moment she thought the old man might retract his head into his shirt, as his face screwed up tight, "isn't it shooting yourself in the foot to call foul? What about the next election?"
"You're not from around here, Miss Ibanez, so let me explain how Washington works right now. There is no next election. There is no future tense. You do whatever you can to make today go in your favour, you spend everything you've got on the present case, and you let tomorrow take care of itself. You're in my office with the name of Lisbet Geschenk on your lips, which means her time is up. Mine isn't. If I have my way, it never will be." His lip curled up so she could see his shrivelled gums and improbably white teeth. "If you're looking for someone who'll sacrifice their interests on principle, you're looking in the wrong place. The United States Capitol is the only hill nobody's ever willing to die on."
[[=]]
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++ 29 January
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Ipperwash Provincial Park]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Harry sat down on the bench beside the wizened old man, and put on his most condescending smile. "You have //got// to start meeting new people."
Zwist continued crumbling the piece of stale bread he had in his hands, and raised his eyebrows by perhaps a single centimeter. "I have met more new people than you could ever name." There were very few birds on the lakeshore in the dead of winter, but Zwist was a time-tested optimist.
"Yeah, but that's a timescale artifact. On a day-by-day basis--"
"I understand what you mean, Harold." The cryptomancer tossed the crumbs out in front of them. They made dark little indentations on the new-fallen snow. "But you need to understand my position. I trusted Vivian, and Vivian trusted you."
"So if you trust me--"
"I do //not// trust you." The old man fixed him with a grim glare. "That's not how the math works. I half-trust you. Anyone you recommend to me would have a quarter of my trust, at best. Nothing you and I have to talk about could conceivably be shared with such attenuation of confidence."
Harry whistled. "If I lived as long as you, would I be able to talk like that?"
"You might stop wasting time talking the way you presently do, with a better perspective on how valuable that time is. What did you call me here to talk about, Dr. Blank?"
"Elizabeth Crocker." He watched as easily half a dozen emotions flashed across Zwist's face in quick succession, blending into each other in various ways. "Bittersweet?"
"The memory is only bitter." Zwist stared out at the lake, then looked down at his spread of bread crumbs. "But ruefulness is like... coffee, with too much artificial sweetener. A false note of humour. Elizabeth Crocker was my enemy. She was also yours, when you were also mine."
"Not me-me," Harry clarified, "but the Foundation-me."
"That's right. She and hers, the //giftschreiber,// have interfered with my work time and again."
"What //is// your work? You always talk about it, the way Scout used to, but all we really know about is 5382." It was how the Foundation, or rather Vivian Scout, had first discovered the immortal Austrian in the aftermath of the First World War. A moment of weakness in the mid-1600s had caused Zwist to curse all Germanic languages with an immolation virus transmitted by the written word, which he'd then dedicated his life to eradicating. The Foundation knew it as SCP-5382. Just another number in their massive database, though one with long-lasting implications.
5382 was how the Foundation had first learned of the existence of the //giftschreiber.//
"I am not about to tell you," Zwist half-smiled, "because you would interfere."
"Something Scout knew about?" Harry pressed.
"Oh, yes."
"And didn't approve of?" Harry tried to arrange himself more comfortably on the bench. He was wearing ski pants, and they weren't padded. His ass was freezing. "I know he used to run the hunt-and-capture teams, back in the day. Gave you a merry chase."
Zwist glanced down at Harry's shifting legs, and really smiled for the first time today. The old man was wearing thick snow pants. "I led, and he followed, but he had the sense never to consummate." The smile became impish, for an instant. "No, Vivian would have approved, and he knew some things that you do not. Perhaps some day. Rest assured that what I do is for the greater good, and where Crocker's path crossed mine, her intent was quite the opposite."
"It's hard to rest assured when someone who only half-trusts you says they're telling you all you need to know."
Zwist looked up. A blue jay was circling the clearing. "Oh, this isn't all you need to know. It's just all I'm willing to tell you, for now." He back glanced at Harry. "Is this how you wish to spend the goodwill between us, Harold? Do you want to talk about me, for you, or do you want to talk about Crocker, for your friend?"
Harry had tried to convince Zwist to meet with Del, not because he thought it would work out well, but because the security chief had asked. This chilly rendezvous was the compromise, and it wasn't a perfect one by any means. "Crocker."
"I hear the reluctance." Zwist brushed the remaining crumbs from his hands, as an afterthought, then patted Harry on the shoulder. "It's not an easy choice for you. I won't make this more difficult than it needs to be, then. Elizabeth Crocker is indeed still alive, and she is affiliated with a slowly growing cancer on the collective conscious. An organized cancer. The //neuer giftschreiber.//"
Harry had heard the term before, had used it himself, but the implications here were new. "I thought they didn't organize."
"They don't," Zwist nodded. "But //she// does. She's not a pure poisoner, you understand. She came to them from outside." His eyes got that faraway look they took on when he was about to monologue, and his words took on the character of recitation. "The //giftschreiber// have always been a true secret society. Incestuous and secretive. But sometimes a convert can become the best of all believers, and that is the case with her. She has helped mold them into the threat they are today, to face the things that threaten them."
"Us."
Zwist shook his head. "Not only you."
"No?"
"No. There are others. I suspect a schism. Another faction is at large."
"We already sort of know about that." He wasn't sure he should be explaining, but really... who was Zwist going to tell? As far as he knew, the old man spoke to nobody but him. "We've encountered them, or their agents, elsewhere."
//That 'elsewhere' is doing heavier lifting than any other word has ever done.//
"Is that a fact?" The bushy eyebrows had now shoved a lot of paper bag skin into furrows in the middle of Zwist's forehead. "I'm surprised you'd be so free with this information."
If Zwist thought it was too far, it probably was. //Oh well. Make up an excuse, or casually blow it off.// As he usually did, he took the second option with a seasoning of the first, crumbled in like the bread now being hungrily eyed by the descending scavenger. "Maybe I'm trying to up my trust quotient. Anyway it's nothing you'd be able to act on. The place where we learned it no longer exists, and neither do the versions of us who were there, and saw."
"Very cryptic." The corners of Zwist's eyes crinkled with mischief. "Perhaps we talk together too often, you and I."
Harry let the sidebar pass without comment. "So Crocker is leading the //giftschreiber// against us, and some other renegade bunch of cryptomancers. That much we already figured out. But to what end?"
"That is something I have never been able to ascertain." The old man reached down and began sliding his hands into a thick pair of woolen gloves. "They speak of an apocalypse."
"Heard that, too. They seem really excited about it."
"They frame it as a new beginning. Something beautiful. And //imminent.// But they've been doing so for decades. Perhaps centuries. Their organizational sense of time is //longue durée.//" Zwist certainly didn't seem worried.
"Do you know what an ancient Foundation facility in Argentina would have to do with it?"
That got his attention, if only because the change of topic was abrupt and probably confusing. "Ancient? How ancient?"
"Maybe a century, I don't know." It was true. Every time any of them tried to learn more about the place where Del had spent the planning phase of her eviction action on the Insurgency in Zevala, the upper echelons had slapped them with all manner of aggressive stop orders.
"So, not ancient at all, then." Zwist looked up at the sky, and squinted in the harsh winter light. "Consider to whom you speak. But that is odd... a chronological anomaly. Is it native to where it was found, do you think?"
"We don't know. Information is scattered, and... well." Harry smiled sheepishly, though Zwist's gaze was still on the clouds. "Parts of the Foundation trust me and my friends less than you do, so not everything that's known is known by //us.// But let's say it comes from an alternate universe, or an alternate timeline. What would that mean?"
The old man blinked. "It would mean that such things exist."
"Yeah. Well. Sorry for the revelation. Push past the shock. Why would Crocker want that? To learn how to travel through time? Through space?"
Zwist shook his head, and rubbed his face with both gloves until the skin was red. Harry had genuinely surprised him, apparently. "The //giftschreiber// are anathema to order. Everything they seek to know, or possess, must be bendable towards the aim of dissolution. I have never heard the faintest suggestion that they expect to escape the consequences of their actions."
"Oh. Well." Harry looked away. "We have."
"Do tell."
"I think maybe not all //giftschreiber// are created equal. Some are keeping secrets from the rest. Some of them expect to be whisked away at the end of all of this, and get the chance to start anew."
The jay finally got up its courage, and dove into the snow. They watched as it pecked away at the meager pickings.
"I have never heard that before," Zwist said finally. "And it doesn't sound like them, to be quite frank. Not at all."
Harry shrugged. "Maybe this is a new direction Crocker is leading them down."
"Lisbet does not lead them, Dr. Blank."
Something startled the bird, and it shot back up into the sky. A streak of blue on grey.
"What?"
[!-- [[=image Blank_Zwist_Bird.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 30 January
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
The safe in Daniil Sokolsky's office -- or at least the one Lillian was able to find, there were undoubtedly others -- took the seventy-two digit code she'd liberated from his wallet, and //clicked// when she hit the final key. She turned the handle, opened it up, and...
...raised an eyebrow at the tidy white porcelain plate which dominated the interior space. In the middle of the plate was a multicoloured cube, textured like a 3D print but shot through with what looked like two competing spectrums, at a right angle to each other. One of Euler's memory pastings. Compressed thought.
She'd brought a tupperware container, and she slipped the cube inside. She'd need her equipment to take a look at the memory itself, to experience it. She considered leaving something in the safe to take its place, perhaps even heading to J&M and having them 3D print a believable replacement, but there was really no point. She'd known when she opened the safe that Sokolsky would know it had happened. That wasn't a problem, which was good, because it wasn't something she could prevent. The next time they spoke, she intended to talk to him about what was in the memory.
Although that would not be for quite some time.
In any case, that was that. She checked under the plate just in case, and chuckled.
She did close the safe before she left. No point being insulting about it.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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++ 2 February
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Georgian Bay##: Lake Huron, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
"Get back from there." Ibanez couldn't feel Van Rompay's hands on her shoulders, through the combat armour, but she could certainly feel it when he pulled her away from the open helicopter door.
She shook him off, and leaned out again, hands on handles on the door and its frame. "I want to see."
"You're not going to see anything the machines don't see first."
"Maybe."
The modified Sea King was soaring over the southern end of Georgian Bay. It was sheeted over with ice; this winter was colder than usual. There was a signal somewhere out there, and they were following it, though visibility was very poor. As Van Rompay had said, human eyes were unlikely to spot the target before the chopper's sensors did. Still, it felt right to keep on the lookout anyway, even if the pair of MTF agents along for the ride kept glaring at her for keeping the door open.
"You're taking this very personal," the gruff old soldier remarked.
Ibanez didn't look back at him. The wind chilled her face, and the roar of the rotors was loud enough that she could only hear him through the headset. "It's personal whether I take it that way or not. I captured these fuckers. Someone else let them go."
The evidence all added up. An intercepted tip to the London police about suspected cult activity in an abandoned warehouse. A taste of //geistschreiber// energy on the street corner outside. Imrich's calculations tracing a line up the coast, then onto the frozen bay. The signal.
They were out there, or at least one of them was.
"They blew up an entire Site," Van Rompay growled. "Nobody 'let them go'."
"I'm not disrespecting the dead." Ibanez squinted, as though that would help. The snow was melting on her forehead, and running into her eyes. "I'm saying that when I catch someone, I expect them to //stay caught.// If they don't, I want to catch them again."
"What //I// am saying," and the big man hauled her inside again, "is that you're leaning out the door of //my// helicopter, and if I have to pull you back in one more time, it will be to chain you to your seat." And he pulled the door shut.
"Fine." She glanced at the empty bench, but didn't sit down. She didn't think she could, and she certainly didn't want to. "But they'd better not miss anything."
"They won't, if there's anything out there not to miss." Van Rompay did sit down. He was at that age where he would rather conserve his energy than keep up appearances. "As long as you stop distracting them."
The pilot up ahead did not react. The copilot was examining his instruments.
"Easily distracted, your people?" Ibanez smirked. "That sounds like a you problem."
Van Rompay smiled, but his tone belied it. "They're used to working with professionals. I don't allow amateurs on my team."
Her smirk evolved to a grin. "You're a real piece of work, Ged. You know that?"
"And you're a liability." Van Rompay wasn't smiling anymore. "The Director says you get to come, you get to come. But I'm not going to let you put my people's lives in danger. Let them do their jobs. You--"
"What the fuck is //that?//" the copilot suddenly shouted.
And the helicopter banked to one side, hard.
Del had already reached for the handhold on the closed door, so she kept upright, if only barely. The two agents and Van Rompay shifted in their seats. "Report!" the MTF commander barked.
"Saw something," the pilot snapped, no panic in his voice. "Didn't hit us. Could have been a bird..."
There was a loud BANG, and the chopper suddenly fell for a brief, exhilirating second. Ibanez felt her boots leave the ground, then slam back down. "What...!" she managed, through a rush of breath.
"What now?" Van Rompay shouted.
"Different kind of bird. Took fire." The pilot still wasn't panicking, but his tone was very flat and professional now. Clipped. "We're supposed to own these skies. No civvies around. Gotta be a hostile."
"Dammit." Van Rompay gestured at the three of them, Ibanez and a pair of grunts. "Strap in."
She did, but only loosely. He didn't seem to notice, focused on his own belts.
"I see it!" There was finally excitement in the pilot's voice. The chopper banked hard again, in the other direction, and Ibanez felt her armour cutting into the padding of the bench back. "Looks like a Huey. Sniper at the door."
Van Rompay slapped the back of the copilot's chair. "Weapons free."
"In plain day?" Ibanez asked.
"You're goddamn right." Suddenly he was grinning at her.
Suddenly she was grinning back.
There was a roar from somewhere in front of the cockpit, and the entire cabin shook. Something rattled, and didn't stop rattling. Heavy machinegun fire. Ibanez fought the urge to stand up again and take in the view. There wasn't likely to be one, and if there was, she'd be pressing her face to the only thing on the chopper's exterior that couldn't block a bullet.
As this thought crossed her mind, the pilot pulled them into a corkscrew that threw her stomach into her mouth. A dozen points of daylight suddenly streamed through the roof, and she realized they were bullet holes. Fired between the rotors.
The sounds from outside now incorporated a high, threatening whine.
Van Rompay slapped again. "How bad?"
"Not great!" There was a grunt of effort between the two halves of the pilot's report. "She's sluggish."
Ibanez stood up, and slapped the back of the pilot's chair herself. "Can you get her alongside?"
The pilot glanced back at her, just for a fraction of a second. "Alongside what?"
She could see the other chopper, a black shape shrouded in white on a grey blanket, out the cockpit window. She pointed at it.
"Are you crazy?!" Van Rompay shouted.
She pulled the door open again and turned to face him, leaning in so he could clearly see the look in her eyes.
"They're closing!" the pilot shouted, and banked the chopper yet again.
"Can't get a clean shot!" the copilot cursed. Through the door, the black shape resolved into what looked like a Bell Iroquois. Long out of production, but sometimes still in service.
She didn't wonder whose service this one was in.
"You're not one of mine," Van Rompay was yelling. "You're a civilian. I'm supposed to protect you."
This time the cluster of holes appeared immediately between his face, and the face of the agent strapped in beside him. Both faces went sheet-white.
"Good!" Ibanez threw herself to the opposite door, which was closed, and watched as the other craft approached from the rear, its flank exposed. There was an armoured figure in the gap. He was levelling some sort of rifle; she couldn't tell at this range. "You can protect me by letting me save our sorry asses."
The pilot looked back at her, and nodded. The Sea King banked harder than it had banked before, and the deck rose up as it canted to forty-five degrees.
She ran, and jumped.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/48-unforgettable-too/DL_48_02_Ibanez_Jump.jpg]]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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[[/=]]
There was blood all over her. Some of it, uncharacteristically, was hers.
The sniper had managed a lucky shot right through her upper arm, where armour met armour, and a few seconds into the skirmish she'd lost all sensation and control on that side. But it hadn't mattered, because by that point she'd already driven the man's rifle into his nose, and put four rounds into the rest of his face. There was one other man in the cabin, and she put him out the door. There was a hole in the ice shaped like him, now.
The copilot was next, because she wanted a free hand when the crashing started. Her round went through his eye, and spiderwebbed the window, which held. The Huey was already in a spiral, the pilot attempting to throw her out after her first victim, and she used that fact to her advantage.
When her feet left the floor, the momentum was more than enough to let her snap the pilot's neck.
One of the landing struts had broken as they hit the lake at a bad angle, and the rotors had chewed up the ice something terrible, but under the circumstances she thought it had been a pretty good landing. The Sea King didn't land -- the ice would never have held -- but Van Rompay was already out on a rope ladder as she carefully slid from the Huey's open door and trotted out primly to meet him.
"What the FUCK?" he screamed over the rushing air.
"I missed the last chopper I tried to catch," she explained as she grabbed the lowest rungs. "I don't make mistakes twice."
Behind her, the Huey groaned over and began to sink.
She pointed at the much smaller hole. "Got any diving equipment? My witness apparently can't swim."
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Van_Rompay.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 4 February
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
"Have you ever been in here before?" Stacey Laiken asked her.
Udo glanced around the complex belonging to the Chair of Applied Occultism. She'd never made it this far during her first abortive attempt with Stacey, after the last deadline. But before that...
"Once or twice," she managed.
"It's weird, isn't it?"
Udo glanced around the sparsely appointed rooms, painted in primary colours and filled with cheerful //bric a brac// as it had never been when it had belonged to Dougall. "What about it?"
"It's been years and years," Stacey sat down on the nearest couch, plucking a pillow embroidered with a kitten's face out from behind her back and placing it to one side, "but I still think of these rooms as his. And now they're mine."
"It did occur to me," Udo lied as she sat down beside the other woman. "They couldn't let you keep your own place?"
"Well." Stacey shrugged. "Security. These rooms are better-protected than anywhere else in the Site, outside of maybe the Director's Quarters."
"Right. So the Serpent's Hand doesn't come after you."
Stacey laughed. "Is that what you heard? No. Dougall always liked to be dramatic."
//Not more secrets. __Please__ not more secrets.// "What do you mean?"
"There was never any Serpent's Hand threat. It was something else." Stacey's expression was now what passed for grim on her cherubic face. "He was afraid of something."
"Something he was able to convince McInnis was important enough for all those security measures?" Udo gestured at nothing. None of it was visible. But she'd seen it all, in various ways.
Stacey dropped her voice to a conspiratorial near-whisper. "He convinced the Overseer Council, Udo."
Udo realized she was going to have to really start paying attention. This was sounding like fodder for her investigation with Del. "Do you know what it was? The thing he was afraid of?"
"No." Stacey looked pained. "He didn't tell me everything. Not even me."
"Right." Udo hoped her burning face parsed as empathetic.
Stacey bounced on the cushions suddenly. "So, when should we make the big announcement?"
"Eh?"
"Us."
"Oh. Well." So much for new information. "I wonder."
"What about? You're not getting cold feet, again...?"
"My feet never get cold, Stace. No, I just... I mean maybe we should figure out what it was Dougall was worried about, before we tear down all his precautions. You know? Play it close to the chest until we're sure."
The other woman looked uncertain. "Close to the chest, huh."
"Yeah."
She leaned in. "How close?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/48-unforgettable-too/DL_48_03_Laiken_Lean.jpg]]
Udo smiled in spite of herself. "Very close."
"Show me."
[!-- [[=image Okorie_Laiken.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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++ 7 February
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Falconer University##: Toronto, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
"The first thing you ought to know is that I'm rusty." Harry made eye contact with each of the three Master's students, in turn. "I haven't taught in a long time. I'm gonna need to figure out how everything works, and you're gonna need to be patient with me. But not //too// patient, because if I'm getting in the way of your education, I'll need a kick in the ass."
"Not literally, I hope," said the short blonde woman whose name, bizarrely, was apparently Reggie.
"Probably not, but I can take a kick better than you'd think." Harry looked over the chaos of his office, and smiled. Books everywhere. Random objects in awkward locations. Standing and sitting room only. He'd had it set up like that a decade ago, and was only now settling in in earnest. It wasn't all that different from his office back at 43. "The point is that I'm here to help you get through this program as quickly and painlessly as possible, so if I'm slowing you down or giving you grief, that's on me to fix. But you might need to remind me, because I've got other considerations on my mind from time to time, and it can be difficult to keep perspective."
The dark, tall man with the spectacles, whose name was Altan, looked surprised. "What sort of considerations?"
"The secret kind. I've got a government job, and I can't tell you what it is. Don't look into it, and if I'm not here, don't ask me where I've gone."
Reggie blinked. "That's... a lot."
"I had a prof at Western who did work with CSIS," Altan mused. "Academics end up in all sorts of weird places."
"Isn't that the truth," Harry agreed. "So, first things first. You're all thesis track, because for some reason you want to be here two years for a thing you can do in one."
"I wanted to do more research before my doctorate," Reggie shrugged. "I like being in the archives."
"I have no idea what I want to do with my life." Heng, a Chinese man with muscles that made Harry's arm hurt just to look at them, was grinning. "So I want this to take as long as possible."
"Those are both very good reasons. Altan?"
"Everyone says I write too much. I don't see any reason to stop."
"Good enough," Harry nodded. "Well, you've all got a few months before I need your thesis proposals, but you should be thinking about them as soon as possible. The more detailed, the better. You don't want to get stuck working on something that doesn't do anything for you, and you don't want to have to change tack halfway through."
"Is that what you did?" Reggie asked. "With your career?"
"Yes and no," he smiled. "Have you considered social history, Reggie?"
"Maybe. Why?"
"Because you keep asking pointed questions."
Altan snickered. "You might have a calling as an oral historian."
She gave him a wry look.
"I've got questions too," Heng grumbled. "I was just being polite."
"That might be for the best," Reggie told him. "I think our supervisor is a secret agent."
"Fair guess." Harry knotted his fingers behind his neck. "Mine was."
Altan shifted in his chair, trying not to look like he was leaning in. "Really?"
"How'd you figure him out?" Heng asked.
"He wanted me to."
Reggie frowned. "What? Why?"
"Because he figured //me// out."
"And you went to work where he worked?" Altan's eyes were wide.
"That's right."
"So," Reggie said, "why are you back here again?"
He hadn't felt such a genuine smile coming on for a long, long time.
"Because I figured me out, too."
[!-- [[=image Blank_Students.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 18 February
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Three different security systems confirmed the identity before the door to her office opened, but Ibanez said the line anyway: "You're not my five o'clock."
"Sure I am." Lillian flopped into the chair she'd brought in with her. The only thing Ibanez had seen eye-to-eye with Edwin Falkirk on was the inadvisibility of providing accomodation for visitors. "It's an anagram."
Ibanez glanced at her terminal. "There is no way this name spells 'Lillian Lillihammer'."
"Well, of course not. It's also a cipher. But that's not the point. I'm your next two hours." Lillian clapped, once. "Congratulations."
Del kicked her feet up on her desk, and leaned back. The other woman looked like a scene out of Gulliver's Travels; Ibanez had opted for a desk her own size, rather than attempting to project. "Is this something you couldn't bring up at the next Survivors meeting? Because I really do have to be working on this actual case." She pointed at the terminal, though the screen was out of Lillian's view. One side was full of chronologically-sorted reports; the other was a stock photograph of Elizabeth Crocker's face.
"The actual case is what I want to talk about," Lillian said. "But you've been dodging all my calls."
"I'm busy."
"On a case that's been cold for over a decade. To the exclusion of all else." Lillian tutted. "Yancy's run off his feet doing your job for you."
Ibanez cursed her laced-up boots. //Someone ought to kick their shoe into your head, for a change.// "Doing my job for me has always been part of his job. I've done his for him. We're a force."
"//You're// a force. I'm not here to tell you to give this thing up. I'm here to tell you what you need to know to finish it."
Ibanez sighed. "Fine. What do you think you know that I don't?"
"I know you've already killed Elizabeth Crocker once."
She felt her pulse increase, and tried to keep it off her face. "I'm listening."
"In the first Deadline. You hunted her down and murdered her, in hot blood. But you plotted it out cold beforehand, like a good little soldier."
There was little point in trying to fool Lillian. Ibanez let the confusion wash over her. "I don't remember that. In the briefings, I mean."
"It isn't in the briefings."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why not?"
"Because you didn't bring it up. Because there were fifty thousand other things to talk about, and honestly, after you shot that bitch in the face, she stopped mattering so much to you."
She wanted to sit back up in her chair, but she wasn't one of those people who twitched and changed position constantly over the course of a single conversation, so she didn't. It took some effort, though. "That's very good to know. But why didn't you tell me after? Put it on the record?"
"Because once I reported that my memories were still there, TAD made me tell them absolutely everything I'd missed mentioning to Ngo, and then they told me which of those things I could tell anybody else about."
Ibanez frowned. "Told you? They don't //tell// people things. Udo and I have spent--"
Lillian raised a hand. "You and Udo don't have my brain chemistry. There was a time they could have wiped my memories, but not anymore. I'm immune, at least to anything that wouldn't leave me a drooling husk. And they're never taking that chance, especially not with 5243. So, I remember. And I keep their secrets, because I have the vague idea that they want them kept for a good reason."
Ibanez blew out a long, frustrated breath. "And yet you're telling me this. And more?"
Lillian nodded. "A lot more. Everything I know that you knew. How you found her, and how you caught her."
//Fuck it.// She rolled her chair back, and put her feet back under the desk. "Why?"
"Because I need you on the main line, Del. Not off on some fucking sidequest. If putting a bullet in Elizabeth Crocker will give you enough closure to get back on track, then honestly, fuck the timecops."
There was plenty of empty space at the bottom of the file. Ibanez paged down, cracked her knuckles, and pulled out the keyboard tray. "Tell me everything you know."
"There would never be enough time for that." Lillian grinned at her. "I'll settle for telling you everything you knew."
[!-- [[=image Lillihammer_Ibanez.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 20 April
----
[[/=]]
"You're seeing it too, right?"
Agent Charles Scrivens, retired, glanced over his wife's printout a second time for good measure. He nodded. "Of course. The numbers don't add up."
Agent Maureen McTeer, desk-bound, shook her head at him wearily. "She was right. As usual."
Maureen's office was sumptuously appointed by the standards of Security and Containment, full of the stuff of a long and successful career. Liberated artifacts with no lingering anomalous properties. Citations for bravery. Photographs with friends. No photographs with her husband, for very good reasons she neglected to explain to anyone who asked.
Charles, sitting across the desk from her in a comfortable chair he'd stolen from A&O during an equipment upgrade, rolled his eyes. "I don't know if she gets too much credit for it, in this case. Pensak has always been suspicious. And he doesn't make any effort to lessen it."
"And she's the one who hired him, too," Maureen reminded him. " I never understood that."
"Supposedly they go way back, in a way she can't explain and he can't remember."
She smiled to make it obvious that what she said next wasn't meant to be taken seriously. "Maybe we should be investigating her instead."
The smile he gave her back showed that he understood. "We'll make that our last case."
"You mean she'll make that our last case."
"Exactly."
She laughed. "You ever miss field work?"
"Sometimes." He shrugged. "But, you know."
"I know."
"Sacrifices."
She drummed her fingers on the desktop anxiously. "I don't know if that's the word I'd use for it, at this point. Sacrifices are usually a one-time thing."
He offered the look of melancholy sympathy that told her he wouldn't want to press this issue much further. It was showing up on his face more and more often as the decades wore on. "Dedication, then."
She didn't mean to scoff, but it still came out that way. "To what?"
"To the role. Just like him." Scrivens gestured at the file. "He's up to something, and he's been up to it for a while. Maybe he has a good reason."
She forced a smile. "I don't see much similarity between the two of you."
He glanced at the door, and the glass partition beside it that looked out on the S&C bullpen. Nobody had so much as batted an eye when he'd walked in, and they'd almost certainly forgotten he was there already. "Yeah, well, sometimes I'm difficult to see."
She reached across the desk. "Not for me."
He took her hands, and they shared a moment more private than any other couple on Earth could easily match.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 7 June
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-246 Site-246]: Lake Superior, United States of America[[/span]]**
----
[[/=]]
Nascimbeni didn't realize he was clicking his tongue until the voice behind him said: "Something wrong?"
"These seals." He pointed at the submarine doors, before turning to face his questioner. "They were rated to last a lot longer than they have."
It was an older man. Still younger than Nascimbeni, but obviously a pretty boy. They aged into older men faster than workhorses like him. "Well, this place has been through a lot."
"Looks like it hasn't been through //enough,//" Nascimbeni grunted as he reached down for his tool belt. "Maintenance, that is."
"Care and attention," the other man sighed. "Two things you won't find much of at Site-246." He stretched out a hand. "Cody Westbrook."
Nascimbeni accepted the gesture. "Director." Westbrook's handshake was firm, but the skin on his hands was smooth.
It took a few moments to prise open the protective flaps around the seals, mostly because they'd been bent out of shape from either use, or disuse. Probably the latter. Nascimbeni stuck his tongue out as he worked his screwdriver through the gunk which had collected over the most recent oil application.
"You're wondering why I didn't come down to meet you earlier," Westbrook said, and Nascimbeni nearly jumped. He'd already forgotten the Director was there.
"Not really, sir." He finished screwing around, having already seen enough. Stripped threads and not nearly enough action. A dangerous combo. "I don't need the diplomatic treatment. Just here to do a job."
"You'd fit in well, then." Westbrook glanced over the submarine bay, where what seemed like not nearly enough workers were converging on a stripped-down hull with torches and clipboards. "Everyone here is just here to do a job. To varying degrees of effectiveness." He shrugged at the massive door, and by implication the busted seals. "Can you fix it?"
Nascimbeni shrugged back at him. "I'll have to replace a few parts, but sure. Enough to keep it sealed until my next visit."
Westbrook made a sour face. "I doubt we have the budget for replacement parts."
"I'll bring them over from 43," Nascimbeni assured him. "We've got plenty left over from the last time we serviced our lake bulkeads."
"I would appreciate that. I don't mind a tomb you can walk around in, but a flooded tomb? No thank you."
Something came over the Director, and for a moment he seemed unsteady on his feet.
"Are you alright, sir? If you don't mind my asking." Nascimbeni minded having to ask, but politeness made its demands just the same.
"Of course." Westbrook took a deep breath. "Why wouldn't I be alright?" He reached up to rub his eyes.
Nascimbeni let it pass. "I'll get on the horn with my people. We'll fix her up tight."
"Thank you." An awkwardly-long pause. "I don't suppose you'd care to stay for dinner?"
//Why do people do shit like this?// Nascimbeni thought, grateful for the knowledge that his beard and lowered cap would keep the thought from evidencing on his features. "Thanks for the offer," he said, "but I'll need to be getting back as soon as we're done here."
"Family." Westbrook nodded, too sharply, like a drinking bird. "Of course."
Nascimbeni frowned, though he wasn't sure why. "No, just more work. You know how it is."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/48-unforgettable-too/DL_48_04_Nascimbeni_Westbrook.jpg]]
Westbrook stopped nodding, and looked away. "Yes."
[!-- [[=image Nascimbeni_Westbrook.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 10 August
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Rasmus Mataxas was aware, as he often was, that a few of the older staff members were watching him.
He was moving down the halls of H&S with no particular aim in mind, and the little group of oldsters -- Blank, Nascimbeni, and Ibanez -- were sitting on a pair of benches in front of some laboratory or other. They'd been talking animatedly amongst themselves, heedless of the traffic, when he turned the corner and saw them. When they saw him, they started pretending to talk and not to stare as he approached, passed, and moved on. He could still feel their stares on his back.
//It's the Foundation,// he told himself. //You're always being judged.//
The crowd ahead parted around an obstruction he couldn't see, and then suddenly he could: a little pear of a woman with wild, short black hair and a trainee engineer's jacket. She practically bounded up to him, and said: "I want to check out your equipment."
He stared at her. Was that a twinkle in her eye? He didn't know how to respond.
"Joanna Bremmel." She extended a hand, brown eyes nearly disappearing behind an epicanthic fold as she smiled in greeting. He took the hand, and for a moment wondered if he was supposed to kiss it before she shook, vigorously, and let go. "Starting at Arms and Equipment today. You're Rasmus Mataxas, aren't you? First day with the Home Invaders tomorrow?"
He nodded, still not trusting himself to speak. The only thing that had softened the blow of losing his son to the Mobile Task Forces for Anastasios Mataxas was that Rho-43 worked closely with anyone investigating bumps in the night; houses and ghosts went together like pods and pod people.
"Great." She beamed at him. "Then you and I need to have a talk. I've been over your new gear already, and--"
"Hey Jo." Another woman, an H&P nurse only slightly taller but much, much thinner, slid in beside Joanna and grinned up at him, hand raised in greeting behind the other woman's back. On her, the messy black hair looked like more of a stylistic choice. "Hey, agent. You ready to get physical?"
[!-- [[=image Joanna_Billie.jpg]] --]
He blinked.
Joanna kept her eyes on him, smile never faltering. "We're talking, Billie."
"So let's talk! Containment is a team effort, that's what his dad always says." The nurse winked at him.
"You know what //my// dad says about that?" Joanna asked sweetly, still not turning her head to face the other woman.
Billie let her hand fall to rest on Joanna's shoulder. "I'm guessing 'fuck off' is in there somewhere."
"That's the whole thing." Joanna shifted on the balls of her feet, and Rasmus looked down. Her feet barely touched the ground. He looked back up. "Physical isn't for another hour."
"I've got time now." Billie flashed a lot of teeth at him.
"I was here first."
"What do you think?" Billie poked Rasmus in the chest with her free hand. "Explore the wonders of biology with me, or nerd shit with Jo?"
He looked at them both, Joanna first, then Billie, then glanced over his shoulder at the old timers still reclining on their benches. Nascimbeni was still staring at him; Blank and Ibanez were looking back and forth between him and each of the women. He couldn't read the expressions on their faces, and the distance between them had little to do with it.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/48-unforgettable-too/DL_48_05_Billie_Jo.jpg]]
//Judgement,// he thought, and returned his attention to the impossible choice before him.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 8 September
----
[[/=]]
Perverse that it could become routine.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Ibanez started talking the instant the door was open. "This has to end."
McInnis was already waiting for her annual protest, hands tented, eyes alert. "If you have any suggestions, by all means."
"Contain him." Ibanez stalked up to the desk, and did not sit down. "Put him in a box. Like we're doing now, but //alive.//"
"I meant suggestions for ending the 5243 loop, Chief." The Director looked, if not precisely tired, perhaps just a little bit frustrated. Ibanez felt not the faintest trace of sympathy for him. "Our instructions regarding Dr. Deering, while the situation is ongoing, are very clear."
"Since when do we follow bad instructions to the letter?"
She thought she caught a flash of warning in his otherwise placid grey eyes. When next he spoke, his words came slowly and his voice was pitched very low. "I think there must have been some sort of misunderstanding between us. The Temporal Anomalies Department--"
"--is some unaccountable shadow-shadow-government //thing// that has no business telling us ours," she snapped. "Our business. We do things our way. We always have." She didn't cut McInnis off very often, but when she did, it always went like this. He wouldn't raise his voice over hers. He would wait for her to finish.
"They have the authority of Overwatch Command behind them," he reminded her patiently. "If Dr. Deering lives, Dr. Deering must die. I'm surprised you have such qualms."
Her nostrils flared. "Why?"
"I've never known you to be squeamish."
"I'm not fucking //squeamish.//" She wanted to clear his desk with a sweep of her hands; his desk, or perhaps his infuriatingly neutral expression. "I'll wade through a pile of stinking corpses any day. I'll get perforated bowel on my boot and blood on my face that isn't mine, and you won't hear me complain. What I will //not// do is put a clean little hole in the head of a man who has done //nothing wrong// except for overturning our precious theories about what's really going on here. He doesn't deserve that, and it doesn't serve any useful purpose." She was momentarily proud that she hadn't raised her voice, then momentarily concerned.
But then he gave her the opening she'd been waiting for, and the moments were all ended. "Could you please clarify what you mean, Chief, when you say you //will not// do this thing?"
"Sure." She turned to go. "Just give me five minutes with Roger's bullpen printer."
"Roger's?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/48-unforgettable-too/DL_48_06_Ibanez_Resigns.jpg]]
"Roger's. Unless you've got another fucking yes-man lined up to take my job."
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_McInnis.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Van Rompay was waiting for her at the door to her office when she arrived. She'd been seething the entire walk back, after handing in her notice, and she had no more fucks to give.
But he was uncharacteristically friendly once they were within speaking distance. "Did you kill him?"
"Of course I killed him." The MTF commander moved out of the way, to allow her to unlock her door. "I killed him last year, didn't I? Good little cop."
"I meant McInnis."
She laughed as she pulled the door open.
Van Rompay followed her in. "I take it you're falling on your Glock."
"Only choice I've got left." She walked behind the desk, but did not sit down. She didn't feel like sitting down.
She hardly ever did, anymore.
"You know they won't let you leave." Van Rompay shut the door, and leaned against it with his arms crossed.
"Yeah. I do know that." She kicked at the foot of her desk. "Maybe they'll put me in the cell they should be using for Deering."
"Maybe you could suggest a transfer instead."
She glanced over and up at him, surprised. She didn't care if he saw it. That amused him, and he didn't care if she saw it, either.
"I'm not working for you, Ged. We both know that's a non-starter."
He shook his head. "Not what I was going to suggest."
They stared at each other for what felt like several minutes.
"You serious?" she finally asked him.
He nodded. "Leg's not getting any better." An unfortunate incident a few years back, redacted heavily by the TAD but supposedly involving some sort of dimension-hopping crocodile squid monster, had taken a chunk out of Van Rompay and put him out of commission for a few months. Every now and then he needed to take health leave; the Foundation's preeminent Type Red -- capable of anomalous energy transfer and healing -- had already told him that the wound would probably never fully heal. Van Rompay's deputy, a sour little bulldog named Ullis, had spent almost as much time as Chief of Pursuit and Suppression over the past few years as the man himself had. Still...
"I thought Forsythe..."
"You thought Forsythe what?" Van Rompay laughed bitterly. "Would give me whatever it is they give you? Your friends?" He paused, scrutinizing her face as she reacted to the insinuation, then shrugged. "I'm just a grunt. All I've ever been. And I've hit the end of my, what do you call it. When a thing gets too old to be worth fixing up. Easier to get a new one."
"Amortization," the civic engineer said from deep down inside of her.
"Right. That. I'm amortized. But you? Seems like you might just be immortal."
She did feel like sitting down, now. She pulled out her chair. "I'm surprised you'd even suggest this. Why?"
"Maybe I'm ready to be done, and I don't think you are."
She lowered herself into the seat, hands on the low desktop, keeping eye contact. His expression was unhappy, but confident. "I don't believe that first part, and I don't believe you give a shit about the second."
"I'm not telling you my reasons." He glanced to one side, at nothing. Her office was furnished with only the bare necessities. No personal items. She barely had any to begin with. "I'm giving you excuses, so you'll do what I want you to do."
"And what's that?" She looked down reached up to scratch at her scalp, scattering streamers of hair she'd been pulling on in abject frustration in the subway not a few minutes back. "Just say it plainly, if you have to say it."
"You ever go to those annual security conferences they put on?"
She looked up again. "Once or twice. Waste of time."
"Sure." His eyes searched hers. "Ever talk to the other folks who go?"
"Try not to." She shrugged. "Not a big talker."
"Me either, but I had to know."
"Know what?"
"What they'd be like."
"Who?"
He approached the desk. Towered over it. "The kind of person who'd take my post. I talked to the other commanders. The hardasses they hire these days. Heard how they talked about their people. Their jobs. What mattered."
She blinked. "So?"
"So I don't want any of them riding my bird." He leaned forward, far forward, and pressed a fist into her blotter. "They're not getting better out there, Ibanez."
"They?" She shook her head. "They who?"
He tapped the Foundation insignia on his chest armour.
"So, what?" She wanted to laugh, but she couldn't work it up. "You think I'd be better than whoever they'd bring in to replace you?"
"I think you'd be better than me."
She stared at him.
"And that's what this whole place is supposed to be about, isn't it?"
She didn't know what to say, but he still wasn't done.
"And when it's your turn to go, just promise me you'll find someone better than //you.//"
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Van_Rompay.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div style="border:solid 1px #999999; background:#F0EDC1; padding-left:12px; padding-right:12px; padding-top:6px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
[[=]]
++++ NOTICE FROM THE OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR, SITE-43
[[/=]]
[[f>image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/11-turnover/OD.png]]
After nearly thirty years of selfless service, Chief of Pursuit and Suppression Commander Gedeon Van Rompay is retiring to Foundation housing in Sunset Cove, Pensacola. He will be succeeded in his role by Commander Delfina Ibanez, whose post as Chief of Security and Containment will now be filled by Roger Pensak. Continuity of service is expected, and all three are to be congratulated on the exciting adventures ahead of them.
[[>]]
-- McInnis, Allan J. (Director, Site-43)
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 9 September
----
[[/=]]
Philip Deering was looking at the mirror when Nascimbeni looked up from his desk. As always, he wondered what snide thing the mirror monster had said to the technician in response. He cleared his throat, and Phil looked blearily back at him.
"You're saying someone robbed your locker?"
"No," Phil shook his head. "I'm saying someone made a //trade// with me, after breaking //into// my locker." His eyes flicked to the right, where the slit-faced grey thing's mouth hole was trembling. "I left a piece of cake in there--"
"You what?" Nascimbeni coughed. He put his coffee down, and pounded his chest.
"Look, don't judge, alright? It was Ruya's birthday." Phil mustered the presence to look embarrassed. "I left a piece of cake in there, and now it's a shoe."
"Your cake turned into a shoe," Nascimbeni repeated.
"No, I mean someone took the cake, and left me a shoe. I didn't want a shoe, Chief. I wanted the cake."
It took a lot to rouse Phil to make a statement like this. It almost always meant his statements were convoluted and confused, as this one was now. "You weren't allowed in your locker all day. That's protocol until we've got all the apparatus damage under wraps."
This time Phil looked to the left, shifty-eyed. "I know, but look."
"You were going to eat cake that had been in your locker for two days?" Nascimbeni pressed.
"Can we not talk about the cake?" Phil whined. "Why do you want to talk about the cake so much?"
"I just think maybe you need someone checking on you more often."
The technician clenched his hands into fists, and bobbed a bit on his heels. "That's not the point. The point is, there's a shoe in my locker and I don't know where it's from. Same as the weird labcoat-thing last year."
"You're sure it's not your shoe?" With Phil, it was always worth making sure.
"I don't own any shoes."
Nascimbeni blinked. "What?"
"All I have are my work boots."
He didn't precisely //want// to be travelling down these tangents, but it was hard not to. "What do you wear when your shift is through?"
Phil shrugged. "Socks."
"What if you have to leave your dorm? To go to the cafeteria?"
"I put my work boots on again. //Chief.//" Phil leaned on Nascimbeni's desk. "Something spooky is going on here."
"I'll tell Mataxas." Nascimbeni pulled up the reporting function on his duty tablet. "He'll be pleased for the chance to wave his magic wands. But I want to know for sure this isn't just you forgetting something again." He glanced up meaningfully, then said the meaning out loud. "For the thousandth time."
"Hey." Phil stepped back again. "That's not fair. No, Doug," and he turned all the way to face the mirror, finger raised in protest, "it //isn't.//"
"He's right." Phil turned back to him. "No, I meant //you're// right. It //wasn't// fair. I'm sorry. I'm just distracted." Nascimbeni leaned back without finishing the message, pushed back his cap and rubbed his eyes. "We've got half the Site to fix, as you know. As long as you promise me you've never seen this shoe before..."
"Well, that's... uh."
Nascimbeni opened his eyes. "Uh?"
"It does feel kind of familiar," Phil admitted, "but I'm not sure how exactly. Maybe I've seen it before. Maybe it's a prank by one of the doctors? It's kind of an expensive shoe."
"Could you get it for me?" Nascimbeni sighed.
"Sure." A look of vague hope crossed Phil's face. "You think they could, I don't know. Get an aura reading off it, or something?"
"I'll ask Astrauskas," said Nascimbeni, "but I don't think her auramancy is sensitive to foot odour."
[!-- [[=image Phil_Nascimbeni.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Nascimbeni didn't recognize the shoe, but Ibanez did. She was glad he'd brought it to her first; if Udo had seen the loafer, they'd have had to amnesticize her twice in as many days.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 15 September
----
[[/=]]
"There's the smiling face I love to see," Forsythe drawled as Harry appeared from behind the curtain.
"What, people aren't always glad to see your bigass needles?" He sat down on the examination bench.
"Wettle faints," she said. "Every time."
"That's just his body's way of falling over when there's nothing to trip on."
She made a little 'ah' of realization. "I get it now. You talk through the anxiety."
"Who's anxious?" he shrugged. "I love these shots."
She gripped his shrugging arm, and pushed the sleeve of his t-shirt back. He'd left his hoodie in the hall. "Everyone else is suspicious of them."
"Even Wettle?"
"Everyone else with a brain."
He smiled. "I appreciate the implied compliment."
"Is it my imagination," and there it was, the pinprick and the uncomfortable tension of having a solid object inserted into a vein, "or are you extra chipper today?"
"Probably not your imagination." He didn't look at the needle. He wasn't afraid of them, but he wasn't really a fan, either.
Well, most of the time.
"Who's the unlucky lady?"
"They should be so unlucky," he scoffed. "No, it's just that I went to bed last night..."
"That //is// new for you."
He acknowledged the point. "Sorry. I was thinking of not saying this out loud, actually. I went to bed last night thinking I'd be turning fifty in March."
She consulted his chart. "You're forty-eight."
"Yeah. Thought I wasn't. Thought I was forty-nine, all year."
"How does a thing like that happen?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/48-unforgettable-too/DL_48_07_Blank_Shots.jpg]]
"If I had to guess?" He was suddenly squirming on the bench. "2014 being the same as 2013 being the same as 2012 BEING THE SAME AS 2011--"
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Still, the shot did help.
It always did.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 30 November
----
[[/=]]
Lillian slapped herself. "Sorry. Fuck. I hate this. We really need to set up a real Vegas room." The slate in the Cognitive Decontamination Tunnel seemed to vibrate when she looked at it. She could feel her brain cells peeling off, as though she were rubbing them against the rough black stone and its deeply-carved sigils.
"I would have thought the Division already had something like that," Euler yawned. She wasn't sure what accommodations he'd set up back at Site-87, but Wheeler's people had agreed that it would be sufficient to isolate his thoughts. The telephone calls were routed through recursive firewire lines looped between half a dozen interdimensional Ways, resulting in a transmission speed very slightly faster than realtime and a signal that could not under any circumstances be traced or hijacked. It had cost a mint.
When you were saving the world, the Foundation opened up wallets so secret they practically qualified as concealed carries.
"Maybe we did." Wheeler didn't sound tired, the way Euler did, but she did sound a little confused. Site-41's secure comms room benefited from an effect the Division ordinarily found frustrating, the one that made everyone forget who they were when they weren't in plain view, and that effect was bolstered in a variety of occult ways. Lillian had it on good authority that an hour in that room caused migraines that didn't go away without amnestic treatment, which was fine, because Wheeler took amnestics after every one of these long-distance meetings anyway. "But we don't have one anymore, and the budget isn't there to replace it."
"Why not?" Lillian asked.
"Because most days we don't have a budget at all. One of the first things I do when I get in every morning is remind the Accounting Department that we exist. One of these days they're not going to believe me."
"Which makes what we're doing that much more important," Euler yawned again. The meeting was running long, and he was yawning everything he said. If they didn't wrap up soon, he'd probably fall asleep. "Lillian will handle the report, of course."
"Of course," Wheeler agreed.
"Of course. Because I did most of the work." Lillian paused. "Well, that's not true."
"Certainly it is," Euler said. He managed to get it all out without taking an extra breath in the middle.
"No. I couldn't have done it without you."
"Certainly you--"
"Let me be uncharacteristically generous, would you?" The nice thing about audio-only communication was that she could offset the vocal generosity by pulling a truly outrageous face. //I hate being nice. I __hate__ being nice.// She let her tongue hang out in disgust as she continued to tell the old man how she felt. "Going against the grain gives me splinters, and we don't have time to listen to me sitting here sucking on my fucking hand."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/48-unforgettable-too/DL_48_08_Lillihammer_Tunnel.jpg]]
He made a small noise of surrender.
"The new electronic systems have helped a lot," Lillian continued, "though we're still running into the squish factor. Automation doesn't help when people forget to check their machines. The new drugs have helped a lot with //that,// but obviously it's an uphill battle."
"And it's going to remain that way," Wheeler sighed. "I don't know how many groups there were studying antimemetic phenomena last year -- I don't even know how many there are //this// year -- but I'm sure there must have been more, because there aren't enough now. You're going to need to take up the slack."
"I've been visiting as many of our cells as I can," Euler yawned again. "We want to avoid cross-contamination, of course, keeping them all in their own unique headspaces, but--"
"But?" Wheeler's voice was suddenly hard and hyperfocused. "I'm sorry, Dr. Euler, but that sounds like a tremendous security threat. Why is it acceptable for you to be acting as a link between these groups? You're endangering the project, if I understand it correctly." Wheeler only occasionally made these little asides every year, when Lillian called and reminded her the project even existed. She was a woman who was used to being told she had forgotten something, but she was also a woman who would never be very happy about the fact.
"There is no linkage, Mrs. Wheeler. I've been cleared for this duty by medical personnel who are fully aware of the situation, and what it demands. There is no possibility of memetic contagion."
"If you say so." She didn't sound convinced, but then, he'd offered nothing convincing. Lillian hoped she'd remember to press him on it later. "The work is going well?"
"Of course not." Euler sounded very old, but then, he //was// very old. "It never does. But it //is// going. And it will continue to go."
"Then that's all I need to know. Unless there's anything else...?"
"No," Lillian interjected, "my back's cramped up bad enough as it is. And you've got your date with... whatever." She'd never understood what Wheeler's annual appointment was about, and the other woman had never elaborated. Perhaps she couldn't. "Let me know how it goes."
"If I ever find out myself," Wheeler said, "I'm sure you'll be the next in line. One way or another."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ January 6
----
[[/=]]
She'd waited a long time to see what was on the memory cube, nearly a year. The thing was, she knew the cubes themselves didn't go bad, but she also knew there were all kinds of nasty things they could be coated with that did. So it took a lot of testing, and a lot of waiting, for her to decide that the thing was safe to get hooked up with -- safer than Sokolsky himself was, certainly, though that wasn't saying much -- and even longer for her schedule to open up to the point where she could waste time on things other people wanted her to look into. It wasn't like the others had hit any dead ends in their investigations, anyway. They could wait for whatever revelations were stored in that crystallized fragment of Russian memory.
She half-expected it to be irrelevant nonsense anyway, another little gem from Sokolsky's twisted sense of humour.
It wasn't.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="generic"]]
Site-03 was on fire, and Daniil was paralyzed. He was six years old.
So he was old enough to figure this out.
Fire terrified him. It walked up the walls like a swarm of spiders. It ate everything. It turned everything into itself. It reminded him of the way his father had screamed at him for setting fire to toilet paper in the bathroom of the Director's Complex, just to watch it curl in on itself. Like a bug under a magnifying glass.
Almost everyone was gone. Daniil walked through the halls, where everything that could burn was burning, calling out for his father, but his father was gone, too. The few who weren't gone weren't much help, because they were lying on the floor, or sitting in their chairs, or walking past him, muttering, crying, laughing. One man's hair was on fire. It smelled terrible. He should have been screaming, but he wasn't.
Daniil knew he needed to ##F7F7F7|██████##.
He clawed at his eyes. He needed ##F7F7F7|██████##.
He sat down on the floor, and wept.
He hated to cry. When he cried, his father shouted at him. He could see it in his mind's eye. When he wiped the tears away, he realized he could see it with his regular eyes, too.
"Blubbering little baby," Abrasha Sokolsky snapped. "Grow up. //Stand// up. Solve your problems like a //man.//"
But he couldn't. And that made the fear worse. Because his father would never stop shouting at him, never stop shouting until finally he was shouted into nothing, and he would never, ever...
Would never, ever...
//Escape.// That was the word. That was the word he needed. The thing he needed to do. He needed to escape.
How could he do that?
But as the answer dawned, obvious and clear, Daniil Sokolsky appeared in front of him and said "Next time you pick my brain, Lillian, look me in the eyes."
[[/div]]
"Son of a bitch," Lillian muttered. "Really had me going, for a second there."
After dismantling the cube, it had taken months to recombine the particles to form a coherent engram. Sokolsky had discovered a means of encrypting the memory cubes, because of course he had. She wondered if it had a more practical purpose than making her solve a puzzle just to unlock half a story, and a mocking 'gotcha!' moment.
Probably it did. Daniil Sokolsky was a being of many layers.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ ##990011|2015##
++ January 7
[[/=]]
----
"This was a good idea," said Technician First Class Azad Banerjee. His voice was muffled by the metal between them.
"Right?" Lillian grinned. "So good."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/48-unforgettable-too/DL_48_09_Banerjee_Ass.jpg]]
Eileen glanced up at her, expression unreadable, then looked back down at what Lillian had never stopped looking at. The three of them were alone in the auxiliary tech control room of AAF-A,
[[div class="muddle"]]
a room which purports to be a pastoral landscape: two of the four walls are covered in a painted mural, one is wall-to-wall circuitry, and the last is a massive console with space beneath to root around in //a la// a bridge set from //Star Trek.// (The number of things at Site-43 which can be profitably described in reference to //Star Trek// is quite high. This is because the only thing more inspirational to prospective engineers is the chance to be condescending to people you don't know.)
Many rooms in the undercroft of AAF-A are similarly decorated, the result of an initiative by Psychology and Parapsychology to offset a peculiar phenomenon: knowing that the rooms on the upper floors, where the front company operates, are often festooned with windows and naturally lit, persons working on the lower floors get topside-sick at a much higher rate than their counterparts working in the deepest depths of the main facility. Apparently, a few painted clouds and green hills can help offset this. The human mind and its workings may be the strangest anomaly of all.
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
Lillian's mind continued to work as she watched Banerjee, clueless, proceed with his work. "We're on the same page here, right?" he continued from beneath the console. "The reason for these upgrades?"
"Is this a quiz?" Eileen asked archly.
Banerjee crawled back out of the console, and rolled over on the floor to look up at them. They both pretended they hadn't been looking at him, and looked at him again. "I was just wondering if it was the reason I'm thinking."
"What's the reason you're thinking?" Lillian asked.
He scowled. "Well, now I'll never know. You could just pretend."
Eileen scowled back at him. It wasn't a remotely fair contest. "Are you calling us liars, technician?"
He recoiled at her withering glare. "No, I just know you're... very creative truth-tellers. We all work at the Foundation, after all."
"Fine," Lillian sighed, "I'll say it. We're doing the systems upgrade today because the containment damage already fucks it all up anyway, so why bother repairing when you can replace?"
"Knew it." Banerjee smirked. "That's great. I still work for geniuses. All I wanted to know."
And he crawled back in.
"Now he's implying we might be going senile," said Eileen.
Lillian raised her foot so that the tip of her shoe hovered just behind Banerjee's left buttock. Eileen shook her head //no// furiously, but she was smiling as she did it.
"Of course not," said the technician. "I know I'm not anywhere near your speed, ma'ams."
Lillian placed a hand on Eileen's shoulder. Neither woman moved to make eye contact. "He thinks we're the same speed, Eileen. Have you ever received such a lovely compliment?"
"You might be going faster," Eileen said, "but at least I'm not pointing at a cliff."
"I'm already impressed. Don't pull a muscle on my behalf."
"Some things are worth pulling a muscle for."
From beneath the console, a low, knowing chuckle.
[!-- [[=image Veiksaar_Lillihammer_Banerjee.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Lillian waited longer than Eileen had expected. They were almost to the subway before she started leering, "So, Banerjee."
"What about him?" Eileen played coy, not because she thought it would work, but because she thought Lillian should have to work for what she wanted.
"You know what about him." The other woman elbowed her in the upper arm. At her height, Lillian had to lean over a little so as not to elbow Eileen in the head instead.
"You're disgusting."
"You know better than most."
Eileen gave Lillian a look of exaggerated, if only slightly, exhaustion. "Most people don't have to put up with innuendo from their exes."
"Nobody ever really gets rid of me. I'm like a fixture." Lillian tapped the steel sheathing on the next corner they turned. "A core structural element."
"I think of you more like black mold." A passing agent visibly suppressed a laugh, and Eileen smiled at him.
"But seriously. Banerjee." Lillian's voice became comically husky. "Who knew, right?"
"Finish the thought yourself."
"Who knew he'd have such a nice b--"
Eileen elbowed Lillian in the hip. The gut was too high, and anyway there wasn't much of it.
"The //beard,// I was going to say!" the other woman laughed. "Who knew he'd look that good with a beard? I never liked the whole babyface thing he had going on."
Eileen acknowledged the bait-and-switch with an eyeroll. "He's Indian. Beards were practically invented for Indian men."
"That's the spirit." Lillian clapped a hand to Eileen's shoulder, and kept it there as they approached the turnstiles. "We're not that different, you and me."
"Most people also don't have to take insults from their exes."
"That's not true at all, and anyway I'm only insulting myself. You ought to be flattered." They flashed their passes at the reader, and the stiles turned for them. "So, about how we're so similar."
"Uh huh."
"Daniil."
"There it is." Eileen walked to the yellow line at the end of the platform, and turned to face her friend. They were alone, which didn't really matter; Lillian was no more or less bold with an expanded audience. "Finally. I saw this coming from a mile off."
The look on Lillian's face was as filthy as any Eileen had seen. "What, you've got video feed on his quarters?"
"Ugh."
"So, come on." Lillian reached down to squeeze her shoulder, and Eileen reached up to brush the hand away. "Let's talk about him."
"Why don't you talk about him //with// him?" Eileen suggest. "He loves when people do that."
"Not on this topic, he doesn't."
"What topic? What're you trying to get out of him?" And then she saw it. "Oh, god. You're only dating him to squeeze him for information, aren't you? I should have seen that coming, too."
"No, my motives include more than one kind of squeezing." Lillian winked. "But I //am// trying to draw him on a particular issue, and he isn't biting."
"That's not how I remember him." She regretted the words the instant they were out.
"There she is again!" Lillian crowed. "I knew the woman I once repeatedly loved was still in there, somewhere. Now, help me out. I need some leverage. Something I have that he wants, that I can withold until he gives me what //I// want."
"Sounds like you've already played that card," Eileen smirked.
"Something better than sex."
"I'm amazed to hear you say there's something better than sex with you."
"Some people have skewed priorities. Come on, Eileen." Lillian made a comical pleading face, lips stuck out in an inch-deep pout. "Help me out here."
"With what? What do you think I know that you don't?"
"Precisely one thing, and only because that's how its rules work."
It took Eileen a few moments to realize what Lillian meant, and by then she knew her refusal had been foreseen and preemptively defeated by the monstrous thinking machine whirring behind those big blue eyes.
She made the protest anyway, just so she could later say that she had.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ January 10
----
[[/=]]
//Love is an advantage.//
His mind was a trap, but not of steel. It was a chemical trap, and it was trivial to change the makeup. A little dopamine, some oxytocin and endorphins, and as the //coup de grace...//
She flopped over beside him, pulled his wallet off the side table, pulled out the little card, and smiled at him. "Watch my eyes."
He watched her eyes, his pupils dilated as hers no doubt were as well.
She read the card. Not out loud, of course. That would be disastrous. When she was done, she flipped it off the side of the bed, and looked at him.
He was still looking into her eyes. So she asked: "Can you tell?"
"I can tell. You weren't faking. You can read it. You //have// it."
She kissed him. "Don't I always?"
"How did you get the Password? I'm assuming you murdered Eileen."
"Only with facts and logic." She pulled him close; with the height differential, curling up on his chest would have been more symbolic than practical, and after all he was the one who could see only symbols on the card. "Bet you'd like to take it for a spin."
"I'll bet I could make you //shout// it."
She laughed, plucked one of his eyebrow hairs out with her teeth, and spat it out. "I think you have our roles reversed. You should be so lucky. You with the Password..."
"And you with my deep, dark, and relevant backstory. Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"The things you do for friendship."
"And the friends I do for friendship."
He sighed, and rested his head on her chest. "Didn't find what you were looking for in my office safe?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/48-unforgettable-too/DL_48_10_Lillolsky.jpg]]
She shook her head. "Mm-mm. Knew I wouldn't as soon as it was as easy as stealing a piece of paper from your wallet."
"I appreciate you not taking the money."
"There was, what? Ten bucks in there. Tight-fisted bastard. But I got the message. Tit for tat."
He reached over and squeezed something relevant. "Tat it is. I'll collect the other cube from deep storage."
"You could just tell me the whole story yourself."
"Oh, I'd rather not."
"Why? Too emotional?"
"No. It's just that the long version would take longer than fifteen minutes."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="generic"]]
It was easy. He'd been and gone from this place a hundred times. All he needed to do was find the ##F7F7F7|█████ ████████,## and then...
It was all he could do to avoid crying again. He bit his lower lip, and his eyes remained clear.
His father was gone, because he'd never been there. There was a woman sitting cross-legged across the hall from him, pulling something red out of her face. He realized it was probably her tongue. She was laughing, and the blood was everywhere. She made eye contact with him, and nodded in a friendly manner.
These were some of the smartest adults in Russia, and Russia was the best of the Foundation. His father always told him so. If they couldn't figure out how to get to the //first sublevel...//
That was it, again. That was the thing which had ##F7F7F7|██████##d him, the thing he needed to know. If he was going to... if he was //going to...//
The ceiling came crashing down, and he scrambled out of the way. He couldn't see it, because there were sparks in his eyes, but he could hear the woman laughing as she burned. And then another voice joined her, and another. All of them laughing. He turned and ran, ran so that he could //escape,// to the //first sublevel,// where he would just need his father's ##F7F7F7|██████ █##, which was a problem, because his father was gone, and so were the words, and he was going to //die,// and he suddenly realized he couldn't breathe, and he suddenly realized that the word was KEYCARD.
[[/div]]
The memory ended.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
She hoped he wasn't any good at reading her expressions yet. "That... isn't anything Del can use. For anything."
He stretched out on the couch, and slung his hands behind his head. "I wouldn't think so, no."
She unhooked the EL-STA leads from her head, and set them on the hook attached to the stand. Euler hadn't been all that involved in the creation of the Euler-Lillihammer Somatic Transmission Array, but she thought he wouldn't object to his work being adapted to allow people to personally experience the memories of others, willingly extracted. It was the kind of positive, kumbaya-type thing he loved. "You made me work for that."
"I'm not sure I'd precisely call it //work.// And really," he yawned, and got more comfortable on the pillow, "do you expect me to believe you're only interested in things //she// can use?"
She raised a brow. "Daniil Sokolsky."
"Yes."
"Were you trying to be one step ahead of me?"
"I think I was //succeeding// at being one step ahead of you. It was a little exhilarating, if I'm being honest. And a little depressing to think I'll be behind you again, now. Metaphorically speaking." He showed his teeth. "Being literally behind you is never disappointing."
"We could never be in a relationship," she sighed.
"Why's that?"
She stood. "Because it would take up too much of my time, and I'd probably enjoy it."
"Where are you going?"
"To think about what you told me."
"You could think about it here."
"Not with that grin hanging over or under me."
He shifted onto his elbow. "Did you not hear what I just said, about being behind you?"
She considered.
She was a little proud of how long the consideration took her. "Fine, but you don't get the Password until I'm done with it."
He patted the cushion beneath him. "Challenge accepted."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ January 11
----
[[/=]]
It made perfect sense.
She was surprised she hadn't considered it before. She was even more surprised Sokolsky hadn't understood the meaning of his own memory. Or perhaps he did? Perhaps this was a gift he was giving to her, the knowledge of how...
She found herself shaking her head. Daniil Sokolsky did not share his toys. Daniil Sokolsky did not give other people the advantages he had. The only difference between him and a billionaire was that his wealth was knowledge.
That, and he wasn't making up for any deficiencies down below.
Obviously he'd been too close to the source material to fully comprehend its import. She understood that. She'd once had the same problem. But now that she had perspective, the perspectives of four different versions of her single self, she could see angles that didn't even exist in the geometry everyone else was used to.
She closed her eyes, and pictured the room.
The living room in Harry's childhood home, with its awkward angles and lines that only barely seemed to connect by random happenstance. Her little trick for clearing the mind of all distractions, and honing in with crystal clarity on what she needed.
As always, when her mind was completely still, she could take a breath and feel it fogging up against the impediment. The only thing which had ever happened to her that she could not in any sense remember. In her mind, she placed a single hand on the block, and conjured up the keys one after another.
//She was standing at the bottom of the DUAL Core shaft, wielding a bottle of white vinegar as though it were a chemical weapon. Which, in this context, it was.//
//The carpet of corpses flowed over the edge of the catwalks above, forming and reforming, a new victim every time. People she knew. No-one she loved, not yet, but it was only a matter of time. She'd been a fool to get so attached. This should never have been her problem.//
//But it was. The bubbling mass of chittering chitin crept along the pipes and conduits, and she began to spray with targeted bursts. The first few came out as mist, and she screwed the tip of the bottle until it offered her more precision. The bubbling biomass retreated from each jet, and the space which already stunk of cutting oil now took on a vinegaric tang. The thing hissed, and pulled back, like a child which had burned its hand on the hob, and the hiss suddenly resolved into words.//
//"We are going to have you, brother."//
//She didn't respond, and she didn't stop spraying.//
//"We will be __one__."//
//And a face emerged from the crawling horde of spiders, billions on billions of them, and the face was spiders, too, but it was also a man she loved, and had lost, and had been forced to lose over and over again.//
//Del Olmo's rippling face spoke in the same histrionic sussurus. "What do you see, Lillian?"//
//She raised the bottle higher, and sent the next stream into the thing's false mouth. "A bad imitation, and an easy target."//
//The face exploded, and the spiders came raining down...//
She shuddered, but kept her hand firm on the obelisk. Had it been an obelisk before? It now had contour, form and shape. She could feel its weight, its chill.
//Wettle was trying to scream, but his mouth was filled with spiders.//
//The effigy of Alis pressed its lips to hers, and the stream of wriggling legs continued to pour out of her, and into him.//
//"Shush," she hissed. "You know it's right."//
//He thrashed his head to one side, and spat out a tremendous globule of saliva-drenched skittering horror.//
She was openly weeping in disgust, waves of revulsion travelling through her body and pulsating through the corridor wall.
It was a corridor.
She was standing in the middle of it.
She was almost there.
//There were no eyes in the darkness this time. It didn't make any sense, but even her oldest memories were filled with segmented legs and twitching pedipalps. The refinery that towered over them was swaying back and forth, like the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, like a skyscraper made of jelly, only the jelly was a colony of arachnids numerous enough to encircle the moon ten times over.//
//"You can withstand," Rydderech told her, and there were spiders in his eyes. "You will endure. The memory of dead worlds lives in you." He pressed a hand to her forehead, and there were spiders beneath his fingernails. They separated, and the things came crawling out, into her hair, into her nose, and still she didn't break eye contact. She had to hear the end of it. "You carry them across the gulf between." Rydderech's voice was now a sibilant squeal, like all the rest, but it wasn't real, and he was still him. "You are the vessel," he told her, and she knew that it was true. "You are unsinkable."//
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/48-unforgettable-too/DL_48_11_Rydderech_Spiders.jpg]]
And she was there.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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[[/=]]
[[div class="flashyhammer"]]
[[=]]
+ ##C5000B|2004##
++ 9 October
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**##990011|Site-06##: Outside Bad Karlshafen, Kassel District, Hesse, Federal Republic of Germany**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
Finally, urgently, as though realizing it was late to the party, a hollow screeching filled the halls. The solid red lights began to flash.
"Oh," said Wheeler.
"Uh," Lillian agreed.
It was the nuclear overload alarm.
"How long do we have?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/48-unforgettable-too/DL_48_12_Wheeler_Ready.jpg]]
"Twenty-five minutes." Wheeler checked the magazine on her pistol, and grunted. It was a grunt neither of satisfaction nor alarm.
"I thought these things were supposed to go up in a flash."
"Not here. The nukes in containment facilities for slavering beasts, yes." The other woman's body language had changed in all sorts of interesting ways since the breach had begun. Lillian suddenly believed the unlikely story she'd heard about tentacles and the fire axe. "Cut short the rampage before it reaches the exit. But 06 is too important. There are vital assets here. They'll be evacuated."
"I'm a vital asset," Lillian said.
Wheeler didn't roll her eyes, because she was too busy scanning the corridors. But her voice carried the same implication. "Sure you are." Then her brow furrowed. "You might be more important to //them,// actually."
"You think so?"
Wheeler gestured back the way they'd come, where one of the //giftschreiber// attackers had made the brief error of attacking them. "He called you 'the vessel'. Thoughts on what that might mean?"
"Zero."
The other woman -- was she an agent? Lillian didn't think she was a doctor, really she only thought of her as Wheeler -- had apparently chosen a direction. Probably she'd memorized the Area's layout on the flight over. She was the type to be prepared like that. "Zero," she mused as they passed from pool after pool of red light. "The thing that makes all complex math possible."
"I wasn't trying to be clever."
"Maybe you don't even have to try. It just happens."
If Wheeler hadn't been holding a gun, Lillian might have patted her on the head. "Flattering. But what are you on about?"
"The //giftschreiber// are fascinated by your disaster." Wheeler poked her head around a corner, then swung around with her weapon at the ready, then ushered Lillian to follow her. "They think it's the key to understanding themselves. They think there's something intrinsic to it that relates to them."
"You're saying they think it's... //in// me, somehow?" It wasn't a pleasant thought, but neither was it totally a foreign one.
"Maybe. Or maybe you're the focus for it. Maybe it happens because of you. All of you."
"He didn't say I'm //a// vessel. He said I'm //the// vessel."
Wheeler shrugged. "Well, the most obvious connection would be your memory. Right?"
"Right. So it's probably not that."
"But what if it was? You're the only one who remembers everything."
"Well, not exactly."
"Not exactly?"
"The Victims remember, too."
That seemed to take Wheeler by surprise. "Do they?"
"Yes. That's why I said it."
"Don't get snotty while I'm saving your life."
Lillian didn't actually see the man at the end of the hall until they were stepping over his body. Wheeler had hit him centre mass, and he was passed out already from blood loss. Even the gunshot had been lost, as the periodic klaxon reminded them that there were things of this nature all around them, and they had really better leave.
"Ambrogi told Nascimbeni things he could only have seen in baseline," Lillian said as they moved through a windowless hall that put the words //kill box// in her mind, right where she didn't want them. "He remembered across the boundary."
Wheeler might have had the same thought, because she was moving like she had purpose enough for a woman twice her height now. "Anyone else, or just Ambrogi?"
"What does it matter? They were all the same. Variations on one mind."
"You know that for sure?"
"Yes."
"They didn't display any differences between them?"
"Well, sure, but... hmm." Lillian scratched at the back of her head as they made the next corner, where an inset seating area complicated the otherwise dead simple cris-cross of passages.
"Yeah?" Wheeler's jacket might have been full of magnets, the way she pressed herself flush to each stainless steel wall as she took in every possible approach.
"Yeah, alright," Lillian allowed. "Maybe. //Maybe.// But that's not useful right now. Even if it's just one of them and just one of us, that doesn't explain why it's so damn important. It's just facts. Impressions. Tastes and sounds. What use is that?"
The coast was apparently still clear. Maybe they were going to make it after all. "What use is the only record of a world that doesn't exist anymore?"
"That's right." Lillian nodded, more to herself than to Wheeler. "Yes. What use is that? Because that world //doesn't exist anymore.//"
"I don't know," Wheeler said. "They're an apocalypse cult. Your memories are postapocalyptic. It's enough to go on."
"Go //nowhere.// Speaking of which..."
"They'll have locked down the elevators. I'm heading for the stairs."
"Good idea."
The next corner shaved itself off in a little cloud of polymer and metal shavings, and Wheeler pulled Lillian to the wall.
"But apparently not a unique one," the little woman muttered.
A voice rang out, a middle-aged man by the sound of it, in the direction they were heading. "Let's talk!
"Let's not," Lillian found herself shouting, "and don't say we did!"
Wheeler gave her a look.
"I've always wanted to say that," she shrugged.
Almost faster than Lillian could see, Wheeler stuck her head and arms around the corner and squeezed off a couple of shots.
"There's no reason for us to fight!" the man at the end of the hall shouted again.
"Says the reason this building is about to explode!" Wheeler called back.
"I think you'll find it was your people who set that in motion!"
"Yeah! For no reason at all! Just bored, I guess." It occurred to Lillian that she was making it easier for the explosion to kill all of them. By the look on Wheeler's face, she wasn't the only one thinking that.
It probably informed the other woman's decision to once again brave the corner, this time going low, and fire her weapon three times.
She had to be getting low.
"You don't need to keep doing that," the man shouted. "Listen to me!"
"You're a fucking //giftschreiber//!" Lillian yelled, and Wheeler took the opportunity to take yet another potshot. "'Don't listen to //giftschreiber//' is the first rule of memetics!"
"I know who you are! I know both of you! I know enough not to want to take my chances." The man's voice was dropping in volume; they were all getting used to the klaxons. "So let's talk, and then make our ways separately to separate exits while there's still time."
"What makes you think we'd ever let you go?" Wheeler yelled.
"Because you can't stop me, and be sure of surviving. I don't want to try my own luck, but if you force my hand, it will end badly for you."
Wheeler met Lillian's eyes. She expected some sort of resistance to what she was going to suggest, but she'd misjudged the other woman's own judgment. "This needs to stop," Wheeler said to her, much too quietly for their enemy to overhear. "Soon."
Lillian nodded.
"Okay, asshole." She took a deep breath, and stepped around the corner, hands spread. "Let's talk."
She was standing at one end of a short corridor. There was a man standing at the other end. There were two men not standing, and not crouching either, one on either side of him. Still, he didn't look worried. He was dressed for a brisk autumn stroll, and his hair was a shock of white.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/48-unforgettable-too/DL_48_13_Keil.jpg]]
"Dr. Lillihammer," he greeted her.
"And friend," Wheeler snarled from behind. Lillian could tell just by her tone of voice that the gun was levelled on him.
"We should all be friends," the old man smiled, "right now particularly."
As if on cue, the public address system announced: "Ten minutes to reactor overload."
The adrenaline almost made it hard for Lillian to hear. She found herself nodding frantically. "Yeah, let's all take the stairs up in friendly silence. Won't be awkward at all, and none of us will blow up."
"Actually, we're not on the way out." The pleasant smile became an almost as pleasant grin. //God, but he's confident.// "We're just coming in."
"Are you saying this wasn't you?" Wheeler snapped. She was beside Lillian now, and yes, her gun was raised. Lillian wondered if that would make any difference. "You're not with the attacking force?"
The old man nodded. "That's right."
"Then who are you?" Wheeler pressed. "And who are they?"
"Think of us as..." Lillian knew that look. He was choosing which lie to tell. "...two stones, in search of the same bird."
"I would rather think of you as what the fuck you //are.//" Lillian wished she had a gun of her own. She made herself a promise to figure out a way to weaponize some of her memetics for close-range combat, if they ever got out of here. "What the fuck are you? //Giftschreiber?//"
"I've been called that," he nodded. His hands were still spread wide, as though that might convince them of the goodness of his intentions and the honesty of their parley.
"And who started the attack?" Wheeler demanded. She was edging slowly forward. They really did need to be getting a move-on.
"They've been called the same thing."
Lillian sighed. "Cut the shit. We're about to get blown to kingdom come, and my impression is that you guys have made different travel plans for the apocalypse. What are you after? What //bird?//"
"Unless I miss my guess, you just left her."
Lillian blinked. "...Alis?"
"I'm not familiar with the name. But, then, I wouldn't be." His grin kept getting wider, and yet never more threatening. "Very likely yes."
Wheeler was solid on the trigger as a finger of rock. "You're trying to get her out of here?"
"No. I'm trying to kill her."
Lillian did a double-take. "Oh."
"If you think we're going to let you walk past us," Wheeler said darkly, "and take out a prisoner..."
"Oh, that's what's going to happen no matter what." The man's hands closed, and Lillian saw Wheeler //almost// put a hole in him, or attempt to. "I'm just taking this moment to lend you a helping hand on the way, since you so obviously need it." He waited a moment to see what response they would give. When they didn't give any, he suggested, "I believe your line here is 'I don't need your help'."
"Well, I don't know that." Lillian reached out, very slowly, so Wheeler could see it, and lowered her partner's gun. Wheeler allowed it; Lillian knew it was only a gesture, she'd seen how quick the other woman was on the draw. But gestures could go a long way between cryptomancers. "I like to keep my options open. You're not the first weird old man to offer me cryptic advice. Of course I think you're probably full of shit, but."
"I think someone already said this," Wheeler hissed, "but it's worth trying again: can you two skip the niceties and //get to the point?//"
"Good idea." The man pursed his lips in thought. "If you'll tell me where I can find... Alis, did you say? I'll tell you a few things you want to know."
"I want to know a lot more than a few things," Lillian snapped.
"I wasn't offering to let you choose. I have tidbits in particular in mind. You don't have to agree until you've heard them."
"Wow. Real generous." She glanced at Wheeler, who shrugged, as if to say //none of this will matter in about ten minutes anyway.// "Okay, spit it out then. We're on a schedule."
"DETONATION IN TEN MINUTES."
"Good timing," Lillian sighed.
The old man affected a voice that reminded Lillian of the transcripts she'd seen of Thilo Zwist. She wasn't sure how that could translate, but it did. "We are all marked by ideas, ladies, and ideas are marked by their origins. There are ideas in you which do not originate from here, but other heres. You carry them across the gulf between. Now that we understand, we will not harm you. We need you to finish what you've started."
"This isn't the deal." Wheeler raised her gun again. "This is just more psychobabble. Why don't you--"
"I am your mentor's mentor, Dr. Lillihammer, and he did our work before his demise. He does //their// work now, as does another. I don't know his name, but when I do, I will kill him, too."
They were out of time. "Marion, shoot th--"
"In deepest dark I ope the hoods," he continued without missing a beat, "and firmly portals shutter. //Stop.//"
It all went black.
[!-- [[=image Lillihammer_Wheeler_Redux.jpg]] --]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="generic"]]
"You didn't ask them what room she was in," Julia chided him as he climbed into the chopper.
"There wasn't time." He reached up for the belt. "We'd never make it before the detonation."
The roar of the rotors was too loud to be heard over. She waited patiently for him to put on his helmet before continuing. "This was a wasted trip, then?"
He glanced at the two unconscious women slumped in the back seat, and smiled. "Hardly. They'll make good use of what I've told them, after we drop them off."
"If they remember," Julia frowned.
"Oh, they'll remember. Eventually." He reached out to take her hand in reassurance. "It's what they do."
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/47-past-caring | previous-title=Past Caring
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/49-repent-at-leisure | next-title=Repent at Leisure
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub | hub-title=The Breach Goes On: Deadlined
]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
[[<]]
Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:
Keil ("Kyle") Graf: "Portrait of an elderly man looking straight at the camera" by Ivan Radic, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/26344495@N05/30743423956
Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653
Noè Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822 and
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992
Wynn Rydderech: "State Electricity Commission, Group of Four Men, Victoria, May 1940,” two images, courtesy State Electricity Commission of Australia, public domain:
https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547629
https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547640
Daniil Sokolsky: "Brett - 08-08-08" and "Waterpitts, 29-09-12" by Brett Jordan, both released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625
https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842
Marion Wheeler: Sketches by WasteButterscotch810, by default CC BY-SA 3.0: https://www.reddit.com/r/SCP/comments/t6g7tz/marion_wheeler_sketches_bc_i_reread_there_is_no
> **Filename:** Everything!
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-09-17T02:06:00
|
[
"_adult",
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"chief-ibanez",
"deadlined",
"director-mcinnis",
"doctor-blank",
"doctor-lillihammer",
"doctor-okorie",
"doctor-sokolsky",
"giftschreiber",
"illustrated",
"marion-wheeler",
"on-guard-43",
"philip-deering",
"slice-of-life",
"spy-fiction",
"tale",
"thilo-zwist"
] |
Unforgettable Too - SCP Foundation
| 42
|
[
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"next",
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"47-past-caring",
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"49-repent-at-leisure",
"component:license-box",
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1456809541
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/48-unforgettable-too
|
|
49-repent-at-leisure
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
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--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>Repent at Leisure</strong><br/>
Time is all we've got.</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank">More by this author!</a></strong></p>
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<h1 id="toc0"><span>Repent at Leisure</span></h1>
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<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #990011">2015</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>12 January</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
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<p>Lillian wasn't particularly surprised about which of the two revelations the others seized on, considering one was open to speculation, and the other was cryptic nonsense; still, considering the cryptic one was about her, she wouldn't have minded talking about it first.</p>
<p>She couldn't really fault them for wanting to talk about a potential <em>giftschreiber</em> mole at the Site, though. Much as she wanted to.</p>
<p>Del was the second-most assertive person in the room, and since the most assertive person had presented the topic, she was the first to engage with it. "So," she said. "Zlatá, then."</p>
<p>Udo looked troubled, which was really no surprise. "We don't know it's Zlatá."</p>
<p>"I think we do," said Lillian. "He was already on your shit list."</p>
<p>"I don't have a <em>shit list.</em> Del and I had <em>suspicions.</em>"</p>
<p>"I was keeping the shit list in my head," Del smirked. "And he was already at the top of it."</p>
<p>McInnis had some subvocal means of attracting their attention whenever he wanted to speak. Leadership was such an intangible quality. "Where is Dr. Zlatá now?"</p>
<p>"Area-21," Del answered. She'd been on her tablet as soon as the issue was broached. "Helping train the new staff. But he's due back here in a few months."</p>
<p>"Do we want that?" Nascimbeni wondered aloud. "If he's dangerous?"</p>
<p>"We're dangerous too," Del reminded him. "I am, at least."</p>
<p>"And here I heard you'd gone soft." Lillian winked.</p>
<p>McInnis didn't quite sigh. "Please."</p>
<p>"I don't need you defending me." Del didn't say <em>sir.</em> The relationship between the Survivors and hierarchy was getting murkier by the year.</p>
<p>"What do you think that stuff about the world ending twice meant?" Harry asked.</p>
<p>Lillian shrugged. "Don't know. Might have something to do with a special project of mine."</p>
<p>McInnis also had a way of sounding like he'd narrowed his eyes without actually doing it. "Am I aware of this special project?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. Are you?" He blinked at her, and she relented. "It's antimemetic. It's for Antimemetics. Wheeler's involved, when she remembers."</p>
<p>"I have nothing to add to whatever this is," Wettle said from the floor. "Can I go?"</p>
<p>Del was already standing. "We should all go. Thanks for the effort, Lil, but this is just a whole lot more cryptic psychobabble."</p>
<p>"Except for Zlatá," she reminded them. She'd already decided she could work out whatever that 'vessel', 'ideas-across-the-gulf' business was for herself. She was already a self-made woman, after all. It wasn't like she needed help with introspection.</p>
<p>"Of course except for Zlatá." Del had one of her more thoughtful dangerous looks on. "If he's involved in any of this, I'll have his balls nailed to the wall before his chin makes it past the threshold."</p>
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<h2 id="toc3"><span>1 February</span></h2>
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<p>"Are you investigating Pensak?"</p>
<p>Yancy had been holding down the bullpen alone when Ibanez walked in. She hoped she came off as the cool old boss who sometimes dropped back in one her old workplace. She hoped that was a thing which existed.</p>
<p>Harry had told her she ought to watch the original, British version of <em>The Office.</em> She'd declined.</p>
<p>"No," Yancy yawned. This late at night there wasn't much to secure, though there were off-duty agents on-call in case something came up. Yancy was just a glorified, jacked dispatcher right now. "Maureen is investigating Pensak."</p>
<p>It was a delicate matter, investigating your own boss. McTeer was the logical choice; she had the closest thing to tenure a security agent could get. Not that Pensak could really do anything about it, if he found out; it was always assumed, when you worked at the Foundation, that someone was rooting through your dirty laundry. That the order had come down from McInnis, laundering Ibanez's suspicions, made it even more grave.</p>
<p>Del laid down on top of his desk. "She find anything interesting?"</p>
<p>He snorted. She felt the rush of air on her forehead. "Here I thought you were going to lecture me. No. Not yet."</p>
<p>"When has lecturing you ever helped? And I'm surprised."</p>
<p>"Why surprised?"</p>
<p>"I always thought he was the kind of guy you'd turn up a whole farm's worth of dirt on the second you started looking."</p>
<p>Yancy shrugged. "Well, maybe I would. Not Maureen, I guess." He poked her in the forehead. "Why aren't you doing it yourself? Do you not want to find out?"</p>
<p>She frowned. "Why?"</p>
<p>"You tell me."</p>
<p>"You accusing me of not doing my job, Howard?"</p>
<p>"I'm accusing you of being soft on your men."</p>
<p>"Soft," she repeated.</p>
<p>He tapped her on the stomach, gently. "Yes."</p>
<p>"<em>Soft.</em>"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Am I soft, Howard?"</p>
<p>"<em>Yes.</em>"</p>
<p>"Are you?"</p>
<p>He pressed a button on the underside of the desk, and the security shutters lowered.</p>
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<h2 id="toc4"><span>1 May</span></h2>
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<p>Nascimbeni had never noticed how empty his office was before. He needed to get some more equipment in here. Maybe he could take a few devices out of mothballs, which was to say, his dorm room…</p>
<p>"Before you go," and he started rooting around in his topmost desk drawer, "there's something I need you to take a look at."</p>
<p>Azad Banerjee looked strange out of uniform. But, then, he wasn't actually. The labcoat he was wearing signified his change in status. "Sure, I've got time. What is it?"</p>
<p>"The new conditioner for F-B." Nascimbeni pulled out the blueprint roll, and spread it over the desktop. "Plans just came in this morning."</p>
<p>Banerjee gave them a cursory look, and nodded. "Yeah, these look pretty good."</p>
<p>"You barely even glanced them over," Nascimbeni frowned.</p>
<p>"Well, I don't have time for a complete top-bottom review. That's gonna have to be whoever gets my job." Banerjee smiled slyly. "Who'd you pick?"</p>
<p>"You know what else?" Nascimbeni rolled his chair over to the filing cabinet in the corner, and pulled open the middlemost drawer. "I dusted off the F-E proposal yesterday evening. I know we managed to get redundancies for the stuff F-D used to do, but—"</p>
<p>"Boss—"</p>
<p>"Before you go, I'd really like your opinion on—"</p>
<p>"Noè."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni tried not to slump in his seat. "Yeah."</p>
<p>"I <em>am</em> leaving."</p>
<p>He turned back to face his outgoing deputy. "I know."</p>
<p>"Who's replacing me?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni's mouth migrated to one side of his face, then the other. "I haven't picked anyone."</p>
<p>"What?" Banerjee half-shouted, half-laughed.</p>
<p>"I don't think I'm going to." Nascimbeni clasped his hands on the desk. They looked very gnarled to him. It was probably the knuckles. "I don't need a deputy."</p>
<p>"You don't need a deputy," Banerjee repeated.</p>
<p>"That's right."</p>
<p>The look of concern was instantly irritating. "You do too many things alone, boss."</p>
<p>"Well, maybe that's because everyone keeps fucking <em>leaving,</em>" he snapped, and then before the other man could react, he added "I didn't mean that."</p>
<p>"You kinda did," Banerjee said.</p>
<p>"Let me apologize, for fuck's sake." There he was, snapping again.</p>
<p>"Don't apologize. Admit it. You meant it." The look of empathy on Banerjee's face was almost filial. "We can be honest."</p>
<p>"I'm sorry." Nascimbeni rolled the chair back as far as it would go, and stood up. "Forget it happened. You've got a chopper to catch."</p>
<p>"Subway first. Taking one last ride with Phil."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni nodded. "That's good. He'll take it hard."</p>
<p>The knowing look on Banerjee's face made Nascimbeni feel like he was transparent. "I don't do half-ass goodbyes, boss. I know why you're angry. Let's talk about it."</p>
<p>"Let's just shake on it instead." He extended a hand.</p>
<p>Banerjee took it. He might have been taking on a white-collar position halfway around the world, but he still had a working man's callouses, and grip. "We can still talk."</p>
<p>"Nah." Nascimbeni attempted a smile.</p>
<p>"Boss," Banerjee was almost pleading.</p>
<p>"Not your boss anymore. Get a move on." He attempted the smile again, with no greater success. "Your people are waiting for you."</p>
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<h2 id="toc5"><span>12 August</span></h2>
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<p>The Ethics Committee liaison came from Site-88, but his bio said he'd done some time at Site-19, and Ibanez could certainly see it. Because everyone from Site-19 looked like they were going to a costume party dressed as themselves.</p>
<p>Jeremiah Cimmerian wore a mustard yellow suit and red tie, and had severe burns along the left side of his face, apparently extending as far as his left hand, if the glove was anything to go by. His accent was something southern, and at first it was strange, but eventually she found it sort of soothing.</p>
<p>She wondered if they selected for that sort of thing specifically.</p>
<p>McInnis had come around his desk, and the three of them were sitting together in a rough triangle. All very democratic-seeming. "Thank you for joining us today, doctor."</p>
<p>"That's not really how I'd characterize it," Cimmerian frowned. It was fascinating, the way the skin on his face did and didn't move when he did that. "This is an Ethics Committee investigation."</p>
<p>"And we welcome it," McInnis nodded.</p>
<p>The newcomer gestured at Ibanez with his chin. "Does she welcome it? She doesn't look welcoming."</p>
<p>"Yeah," she said in a flat monotone.</p>
<p>"Yeah, you do, or yeah, you aren't?"</p>
<p>She spread her hands. "Be welcome. Investigate. Write your thing. Do nothing. Do it fast." She crossed her arms.</p>
<p>Cimmerian blinked. "I'm sorry. Do you have some kind of prior experience with the Committee that's leading you to be so dismissive?"</p>
<p>McInnis was giving her that look of genuine, well-meaning interest she hated most of all. She looked away from both of them. "I just know how this is going to go. TAD wants this. <em>He</em> wants this. It's going to continue to happen."</p>
<p>"Well," Cimmerian said, "that's in no way set in stone. I'm going to interview all the relevant personnel, and I'm going to review the case with as little bias as possible, and I'm going to make my report to the Committee."</p>
<p>"And then Roger is going to put a bullet in Deering's brain again, just like he did last year."</p>
<p>Cimmerian frowned. "Who's Roger?"</p>
<p>"Roger Pensak," McInnis explained. "Chief of Security and Containment. He carries out the termination each year."</p>
<p>Cimmerian glanced down at his tablet. "Oh, I must have old data here. That's frustrating. My file says Chief Ibanez…"</p>
<p>"She transferred to the Task Forces."</p>
<p>"In protest," she added.</p>
<p>"I… see." Cimmerian looked back and forth between them, obviously attempting to gauge the dynamic. "That's very unusual."</p>
<p>"Is it?" McInnis asked. He could always make questions sound so genuine.</p>
<p>"Yes. I've never heard of a security chief transferring in protest of an ethics issue. You must run a very distinct Site, Director."</p>
<p>She snorted. "That's one way to put it."</p>
<p>"Well, I look forward to finding out why."</p>
<p>"If you do," she said to him, "I hope you'll explain it to the rest of us."</p>
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<h2 id="toc6"><span>14 August</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong>Ipperwash Beach: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
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<p>She knew full well that Harry had arranged this to get her out of the Site while Cimmerian prepared his nothingburger. But the fresh air was nice, anyway.</p>
<p>Zwist was standing on the pebbly beach, looking out at the lake. He turned when she approached; she could have come up silently, but she wasn't sure how heart-attack prone a four hundred year old man might be, so she didn't.</p>
<p>"Miss Ibanez," he nodded. He didn't extend his hand. That was good. She hated false shows of friendliness.</p>
<p>Still, he could have done better. "That's <em>Chief.</em>"</p>
<p>He rolled his eyes. "I'm not a member of your hierarchy."</p>
<p>She took up a station beside him. The air was cool, and the wind off the lake had that ephemeral sense of distant depth. "Funny how you managed to swing a consultant gig like that."</p>
<p>He shifted on his cane to face her more directly. "If your aim for this meeting is to make me regret the alliance, you're off to a smashing start."</p>
<p>She sighed. "Okay, so that's what the wrong foot looks like. Go science. I'll try again." She took a deep breath. "Hi."</p>
<p>He nodded. "Hello."</p>
<p>"I'm trying to kill a cult."</p>
<p>He wrinkled his nose. "I am a pacifist."</p>
<p>She sat down on the rocks. "This is the worst blind date I've ever been on."</p>
<p>He stared down at her. He would have been doing so anyway, but now the angle was less acute. "Harold tells me you've been… <em>engaging,</em> with my fellow writers of late."</p>
<p>She put her hands behind her, and leaned up to look at the sky. It was grey. It usually was. "Your fellow writers probably murdered my entire family."</p>
<p>"I am very sorry to hear that." He did sound sorry. "I have heard it many times before."</p>
<p>"So, let's make it so you don't have to hear it again. How do I kill these fuckers?"</p>
<p>"You don't."</p>
<p>"I do, actually. Those engagements you mentioned."</p>
<p>"Merely scraping off the dead skin. You aren't breaking the surface. The surface cannot be broken."</p>
<p>This, at least, promised to be data. "And why is that?"</p>
<p>Zwist looked up at the clouds. Harry had warned her to expect monologues, and this looked like the prelude to one. "At that point, the metaphor loses its force. The <em>giftschreiber</em> are not very like a single organism at all. There is a left hand, and a right hand, but little in between to link them, and at the microscopic level even the hands are a series of disarticulated atoms held together by the weakest of all forces."</p>
<p>"I'm pretty sure if you used that metaphor on any of the scientists, they'd laugh in your face."</p>
<p>His nostrils flared. "Then we should dispense of metaphor altogether, because there is nothing very funny about what you are asking. The <em>giftschreiber</em> are a loose affiliation of chaos theorists with a penchant for praxis. There is no hierarchy to bring low. Their flunkies might offer a sense of substance, but it is an illusion. They hold no allegiance but to their singular cause."</p>
<p>"Which is knocking over everything that isn't nailed down."</p>
<p>"And then starting to work on the nails. Yes. And because they are more ethos than <em>oikos,</em>" she couldn't believe he was coming up with this shit on the fly, "whatever you yourself destroy will be replaced before you can so much as turn around. You might as well go to war with the wind. There will always be a fresh breeze the next morning."</p>
<p>"So this is the advice you agreed to give me." She sat forward again, and put her gravel-covered hands in her lap. "You think I should give up."</p>
<p>"I didn't say that."</p>
<p>"What, then? What would you do?"</p>
<p>"What I <em>already</em> do. I ameliorate the worst of their misdeeds. I shift the window, inch by inch."</p>
<p>"In favour of order?"</p>
<p>He looked like he'd tasted something sour, though the effect was made harder to see by his voluminous beard. "In favour of <em>balance.</em> Order lost its champions long ago, but there will always be those with itchy feet in heavy boots and a heel custom-tailored for pressing. Your Foundation has supplanted the <em>schriftsteller</em> of old, and gone beyond their wildest dreams. They sought stability in an unstable world. You seek control in a world long since stabilized. The <em>giftschreiber</em> intensify their efforts in response to the tightening of your iron grip. It will loosen, and they will lose interest, and then in the space between each finger they will see a possibility space, and they will fill it, and the world will devolve into anarchy again. And then you, or others like you, will rise again to challenge it. This is the cycle our kind have observed for hundreds, if not thousands, of years."</p>
<p>She chewed on that for a while. Its texture was very complex. "So, you're saying there's no point in holding out to kill Crocker."</p>
<p>"Lisbet?" He shook his head. "Surely long dead, whatever Harold might believe."</p>
<p>"Surely not." He raised a brow. "You can't be that surprised. You're like four centuries years old yourself."</p>
<p>"A special case, I thought." He sighed. "But it doesn't matter."</p>
<p>"It mattered a lot to my village."</p>
<p>"I mean for the purposes of this conversation, the survival of one <em>giftschreiber</em> or another is immaterial. She is a symptom of a disease. She did not cause it. Killing her will not erase it from existence."</p>
<p>"I guess that's what I need to be working on, then." She stood up, and wiped her hands off on her pants.</p>
<p>"What is?"</p>
<p>"Curing the disease."</p>
<p>He gave her a look of sympathy she almost believed was genuine. "Many have tried. One in particular has tried many times, and failed time and again."</p>
<p>"Maybe you've been focusing too much on the dead skin cells yourself, Thilo. You ought to consider the root of the rot."</p>
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<h2 id="toc7"><span>8 September</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
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<p>Adrijan Zlatá was beginning to wonder if someone wasn't playing a prank on him.</p>
<p>He looked down at his tablet again, and frowned. Applied Occultism had been redesigned significantly since he'd last been its Chief, apparently; there were now dedicated dormitories on the third sublevel, cutting into the decommissioned elements of AAF-D. The schematic that came with his room assignment showed Scranton Reality Anchors in the walls, presumably to keep back the structural reorientation that occurred each September the eighth — today — and a tidy block of dorms fairly dwarfed by the new room complex that he would soon call his own.</p>
<p>The agent who'd greeted him at Grand Bend and driven him to the subway had been detached, but polite. She'd explained the situation, and offered to show him to his new accommodations. Something in her tone made him feel like she thought him a silly old man, a burden, and so he'd said he was certain he could find everything just fine on his own, thank you. The subway had taken what it announced was a special, override-only stop — which made sense, they wouldn't do regular service in this area until the six minutes of chaos had ended — and he had gotten out at AAF-D, and made his way briskly to what was supposed to be the entrance to the new dorms.</p>
<p>Instead, he found himself in a maze of unrecognizable corridors.</p>
<p>For the first few minutes, he managed not to panic. When he couldn't make the schematic in his one hand resemble any of the spaces he moved through, try though he might, the suitcase in his other hand began to feel very heavy. When he tried to dial up S&C and got no response, then opened up the I&T ticketing system and got no signal, he became convinced that something was wrong.</p>
<p>When he heard the first of the BOOMs, he checked the time on the tablet. Still just a little after six. It couldn't be the Breach. He hadn't checked the time on the flight over, and the agent had told him…</p>
<p>He did something at this moment that he almost never did anymore, even though he'd done it thousands of times in years past.</p>
<p>He checked his watch.</p>
<p>6:23.</p>
<p>He was standing in Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-D in the middle of SCP-5243.</p>
<p>He started to run, but he didn't know where he was running to. His tablet sparked, and he threw it to the floor, and it melted over the tiles like paint. There was a voice in the air, monotone, reciting from an untranslated <em>Bhagavad Gita.</em> "Kaalo asmi loka kshaya kritpraviddho." He knew the quotation well.</p>
<p>The overhead lights changed from cold blue-white to neon orange, then red, then violet. Something huge bounded past him, but he couldn't see it. The corridor wall beside him, doors and pipes and all, dropped three feet straight down and stayed there. In the distance, something shimmering snaked across his path, and there was a cacophony of shouting voices.</p>
<p>He stopped, flummoxed, at an intersection. A different chaos waited in every direction. He thought <em>Got me this time, didn't you,</em> and then lightning arced from a pipe on the wall and he didn't think anything more.</p>
<p>Dr. Chelsea Smits had put a lot of very strange things into cold storage over the years. The strangest by far, until today, had been five hundred and seventy-two life-sized two-dimensional representations of Agent Ana Mukami, which together constituted her corpse.</p>
<p>But the forty-seven half-lemons with bright pink skin and light blue flesh she received today, comprising the mortal remains of Dr. Adrijan Zlatá, were now in seriously strong contention.</p>
<p>"So," Pensak began, "this should not have happened."</p>
<p>"Do you <em>think?</em>" Ibanez shouted.</p>
<p>Pensak used his office more than Ibanez had used it when it was hers. She'd gradually taken to the bullpen, while the new security chief had never seen fit to become less of a loner.</p>
<p>"How <em>did</em> it happen?" Udo asked. She and Ibanez were standing in front of the desk. Pensak had his terminal on, and was typing furiously as they spoke.</p>
<p>"Dr. Zlatá was scheduled to return to duty today," he read. "His arrival was not flagged for a security escort, and no announcement was made. Both of those oversights were the result of computer errors. He was assigned quarters in AAF-D…"</p>
<p>"Quarters in AAF-D," Ibanez repeated.</p>
<p>"I'm aware of the contradiction, obviously." It was weird how professional and detached the man had gotten since his promotion. "But Zlatá might not have been. He's been away for a few years, and we've been trying to figure out what to do with the space F-D occupies for a long time. It's right beneath AO, so he might plausibly have believed there was dormitory accommodation in there now. At least for a VIP like himself."</p>
<p>Udo visibly didn't buy it. "So he walked in there <em>during the Breach,</em> and died. The Breach he definitely knew was a thing. Has known for a long time."</p>
<p>"He's getting old." Pensak smiled nastily. "<em>Was</em> getting old. Won't be getting any older. Might be his faculties aren't what you remember."</p>
<p>Ibanez's arms tended to cross themselves in Pensak's presence. Sometimes she wondered why she'd ever hired him. The ghost of the woman she'd been in the first deadline whispering in her ear, perhaps. "Might be someone told him the Breach had been fixed."</p>
<p>Pensak's eyes widened. "That's a bit of a leap."</p>
<p>"Makes more sense than him bumblefucking into a paraspectral whatever the fuck on accident."</p>
<p>He turned away from the terminal to look at her straight on. "I'm surprised you think so. Do you know something about this old man I don't?"</p>
<p>It was cute that he considered himself a remotely worthy adversary. "A few things, but they're MTF-specific. I'll ask the Director about looping you in."</p>
<p>He nodded sharply. "Please do that."</p>
<p>"I assume there's going to be a formal investigation," Udo cut in.</p>
<p>His eyes flicked up and down in a sort of socially acceptable eyeroll. He always did know where the boundaries were. "There's probably going to be half a dozen. Me, the AAG, and a few different Foundation departments. You don't lose someone that high-ranking without a lot of fuss getting kicked up."</p>
<p>"Well," Ibanez sighed, "keep us in the loop."</p>
<p>"For what reason?"</p>
<p>She blinked. "What?"</p>
<p>"You're not the chief of security anymore, and <em>you,</em>" he pointed at Udo, "I have no idea what <em>your</em> interest is at all."</p>
<p>"I'm a member of Sampi-5243," Udo almost snapped. "And so is Del. This falls under our jurisdiction."</p>
<p>He made a sound that was superficially similar to laughter. "You guys have a jurisdiction now? I thought it would be confined to six minutes in September. Six minutes which, by my watch and the fact that nobody's getting turned into pink lemons anymore, would seem to have <em>passed.</em>"</p>
<p>She shifted her hands from her armpits to her hips. "You know I can go over your head and get access anyway, Rog. The Director will take my side. Just keep us looped in, for fuck's sake. We'll help you."</p>
<p>He waved them away like the two of them were a single housefly, and returned to his keyboard. "Fine. I don't have time to waste arguing with you anyway. I need to figure out who sabotaged our computer systems."</p>
<p>"So you <em>do</em> think this was foul play," said Udo.</p>
<p>"Of course I do," he scoffed. "I just think you reached that conclusion way too quickly, is all." He shot her an appraising glance. "Almost like you were expecting something like it to happen." Ibanez watched as Udo tried not to change her expression, and Pensak tried to figure out what the changes meant. "No? Then maybe you were already suspicious of Zlatá, then?"</p>
<p>Neither of them said anything in response to that.</p>
<p>He nodded, as though an agreement had been reached. "Seems to me like trust needs to go both ways. I'll leave you ladies to discuss." He gestured at the door. "By which I mean, you'll leave."</p>
<p>They walked in silence for a few minutes, both of them apparently agreeing that the farther they were from Pensak's office before they started speaking, the better.</p>
<p>"You do trust him, right?" Udo finally asked, when the coast was thoroughly clear.</p>
<p>"I think he's very competent," Ibanez equivocated. "Very good at his job."</p>
<p>"Was that a yes?"</p>
<p>Ibanez looked up at her pityingly. "Consider what his job <em>is.</em> It's a hearty, congratulatory <em>no.</em>"</p>
<div class="generic">
<p>Perhaps it was something in his expression, or the way he moved when he stood up, but this time Dougall Deering looked up and said "Wait."</p>
<p>Pensak waited.</p>
<p>It wasn't clear if the other man knew what to do with the momentary reprieve, now that he had it. He blinked furiously. He said, "Are you about to kill me?"</p>
<p>Pensak nodded.</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>"Because that's my job." Given there was no reason to hide anything now, he unbuttoned his service weapon and removed it from its holster.</p>
<p>Deering began to babble. "I was only trying to do <em>my</em> job! That's it! You can't fault me for that!"</p>
<p>"I'm not faulting you for anything." Pensak checked the slide, the safety, the action on the trigger. He flicked the safety off. "This isn't personal."</p>
<p>"What is it, then?!"</p>
<p>"It's <em>duty.</em> It's you and me contributing to the safety of the entire world."</p>
<p>Unexpectedly, Deering started laughing. It was high and manic, but there was still some humour in it. "I've wasted so much time on that already. Now it's wasting <em>me.</em> Figures."</p>
<p>Pensak hesitated. "What do you mean by that?"</p>
<p>The other man's eyes were wild. He couldn't make eye contact for long. His attention kept flicking from Pensak, to the gun, to the door. "There's something very bad coming. Something I can help you with. Help all of you. I've been working on it for <em>years.</em> I've given everything I've got to it. I thought I could take a break. Do something for me. For… for <em>him.</em>"</p>
<p>"Who's 'him'?"</p>
<p>Deering looked down. "Doesn't matter. Obviously it doesn't work. That's why you're going to kill me."</p>
<p>Pensak glanced at the time. He still had plausible deniability. These encounters weren't on the record. "What is? What's my reason, according to you?"</p>
<p>The doomed scientist fiddled with his shirt buttons. He was sweating. It was comical. "I messed with the timeline. That's what the call was. It broke causality. Now the time cops want me dead."</p>
<p>Pensak laughed, and Deering started so hard that his chair scraped gratingly on the floor tiles. "The time cops! That part's right. What do you mean by 'the call' though?"</p>
<p>Deering squinted at him. There were tears in his eyes, and this action pushed them out to run down his reddening cheeks. "You don't know? They didn't tell you?"</p>
<p>Pensak shook his head.</p>
<p>Deering took a deep breath, and almost smiled. "Then I guess I shouldn't either."</p>
<p>"Not even for another second of life?"</p>
<p>The other man closed his eyes entirely. "It's like you said. A matter of duty."</p>
<p>Pensak shrugged.</p>
<p>He didn't even bother to stand and walk behind Deering's back. He just raised his hand as the sobbing began in earnest, and bored a hole straight through the brain pan.</p>
<p>Duty, he had decided, was a little bit overrated.</p>
</div>
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<h2 id="toc8"><span>14 September</span></h2>
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<p>Harry didn't read the entire article in front of him, but he definitely read the abstract, and made a show of spending a few seconds on each page. Wettle's chest swelled with pride, as far as there was room for it to swell further.</p>
<p>"I didn't know you still published," the archivist said finally, setting the journal down on the counter. "I didn't know you <em>ever</em> published. Do replication studies usually get published?"</p>
<p>"Of course they do," Wettle snorted. "You're uninformed. Because your wishy-washy humanities are irreplicable." He often felt he had the upper hand when they were standing in his lab. Harry probably agreed, which was why they usually met in his office instead.</p>
<p>"I also didn't know you could pronounce words like that," Harry smiled. "You're really escalating in my estimations today, Willie." To Wettle's surprise, he picked the journal up again and flipped to the article again. "This is interesting stuff. Of course, a solid ninety-percent of the conclusions were reached by people who aren't you…"</p>
<p>"I was present for the conversations," Wettle protested. "You're all under a permanent release for Foundation publication, and this stuff falls under my field. Besides, I'd think you'd be grateful. Getting all of this down on paper, and working through the meaning."</p>
<p>Harry arched a brow at him. "I'm not sure the others would have chosen <em>you</em> as the primary interpreter of that meaning. No offence."</p>
<p>"How is that no offence?"</p>
<p>That apparently didn't merit a response, because Harry kept talking as though Wettle had never interrupted. "But this looks alright, tentatively. I'm sure I'll have notes when I read it in full."</p>
<p>Wettle sighed. "It's already published, Harry. It's not going to <em>change.</em>"</p>
<p>"Maybe I'll get them to issue a retraction."</p>
<p>"Fuck off."</p>
<p>Harry flipped the little booklet over, examining the cover. "What journal is this, anyway? I've never seen it before."</p>
<p>"The only one we have."</p>
<p>"<em>Journal of Replication Tests and Studies.</em>" He looked at Wettle, a look Wettle didn't like on his face. The one that meant something was about to occur to him. "Replication Tests?"</p>
<p>"Computer shit," Wettle sighed. "They horned in. I think they ought to get their own—"</p>
<p>"Wait." Harry was grinning now. Wettle hated it when he grinned. "<em>Journal of Replication Tests and Studies.</em> JORTS?"</p>
<p>"Anyway." Wettle took the journal out of Harry's hands, and stuck it in the nearest drawer.</p>
<p>"JORTS, Willie? Seriously?" Harry was obviously seconds from breaking down. "Oh my god, you named this, didn't you."</p>
<p>Wettle hated to get on his dignity in his own lab. The tables were bolted down, it shouldn't have been possible to turn them. "We've got the Foundation's largest replication labs. Of course I got to name it."</p>
<p>"And you didn't think to run the name past anyone else?"</p>
<p>"Well, of course not. Then <em>they'd</em> probably get to name it."</p>
<p>"Good call." Harry nodded sagely. "It'd really suck if the thing ended up being called something fucking stupid."</p>
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<h2 id="toc9"><span>15 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>They met in Ibanez's office in AAF-A this time. There really was no neutral space between S&C and P&S. That was probably indicative of a wider organizational issue, Udo realized, but neither Pensak nor Ibanez were likely to appreciate her bringing it up at this juncture.</p>
<p>"We've decided to come clean," Del told him. She was sitting behind her desk, and Udo was standing behind her. Neither of them had McInnis' levelling instinct.</p>
<p>"That's a lie," Pensak observed from the door he was leaning on, "but go on."</p>
<p>"Well," Del said, "obviously we're not going to tell you <em>everything</em> we know about <em>everything.</em> But Zlatá? I'm an open book on that subject. Here's what I know: he was a <em>giftschreiber.</em>"</p>
<p>"I don't agree with that," Udo murmured.</p>
<p>Pensak ignored her. "Where is this coming from?"</p>
<p>"Another <em>giftschreiber.</em>" Del was also ignoring her. <em>So much for a unified front.</em> "They told Lillian."</p>
<p>"And she believed him? Her? Whoever this was?"</p>
<p>"Him," Udo interrupted, more forcefully. "And yes, she did. I don't know why. I don't believe it's true." She gripped the back of Del's chair. "Adrijan Zlatá was one of my mentors."</p>
<p>Del waved dismissively over her shoulder. "Oh, you're just being nice because he's dead. He was an absentee academic landlord. He was barely even <em>awake</em> most of the time. You don't owe him anything. Why would you think he's untouchable?"</p>
<p>"This just doesn't seem like him," she responded. "He's a thaumaturge, not a cryptomancer. Why would he be involved with the word poisoners?"</p>
<p>"It does present a motive for his murder, though," said Del.</p>
<p>Pensak visibly wasn't following, until suddenly he was. "It does? One of our own people, you mean? Because of the Forgotten War? Maybe a covert op?"</p>
<p>They didn't talk about the Forgotten War, the <em>giftschreibers</em>' long dormant conflict with Site-43, very often. Which was appropriate enough, given the name.</p>
<p>"No," Del said emphatically. "The <em>giftschreiber</em> are split. There's a schism. They're fighting each other at the same time as they're fighting us. Whatever faction he was on, the other faction probably had him killed. Fucked up our computers, maybe drugged him so he'd be stupid, wander into the lightshow, looks as natural as a murder can at a Foundation facility."</p>
<p>Pensak was nodding. "This is all new information, which irritates me, but it does kind of make sense."</p>
<p>"What do you mean?" Udo asked.</p>
<p>"Zlatá was at Area-21 training recruits. They've had bad <em>gift</em> problems for a while now. You guys know something about that."</p>
<p>Del turned her chair a little to smile up at Udo. "Yeah, the <em>wunderkind</em> here fixed it last time."</p>
<p>Udo smiled back down at her. This was more like it. "You shot a lot of people."</p>
<p>"Hell yeah I did!" Del reached out for a high-five, and Udo obliged her. "We're a good team."</p>
<p>Pensak did not look impressed, but he did look intrigued. "It's possible Zlatá was converting people to the cult. We're going to have to do a joint investigation with 21 to get to the root of it."</p>
<p>Udo frowned. She still had reservations she was having trouble properly expressing. "This is moving too quickly."</p>
<p>"Someone was murdered at my Site," Pensak reminded her. "This moves as quickly as possible until it reaches a conclusion. Right?"</p>
<p>"Right," Del agreed. "So the question is, what was Zlatá working on here?"</p>
<p>"That's not the question at all," said Udo.</p>
<p>"No?"</p>
<p>"No. The question is <em>how</em> was Zlatá able to work on <em>anything</em> here, if he's a <em>giftschreiber</em> like you say. Only the <em>geistschreiber</em> can make heads or tails of Site-43. The rest of them can't focus on us for more than a few seconds at a time — Chief Pensak just mentioned the Forgotten War, remember — and they immediately forget everything after. He worked here for <em>years.</em> If anything, this proves that he's not what you think he is."</p>
<p>"Or," Pensak mused, "it proves that he's a <em>geistschreiber.</em>"</p>
<p>And he stumbled forward as the door suddenly opened.</p>
<p>"Hey there." Lillian breezed past him. He braced himself against Del's empty bookcase, and glared at her.</p>
<p>"This is a closed meeting," he fairly snarled.</p>
<p>She pointed at the open door. "No it isn't. Look." She walked to the desk, standing between him and them. "You guys talking about Zlatá?"</p>
<p>"Yeah." Del looked amused. She'd always enjoyed seeing Pensak put out, even back when they'd mostly seen eye-to-eye. There was a little bit of Wettle in him, that made you want to see him get taken down a peg occasionally. "You have something to add?"</p>
<p>"I didn't tell you," Lillian said, "because I was still chewing it over, but the guy I met? At Site-06? He told me Bernie was working with the <em>giftschreiber,</em> too."</p>
<p>Udo frowned. "That makes less than no sense."</p>
<p>"Does it?" Del asked. "I mean, he's a Victim now. Basically <em>giftie</em> central."</p>
<p>"But that was after he died," said Udo. "There's never been any indication that he was working for the enemy. Any of the enemies. He trained Lillian."</p>
<p>"Perhaps that's now suspect, too," Pensak suggested from the vicinity of Lillian's back.</p>
<p>"I knew you'd say that," she said over her shoulder, "which is why I had to do some extra chewing. Self-preservation, and all that."</p>
<p>"Strictly against regulations," he murmured.</p>
<p>"You always do everything the regs say?" He smirked, and she looked back at Del. "Yeah, that's what I thought. But listen. What does it mean for a chaos cult to have a civil war? How are they that coherent? They're anarchists. They blow shit up with words. They're already dissolute. What cause could divide them on ideological lines like this, so that there's two different kinds of cult within what used to be one coherent body?"</p>
<p>"The cycle," Udo said immediately.</p>
<p>Del stiffened. "The cycle? Oh, for fuck's sake."</p>
<p>Pensak walked over to stand beside Lillian. "What are you talking about?"</p>
<p>Lillian put on her best lecturing voice, which was of course extremely condescending and exasperated. "The <em>giftschreiber</em> believe there's a cycle of order and chaos that humanity runs through every era. There used to be an order cult, but they've been dead and gone for centuries. The chaos cult is ascendant. But the thing is, when they ascend, they're supposed to end the world and then somehow move on to the next one."</p>
<p>"The next one," Pensak repeated.</p>
<p>"We don't know, so don't ask. But for that to work, I'm pretty sure they need the world healed. They need their boss back. The thing that gave them all their powers. The thing all the papers that didn't get redacted by the Breach seem to be calling the 'Uncontained'."</p>
<p>"The thing that's been wiped from existence so cleanly," Udo added, "we can only talk about it in terms we ourselves created."</p>
<p>Del was staring at her blotter. "So you think… they're stalling? Half of them are trying to push back against the chaos, to keep the world stable, while the others are just trying to get it over with and take their chances?"</p>
<p>Lillian's smile was unpleasant. "Kind of reminds you of the rest of us versus Noè, doesn't it?"</p>
<p>"That's not fair," Del snapped, then looked embarrassed to have snapped it.</p>
<p>Udo put a hand on her shoulder. "You've said worse."</p>
<p>"Yeah, but that's me."</p>
<p>"So," Pensak said, "we're now suggesting that operatives from two opposing cults have been working at Site-43, both of them for a really long time, and we only found out about this when they died. That… introduces some new avenues of investigation."</p>
<p>"Like what?" Udo asked.</p>
<p>Del answered. "Like if there were two of them here, are there more? More like them, or people they trained to <em>be</em> like them?"</p>
<p>Pensak was trying to speak, but Lillian beat him to it. "Like I said, I gave this one some thought. Nothing Bernie taught me was compulsive. He didn't <em>force</em> me to do anything. I'm not one of them, and I'm not a Manchurian Candidate or anything. I don't think they were trying to recruit, here. I think they were using this place as a base of operations for setting the world stage."</p>
<p>The security chief finally got a word in edgewise "You're saying you think Del Olmo was in an enemy cult <em>and</em> a friend to the Foundation? How does that even work?"</p>
<p>She shrugged. "His mission was classified. To me, that suggests double agent. Maybe Zlatá was one too. Maybe we've been sitting on a spy network, working against the crypto cults, this entire time."</p>
<p>"Run by who, though?" Del asked.</p>
<p>Nobody leapt to answer, though all four of them visibly strained to be the first to have one.</p>
<p>Pensak, to everyone's surprise, won the contest. "Who else has died in a high-profile way connected to the Breach?"</p>
<p>Udo put a new question on the file they'd prepared for Dougall, then locked it back up in the safe.</p>
<p>The questions outnumbered the answers by a ratio of half a dozen to zero.</p>
<p>Perhaps they'd see next September.</p>
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<h2 id="toc10"><span>19 September</span></h2>
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<p>Phil had been going about his work for maybe ten minutes before he suddenly realized where he was, turned to the window, and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, didn't see you there." The smile immediately melted as he realized what he'd said. "Was that insensitive? That was probably…"</p>
<p>"She didn't notice you either," Doug growled from the mirror opposite the ADDC window.</p>
<p>"Yeah." Phil nodded to himself. "Yeah, that was insensitive. Sorry."</p>
<p>Reynders was smiling. It was a sad smile, but he thought hers always were. "Two apologies in a row. That's almost one 'hello'." She put one hand on the glass, on her side.</p>
<p>He'd seen this done before, and knew to mirror the gesture. "Hello," he said. "I'll be out of your hair soon."</p>
<p>"You were never in my hair. My hair doesn't tangle." She tugged at her bangs, to demonstrate. "I tried to tangle it, once. Used a screwdriver to put it into curls. They lasted just over an hour."</p>
<p>"Well, your hair looks very nice anyway. Very retro." He blinked. "I did it again. I know. I <em>know.</em> Shut up." Doug wasn't even saying anything, just groaning in condemnation.</p>
<p>Reynders didn't seem bothered to be out of the loop on the other conversation. Probably she was used to it. <em>Don't say that out loud.</em></p>
<p>"I'll take the compliment in the spirit in which it was intended," she smiled. "Haven't seen you around here lately."</p>
<p>"Yeah, they don't like sending me on this route. Worried Doug will pop onto the glass." Phil gestured at the mirror, unnecessarily. "I keep telling them he won't, but…"</p>
<p>"I wonder what would happen if he did," she mused.</p>
<p>He winced. He didn't like to think about it. "Nobody knows. He'll jump onto glass that people are looking through, but never in their line of sight. If they look in his direction, he pops off somewhere else. And if you try to record, he'll never show up at all. Point a video camera at your side of the glass, and… well. Uh."</p>
<p>"Yes, I don't have access to a video camera, I'm afraid. Everything on this side of the glass is from 1942." She smirked. "Don't say you're sorry."</p>
<p>"S—… yeah. Yeah. It's too bad, though. S—… Ugh." He put both palms to his forehead, as though he could squeeze the stupid out if he pressed hard enough.</p>
<p>"What's too bad? You can just say it. I've heard it all."</p>
<p>He tried to look sympathetic. Judging by his reflection, he only looked constipated. "You ought to be able to come out here and see everything. See how it's all changed. You changed so much of it."</p>
<p>Her eyebrows went up. "Is that so?"</p>
<p>"For sure. Everyone talks about you all the time. All the stuff you invented. The things you figured out. You're a legend out here."</p>
<p>The words obviously registered, though it was hard to tell what effect they'd had. She always looked politely interested, probably because that kept people coming back.</p>
<p>Doug spoke at the same time she did. He said: "Not everyone is as selfish and mercenary as you, Philip." She said: "That's nice. I'd trade it, though."</p>
<p>It took him a second to disentangle the two statements. What would she trade? She'd trade being a legend. Okay. "For?"</p>
<p>"For being a <em>person</em> out there." She gestured at the corridor, then retracted the gesture. "No, actually, that isn't true. I wouldn't trade it."</p>
<p>"No?"</p>
<p>"No." Her cheeks stretched out in an expression that was something like satisfaction, though qualified. "I know I've helped people. I've done things that mattered."</p>
<p>"That must be nice," he mused.</p>
<p>"Mopping a floor must be nice, too."</p>
<p>He laughed. "You think?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. A nice, long corridor. There isn't enough room in here for me to get a good pace on. My legs don't really need stretching, but my brain thinks they do." She hopped up and down on the balls of her feet. She looked very small behind that massive window, though it probably looked a lot less massive to her. "You know?"</p>
<p>"I guess," he said. He looked down the handle of his mop at the bucket of water, which was already too filmy for Doug to appear in it. "I'm stuck down here so often, I keep thinking how nice it would be to go for a jog topside."</p>
<p>"So, why don't you?"</p>
<p>He frowned at the bubbles. "I dunno."</p>
<p>"Are you allowed?"</p>
<p>He looked up sharply. "Well, of course I'm <em>allowed.</em> Why wouldn't I be allowed?"</p>
<p>She could tell the mirror monster was talking by the way the gash across its jaw was vibrating.</p>
<p>"It doesn't work that way, <em>Doug.</em>" Phil said the name like it was a curse. "I can go whenever I want. I'm not a <em>prisoner.</em>"</p>
<p>And then he looked at her, and his mouth became a comical 'o' of horror.</p>
<p>She forced another smile. "Don't say you're sorry."</p>
<p>"I am, though." He hung his head, and she noticed his hairline was slowly receding. "I keep putting my foot in my mouth."</p>
<p>"We've both got our problems." She tapped at the glass, and when he looked up again, she pointed at the mirror behind him. "You ever think about his?"</p>
<p>"His…?" Phil looked at the mirror, then back at her. "His problems?" He slumped again. "Oh, you mean <em>me.</em>"</p>
<p>She laughed. "No. Well, sort of. He has to follow you around, day by day. Trapped in the mirror. How do you think that feels?"</p>
<p>"I kinda don't care?" He said the words like he was trying them out. "I don't know that he <em>has</em> to do it. I think he just wants to."</p>
<p>"What has he said to make you think that?"</p>
<p>He frowned. "He hasn't <em>said</em> anything. But he never stops, and he never stops talking in my ear. Why would he stay there, if it wasn't what he wanted? Oh."</p>
<p>She didn't tell him not to apologize, and he didn't, but she almost felt like both of them should have. He could stop with the <em>faux pas</em> any time now.</p>
<p>But as always, she tried to see things from his perspective.</p>
<p>"I think it's a different thing," Phil said. "You're working on stuff. You're helping people. He…"</p>
<p>She shrugged. "Sure."</p>
<p>"It's different."</p>
<p>"Of course."</p>
<p>He suddenly smiled. "When you get out, I promise you can mop this corridor for me."</p>
<p>She chuckled. As far as he knew, it wasn't forced. "Something to look forward to."</p>
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<h2 id="toc11"><span>23 September</span></h2>
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<hr/>
<p>They were her extended social circle, and they didn't really overlap with the main one, so she didn't see them half as often. Except for Stacey, of course, but that was different. She still felt guilty, especially because she was only calling on them now because she needed them.</p>
<p>But she did need them, so.</p>
<p>"So," she said, standing behind one of the couches in the AO lounge and clutching the back as she'd seen Harry do at his A&R meetings, "I have a weird and unpleasant thing I need to talk with you guys about."</p>
<p>"Nobody ever calls me in for anything fun," Imrich said. It wasn't a complaint, just a statement of fact.</p>
<p>"You really haven't made that your brand," Rozálie smiled at him. They were sitting on either end of a couch opposite the one Udo was using as a podium.</p>
<p>Her girlfriend was sitting between them. "I'm sure we're all happy to help," Stacey smiled at her. "What's this about?"</p>
<p>She took a deep breath. "It's about Dougall." In descending order from Stacey to Roz to Imrich, they reacted with visible dismay. "You were probably expecting it to be about Adrijan. And it is. Sort of. I want to talk to you guys about the stuff that happened in 2002, maybe a few years leading up to it as well. What Dougall was working on. What he worked on with us."</p>
<p>Stacey looked more conflicted than Udo had ever seen her. She wasn't usually gripped by complex emotions. "I… don't know that I can really talk about that. Can I?"</p>
<p>"I'm working with Del, and Chief Pensak," Udo reassured her. "We've got the Director's authority. You can check on that, if you want."</p>
<p>Stacey shook her head, composure at least partially regained already. It took a lot to fluster her long-term. They'd certainly experimented with that a lot over the past few months… "No, of course I trust you."</p>
<p>Imrich had his tablet out already. "I'm checking on it."</p>
<p>"Of course you are," Roz sighed.</p>
<p>Udo hadn't been bluffing. "There should be notifications on your SCiPnet account."</p>
<p>"But why would you want to talk about Dougall," Stacey asked, her tone still more than little vulnerable, "all these years later?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," Imrich said flatly. "Why."</p>
<p>Stacey looked at him in confusion. "Imrich?"</p>
<p>He scrolled on his tablet, and didn't make eye contact. "Nothing."</p>
<p>"Is it because he died in the Breach, too?" Roz asked.</p>
<p>"He died <em>during</em> the Breach," Udo clarified. "I'm not sure that's the same thing."</p>
<p>Stacey's blonde brows were knitted tight now. "I never heard anything about there being any doubt."</p>
<p>Here came the guilt again. "We thought there might have been a conspiracy. We kept it to a small group. Very small."</p>
<p>Her girlfriend's face closed up. "I see."</p>
<p>"Stace…" Udo sighed. "It's complicated. You just have to trust me. We didn't want to tell anyone who didn't need to know, because it might be dangerous information."</p>
<p>Stacey's expression said it all. <em>Heard that before.</em></p>
<p>"And now you're ready to endanger us all," Roz concluded.</p>
<p>"On Directorial authority!" Imrich announced, setting his tablet back on the side table. "Apparently. So, where do we start. What do you want to know, that you think we can help with?"</p>
<p>"Stacey first," Udo pointed. "You were Dougall's research partner. I never heard anything about what you guys were researching. What can you tell me?"</p>
<p>"Stable ontology." She was speaking very matter-of-factly now, her lips pressed thin.</p>
<p>Roz frowned at her. "What?"</p>
<p>"We were working on ways to shore up reality," Stacey explained, "and the connections between real things. It was the intersection of both of our Talents."</p>
<p>Imrich was frowning too. "Dr. Deering had a Talent? I never knew that."</p>
<p>"It was classified," Stacey told him. "It's still classified. I don't think I'm allowed to talk about <em>that,</em> even now."</p>
<p>"I have my suspicions," said Udo.</p>
<p>Stacey shot her a warning look. "I'd appreciate if you'd leave them at that, for now."</p>
<p>"Fine. What about <em>your</em> Talent?" It had somehow never come up.</p>
<p>"I…" Stacey actually gulped. "I would rather not talk about that, either."</p>
<p>"This is a very informative discussion," said Imrich.</p>
<p>Udo clutched the cushions tighter. They were vinyl, and they creaked, so the other three looked at her and waited. <em>Maybe there really is something to this couch podium stuff.</em> "What can you easily tell me about, Stace? Let's start with that."</p>
<p>"Okay." Stacey clasped her hands in her lap, and examined them as she spoke. "Dougall was concerned that we were seeing fluctuations in the stability of reality, both local and global. He assumed it was connected to, <em>ow.</em>" She winced, closing her left eye tight. "Owww."</p>
<p>Udo raised a hand. "It's okay. I know what just happened. You hit a mental block, and the memory isn't there."</p>
<p>"Yeah." Stacey had opened her eye again, but the rest of her face was still screwed up in irritation. It was very cute. "What the <em>heck.</em>"</p>
<p>"Don't worry about it," said Udo. "I know what it was connected to. There's a wider stability problem going on because of stuff connected to the Breach."</p>
<p>"But the Breach hadn't happened yet," Roz protested. "When Dr. Deering died, I mean."</p>
<p>"The Breach was the first really overt manifestation of a wider problem we're still figuring out," said Udo. "What I don't understand right now is how Dougall fit into it. But you're saying he… oh. Oh, <em>hmm.</em>"</p>
<p>"What?" Roz prompted.</p>
<p>"Were either Bernabé del Olmo or Adrijan Zlatá involved in this project?" Udo asked.</p>
<p>Stacey blinked. "Not that I know of."</p>
<p>"<em>I</em> know of," said Imrich.</p>
<p>Udo gestured at him. "Yeah?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. I was doing a thing with Zlatá on the side, thought it might end up as a chapter for my dissertation. His idea. We were trying to find a way of tracking mobile reality disruptors."</p>
<p>Roz regarded him with curiosity. "Mobile…"</p>
<p>"Not exactly reality benders, but a similar idea. Some people, particularly time travellers and people from alternate universes, but also a lot of other anomalous individuals native to this timeline, have a problematic relationship with the tapestry of reality. It unravels around them. They don't do it intentionally, they just represent different rulesets colliding with ours, with problematic results. Basically the opposite of a Scranton Reality Anchor, but as a person."</p>
<p>"And you thought you could track those sorts of people?" Udo asked.</p>
<p>"Obviously my project as a whole was about finding the most useful outlets for my Talent," he said in his customary arrogant drawl, "within the Foundation's containment project. Given the right criteria and a <em>lot</em> of complex math, I was pretty sure I could do what he was asking for."</p>
<p>Stacey looked thoughtful. "Adrijan asked for this specifically?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. The whole thing was his idea." He blinked. "So now it sounds like he was trying to find a way to hunt down some of the weirder folks involved in this whole debacle. <em>Giftschreiber</em> maybe. <em>Geistschreiber</em> almost definitely."</p>
<p>"This would have been useful information to have earlier," Udo noted. "Why wasn't it on record?"</p>
<p>"Because as soon as I finished my work, the Department of Containment showed up and declared the information privileged and super-secret, and redacted that entire chapter of my thesis. I still ended up getting credit, but only Zlatá ever knew what was in there." He chewed his inner cheek. "There's another thing, though."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"He was adamant that I never attempt to use this aspect of my Talent at Site-43."</p>
<p>Stacey's grimace had eased to a frown. "I wonder why that would have been."</p>
<p>"I'm surprised you didn't do it anyway," Roz said, "and find out."</p>
<p>He smirked at her. "I never do what I'm told not to do. I just do what I <em>haven't</em> been told not to do, instead. Arrives at the same result."</p>
<p>"What result?" Udo asked. "What did you do?"</p>
<p>"Bog-standard path-plotting. I figured out where Zlatá was taking all my data, because I knew he had to be working on something big." He paused, obviously for dramatic emphasis. "He was taking it to Dougall Deering."</p>
<p>"Of course he was," Udo sighed.</p>
<p>Stacey looked back and forth between them. "I don't understand. Is Dougall implicated in all of this somehow?"</p>
<p>"Somehow," Udo agreed. "I just don't know the specifics. Roz, is there anything you can tell me about Dougall that seems strange? At the time, in retrospect, whatever?"</p>
<p>"Just one thing," her friend said.</p>
<p>"Yeah?"</p>
<p>"His aura was wrong."</p>
<p>Imrich rolled his eyes. "Oh boy."</p>
<p>Stacey gave him a stern look. "Dr. Astrauskas' auramancy has been proven accurate in dozens of test cases, Imrich. Her dissertation was just as solid as yours."</p>
<p>"Uh huh."</p>
<p>"Wrong how, Roz?" Udo pressed. "His aura?"</p>
<p>"I don't know how. I just know it was wrong." The wiry little woman's eyes rolled back as she called up the memory. "I never thought about it too hard at the time, because he was a thaumaturge — supposedly — and I figured it must be related to that. But at this point I've isolated the relevant elements of a person's aura, the Thaumic Channels and Thaumic Radii, and that wasn't what I saw on him. I don't remember what it was. If I'd looked closer, I might have figured it out. I haven't thought about it in years. There was something familiar…"</p>
<p>"Keep thinking about it," Udo encouraged her. "This is all good information. We might crack this yet."</p>
<p>"But to what end?" Stacey asked, her voice very thin and brittle. "Dougall will still be dead."</p>
<p>"That project you guys were working on is probably more important than ever," Udo told her. "If we can figure out what he wasn't telling any of us, and put it to use, we might be able to keep everyone else from dying."</p>
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<h2 id="toc12"><span>30 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Ngo chose to stand. It somehow felt better betraying confidences upright, than sitting down.</p>
<p>"So." Anoki looked… bored? Was that boredom? "What do you have to report this year?"</p>
<p>She looked down at her clipboard. "They're all working on personal projects. Blank has his head in the archives, as always, and nothing he's looking at is particularly strange. All within the established CLIO guidelines. Ibanez and Okorie are spending a lot of time together, but they've been closer than most of the group, so that isn't particularly noteworthy. Okorie's been talking to a lot of her colleagues lately—"</p>
<p>"Which ones?" he interrupted.</p>
<p>"Her supervisor, Dr. Laiken, and two of her cohort. Astrauskas and Sýkora."</p>
<p>"Any threat there?"</p>
<p>"They're all rock solid. All patients of mine except Laiken, and their evals show firm dedication to our ideals. Laiken is obviously your patient, as a Section Chair."</p>
<p>"Obviously." If she'd left the implication hanging that he might reveal his opinion of Laiken's solidity, he did not take it up. "Any idea what they might be working on?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Are you sure you're looking?"</p>
<p>"Yes. I'm also firmly dedicated to our ideals. Presumably my evals show that." There was a hard edge in her voice, and she made no effort to soften it.</p>
<p>"I'll leave you guessing. What about Wettle?"</p>
<p>"What about him? He's working on replication studies. A lot of them. Probably preparing a paper nobody will read, and only the people he cites will cite him." Even though it was Wettle, and it was true, it still felt cruel to say out loud. "Nothing relevant, a wide field of study. Probably hoping to cherry-pick something good for promotion." She hated talking about her patients like this, even if the unkind things she was saying were unrelated to their blissfully infrequent sessions.</p>
<p>"Nascimbeni?"</p>
<p>She sighed. "I'm still worried about him. He shouldn't be in his position. He's a danger to everyone, but the Director… I shouldn't be saying this."</p>
<p>"Of course you should." Anoki smiled, but there was nothing behind it. "I asked you to speak candidly. I value your insight."</p>
<p>She forced herself to continue. <em>Sure. You're the one forcing this. Uh huh.</em> "The Director is convinced that the benefits of keeping him here outweigh the dangers. He trusts Chief Nascimbeni. I trust the Director, so I should trust him, too."</p>
<p>"That doesn't necessarily follow, but I appreciate how you got there. And the Director himself?"</p>
<p>She frowned. "I was under the impression I was only investigating Director McInnis as his actions relate to Sampi-5243 as a whole."</p>
<p>"We can frame it that way, if it makes you feel more comfortable. What have you learned?"</p>
<p>She hadn't prepared notes on this, so she spoke from the heart instead. Perhaps she should have been doing that all along. "He's a model leader. He dedicates all of his time to the cause."</p>
<p>"Which cause?" Anoki asked. "Ours, or theirs?"</p>
<p>"I don't see a difference, sir."</p>
<p>"Hmm." He narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps you haven't been looking as closely as you ought, after all."</p>
<p>Forsythe pulled off the leads — none too gently, and Nascimbeni yelped — and indicated with a grunt that he should put his shirt back on. "That about does it."</p>
<p>"Give it to me straight," he said as he fluffed his hair back out.</p>
<p>"Nothing to give." Forsythe scribbled something on her tablet, and was halfway to the door. "You're healthy as a horse, and mentally competent."</p>
<p>"For a horse, maybe. I have it on good authority they're the stupidest creatures known to man."</p>
<p>She stopped just short of the hall, and looked back at him with a rueful look. "That authority went nuts and pulled out his own eyeball, so I don't know that I'd call him <em>good.</em>" She nodded, for punctuation more than any particular affirmation. "Okay, well. See you again next month."</p>
<p>He made no move to get off the exam bench.</p>
<p>"There a problem?"</p>
<p>"I'm not fit to perform my duties."</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes. "Sure you are."</p>
<p>"I'm not. I'm… I just am <em>not.</em>" He looked down at his boots. "You need to declare me unfit."</p>
<p>"I'm aware of no such need."</p>
<p>"I'm serious." He recited his memorized speech into the floor tiles. "I'm a danger to everyone here. I'm going to fuck up bigtime, and soon, if they don't take me out of circulation. Replace me. Anyone could do it. The place is practically all automated by now anyway."</p>
<p>"Automation you designed."</p>
<p>"To remove unnecessary human elements!" He looked up at her, not sure if he wanted it to look and sound like he was pleading or not. "Like me! I'm unnecessary. I'm a point of failure. I have failed before, on multiple occasions. I will fail again. And people will get hurt."</p>
<p>She shook her head. "I don't think that's true."</p>
<p>"I want to spend more time with my family. I want to help my granddaughter with her homework. I want to go fishing with my <em>son.</em>"</p>
<p>She snorted. "No, you don't. You want to mope around your bungalow until you die." He stared at her. "I'm not an idiot. 'Do no harm', right? Sending you out of here would be maximally harmful. You'd be dead within a year."</p>
<p>"You don't know that."</p>
<p>"I <em>do</em> know that. The work and those shots are all that's keeping you alive."</p>
<p>"So stop giving me the shots."</p>
<p>She glared at him. "You <em>know</em> I can't do that."</p>
<p>"What's in them?"</p>
<p>"I can't tell you."</p>
<p>"Do you know?"</p>
<p>"No!" With her hands on her hips, she looked like Del's taller, less dangerous sister.</p>
<p>"I do!" he said, and it came out almost as a mocking snarl.</p>
<p>"How?"</p>
<p>"I can't tell you," he half-sang mockingly.</p>
<p>She showed him the back of her labcoat. "See you next month, Chief."</p>
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<h2 id="toc13"><span>2 October</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>She'd thought about him from time to time over the years, but they hadn't kept in touch. The thing they had in common also came between them, had pushed them apart. So when she saw him approaching her window, Ilse assumed she was either hallucinating, or else another <em>geistschreiber</em> had infiltrated the Site.</p>
<p>But no.</p>
<p>There was no mistaking that smile. It was him, even under all the wrinkles and liver spots.</p>
<p>"Hello, Ilse," said Euler.</p>
<p>"Arik?" She almost couldn't believe it.</p>
<p>"Perhaps a little worse for wear," he smiled. His suit was too big for him. He was starting to resemble Falkirk, though only superficially.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry, I didn't… wow. <em>Wow.</em>" She shook her head, and her vision swam. She wiped her eyes with a sleeve. "It's been so long."</p>
<p>"Longer for you, I suspect." He knew better than to look on her with sympathy. Once she'd first seen respect on his face, had earned it, it had always persistently been there. "The blink of an eye for me."</p>
<p>"I wish I could experience time dilation. I would have dilated… oh. Probably most of the last ten years." She considered. "Maybe twenty. Maybe sixty?"</p>
<p>He placed a hand on the glass. Normally she had to initiate that particular gesture. "I have not been a very good friend to you."</p>
<p>She matched his palm and fingers, marvelling at the bulges of his knuckles. "Friendship isn't a responsibility. It's a gift. You give it when you get it. How have you been? I've heard a lot."</p>
<p>He deflected. "I would ask if it was all good, but I know better."</p>
<p>"I'd say it's been pretty good. You've been limiting the damage…"</p>
<p>He knew precisely what she meant. The Frontispiece. Their shared noöspheric perversion. "The damage we did, and the damage we enabled. Yes."</p>
<p>"We did it with good reason. But it was still wrong."</p>
<p>"And still right. Even today, I think."</p>
<p>She shook her head, just a little. "I don't know about that. But at the time, certainly."</p>
<p>He lowered his hand. She kept hers up. "You don't think we've come a long way since then?"</p>
<p>"Maybe my perspective is limited. I've got a very narrow window." She lifted her hand to tap the glass, then let it fall back to her side. "But it seems to me that we could have done a lot better than we have. I went in here during a world war. If I got out right now, I'd be in the middle of another one."</p>
<p>Euler nodded. "I wonder if they will class this as another Occult War. We're long overdue."</p>
<p>"I wonder if we'll be the good guys, or the bad guys."</p>
<p>His mouth bunched up beneath his nose. "The good, surely. The enemy seeks to destabilize everything we've built. And much of what we've built was for the good of mankind."</p>
<p>"Much," she agreed, "but not all."</p>
<p>"No, not all. But they build nothing. They contribute <em>nothing.</em>"</p>
<p>"What do we contribute? To society, I mean. Beyond just… allowing it to survive." It wasn't rhetorical. If he had an answer, she wanted to hear it.</p>
<p>"That's rather a lot." His eyes crinkled. "I was going to say 'Isn't that enough?' and then I realized I was just going through the motions, advocating for the devil."</p>
<p>"It's never good when you can associate your own cause with Satan," she said.</p>
<p>He still had some of the old fire, she was glad to see, even if it was presently burning him up. "It's a poor association. Satan was a rebel. Satan assaulted the established order. Satan was a largely sympathetic character."</p>
<p>"You're thinking <em>Paradise Lost.</em> I don't know that the Bible depicts him with quite the same verve."</p>
<p>He chuckled. "I forget sometimes that you have a literature degree."</p>
<p>"Yeah, somewhere in the back of my sheaf. I suppose Satan is more properly the Chaos Insurgency, right?"</p>
<p>"They do use one of his phrases as their motto."</p>
<p><em>Should intermittent vengeance arm again his red right hand to plague us?</em></p>
<p>"Pretty sure that was Belial, actually. An even worse role model." She shifted in place. "But let's get to the point directly. We've been apart too long to waste time like this. Are we the devil? Are we the aggressor? Or is this the same as the Panopticon Crisis, and we're merely ensuring that we survive, along with everyone else? I can't tell. I'm a slave to what other people allow me to see."</p>
<p>He still respected her enough to take the time to think through his response. "It's a difficult comparison to make. I think we are worse than we were, and I think the hour is later than it was. The circumstances more dire. We are over-correcting for a very bad situation. And that might be worsening it." His eyes unfocused, and she wondered what he was seeing as he looked through the glass, through her. "The things we did half a lifetime ago, in good faith, have led to countless deaths since then. They have weaponized… no. We gave them a weapon. It was used <em>as</em> a weapon. We attacked the psyche of mankind, and when we stepped away, the attacks were continued by others. I have no reason to imagine they'll ever stop."</p>
<p>"Maybe when there are no more enemies," she offered.</p>
<p>His smile was cold. "I remember the witch hunts, Ilse. There will always be more enemies. They will invent themselves, or we will invent them." And then the warmth crept back into him, and he raised his hand again. "I came here to console you. I understand you've been… under the weather."</p>
<p>She met him at the glass, as she always had. "It's all connected. Everything's connected. Everything but me." She gave him a bright smile to prevent a flood of consolation. "I have the benefit of long experience with long trends, and I can tell that this is all coming to a head. But my sense of the schedule is skewed. It might happen today. It might happen in ten years. Fifteen. Twenty. I don't know. But the drama won't go on forever."</p>
<p>"And how will it end, do you think?" This time it looked like was the one genuinely hoping she knew.</p>
<p>And she did, in a sense. "I think that depends on us."</p>
<p>He nodded, and then stood up a little straighter. "Then perhaps we ought to spend the intervening time on self-redefinition." He winked. "A simple task for two spring chickens such as ourselves."</p>
<p>It was eerie as all hell, standing here with the two of them. Euler knew he couldn't keep it off his face, but maybe all the folds and wrinkles would disguise the discomfiture.</p>
<p>"Hi!" Udo waved.</p>
<p>Euler glanced through the window. "Does she remind you of him?"</p>
<p>"I called her by his name, once," Ilse said.</p>
<p>"Oh." He pursed his lips. "She doesn't remind me of him <em>that</em> much. No moustache."</p>
<p>"It was a silly little moustache," Ilse smiled.</p>
<p>"I thought it looked distinguished."</p>
<p>"Well, my tastes are outdated. Hello, Udo."</p>
<p>"You're talking about my grandfather." There was no sign on her face that this was a sensitive topic. It might just as well have been academic.</p>
<p>Euler nodded. "Yes. I would like us to talk more about him, in fact."</p>
<p>"How well did you know him?" Ilse asked.</p>
<p>Udo shrugged. "Hardly at all. He died before I was born."</p>
<p>"But you've heard stories, surely," Euler pressed.</p>
<p>She looked grim. "Not from my dad. Not much, anyway. I don't think they were close. I remember dad saying he was closed off. Distant." She noticed what had to be the dismay in his eyes, and hurriedly tried to smooth it over. "Harry showed me everything there is in the archives about him. I know he was a remote reader. And I know he worked with the two of you on the Frontispiece."</p>
<p>"He made it possible," said Euler. "He and Ilse were the prime theoreticians. My function was primarily practical." Euler's Talent was the ability to break down and reshape matter.</p>
<p>Ilse made a small noise of disagreement. Euler marvelled that the mic had even picked it up. "Arik's being modest, as usual. But your grandfather was a genius, Udo, and a good man too. I was sorry to hear he had died."</p>
<p>She nodded. "What do you know about that?"</p>
<p>"He was shot to death by Elizabeth Crocker," said Euler.</p>
<p>Udo's orange eyes shot open. "What?"</p>
<p>"That was a bit abrupt," Ilse murmured.</p>
<p>"I didn't see any point in circling the topic," said Euler.</p>
<p>"Elizabeth Crocker," Udo repeated. "Really. That wasn't in any of the files I saw."</p>
<p>"Most things relating to the function of the Frontispiece and its creators," Euler explained, "carry a very high level of classification."</p>
<p>The thaumaturge looked stricken. "This would have been… useful information, earlier."</p>
<p>"Why's that?" Ilse asked.</p>
<p>"Because Elizabeth Crocker is still alive."</p>
<p>Euler felt like a weight had been added to his shoulders… no. No, it was more like he was only now acknowledging a weight which had already been there. "I had my suspicions. But you're certain?"</p>
<p>"Yes. She was active in the mid-nineties. She burned Del's village."</p>
<p>"Good lord," he breathed.</p>
<p>"And if the deadlines are anything to go by, she was still kicking by the early 2000s. Probably still kicking today. Del's spending a lot of energy trying to find her."</p>
<p>Ilse's voice was very small. "I'd ask what she plans to do when she finds the woman, but."</p>
<p>"Yeah," Udo agreed.</p>
<p>"It's curious," Euler mused.</p>
<p>"What is?"</p>
<p>"The three of us, standing here, discussing Elizabeth Crocker as an imminent threat. I've become old, and you've replaced Izaak, and Ilse is unchanging as ever."</p>
<p>"Feels like there's some grand gesture we could make," Ilse agreed.</p>
<p>"Except the last one proved almost more trouble than it was worth." Euler couldn't bring himself to insert any levity into the statement. It was true, and not very funny.</p>
<p>"Almost," Ilse agreed, "but not quite."</p>
<p>Udo was frowning. "What trouble has the Frontispiece caused?"</p>
<p>Euler answered first, as the one who had taken point on the problem when their fellowship had first dissolved. "It has allowed the Foundation to operate with impunity. That seemed vital when we were unable to operate at all, but decades later I cannot say that it has done much for the organization's internal integrity."</p>
<p>"If character is what you do in the shadows," Ilse added, "I don't like to read the Foundation's character too closely."</p>
<p>"But close reading might be necessary," Euler concluded. "From what I understand, we are engaged in a battle of ideologies. Not of our own volition; we have been dragged into it. Our enemy has made noble claims on their behalf: they are champions of liberty, of choice. We are jailors and thieves. But we are much more than that, and surely they are more than they appear as well. What secrets are they still hiding from us?"</p>
<p>Udo didn't hesitate to answer. "You should try talking to them."</p>
<p>Both Euler and Ilse responded, with one voice. "What?"</p>
<p>The thaumaturge was smiling grimly. "They're practically begging us to figure it out. It's like they've got a surprise birthday party planned for the entire human race, and the cake is laced with strychnine."</p>
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<h2 id="toc14"><span>3 October</span></h2>
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<p>Zlatá's funeral was poorly attended.</p>
<p>The Chairs and Chiefs all came, of course, and if you didn't know better that would look like a decent turnout on its own. Unfortunately, nobody at the funeral didn't know better. A few of the older and younger researchers from ApplOcc showed up, but most of the people who'd worked extensively with the old man were long gone. Udo had assumed that if speeches were needed, someone would contact her, so when nobody did, she didn't prepare anything; but on the day all there was was a generic eulogy from the Director and an exquisitely awkward open mic that not one single human being walked up to.</p>
<p>Udo hadn't had much affection for Zlatá. She'd had no reason not to like him, they had simply never been close. It was therefore mostly on principle that this lukewarm remembrance troubled her.</p>
<p>Nobody, she felt, should die before someone could say something meaningful about how they had lived.</p>
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<h2 id="toc15"><span>18 November</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Euler missed the conference call with Wheeler for the first time ever. It wasn't a serious problem; Lillian had spoken to him not long prior, and they'd chatted about the investigation into Del Olmo. The old man had seemed curiously detached; curious because Euler had mentored her mentor, many years before taking his place, and she would have thought he'd have needed to know the truth as desperately as she did.</p>
<p>Probably he was just tired. He was certainly getting up there.</p>
<p>Wheeler sounded tired, too, but by the end of the call she was much more upbeat. A little encouragement always went a long way, in their business.</p>
<p>Mind over matter, after all.</p>
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<h2 id="toc16"><span>24 December</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong>Monomoy National Wildlife Refuge: Massachusetts, United States of America</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Heat signatures carried a lot of information.</p>
<p>The first two of the twelve people visibly guarding the campsite were up in trees; Ibanez would later learn that they were wearing camouflage. They didn't have time to be upset that it didn't matter, at least not in this life. She discarded the sniper rifle at this point; she'd picked up the knack after the first deadline, when coincidentally she'd learned how to hit targets at long range with the Bremmelgun, but her first two victims were the only ones outside the perimeter fence, and she didn't fancy chancing the chain links. Ana Mukami could have, but that woman had been a wizard with her rifle.</p>
<p>The next two were just inside the gate, looking out. She closed the distance swiftly and silently, leaving little trace even in the snow. She'd learned some of this in Zevala, and some in field exercises conducted within the topside exclusion zone that had once been Ipperwash Park. The guards were heavily armoured, probably Insurgents, so she put a bullet between their eyes rather than merely stagger their centre mass.</p>
<p>There were five in the courtyard. One went down when her grenade took out the gate, and the other four caught some amount of the spread of shotgun pellets she sprayed into the breach.</p>
<p>Two more filed out of the cabin, and she emptied the rest of the pistol into them indiscriminately, having dropped the shotgun to let it hang by her hip. She then dropped the pistol to the ground, removed the cabin's window with her next shot, and noted the scream of agony with satisfaction before spinning to take out the thirteenth guard, who had been hiding beside the camp's running portable generator the entire time.</p>
<p>Heat signatures carried a lot of information, but there were ways to foil them, too. Ibanez never relied too heavily on any one source.</p>
<p>The <em>giftschreiber</em> in the cabin who had caught the brunt of the blast attempted to speak when Ibanez kicked the door in, so she painted the floor with his brains. That left the camp's fourteenth occupant, cowering in the corner as Ibanez had known she would be. She'd had a heat signature, too, because the kind of information they could carry did not intersect with the kind of information the <em>geistschreiber</em> could manipulate.</p>
<p>Ibanez pointed the shotgun at her prisoner. "Hello again, Imogen. Don't open your fucking mouth."</p>
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<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Nascimbeni didn't even notice Blank until his time at the party was almost over.</p>
<p>He was due at Gallo's in a few hours, as a Christmas surprise for his granddaughter, so he was preparing to leave while the evening was still young. It was only by chance that he saw the rumpled archivist against the wall, from across a cafeteria crowded with tipsy researchers. Harry had his sketchbook out, and he was sketching.</p>
<p>Against his best instincts, Nascimbeni sauntered over. "Merry Christmas!" He didn't have to shout to be heard, but he did need to raise his voice.</p>
<p>Harry nodded at him. "Merry Christmas." He cocked his head to one side, then turned a page in the notebook and began a new sketch.</p>
<p>"Are you drawing me?" Nascimbeni asked, amused.</p>
<p>"I'm drawing everybody."</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>Harry blinked. "Somebody's got to document it all."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni smiled under knitted brows. "You gonna have time to celebrate, though? Where're the others?"</p>
<p>Harry shrugged. "Around. Some of them." His brow furrowed. "I never could figure out how to draw that vest properly."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni was wearing his old vinyl J&M jacket. It was the closest he came to casual clothes. Harry had described it as being like how a <em>Star Trek</em> captain got to wear a unique uniform sometimes. He never needed much prompting to compare things to <em>Star Trek.</em></p>
<p>Nascimbeni looked back at the crowd. Some were pairing off. Some were clustered at the tables in little groups, eating and drinking and laughing or arguing. It was, he admitted, a scene he wouldn't mind committing to memory.</p>
<p>Still. "You hanging out with anyone tonight? After the party?"</p>
<p>Harry smiled at him. "Say 'hi' to Flora for me."</p>
<p>And he looked back down at his latest sketch, and did not look back up.</p>
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<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-55">Site-55</a>: Boston, Massachusetts, United States of America</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Tarrow looked down at the handcuffs on her hands, then up at the sterile walls of her containment cell, then back down again at the two of them. "How did you find me?"</p>
<p>"That's fun," said Ibanez.</p>
<p>Pensak played along. "What's fun?"</p>
<p>"She thinks she's interviewing us."</p>
<p>"That <em>is</em> fun." He turned his full attention to their detainee. "This isn't even an interview. It's an interrogation. You know all about words, right? Big wordsmith. You probably know that the difference between those two words hides a whole lot of dirty meaning. Lots of interesting possibilities."</p>
<p>Ibanez grinned.</p>
<p>"Is this the torture?" Tarrow asked, face expressionless. "It's started already?"</p>
<p>"It doesn't need to start at all," Ibanez told her. "It doesn't really work, you know? Pain just makes people do whatever it takes to stop the pain. You know we know you're full of shit, all you people are the absolute worst kind of insufferable, lying shitheels, so if we tortured you you'd just try to tell us what you think we already think. Then we'd have to try and figure out what truth you'd be hiding with those lies, and man, that is just everybody tying themselves up in knots to not communicate information and read between the lines and all that noise, and honestly I don't think any of us want to deal with <em>that.</em> So how about we trade information, whatever we're willing, and when we've used up all the angles of conversation, we go our separate ways?"</p>
<p>"Us back to 43," Pensak said, "and you back to Site-06."</p>
<p>"Oh, is there a Site-06 again? That's lovely." She slapped the steel table with the manacle chain. "I'm a bit confused about how both of you are the good cop. You want a minute to get the roles straight?"</p>
<p>"Imogen." Ibanez knew she had a piercing stare, and she tried to put it straight through both of Tarrow's eyes. "Did you kill Adrijan Zlatá?"</p>
<p>The point sank in, but not as far as Ibanez would have liked. "I don't think so. He's dead?"</p>
<p>"So, you do know who he is?" Pensak asked. "You're admitting that?"</p>
<p>Tarrow shrugged. "Sure. Boring old guy. Apparently a wizard. That's free information, and I thought we were supposed to be honest now, so."</p>
<p>Ibanez settled easily into the back-and-forth division of labour. "What did you mean by 'I don't think so'?"</p>
<p>"I do a lot of things, and they're not all my idea. It's a bit of a web of relationships, you know? What with the whole anarchy thing, it's mostly favours for favours for favours. Sometimes the results can be unexpected. But that's on brand, of course."</p>
<p>"Of course," Pensak blandly agreed. "So, you think it's possible the <em>giftschreiber</em> might have killed Dr. Zlatá?"</p>
<p>"Possible, but not likely."</p>
<p>"Why's that?" Ibanez asked.</p>
<p>"Because he <em>is</em> a <em>giftschreiber.</em>" She started to smile, then frowned as she saw how little their expressions had changed. "Oh, wow, you already knew that. I was hoping that was going to be my big revelation. Damn."</p>
<p>"You'll just have to pay your way to a lighted cell some other way." Ibanez stretched. She definitely needed more exercise like what she'd just had at the cabin. "Let's change tack. Where's Alis?"</p>
<p>"I don't know."</p>
<p>"Not keeping in touch?" Pensak sneered. "Trading postcards? Christmas and Easter?"</p>
<p>"She's dead to me." There was nothing in Tarrow's face or voice to suggest this was anything but the truth.</p>
<p>"That's new." Ibanez noted it down on her tablet. "Why's dead to you?"</p>
<p>"She's given up the cause." There was genuine anger in those light brown eyes now.</p>
<p>"Taking up the other side?" Pensak suggested.</p>
<p>"No. Just given up. She's blown all the projects we were working on together. I thought she was with you."</p>
<p>Ibanez nudged Pensak. "<em>Is</em> she with us?"</p>
<p>"Not that I've noticed. So, hopefully not." If Ibanez hadn't known him for so long, she might have missed the subtle twitch of his brow that suggested his thoughts were wandering. "Does that imply the existence of a <em>third</em> faction of <em>giftschreiber?</em>"</p>
<p>"I really hope it doesn't," she told him. "Two is already too many."</p>
<p>"She doesn't believe in anything," Tarrow spat. "She lost sight of the goal. Which is ridiculous, since we're nearly there. Most of the obstacles are out of the way."</p>
<p>"That's why you're willing to blab so freely," Ibanez observed. "You think it's a done deal."</p>
<p>The other woman smiled sweetly. It was a fair approximation, anyway. She was a well-trained actress. "What do you think?"</p>
<p>"I think you're using plain speech to hide the fact that you're still dissimulating," said Ibanez</p>
<p>"Big word."</p>
<p>"I also think you might be more forthcoming once I start bringing in all your brothers and sisters."</p>
<p>Tarrow coughed derisively. "You got lucky. It won't happen again."</p>
<p>Ibanez put both hands on the table, and leaned forward. She had to stand on the seat of her chair to accomplish this feat. "That's where you're wrong. There was no luck involved, and as soon as we're done here, I'm going back out into the field to collect a few more folks for my ghost harem. In fact…" She glanced at her erstwhile partner. "You up to continue this alone, Rog? I really can't stand to retread old ground."</p>
<p>Tarrow raised a hand. "Wait."</p>
<p>"Sure thing," Pensak nodded.</p>
<p>Ibanez gestured at the prisoner. "Don't get her started on the big escape plan thing, she'll talk your ear off."</p>
<p>"Wait!" The <em>geistschreiber</em> looked almost panicked now.</p>
<p>Ibanez waited. "What?"</p>
<p>The look of fear evaporated instantly, nothing but a performance. "If you do find Alis, do me a favour. Kill her for me."</p>
<p>Ibanez shrugged. "I'll just deliver her to Wettle. Fate worse than death."</p>
<p>It had been a whole lot of nothing so far, but that didn't bother Pensak. The people at Site-55 had been sympathetic toward him, having to work on Christmas Eve, but he told them it didn't matter because he was Jewish. That seemed to satisfy them, and eventually he was left totally alone in the detention block with his hostile witness.</p>
<p>In a break in the questioning, while Pensak took a long draft of water from a plastic bottle, the <em>geistschreiber</em> asked: "What are they paying you?"</p>
<p>He put the bottle down. "Devolution to clichés. That's not very promising for the arc of this interrogation."</p>
<p>"I'm serious. What's this worth to you? Because from where I'm sitting, your position looks pretty uncomfortable. Miserable, even."</p>
<p>He tugged at his zipper. "It's the jumpsuit, right?"</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"You're confused because we're both wearing jumpsuits, you and I. Let me explain. <em>My</em> jumpsuit comes with a service weapon, a wage, a pension plan, the best medical benefits known to man, and as a distant, what is that, fourth? Fifth? The knowledge that I'm advancing the aims of mankind."</p>
<p>Tarrow grunted. "Mankind aims at its own nuts, buddy. That's how this always ends. We shoot them off."</p>
<p>He looked askance at her. "This is the topic I was warned not to engage you on. I can already see why."</p>
<p>She extended her bound hands across the table, as though daring him to free her. "You know what my greatest regret is in life?"</p>
<p>"Writing other people's stories for them?" he suggested.</p>
<p>"What?" She was taken aback.</p>
<p>"You're a ghostwriter. It's more than just a pun. You're not in control of your own destiny. You're an anarchist who follows <em>orders.</em> Is there anything less impressive than that?"</p>
<p>Her composure flowed back in an instant. He hadn't struck a nerve after all. "That's the thing, though. Anarchy isn't the same as everybody pulling in random directions. There's a purpose here, and we all share it. My only regret is that I won't get to laugh at all of you when it happens."</p>
<p>"Because it won't be happening to you."</p>
<p>She nodded. "Right. We're not a suicide cult."</p>
<p>"You're an omnicide cult."</p>
<p>She smiled. "Try it sometime. You might like it."</p>
<p>"I'll pass."</p>
<p>The hands crept across the line separating his half of the table from hers. "You want to talk about benefits? How's this, for starters: being somewhere else when everything you know collapses into oblivion. You don't strike me as a sentimental guy, Roger. You seem plenty practical. You're working for the highest bidder right now; what happens when we shift to a moneyless economy? Because all the money is burned, and all the governments are gone, and there's big black holes opening up beneath your feet. What do you do when that happens?"</p>
<p>He kept his expression neutral. "I'm sure I'll think of something."</p>
<p>She wiggled her fingers at him. "Maybe you should think about it ahead of time. You know, just to be prepared."</p>
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<h2 id="toc17"><span>29 December</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>It was an organizational technique they'd learned from Ilse Reynders. Lillian and Udo lay on the floor of the latter's dorm room, surrounded by all of the papers pertaining to both investigations. They'd been colour-coded and tabbed ahead of time, because now they were all in a mess, on the carpet, on each other, and on the coffee table. They were snatching each sheet up, one at a time, and trying to view them with fresh eyes.</p>
<p>It wasn't working, but it wasn't working in a novel way, and that was almost like progress.</p>
<p>Neither of them heard Harry come in, but suddenly there his boots were. He knelt down. "Thought I'd never find you."</p>
<p>"Sorry," she rolled over, scattering an autopsy report to the air conditioning, "too busy being awesome."</p>
<p>"No time for old people," Udo agreed.</p>
<p>Lillian mock-snarled at her. "We're the same age."</p>
<p>"Yeah, but he looks it. Old, I mean." She gestured at him — he did look old — and then back at her. "You don't."</p>
<p>"Hey," said Harry. Very lightly.</p>
<p>"You heard the lady." Lillian shooed him. "No time for fat old people."</p>
<p>"I didn't call him fat," Udo laughed.</p>
<p>"Yeah, I just sort of sensed that was the mood of the room."</p>
<p>"<em>Hey,</em>" Harry repeated. Suddenly Lillian realized that he actually didn't look old, not precisely.</p>
<p>It was something else.</p>
<p>"What happened?" Udo asked, in almost the same instance as Lillian said "No."</p>
<p>Harry didn't reach out to touch her. He knew her too well. But he did hold eye contact as he began the familiar spiel. "Yeah. We got a call from Site-87. I thought you ought to hear it first. Both of you."</p>
<p>"We can't both hear it first," Lillian snapped. She felt like breaking into a run, sprinting away from danger. "Didn't you learn anything from the <em>fucking</em> Password?"</p>
<p>He looked like he was about to cry. "I'm sorry, Lil."</p>
<p>"Can you just say it outright?" she almost shouted. "Can we get that over with?"</p>
<p>"Arik Euler died in his sleep last night."</p>
<p>"How the fuck do they know that?" she yelled.</p>
<p>Udo sat back on her tailbone, stunned. "Oh, god."</p>
<p>"Do they have a camera focused on his pillow? Died in his sleep. He probably woke up, choking and scared."</p>
<p>Udo stared at her, horrorstruck. "Lillian."</p>
<p>"Died in his <em>sleep.</em> Load of bullshit."</p>
<p>"He was…" The other woman swallowed, hard. "He was pretty old."</p>
<p>"Ninety-three," Harry agreed.</p>
<p>Lillian sprang to her feet, straight from prone, and ignored the sensation of dizziness. "Doesn't mean anything in the Foundation. Scout lived to be a hundred and twelve. Almost. Died on his birthday. They could have made Euler live longer. They just decided not to." She was rambling. She needed to keep on rambling. She couldn't abide even an instant of silence.</p>
<p>"That's true," he agreed again.</p>
<p>"You're not helping, Harry." Udo was freely weeping now.</p>
<p>Lillian almost kicked her in the head. "Yes, he is. He's agreeing with me that this is <em>bullshit.</em> They could have kept him going, but they didn't want to, because he was an old man with old man ideas about what we're supposed to do with our gifts and projects and all our resources. He thought we could make the world a better place, because he was <em>so fucking old</em> he was older than that cliché, so he didn't know it was one. He just thought it was a thing you <em>did.</em>"</p>
<p>"It isn't fair," said Harry.</p>
<p>Udo's brows were nearly touching. "This isn't the way to honour him."</p>
<p>"It's not <em>your</em> way," Lillian snapped. "You barely knew him. I knew him. This is my way. Getting angry is <em>my</em> way."</p>
<p>"I think he would have understood," said Harry. "I actually think he would have <em>approved.</em>"</p>
<p>Udo stared at him. "Why?"</p>
<p>"Euler was an angry young man, once. He lost family in the Holocaust."</p>
<p>"He showed me his tattoo." Lillian tapped her arm for emphasis. It was even thinner than his had been.</p>
<p>"I think he had doubts about whether the Foundation was a bold new direction," Harry said, "or backsliding into forties-style fascism."</p>
<p>"He didn't have any doubts." Lillian was pacing the room with strides too long for their container. "He fucking <em>hated</em> the Foundation."</p>
<p>"I never…" Udo took a deep breath. "I never heard anything like that. From him."</p>
<p>"You didn't have to hear it." Lillian took a sudden swing at nothing, and nearly fell over. "He didn't say it. He didn't have to say it. He did something he hated for them, because they needed him to, and when they didn't need it done, they kept doing it anyway. But worse. And I helped. I helped make it worse."</p>
<p>Harry hadn't stopped watching her the entire time. "But he didn't hate you."</p>
<p>"No," she agreed. "You don't hate people. You don't hate people because people can <em>change.</em>"</p>
<p>"Organizations can change," Udo protested. "Organizations are just people."</p>
<p>"Not this one. People don't live forever. Those fuckers at the top? They live <em>forever.</em>" She was almost spitting with rage, now. "Euler wouldn't have taken the water if they'd offered it to him. He didn't want to be like them. He wanted to be a <em>person.</em>"</p>
<p>"They're people," Udo said softly. "They have motivations. They can be convinced to change, if they need to."</p>
<p>Lillian barely heard her. "We should have had more time. <em>He</em> should have had more time. He had another moment in him."</p>
<p>"What kind of moment?" Harry asked.</p>
<p>She stared at the ceiling, and stood there shivering with frustration and something else she refused to examine too closely. "Like the Frontispiece. He should've gone down fighting. Fixing a problem. Died in his sleep. I'd rather fucking <em>die.</em>"</p>
<p>"They're showing Mall Cop 2 at the drive-in," said Harry.</p>
<p>It took them both a moment to hear what it was he had said.</p>
<p>"What?" said Udo, completely baffled.</p>
<p>Lillian had already thrown on her dazzle coat. "Fuck the drive-in. They showing it at the mall?"</p>
<p>Harry nodded. "If you're sure you want to yell at the screen in a crowded theatre."</p>
<p>"Fucking right I do." She grabbed at the door, threw it open so hard it might have cracked the wall tiles. She didn't check. She didn't care. "You go to see that in theatre, you deserve some bitch hollering from the back row for two hours. Hour and a half?"</p>
<p>"Hour and a half," Harry confirmed.</p>
<p>"Thank Christ." She was already in the hall, but she knew they could still hear her. Her voice carried. It always had. "Two hours of Kevin James. I'd die in my sleep."</p>
<p>She didn't wait for him.</p>
<p>She knew he'd be following.</p>
<p>It was anybody's guess what the other patrons thought about the man with the greying hair and the woman with the fiery red, weeping sloppily into his shoulder. The movie was certainly that bad, but it probably still seemed a little much.</p>
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<h2 id="toc18"><span>31 December</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong>OSAT Station 11: Montréal, Québec, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Station 11 was the largest of OSAT's holdings in Canada. An uninformed observer might have supposed this was for the same reason that Site-19 was the Foundation's most extensive facility — it had simply turned out that way, through long years of priority shuffling and facts on the ground — but McInnis knew better. OSAT was actively aping the Foundation, mistaking an accident for a convention. It didn't tell him everything he needed to know about them, but it went a long way.</p>
<p>His Mountie escort brought him to what passed for a containment chamber, which was really little more than a jail cell without visible bars. The door opened from within, and the second thing he saw was Morwen Couch.</p>
<p>"Welcome to my parlour," she smiled. He hated the way she smiled, as something of an expert on the gesture.</p>
<p>McInnis refrained from commenting on the metaphor, in which the Chief Superintendent had wildly misjudged their relative roles. "It was kind of you to invite me."</p>
<p>"Oh, well, you know." Couch shrugged. "I've been in your home. I thought it only fair you get to visit mine."</p>
<p>The escorts closed the door behind his back.</p>
<p>"Something of a lag between the two occasions, wasn't there?" he said mildly. It had been well over a decade now.</p>
<p>"Had to tidy up first." Couch gestured at the first thing he'd seen when the door had opened. "Get everything in order. You of all people know how that is."</p>
<p>"I suppose I do." He glanced down at the stinking, panting thing, then back up at Couch's even more distasteful visage. "To what do I owe the honour of this… what is this, precisely? A tour? An unveiling? A conference?"</p>
<p>"A conversation between equals," she suggested.</p>
<p>"Of course." He betrayed no sense of irony. "Well. I would have liked a chance to brush up on the topic, but I know you're more the extemporaneous type, so perhaps we could dive right in?"</p>
<p>"A bit premature," she chided him. "You're my guest. Aren't you going to compliment my house?"</p>
<p>He nodded amiably. "Your security is very impressive."</p>
<p>"You lie so well," she laughed. "It's second nature, with you people. But I appreciate the gesture. My techs tell me we'll have to replace every security feature you walk past, because you'll already have reverse-engineered it in your head. What do you think of that?"</p>
<p>"I think you'll have a few days' lead time," he told her in perfect honesty. "I'm no engineer, and I'll have to explain what I've seen to mine before they can start work thwarting you." Not that there would be much to explain. He wondered if Couch's information was really as badly out of date as she pretended.</p>
<p>"Honesty between us, at last. Well, then, we might as well address the elephant in the room."</p>
<p>It wasn't an elephant, of course. It was a werewolf. It looked much the worse for wear a dozen years on, its already patchy fur now almost gone. Withered and emaciated, a tube in its lupine esophagus. It didn't stink, however, and it wasn't chained up. He understood why Couch had taken such care to treat the creature humanely, though she probably didn't know he knew.</p>
<p>"I'm surprised it's still alive," he offered finally.</p>
<p>"He's resilient." Her teeth were gritted. "He always was."</p>
<p>"You know who this specimen was?" McInnis asked, playing dumb. "Before his transformation?"</p>
<p>"I've known him all my life." Couch leaned forward, both hands clenching the edge of the medical table. "He's my grandfather."</p>
<p>"Raynard Watts." He stuck out his lower lip in false contemplation. "You're quite certain?"</p>
<p>"I said, <em>he's my grandfather.</em>" Her eyes were cold steel. "Yes, I'm certain. This was done to him a short while after he had an argument with the previous Director of Site-43. Someone I'm sure you know quite well."</p>
<p>"Knew," he corrected her. "Vivian Scout passed away over a decade ago, regrettably."</p>
<p>"Regrettably," she repeated. "Do you know the most important thing you and I have in common, Director?"</p>
<p>"I'm afraid I have no Welsh ancestry, if that's what you're driving at."</p>
<p>"I'm talking about the responsibilities that come with power. To use it judiciously. To employ force only when necessary. To take only what you need, and only from those who can bear the loss. Do you follow?"</p>
<p>"The calculus is clear enough, in the abstract. It gets a little dicey when you introduce details."</p>
<p>"Exactly." She leaned back again, and looked down at the pathetic thing that lay between them. "I know your predecessor did this to my grandfather, Allan. And I know you'd do it to me, too, if it suited you."</p>
<p>He nodded. "Do you expect a confession? Because I have none to give."</p>
<p>"I expect <em>recognition,</em>" she snarled. "I expect you to acknowledge that you're just as capable of acting on your own self-interest as Scout was. And that I'm just as capable of kicking your door in as he was."</p>
<p>"Watts never made it to the doors." He smiled. "The only uninvited OSAT personnel to ever enter Site-43 came as the stooges of a much more powerful Group of Interest. You'll forgive me, Morwen, but I do not believe you personally will ever set foot on my floors again."</p>
<p>"Meaning I'll end up like this, or worse, if I set myself against you."</p>
<p>"Meaning, quite frankly, that you lack the power to assert yourself efficaciously against us."</p>
<p>She shook her head. The motion was jerky, unhinged. "You're too smug to be warned, aren't you? I keep trying, but you keep deflecting it like it's an incoming blow. Are you so insecure that you can't take a bit of friendly advice?"</p>
<p>"What would that advice be, Chief Superintendent? I assure you, I am listening."</p>
<p>She held his gaze. She was an imposing presence, if nothing else. "Your position right now is tenuous. The federal government hates your guts. You got what you got in the forties because Eastern Canada controlled the political climate. It doesn't anymore. I've got a broad mandate, and friends you wouldn't like to meet. But none of that matters, because you and I? We're on the same side. The <em>right</em> side."</p>
<p>"Beg pardon," he said, "but the same side of what?"</p>
<p>"You know."</p>
<p>For a moment there was no sound in the cell but the rattling rasp of the undying wolf.</p>
<p>"If I take your meaning," he said, "broadly I… don't take your meaning, more specifically. In what sense are we on the same side?"</p>
<p>"We both want order." She tapped the bed with a fist. The wolf was jostled, but did not react. "We're both responsible for its maintenance. We could never work with Scout, because that wasn't what he was about. He went to the indians with open hands, shaking with one and passing over our national patrimony with the other. He built himself an enclave for agitators and malcontents. The Council of Overseers who issues you your marching orders has never been happier to see the back of someone. When he died, we all got a second chance. But you haven't lifted a finger to seize it, and I want to know <em>why.</em>"</p>
<p>It was almost easy to pity her. "What chance do you perceive here, Morwen?"</p>
<p>"Falkirk I understood. He wanted control. He knew how to get it. You?" She snorted. "You stand at the head of a small army of iconoclasts, but you're not smashing any idols. You're standing <em>idle.</em> Why is that, I wonder? Are you perhaps more in tune with the program than we thought? Do you hide revolutionary sentiments under that polished veneer of English charm, or are you actually hiding a conservative streak? I'm willing to bet it's the latter."</p>
<p>He didn't play poker, but he was nevertheless a master of the fundamentals. "And what do you hope to gain, with this bet?"</p>
<p>"More time at the table, because the stakes are rising. You've got your sources on the matter, I'm sure, and I've got mine. I'm just suggesting we might, ah, take a look at each other's cards. Compare notes. See if there isn't room for two winners in this game."</p>
<p>"And you make me this offer over the near-corpse of your beloved grandfather," he gestured, hands easily in snapping reach should the thing suddenly lunge to life, "labouring in a condition for which you blame, though indirectly, myself. How am I to interpret this tonal incongruence?"</p>
<p>"I know what you did." Her face was a death mask of itself. "I know what you're capable of doing. And now you know that I know. This is what the past got us. You have the opportunity to make the future better. Will you take it?"</p>
<p>"I will take," he said, very slowly, "this opportunity to reflect. Thank you for the overture, Chief Superintendent. I will consider it, and consult with my advisors."</p>
<p>"My door is open," she said, and with a <em>click</em> behind him, it was. "For now. But not always."</p>
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<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>By the way the background noise shifted Zwist was shaking his head, and if they had been meeting in person, Harry would have struggled not to shake the rest of the old man's body as he answered: "I'm sorry, but I won't change my mind on this."</p>
<p>He was sitting in the dark, in his office, the phone in his hand. He could feel a migraine coming on, and a lot of it was probably sympathetic. "She's hurting, Thilo, and I can't help her."</p>
<p>"Neither can I. I wish I could."</p>
<p>"No, you don't," Harry argued. "Because you can. You just won't."</p>
<p>There was an intake of breath, and he knew what was coming before it arrived. "I am not one of your colleagues, Harold. I'm not party to the excesses of your organization. I met with you as a favour for a friend, old and dear, and you have become something of a friend to me as well, so I did you several favours in the understanding that I was repaying a few old debts. Vivian spoke very highly of you, as you know, and I have always trusted his judgement. But that is not the same as trusting yours, and I have done altogether too many of these… 'house calls', let's call them."</p>
<p>"Let's not. You're meeting people in the park, to help them figure out the right course of action. It's not like you're marching into the Site with a security badge."</p>
<p>"No, that will never happen. But even this level of familiarity is, I feel, bad for us both. You'll come to rely upon me, and I will lose my moral compass. Neither of these outcomes is desirable."</p>
<p>"Do you think the people I've introduced you to are <em>bad</em> people?"</p>
<p>A pause. "Not <em>intrinsically,</em> but they are engaged in enterprises of dubious moral worth. Dr. Okorie at least is a bright young woman, but I felt the same way about her grandfather not that long ago — by my reckoning, though not yours — and the sting of his betrayal is still keen. I won't open myself up to that again, not for a good long while."</p>
<p>"By your reckoning, or mine?"</p>
<p>"That is my decision to make, and I will keep my own counsel on the matter. As for young miss Ibanez, her soul has been injured, and she seeks to spread the injury to others. She is in pain, and she wishes to inflict it at a multiplier on those she feels has wronged her."</p>
<p>Harry rubbed his temples. "You don't think she's suffered?"</p>
<p>"Of course she has. But I long ago learned that repaying violence with violence is no way to heal the initial wound. I will forever count the lives I have taken against whatever good I might do in the world. I lost a part of myself when I burned the <em>giftschreiber</em> at Herbsthausen, and I know there will come a time when miss Ibanez regrets the many lives she herself has taken."</p>
<p>"You'll forgive me if I doubt that."</p>
<p>"Then all the more reason for me not to associate myself with her. And from what I understand, my fears about your Dr. Okorie apply all the more precisely to Dr. Lillihammer. She is precisely the sort of opportunistic, unscrupulous soul—"</p>
<p>"I'm not going to sit here," and he found himself rising from his seat, the cable unspooling to follow, "and let you <em>insult</em> her. She's done more good in the last few years than you've done in a lifetime."</p>
<p>Zwist didn't miss a beat. Perhaps the long distance softened Harry's outrage. "That's as may be, but she has done it in the name of an unrighteous cause, and that colours her every accomplishment. You are filling the ledger of a black book, Dr. Blank. You are no cadre of saints."</p>
<p>"She's the most talented memeticist of her time. Maybe of <em>all</em> time."</p>
<p>"Memetics is a perversion of the art I foolishly demonstrated to your kind. An art that ought to have vanished from the Earth. I ought to have allowed, no, <em>ensured</em> that it was. It was my mistake. I won't make it again, but worse!" The old man was finally getting worked up. Harry suddenly wondered: if this was the last conversation they ever had, what would that do to him?</p>
<p>He shifted his tone from anger to frustration. "You've taken apprentices before. I've seen scattered references. Woody—"</p>
<p>"There have been lapses in my judgement," Zwist said. "I have suffered for them. I am still suffering. I have stretched a human soul across five times its appointed length, and that soul has holes in it. One for every life I've taken, or failed to save. It is ragged, and it is thin, and it is all that I am. And I am still needed. I will not risk further harm to myself, to console your friend for her momentary loss."</p>
<p><em>'Momentary loss'. Christ, I hope I die before I get immortal.</em> "She lost a mentor. A friend. A father figure, even."</p>
<p>"I am no replacement for any of those things," Zwist sighed. "I am only now growing accustomed to this… arrangement, that you and I have. And you are making me regard it with suspicion. Do not become a burden to me, Harold. I have more vital ones to carry, and will shoulder you off if I must."</p>
<p>Harry sat down again, already exhausted. "We've been working together for almost twenty years."</p>
<p>"Yes. The blink of an eye. Perhaps after twenty more, you might reopen the issue."</p>
<p>He almost slammed down the receiver right then. "Never mind. She doesn't have the kind of time you need."</p>
<p>"I apologized already, Harold. I can't honestly apologize twice." Was there a hint in Zwist's voice, a plea for understanding?</p>
<p>"You don't need to," said Harry. "You're the wounded party here."</p>
<p>"I'm glad you understand that—"</p>
<p>"Because when she effortlessly overtakes you without your help, you'll know what it really means to feel the sting of a mistake."</p>
<p>And he did hang up.</p>
<p>But gently.</p>
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<h1 id="toc19"><span><span style="color: #990011">2016</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc20"><span>9 January</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Udo considered the terminal with trepidation. As instruments of torture went, it was unassuming.</p>
<p>Veiksaar sat down at the chair, leaving Udo to stand. "Alright. You punch in your access code, like so." She hammered a few keys, and a series of asterisks appeared on the ancient CRT. She hit ENTER, and the DR-RHETORIC interface appeared. There wasn't much to it; it looked like a DOS prompt. "Then it's just a simple back and forth. Tell him what you want to tell him, preferably without seeding in too much shit the parser will have to parse out — personal details, references to the real world that aren't pertinent to what you're researching, and for heaven's sake don't draw him on his life history — and hit SEND. When you do that, the system will sift for anything problematic, then pass it on. When RHETORIC responds—"</p>
<p>"Rydderech," Udo corrected.</p>
<p>Veiksaar winced. "Best not to think of it that way. When RHETORIC responds, it'll also have been combed over for the removal of personal details, because we frequently let low clearance folks ask questions and we don't want them… well. Asking questions." Eileen spun, and stood up with a cracking of the knees. "Your turn. Got your abatement stuff?"</p>
<p>Udo had been clutching the piece of paper without realizing it, and it was all crumpled up. She nodded. Veiksaar gestured at the chair, and Udo sat down.</p>
<p>She cracked her knuckles.</p>
<p>She cracked her neck.</p>
<p>She took a breath.</p>
<p>"Just type," said Veiksaar, not unkindly.</p>
<p>Udo typed:</p>
<div class="danke site">
<p>Hello, Dr. Rydderech</p>
</div>
<p>and hit ENTER before Veiksaar could say anything. Veiksaar didn't say anything anyway.</p>
<p>The response came back in just a few seconds.</p>
<div class="page">
<p><strong>Hello, Dr. Okorie.</strong></p>
</div>
<br/>
The sound of a rapid intake of breath behind her made Udo turn around. Veiksaar was sheet pale. "What? What's wrong?" She pointed at the screen. "And when did you guys make this upgrade? It wasn't in the manual."
<p>"Upgrade," Veiksaar repeated.</p>
<p>"Yeah. I thought it was supposed to call me FRIEND, not my actual name."</p>
<p>Veiksaar nodded. "Yes. That's right. But only when he calls you Vivian. It changes Vivian to FRIEND. This," and she shook her head, eyes wide. "This is different."</p>
<p>"Different… how?"</p>
<p>"It means DR-RHETORIC…" Eileen exhaled heavily. "It means Dr. <em>Rydderech</em> actually knows who you are."</p>
<p>Udo shrugged. "He's basically a god. Why is that surprising?"</p>
<p>Veiksaar had been slowly backing up, and she sat down in the first chair her ass encountered. "Because he hasn't known who anyone is since Scout died, two decades ago."</p>
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<h2 id="toc21"><span>19 January</span></h2>
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<p>There had only been a few people working out in the gym when they arrived, and none of them were still working out now. A small crowd of new onlookers had also filtered in. Ibanez wanted to tell them all to fuck off, but she couldn't spare the breath.</p>
<p>Her opponent moved too fluidly. It was becoming a serious problem. Ibanez was used to transitions between moves, both for herself and for whoever she was fighting. She would take a step back to get more leverage for a punch, or widen her stance to adjust her centre of gravity. Her opponent, though responding to everything Ibanez did, was able to blend every move into every other without any interstitial corrections, and it meant there was absolutely no downtime between attacks.</p>
<p>Meaning Ibanez already had to be answering the second strike the instant she blocked the first.</p>
<p>She swung, and her opponent dropped to the floor and crabwalked a half-circle around her. She twisted her torso and kicked, but her opponent was already rolling in anticipation. She dropped to the floor and kicked again, but her opponent was already spinning away and preparing a kick of her own. Ibanez caught the shoe with both hands, and shoved, and as though this were her opponent's plan all along, the other woman performed an effortless backflip, arms outstretched like a battle ballerina.</p>
<p>"No fucking fair," Ibanez gasped. "You weigh like five pounds."</p>
<p>"And my legs are long," Ngo agreed, falling into a crouch. "Now, let's see you throw that weight around."</p>
<p>Ibanez growled as she hurled herself across the mat toward the other woman, and put everything she had into a rib-crushing dropkick. Her face was aching, though she couldn't remember Ngo scoring a blow there yet. Something in the cheekbones, or just below.</p>
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<h2 id="toc22"><span>8 February</span></h2>
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<p>Okorie was sitting at her desk, surrounded by piles on piles of paper, when Eileen walked in. She knocked on the open door. "You busy?"</p>
<p>The other woman looked up, and for an instant Eileen thought she saw a look of mixed disgust and disappointment cross her features before a smile overtook it. "Always, but come in."</p>
<p>Eileen closed the door and approached the pseudo-cubicle. The only difference was the stability and precise composition of its walls. "He's asking for you again."</p>
<p>The flash lasted longer this time. "I delegated the abatement consults this week."</p>
<p>Eileen nodded. "He doesn't want to talk to Pulaski. He won't even call her FRIEND. He's asking for you, by name."</p>
<p>Okorie hung her head. "I don't want to do it," she said.</p>
<p>Eileen leaned on the side of the desk. "I know you don't. But it has to be done." The Acroamatic Abatement Section of Site-43 performed dozens of discrete hands-on abatements daily, in addition to the ones that occurred automatically as esoteric effluence cycled through the three active refineries. A solid quarter of these were only possible thanks to the input of DR-RHETORIC, the world's finest source of non-linear thinking, and other things. Okorie was obviously thinking about the other things right now.</p>
<p>The thaumaturge shifted subtly in her seat, as if to move as far away as possible without making too overt a shift, and Eileen suddenly had the image of a battered tiger in its exhibit. And what was Rydderech, if not an animal similarly trapped in an elaborate cage…</p>
<p><em>Or an enclosure.</em></p>
<p>Okorie said something as Eileen darted for the door, pulled it open, and rushed down the hall to the nearest washroom, but the bile rising in her throat burned all other senses away.</p>
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<h2 id="toc23"><span>9 February</span></h2>
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<p>Eileen didn't know what the ethics review was about, but it brought Cimmerian back to Site-43 a dozen times over the course of the year. It didn't seem to produce anything else, and she assumed that whatever he'd been called in for was going to be swept back under the rug, like most things were at the Foundation. Still, when she checked the scheduling system and saw he had a gap in his itinerary, purely on a whim, she filled it.</p>
<p>He came to her office, since he didn't have one of his own, and she made a space for him on a chair that was ordinarily the home of her old LC III. Or, rather, Marroquin's.</p>
<p>He didn't even have the chance to offer pleasantries before she blurted out: "What do you do?"</p>
<p>He blinked. "What, in general?"</p>
<p>"On the Ethics Committee."</p>
<p>"Well," he shifted in the chair, his bright yellow suit bunching up around the thighs, "right now I'm working as a liaison. That means I go from Site to Site, Area to Area, and handle any emergent ethics issues that they might be having trouble with. I'm a troubleshooter."</p>
<p>"How would you characterize the other facilities you've been to?"</p>
<p>He seemed a little taken aback by the intensity of her questioning. But she couldn't rein it in. "It varies. I'm not at liberty to discuss most of them in detail, but you get a vague sense of each place after a while, and each place is definitely different." He visibly racked his brain for illustrative examples. "Site-19 is too damn big, and so are all the personalities there, so it's easy for bad behaviour to go unpunished when the paperwork gets lost in the general shuffle. 17 is a mass war grave, a hole in the ground to throw violent people into, and you didn't hear that from me. 87 is great, from a humanitarian standpoint, but boy do they get into some weird problems over there. You know they've got a goat man?"</p>
<p>That was enough to momentarily distract her. "Working at the Site?"</p>
<p>"No, walking around in the woods. Scaring teenagers. That's their normal." Cimmerian took off his glasses, and she saw they were hung from his neck by a chain. It was a strange, almost charming, affectation for a man. "You can't judge each place by the standards of the others, is what I'm getting at. They've all got different situations to handle, different leadership approaches, different staff bodies. Why do you ask?"</p>
<p>She wouldn't be drawn on that quite yet. "Where would you say 43 falls? On a simple scale. Good to bad."</p>
<p>He frowned. "I try not to operate in black and white."</p>
<p>"I won't hold you to it. I'm just… curious."</p>
<p>"Well," he reflected, "you don't have D-Class, and I understand your Director made a big stand about that at some point — the Overseers still consider it an open sore of an issue — so <em>that's</em> something. You've got a very low rate of interpersonal conflict, and I almost never see flagged experiment requests from 43 cross my desk. Your nearest neighbours all think pretty highly of you, and the psych reports suggest there might not be a more stable group of people working anywhere in the Foundation right now. Some of that is down to your location in the boondocks, and some of it is the kind of work you people do; if you had 17's remit, maybe things wouldn't look so rosy. But overall, I'd say you're in the top few percentile of the Foundation for ethical behaviour. Minus the one I came here to look at, which again, can't divulge."</p>
<p>"I see."</p>
<p>He was examining her face with an auditor's eye. "You seem… disappointed. Were you hoping I'd think this place was a hellish blacksite, or something?"</p>
<p>She shook her head, too eagerly by far. "No, and I'm not surprised or anything. I just…"</p>
<p>"If you have concerns, I'd be happy to hear them."</p>
<p>She sighed. "I'm not sure it's anything I could articulate right now."</p>
<p>"I didn't necessarily mean right now." He put his glasses back on. "If you have, or develop, concerns, I'll be happy to hear them whenever you <em>can</em> articulate them."</p>
<p>"Thank you." She stood, and he followed suit.</p>
<p>"Word of advice in the interim, though?"</p>
<p>"Please."</p>
<p>"If you think something's bothering you, don't wait to tell me until you're sure. That'll usually be too late."</p>
<p>She nodded miserably. "I'll try to keep that in mind."</p>
<p>"You do that."</p>
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<h2 id="toc24"><span>14 February</span></h2>
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<p>Udo had known that a conversation of this nature was coming eventually, but she'd hoped to put it off. When she found herself alone with Roz in the ApplOcc lounge, however, the others having long since gone to bed, it was obvious it couldn't be stalled any further.</p>
<p>It didn't start out the way she'd expected. "I'm really sorry," the other woman said.</p>
<p>Udo glanced across the coffee table at her. They were occupying opposite couches, tablets in hand, scrolling through Stacey's experiment reports. "Thanks."</p>
<p>"How are you holding up?"</p>
<p>Udo sighed, and dropped the tablet onto her chest. "Honest answer?"</p>
<p>"If you can spare it."</p>
<p>"I never knew my grandfather. Everyone is always very sorry for me when they hear that, because he's dead. So I can't really know him now, except what people tell me about him. But the thing is… that's how it is for most people."</p>
<p>Roz was frowning. "What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"Most people who've ever existed, nobody's alive who knew them. Sure, there's a lot of ancient anomalies hanging around, but most of them only knew a few hundred people, tops. Most of the human race is just an entry in the historical record, at best, and a total cipher at worst. My grandfather's not much different from that. I didn't know what I was missing when I was a kid, and now that I know, it's just… academic. Okay?"</p>
<p>Roz nodded. "Okay."</p>
<p>"The difference with Euler is that we worked together a bit. But we didn't work together a <em>lot.</em> Lillian's going to be taking it a whole lot harder than I am. I feel bad about it, but there's a part of my brain that just says… he's gone to where my grandfather always was, so why not put whatever you felt about him with whatever you felt about your grandfather? Someone I know more about from legend than reality."</p>
<p>"But you did like him. Respected him."</p>
<p>"And he felt very strongly about me. I reminded him of his friend, who's dead, who I never knew. I don't know in what ways I was like him. I don't even know really in what ways I'm like my parents. Everyone else sees this stuff, but I don't. Because I'm living it. I'm just me."</p>
<p>Roz shifted herself upright. "You could never be <em>just</em> you. You're a legend while you're still alive."</p>
<p>Udo smiled. "I appreciate the vote of confidence."</p>
<p>"It's more than a vote of confidence."</p>
<p>Something changed in the air.</p>
<p>"I know."</p>
<p>"Do you?"</p>
<p>Udo sat up, the tablet falling into the crack between the cushions.</p>
<p>"Do you know?" Roz repeated. "I guess I can just blurt it out. Everyone's doing that lately, so why not?" She cleared her throat. "I like you a lot, Udo Okorie."</p>
<p>Now this, this hurt. "I like you a lot too, Roz."</p>
<p>"I mean… it in a stronger sense. Than that." Her lightly bronzed skin was flushing rapidly.</p>
<p>"I know."</p>
<p>"You know," Roz repeated.</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"And?"</p>
<p>She didn't know what more to say.</p>
<p>"Yeah, that's what I thought. But I had to shoot my shot." The other woman took a deep breath, and stood up.</p>
<p>"We should talk about this," said Udo, not really meaning it, but knowing it had to be said.</p>
<p>"No, that's okay." Roz stretched; practically her entire skeleton was visible. "There's a whole novel between those lines, and it's a depressing one. Don't worry about it."</p>
<p>"Roz…"</p>
<p>"So, I'm going back to Area-21." She picked up her tablet, and her coat. "Seems like they might have a <em>geistschreiber</em> problem there, and I'm wondering if maybe they might need an auramancer."</p>
<p>"We need you here."</p>
<p>"You don't. I can do more good in Austria. This isn't just some Canadian thing. Lots of stuff that needs doing."</p>
<p>"You don't have to leave every time we have a problem."</p>
<p>Roz shook her head. "That's not it."</p>
<p>"Then what?"</p>
<p>"I don't need to come back here every time I convince myself there's an opportunity." Her friend smiled at her, conveying more despair than if she'd been weeping and wailing. "Be good to yourself, Udo. For a change. I'm going to try to do the same."</p>
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<h2 id="toc25"><span>21 February</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>There was a mirror beside Wettle's lab door, one of the multitude reserved for SCP-5056, though in that worthy's absence Wettle's own reflection was temporarily allowed to use it. He could therefore see himself as he looked at the stranger locked outside, and the idea that they belonged to the same species of being, much less the same gender, seemed almost absurd. The other was chiseled, muscular, well-groomed and pretty. Wettle was Wettle. He almost didn't unlock the door out of spite.</p>
<p>Only almost.</p>
<p>"Hi," he said to the stranger. He didn't move out of the way.</p>
<p>The stranger raised his ID card. His name was apparently Imrich Sýkora. "The Director asked me to meet with you. He said you knew to expect me."</p>
<p>"He should have known better," Wettle grumbled. He moved aside, banging the back of his head on the open door, and gestured for Sýkora to enter. "I never expect anything, unless it's bad."</p>
<p>"Well, this is pretty bad." The pretty boy sat down on a stool beside one of the lab's counters, contorted, and pulled a notepad out of his back pocket. "So here's the deal. I'm a thaumaturge."</p>
<p>Wettle nodded. "Not wearing your wizard clothes, though."</p>
<p>"Because the wizard clothes are stupid." Sýkora waved the notepad at Wettle. "Using math, and my Talent, I can predict a wide range of occurrences and behaviours to a high degree of accuracy. I was told you'd want to see proof."</p>
<p>Wettle bristled. "Well, I don't. If you're a wizard, you know your wizard business."</p>
<p>Sýkora smiled. It wasn't precisely friendly. "I was actually told that if I told you I was told you'd want to see proof, you'd say you didn't need it just to be contrarian, and that would save me time."</p>
<p>Wettle considered. "Were you told to tell me that?"</p>
<p>"I was not."</p>
<p>"Well, I appreciate it. I guess. If it means what I think. It was really, really badly phrased."</p>
<p>Sýkora shifted on the stool. "So, here's the thing. I've had a pretty perfect mastery over this Talent for quite a few years now. It works like clockwork. Or, well… like <em>math.</em> Which it is. And I'm still able to get the right results eventually, but lately my performance has been…" His pretty mouth twisted, like there was something sour on his tongue. "Less adequate than I'm used to."</p>
<p>"I don't have anything for erectile dysfunction." Wettle crossed his arms, after a false start where he slammed the knuckles of both fists together. "I'm not that kind of chemist."</p>
<p>Sýkora let this pass. "I know I'm not doing it wrong. I've had EVE tests, and there's nothing wrong with my <em>equipment,</em> either." Elan-Vital Energy was the fuel for most thaumaturgy, and was carefully monitored by Health and Pathology month to month. "But I have to do most tests more than once to get the right results, now, and that's making it a real pain in the ass to get anything done."</p>
<p>Wettle saw where this was going. "I see where this is going. You want me to do replication studies on your magic math bullshit."</p>
<p>"It's not bullshit," Sýkora grunted, "but other than that, yes. The Director suggested it, and considering we both have our names on a paper…"</p>
<p>Wettle blinked. "What paper?"</p>
<p>Sýkora blinked back at him. "The pilot study? With Dr. Zlatá? <em>Geistschreiber</em> detection?"</p>
<p>"Oh!" Wettle laughed. "That was you? Why didn't you say so!"</p>
<p>"Because I didn't think I had to? How many people do mathematical divination at this Site, do you think?"</p>
<p>"Don't know." Wettle went to his desk, only banging his knees twice as he sat down to turn on his computer terminal. "Don't talk to many wizards. So, before we get started, we need a hypothesis. Don't ask me why, because I don't know. Uh, what do you think might be the cause of your… inadequacy?"</p>
<p>Sýkora sighed. "Well, the prevailing theory of why my thaumaturgy works is that it ties into the underlying codebase of universal laws. So if the results are now varying wildly…"</p>
<p>Wettle stared at him.</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"No, I was… I was waiting for you to continue."</p>
<p>Sýkora blinked again, and then he did continue.</p>
<p>Wettle was surprised to find that some things could still frighten him.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Unforgettable Too">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/48-unforgettable-too">Unforgettable Too</a></p>
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<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="The Breach Goes On: Deadlined">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub">The Breach Goes On: Deadlined</a></p>
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<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Turning and Turning">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/50-turning-and-turning">Turning and Turning</a></p>
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<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<p>Cite this page as:</p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/49-repent-at-leisure">Repent at Leisure</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/49-repent-at-leisure">https://scpwiki.com/49-repent-at-leisure</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:</p>
<p>Rozálie Astrauskas: "portrait | vale triste?" "Valentina" and "vale solare" by Andrea Fistetto, all released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/2894689596">https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/2894689596</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/6837642131">https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/6837642131</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/2810284003">https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/2810284003</a></p>
<p>Philip Deering: "Twitter 365 Project - Day 55" and "Tokyo" by Richard Giles, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076</a></p>
<p>Noè Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822">https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822</a>, and<br/>
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0:</p>
<p>Nhung Ngo: Nhi Dang, "Huyen," released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/nhi_dg/7186551316/">https://www.flickr.com/photos/nhi_dg/7186551316/</a> and Rod Waddington, "Hmong Woman," released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/rod_waddington/44409399060">https://www.flickr.com/photos/rod_waddington/44409399060</a></p>
<p>Ilse Reynders: "Practicing that blank stare" and "Quinn working" by Quinn Dombrowski, both released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529">https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529</a> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028">https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028</a></p>
<p>Imogen Tarrow: "Teacher Leader Conference 2 August 2012" courtesy US Department of Education, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/48445211@N06/7733033618">https://www.flickr.com/photos/48445211@N06/7733033618</a></p>
<p>Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470</a></p>
<p>Thilo Zwist: Thomas Leuthard, untitled photograph, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/41346951@N05/12544389645">https://www.flickr.com/photos/41346951@N05/12544389645</a></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Everything!<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735469645" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:blankstyle">:scp-wiki:theme:blankstyle</a> fade=a]]
[[module CSS]]
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Caveat:wght@700&family=Lobster&display=swap');
[[/module]]
[[module CSS]]
.muddle {
padding: 4px 16px 4px 16px;
box-shadow: 0px 0px 3px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.3);
width: 85%;
margin: auto;
margin-bottom: 28px;
margin-top: 28px;
background: #E9FBDF;
border: solid 2px #5D5D5D;
}
[[/module]]
[[module CSS]]
.page {
display: block;
overflow: hidden;
font-size: 175%;
font-family: "VT323", "Courier New";
font-style: normal;
background-attachment: scroll;
background-clip: border-box;
background-color: transparent;
background-image: linear-gradient(to top ,rgb(202, 219, 228) 0%, rgb(231, 233, 220) 8%);
background-origin: padding-box;
background-position: 0px 8px;
background-repeat: repeat;
background-size: 100% 20px;
border: 1px solid #CCC;
border-radius: 10px;
padding: 10px 10px;
margin-bottom: 10px;
box-shadow: 0px 1px 3px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2)
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.page p,
.page ul {
line-height: 20px;
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}
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padding: 5px 5px 5px 15px;
margin-bottom:10px;
font-family: monospace;
font-size: 1.5em; }
.site{
background-color:#222200;
border: 3px solid #AAAA55;
color: #DDDD77;
}
[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[=]]
**Repent at Leisure**
Time is all we've got.
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[=]]
+ Repent at Leisure
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ ##990011|2015##
++ 12 January
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Lillian wasn't particularly surprised about which of the two revelations the others seized on, considering one was open to speculation, and the other was cryptic nonsense; still, considering the cryptic one was about her, she wouldn't have minded talking about it first.
She couldn't really fault them for wanting to talk about a potential //giftschreiber// mole at the Site, though. Much as she wanted to.
Del was the second-most assertive person in the room, and since the most assertive person had presented the topic, she was the first to engage with it. "So," she said. "Zlatá, then."
Udo looked troubled, which was really no surprise. "We don't know it's Zlatá."
"I think we do," said Lillian. "He was already on your shit list."
"I don't have a //shit list.// Del and I had //suspicions.//"
"I was keeping the shit list in my head," Del smirked. "And he was already at the top of it."
McInnis had some subvocal means of attracting their attention whenever he wanted to speak. Leadership was such an intangible quality. "Where is Dr. Zlatá now?"
"Area-21," Del answered. She'd been on her tablet as soon as the issue was broached. "Helping train the new staff. But he's due back here in a few months."
"Do we want that?" Nascimbeni wondered aloud. "If he's dangerous?"
"We're dangerous too," Del reminded him. "I am, at least."
"And here I heard you'd gone soft." Lillian winked.
McInnis didn't quite sigh. "Please."
"I don't need you defending me." Del didn't say //sir.// The relationship between the Survivors and hierarchy was getting murkier by the year.
"What do you think that stuff about the world ending twice meant?" Harry asked.
Lillian shrugged. "Don't know. Might have something to do with a special project of mine."
McInnis also had a way of sounding like he'd narrowed his eyes without actually doing it. "Am I aware of this special project?"
"I don't know. Are you?" He blinked at her, and she relented. "It's antimemetic. It's for Antimemetics. Wheeler's involved, when she remembers."
"I have nothing to add to whatever this is," Wettle said from the floor. "Can I go?"
Del was already standing. "We should all go. Thanks for the effort, Lil, but this is just a whole lot more cryptic psychobabble."
"Except for Zlatá," she reminded them. She'd already decided she could work out whatever that 'vessel', 'ideas-across-the-gulf' business was for herself. She was already a self-made woman, after all. It wasn't like she needed help with introspection.
"Of course except for Zlatá." Del had one of her more thoughtful dangerous looks on. "If he's involved in any of this, I'll have his balls nailed to the wall before his chin makes it past the threshold."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 1 February
----
[[/=]]
"Are you investigating Pensak?"
Yancy had been holding down the bullpen alone when Ibanez walked in. She hoped she came off as the cool old boss who sometimes dropped back in one her old workplace. She hoped that was a thing which existed.
Harry had told her she ought to watch the original, British version of //The Office.// She'd declined.
"No," Yancy yawned. This late at night there wasn't much to secure, though there were off-duty agents on-call in case something came up. Yancy was just a glorified, jacked dispatcher right now. "Maureen is investigating Pensak."
It was a delicate matter, investigating your own boss. McTeer was the logical choice; she had the closest thing to tenure a security agent could get. Not that Pensak could really do anything about it, if he found out; it was always assumed, when you worked at the Foundation, that someone was rooting through your dirty laundry. That the order had come down from McInnis, laundering Ibanez's suspicions, made it even more grave.
Del laid down on top of his desk. "She find anything interesting?"
He snorted. She felt the rush of air on her forehead. "Here I thought you were going to lecture me. No. Not yet."
"When has lecturing you ever helped? And I'm surprised."
"Why surprised?"
"I always thought he was the kind of guy you'd turn up a whole farm's worth of dirt on the second you started looking."
Yancy shrugged. "Well, maybe I would. Not Maureen, I guess." He poked her in the forehead. "Why aren't you doing it yourself? Do you not want to find out?"
She frowned. "Why?"
"You tell me."
"You accusing me of not doing my job, Howard?"
"I'm accusing you of being soft on your men."
"Soft," she repeated.
He tapped her on the stomach, gently. "Yes."
"//Soft.//"
"Yes."
"Am I soft, Howard?"
"//Yes.//"
"Are you?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_01_Yancy.jpg]]
He pressed a button on the underside of the desk, and the security shutters lowered.
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Yancy.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 1 May
----
[[/=]]
Nascimbeni had never noticed how empty his office was before. He needed to get some more equipment in here. Maybe he could take a few devices out of mothballs, which was to say, his dorm room...
"Before you go," and he started rooting around in his topmost desk drawer, "there's something I need you to take a look at."
Azad Banerjee looked strange out of uniform. But, then, he wasn't actually. The labcoat he was wearing signified his change in status. "Sure, I've got time. What is it?"
"The new conditioner for F-B." Nascimbeni pulled out the blueprint roll, and spread it over the desktop. "Plans just came in this morning."
Banerjee gave them a cursory look, and nodded. "Yeah, these look pretty good."
"You barely even glanced them over," Nascimbeni frowned.
"Well, I don't have time for a complete top-bottom review. That's gonna have to be whoever gets my job." Banerjee smiled slyly. "Who'd you pick?"
"You know what else?" Nascimbeni rolled his chair over to the filing cabinet in the corner, and pulled open the middlemost drawer. "I dusted off the F-E proposal yesterday evening. I know we managed to get redundancies for the stuff F-D used to do, but--"
"Boss--"
"Before you go, I'd really like your opinion on--"
"Noè."
Nascimbeni tried not to slump in his seat. "Yeah."
"I //am// leaving."
He turned back to face his outgoing deputy. "I know."
"Who's replacing me?"
Nascimbeni's mouth migrated to one side of his face, then the other. "I haven't picked anyone."
"What?" Banerjee half-shouted, half-laughed.
"I don't think I'm going to." Nascimbeni clasped his hands on the desk. They looked very gnarled to him. It was probably the knuckles. "I don't need a deputy."
"You don't need a deputy," Banerjee repeated.
"That's right."
The look of concern was instantly irritating. "You do too many things alone, boss."
"Well, maybe that's because everyone keeps fucking //leaving,//" he snapped, and then before the other man could react, he added "I didn't mean that."
"You kinda did," Banerjee said.
"Let me apologize, for fuck's sake." There he was, snapping again.
"Don't apologize. Admit it. You meant it." The look of empathy on Banerjee's face was almost filial. "We can be honest."
"I'm sorry." Nascimbeni rolled the chair back as far as it would go, and stood up. "Forget it happened. You've got a chopper to catch."
"Subway first. Taking one last ride with Phil."
Nascimbeni nodded. "That's good. He'll take it hard."
The knowing look on Banerjee's face made Nascimbeni feel like he was transparent. "I don't do half-ass goodbyes, boss. I know why you're angry. Let's talk about it."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_02_Nascimbeni_Banerjee.jpg]]
"Let's just shake on it instead." He extended a hand.
Banerjee took it. He might have been taking on a white-collar position halfway around the world, but he still had a working man's callouses, and grip. "We can still talk."
"Nah." Nascimbeni attempted a smile.
"Boss," Banerjee was almost pleading.
"Not your boss anymore. Get a move on." He attempted the smile again, with no greater success. "Your people are waiting for you."
[!-- [[=image Banerjee_Nascimbeni_Phil_Goodbye.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 12 August
----
[[/=]]
The Ethics Committee liaison came from Site-88, but his bio said he'd done some time at Site-19, and Ibanez could certainly see it. Because everyone from Site-19 looked like they were going to a costume party dressed as themselves.
Jeremiah Cimmerian wore a mustard yellow suit and red tie, and had severe burns along the left side of his face, apparently extending as far as his left hand, if the glove was anything to go by. His accent was something southern, and at first it was strange, but eventually she found it sort of soothing.
She wondered if they selected for that sort of thing specifically.
McInnis had come around his desk, and the three of them were sitting together in a rough triangle. All very democratic-seeming. "Thank you for joining us today, doctor."
"That's not really how I'd characterize it," Cimmerian frowned. It was fascinating, the way the skin on his face did and didn't move when he did that. "This is an Ethics Committee investigation."
"And we welcome it," McInnis nodded.
The newcomer gestured at Ibanez with his chin. "Does she welcome it? She doesn't look welcoming."
"Yeah," she said in a flat monotone.
"Yeah, you do, or yeah, you aren't?"
She spread her hands. "Be welcome. Investigate. Write your thing. Do nothing. Do it fast." She crossed her arms.
Cimmerian blinked. "I'm sorry. Do you have some kind of prior experience with the Committee that's leading you to be so dismissive?"
McInnis was giving her that look of genuine, well-meaning interest she hated most of all. She looked away from both of them. "I just know how this is going to go. TAD wants this. //He// wants this. It's going to continue to happen."
"Well," Cimmerian said, "that's in no way set in stone. I'm going to interview all the relevant personnel, and I'm going to review the case with as little bias as possible, and I'm going to make my report to the Committee."
"And then Roger is going to put a bullet in Deering's brain again, just like he did last year."
Cimmerian frowned. "Who's Roger?"
"Roger Pensak," McInnis explained. "Chief of Security and Containment. He carries out the termination each year."
Cimmerian glanced down at his tablet. "Oh, I must have old data here. That's frustrating. My file says Chief Ibanez..."
"She transferred to the Task Forces."
"In protest," she added.
"I... see." Cimmerian looked back and forth between them, obviously attempting to gauge the dynamic. "That's very unusual."
"Is it?" McInnis asked. He could always make questions sound so genuine.
"Yes. I've never heard of a security chief transferring in protest of an ethics issue. You must run a very distinct Site, Director."
She snorted. "That's one way to put it."
"Well, I look forward to finding out why."
"If you do," she said to him, "I hope you'll explain it to the rest of us."
[!-- [[=image Cimmerian_McInnis_Ibanez.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 14 August
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**Ipperwash Beach: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
She knew full well that Harry had arranged this to get her out of the Site while Cimmerian prepared his nothingburger. But the fresh air was nice, anyway.
Zwist was standing on the pebbly beach, looking out at the lake. He turned when she approached; she could have come up silently, but she wasn't sure how heart-attack prone a four hundred year old man might be, so she didn't.
"Miss Ibanez," he nodded. He didn't extend his hand. That was good. She hated false shows of friendliness.
Still, he could have done better. "That's //Chief.//"
He rolled his eyes. "I'm not a member of your hierarchy."
She took up a station beside him. The air was cool, and the wind off the lake had that ephemeral sense of distant depth. "Funny how you managed to swing a consultant gig like that."
He shifted on his cane to face her more directly. "If your aim for this meeting is to make me regret the alliance, you're off to a smashing start."
She sighed. "Okay, so that's what the wrong foot looks like. Go science. I'll try again." She took a deep breath. "Hi."
He nodded. "Hello."
"I'm trying to kill a cult."
He wrinkled his nose. "I am a pacifist."
She sat down on the rocks. "This is the worst blind date I've ever been on."
He stared down at her. He would have been doing so anyway, but now the angle was less acute. "Harold tells me you've been... //engaging,// with my fellow writers of late."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_04_Zwist_Lecture.jpg]]
She put her hands behind her, and leaned up to look at the sky. It was grey. It usually was. "Your fellow writers probably murdered my entire family."
"I am very sorry to hear that." He did sound sorry. "I have heard it many times before."
"So, let's make it so you don't have to hear it again. How do I kill these fuckers?"
"You don't."
"I do, actually. Those engagements you mentioned."
"Merely scraping off the dead skin. You aren't breaking the surface. The surface cannot be broken."
This, at least, promised to be data. "And why is that?"
Zwist looked up at the clouds. Harry had warned her to expect monologues, and this looked like the prelude to one. "At that point, the metaphor loses its force. The //giftschreiber// are not very like a single organism at all. There is a left hand, and a right hand, but little in between to link them, and at the microscopic level even the hands are a series of disarticulated atoms held together by the weakest of all forces."
"I'm pretty sure if you used that metaphor on any of the scientists, they'd laugh in your face."
His nostrils flared. "Then we should dispense of metaphor altogether, because there is nothing very funny about what you are asking. The //giftschreiber// are a loose affiliation of chaos theorists with a penchant for praxis. There is no hierarchy to bring low. Their flunkies might offer a sense of substance, but it is an illusion. They hold no allegiance but to their singular cause."
"Which is knocking over everything that isn't nailed down."
"And then starting to work on the nails. Yes. And because they are more ethos than //oikos,//" she couldn't believe he was coming up with this shit on the fly, "whatever you yourself destroy will be replaced before you can so much as turn around. You might as well go to war with the wind. There will always be a fresh breeze the next morning."
"So this is the advice you agreed to give me." She sat forward again, and put her gravel-covered hands in her lap. "You think I should give up."
"I didn't say that."
"What, then? What would you do?"
"What I //already// do. I ameliorate the worst of their misdeeds. I shift the window, inch by inch."
"In favour of order?"
He looked like he'd tasted something sour, though the effect was made harder to see by his voluminous beard. "In favour of //balance.// Order lost its champions long ago, but there will always be those with itchy feet in heavy boots and a heel custom-tailored for pressing. Your Foundation has supplanted the //schriftsteller// of old, and gone beyond their wildest dreams. They sought stability in an unstable world. You seek control in a world long since stabilized. The //giftschreiber// intensify their efforts in response to the tightening of your iron grip. It will loosen, and they will lose interest, and then in the space between each finger they will see a possibility space, and they will fill it, and the world will devolve into anarchy again. And then you, or others like you, will rise again to challenge it. This is the cycle our kind have observed for hundreds, if not thousands, of years."
She chewed on that for a while. Its texture was very complex. "So, you're saying there's no point in holding out to kill Crocker."
"Lisbet?" He shook his head. "Surely long dead, whatever Harold might believe."
"Surely not." He raised a brow. "You can't be that surprised. You're like four centuries years old yourself."
"A special case, I thought." He sighed. "But it doesn't matter."
"It mattered a lot to my village."
"I mean for the purposes of this conversation, the survival of one //giftschreiber// or another is immaterial. She is a symptom of a disease. She did not cause it. Killing her will not erase it from existence."
"I guess that's what I need to be working on, then." She stood up, and wiped her hands off on her pants.
"What is?"
"Curing the disease."
He gave her a look of sympathy she almost believed was genuine. "Many have tried. One in particular has tried many times, and failed time and again."
"Maybe you've been focusing too much on the dead skin cells yourself, Thilo. You ought to consider the root of the rot."
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Zwist.jpg]] --]
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++ 8 September
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Adrijan Zlatá was beginning to wonder if someone wasn't playing a prank on him.
He looked down at his tablet again, and frowned. Applied Occultism had been redesigned significantly since he'd last been its Chief, apparently; there were now dedicated dormitories on the third sublevel, cutting into the decommissioned elements of AAF-D. The schematic that came with his room assignment showed Scranton Reality Anchors in the walls, presumably to keep back the structural reorientation that occurred each September the eighth -- today -- and a tidy block of dorms fairly dwarfed by the new room complex that he would soon call his own.
The agent who'd greeted him at Grand Bend and driven him to the subway had been detached, but polite. She'd explained the situation, and offered to show him to his new accommodations. Something in her tone made him feel like she thought him a silly old man, a burden, and so he'd said he was certain he could find everything just fine on his own, thank you. The subway had taken what it announced was a special, override-only stop -- which made sense, they wouldn't do regular service in this area until the six minutes of chaos had ended -- and he had gotten out at AAF-D, and made his way briskly to what was supposed to be the entrance to the new dorms.
Instead, he found himself in a maze of unrecognizable corridors.
For the first few minutes, he managed not to panic. When he couldn't make the schematic in his one hand resemble any of the spaces he moved through, try though he might, the suitcase in his other hand began to feel very heavy. When he tried to dial up S&C and got no response, then opened up the I&T ticketing system and got no signal, he became convinced that something was wrong.
When he heard the first of the BOOMs, he checked the time on the tablet. Still just a little after six. It couldn't be the Breach. He hadn't checked the time on the flight over, and the agent had told him...
He did something at this moment that he almost never did anymore, even though he'd done it thousands of times in years past.
He checked his watch.
6:23.
He was standing in Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-D in the middle of SCP-5243.
He started to run, but he didn't know where he was running to. His tablet sparked, and he threw it to the floor, and it melted over the tiles like paint. There was a voice in the air, monotone, reciting from an untranslated //Bhagavad Gita.// "Kaalo asmi loka kshaya kritpraviddho." He knew the quotation well.
The overhead lights changed from cold blue-white to neon orange, then red, then violet. Something huge bounded past him, but he couldn't see it. The corridor wall beside him, doors and pipes and all, dropped three feet straight down and stayed there. In the distance, something shimmering snaked across his path, and there was a cacophony of shouting voices.
He stopped, flummoxed, at an intersection. A different chaos waited in every direction. He thought //Got me this time, didn't you,// and then lightning arced from a pipe on the wall and he didn't think anything more.
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[[/=]]
Dr. Chelsea Smits had put a lot of very strange things into cold storage over the years. The strangest by far, until today, had been five hundred and seventy-two life-sized two-dimensional representations of Agent Ana Mukami, which together constituted her corpse.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_05_Zlata.jpg]]
But the forty-seven half-lemons with bright pink skin and light blue flesh she received today, comprising the mortal remains of Dr. Adrijan Zlatá, were now in seriously strong contention.
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
"So," Pensak began, "this should not have happened."
"Do you //think?//" Ibanez shouted.
Pensak used his office more than Ibanez had used it when it was hers. She'd gradually taken to the bullpen, while the new security chief had never seen fit to become less of a loner.
"How //did// it happen?" Udo asked. She and Ibanez were standing in front of the desk. Pensak had his terminal on, and was typing furiously as they spoke.
"Dr. Zlatá was scheduled to return to duty today," he read. "His arrival was not flagged for a security escort, and no announcement was made. Both of those oversights were the result of computer errors. He was assigned quarters in AAF-D..."
"Quarters in AAF-D," Ibanez repeated.
"I'm aware of the contradiction, obviously." It was weird how professional and detached the man had gotten since his promotion. "But Zlatá might not have been. He's been away for a few years, and we've been trying to figure out what to do with the space F-D occupies for a long time. It's right beneath AO, so he might plausibly have believed there was dormitory accommodation in there now. At least for a VIP like himself."
Udo visibly didn't buy it. "So he walked in there //during the Breach,// and died. The Breach he definitely knew was a thing. Has known for a long time."
"He's getting old." Pensak smiled nastily. "//Was// getting old. Won't be getting any older. Might be his faculties aren't what you remember."
Ibanez's arms tended to cross themselves in Pensak's presence. Sometimes she wondered why she'd ever hired him. The ghost of the woman she'd been in the first deadline whispering in her ear, perhaps. "Might be someone told him the Breach had been fixed."
Pensak's eyes widened. "That's a bit of a leap."
"Makes more sense than him bumblefucking into a paraspectral whatever the fuck on accident."
He turned away from the terminal to look at her straight on. "I'm surprised you think so. Do you know something about this old man I don't?"
It was cute that he considered himself a remotely worthy adversary. "A few things, but they're MTF-specific. I'll ask the Director about looping you in."
He nodded sharply. "Please do that."
"I assume there's going to be a formal investigation," Udo cut in.
His eyes flicked up and down in a sort of socially acceptable eyeroll. He always did know where the boundaries were. "There's probably going to be half a dozen. Me, the AAG, and a few different Foundation departments. You don't lose someone that high-ranking without a lot of fuss getting kicked up."
"Well," Ibanez sighed, "keep us in the loop."
"For what reason?"
She blinked. "What?"
"You're not the chief of security anymore, and //you,//" he pointed at Udo, "I have no idea what //your// interest is at all."
"I'm a member of Sampi-5243," Udo almost snapped. "And so is Del. This falls under our jurisdiction."
He made a sound that was superficially similar to laughter. "You guys have a jurisdiction now? I thought it would be confined to six minutes in September. Six minutes which, by my watch and the fact that nobody's getting turned into pink lemons anymore, would seem to have //passed.//"
She shifted her hands from her armpits to her hips. "You know I can go over your head and get access anyway, Rog. The Director will take my side. Just keep us looped in, for fuck's sake. We'll help you."
He waved them away like the two of them were a single housefly, and returned to his keyboard. "Fine. I don't have time to waste arguing with you anyway. I need to figure out who sabotaged our computer systems."
"So you //do// think this was foul play," said Udo.
"Of course I do," he scoffed. "I just think you reached that conclusion way too quickly, is all." He shot her an appraising glance. "Almost like you were expecting something like it to happen." Ibanez watched as Udo tried not to change her expression, and Pensak tried to figure out what the changes meant. "No? Then maybe you were already suspicious of Zlatá, then?"
Neither of them said anything in response to that.
He nodded, as though an agreement had been reached. "Seems to me like trust needs to go both ways. I'll leave you ladies to discuss." He gestured at the door. "By which I mean, you'll leave."
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[[/=]]
They walked in silence for a few minutes, both of them apparently agreeing that the farther they were from Pensak's office before they started speaking, the better.
"You do trust him, right?" Udo finally asked, when the coast was thoroughly clear.
"I think he's very competent," Ibanez equivocated. "Very good at his job."
"Was that a yes?"
Ibanez looked up at her pityingly. "Consider what his job //is.// It's a hearty, congratulatory //no.//"
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[[/=]]
[[div class="generic"]]
Perhaps it was something in his expression, or the way he moved when he stood up, but this time Dougall Deering looked up and said "Wait."
Pensak waited.
It wasn't clear if the other man knew what to do with the momentary reprieve, now that he had it. He blinked furiously. He said, "Are you about to kill me?"
Pensak nodded.
"Why?"
"Because that's my job." Given there was no reason to hide anything now, he unbuttoned his service weapon and removed it from its holster.
Deering began to babble. "I was only trying to do //my// job! That's it! You can't fault me for that!"
"I'm not faulting you for anything." Pensak checked the slide, the safety, the action on the trigger. He flicked the safety off. "This isn't personal."
"What is it, then?!"
"It's //duty.// It's you and me contributing to the safety of the entire world."
Unexpectedly, Deering started laughing. It was high and manic, but there was still some humour in it. "I've wasted so much time on that already. Now it's wasting //me.// Figures."
Pensak hesitated. "What do you mean by that?"
The other man's eyes were wild. He couldn't make eye contact for long. His attention kept flicking from Pensak, to the gun, to the door. "There's something very bad coming. Something I can help you with. Help all of you. I've been working on it for //years.// I've given everything I've got to it. I thought I could take a break. Do something for me. For... for //him.//"
"Who's 'him'?"
Deering looked down. "Doesn't matter. Obviously it doesn't work. That's why you're going to kill me."
Pensak glanced at the time. He still had plausible deniability. These encounters weren't on the record. "What is? What's my reason, according to you?"
The doomed scientist fiddled with his shirt buttons. He was sweating. It was comical. "I messed with the timeline. That's what the call was. It broke causality. Now the time cops want me dead."
Pensak laughed, and Deering started so hard that his chair scraped gratingly on the floor tiles. "The time cops! That part's right. What do you mean by 'the call' though?"
Deering squinted at him. There were tears in his eyes, and this action pushed them out to run down his reddening cheeks. "You don't know? They didn't tell you?"
Pensak shook his head.
Deering took a deep breath, and almost smiled. "Then I guess I shouldn't either."
"Not even for another second of life?"
The other man closed his eyes entirely. "It's like you said. A matter of duty."
Pensak shrugged.
He didn't even bother to stand and walk behind Deering's back. He just raised his hand as the sobbing began in earnest, and bored a hole straight through the brain pan.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_06_Pensak_Duty.jpg]]
Duty, he had decided, was a little bit overrated.
[!-- [[=image Pensak_Dougall.jpg]] --]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
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++ 14 September
----
[[/=]]
Harry didn't read the entire article in front of him, but he definitely read the abstract, and made a show of spending a few seconds on each page. Wettle's chest swelled with pride, as far as there was room for it to swell further.
"I didn't know you still published," the archivist said finally, setting the journal down on the counter. "I didn't know you //ever// published. Do replication studies usually get published?"
"Of course they do," Wettle snorted. "You're uninformed. Because your wishy-washy humanities are irreplicable." He often felt he had the upper hand when they were standing in his lab. Harry probably agreed, which was why they usually met in his office instead.
"I also didn't know you could pronounce words like that," Harry smiled. "You're really escalating in my estimations today, Willie." To Wettle's surprise, he picked the journal up again and flipped to the article again. "This is interesting stuff. Of course, a solid ninety-percent of the conclusions were reached by people who aren't you..."
"I was present for the conversations," Wettle protested. "You're all under a permanent release for Foundation publication, and this stuff falls under my field. Besides, I'd think you'd be grateful. Getting all of this down on paper, and working through the meaning."
Harry arched a brow at him. "I'm not sure the others would have chosen //you// as the primary interpreter of that meaning. No offence."
"How is that no offence?"
That apparently didn't merit a response, because Harry kept talking as though Wettle had never interrupted. "But this looks alright, tentatively. I'm sure I'll have notes when I read it in full."
Wettle sighed. "It's already published, Harry. It's not going to //change.//"
"Maybe I'll get them to issue a retraction."
"Fuck off."
Harry flipped the little booklet over, examining the cover. "What journal is this, anyway? I've never seen it before."
"The only one we have."
"//Journal of Replication Tests and Studies.//" He looked at Wettle, a look Wettle didn't like on his face. The one that meant something was about to occur to him. "Replication Tests?"
"Computer shit," Wettle sighed. "They horned in. I think they ought to get their own--"
"Wait." Harry was grinning now. Wettle hated it when he grinned. "//Journal of Replication Tests and Studies.// JORTS?"
"Anyway." Wettle took the journal out of Harry's hands, and stuck it in the nearest drawer.
"JORTS, Willie? Seriously?" Harry was obviously seconds from breaking down. "Oh my god, you named this, didn't you."
Wettle hated to get on his dignity in his own lab. The tables were bolted down, it shouldn't have been possible to turn them. "We've got the Foundation's largest replication labs. Of course I got to name it."
"And you didn't think to run the name past anyone else?"
"Well, of course not. Then //they'd// probably get to name it."
"Good call." Harry nodded sagely. "It'd really suck if the thing ended up being called something fucking stupid."
[!-- [[=image Wettle_Blank.jpg]] --]
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++ 15 September
----
[[/=]]
They met in Ibanez's office in AAF-A this time. There really was no neutral space between S&C and P&S. That was probably indicative of a wider organizational issue, Udo realized, but neither Pensak nor Ibanez were likely to appreciate her bringing it up at this juncture.
"We've decided to come clean," Del told him. She was sitting behind her desk, and Udo was standing behind her. Neither of them had McInnis' levelling instinct.
"That's a lie," Pensak observed from the door he was leaning on, "but go on."
"Well," Del said, "obviously we're not going to tell you //everything// we know about //everything.// But Zlatá? I'm an open book on that subject. Here's what I know: he was a //giftschreiber.//"
"I don't agree with that," Udo murmured.
Pensak ignored her. "Where is this coming from?"
"Another //giftschreiber.//" Del was also ignoring her. //So much for a unified front.// "They told Lillian."
"And she believed him? Her? Whoever this was?"
"Him," Udo interrupted, more forcefully. "And yes, she did. I don't know why. I don't believe it's true." She gripped the back of Del's chair. "Adrijan Zlatá was one of my mentors."
Del waved dismissively over her shoulder. "Oh, you're just being nice because he's dead. He was an absentee academic landlord. He was barely even //awake// most of the time. You don't owe him anything. Why would you think he's untouchable?"
"This just doesn't seem like him," she responded. "He's a thaumaturge, not a cryptomancer. Why would he be involved with the word poisoners?"
"It does present a motive for his murder, though," said Del.
Pensak visibly wasn't following, until suddenly he was. "It does? One of our own people, you mean? Because of the Forgotten War? Maybe a covert op?"
They didn't talk about the Forgotten War, the //giftschreibers//' long dormant conflict with Site-43, very often. Which was appropriate enough, given the name.
"No," Del said emphatically. "The //giftschreiber// are split. There's a schism. They're fighting each other at the same time as they're fighting us. Whatever faction he was on, the other faction probably had him killed. Fucked up our computers, maybe drugged him so he'd be stupid, wander into the lightshow, looks as natural as a murder can at a Foundation facility."
Pensak was nodding. "This is all new information, which irritates me, but it does kind of make sense."
"What do you mean?" Udo asked.
"Zlatá was at Area-21 training recruits. They've had bad //gift// problems for a while now. You guys know something about that."
Del turned her chair a little to smile up at Udo. "Yeah, the //wunderkind// here fixed it last time."
Udo smiled back down at her. This was more like it. "You shot a lot of people."
"Hell yeah I did!" Del reached out for a high-five, and Udo obliged her. "We're a good team."
Pensak did not look impressed, but he did look intrigued. "It's possible Zlatá was converting people to the cult. We're going to have to do a joint investigation with 21 to get to the root of it."
Udo frowned. She still had reservations she was having trouble properly expressing. "This is moving too quickly."
"Someone was murdered at my Site," Pensak reminded her. "This moves as quickly as possible until it reaches a conclusion. Right?"
"Right," Del agreed. "So the question is, what was Zlatá working on here?"
"That's not the question at all," said Udo.
"No?"
"No. The question is //how// was Zlatá able to work on //anything// here, if he's a //giftschreiber// like you say. Only the //geistschreiber// can make heads or tails of Site-43. The rest of them can't focus on us for more than a few seconds at a time -- Chief Pensak just mentioned the Forgotten War, remember -- and they immediately forget everything after. He worked here for //years.// If anything, this proves that he's not what you think he is."
"Or," Pensak mused, "it proves that he's a //geistschreiber.//"
And he stumbled forward as the door suddenly opened.
"Hey there." Lillian breezed past him. He braced himself against Del's empty bookcase, and glared at her.
"This is a closed meeting," he fairly snarled.
She pointed at the open door. "No it isn't. Look." She walked to the desk, standing between him and them. "You guys talking about Zlatá?"
"Yeah." Del looked amused. She'd always enjoyed seeing Pensak put out, even back when they'd mostly seen eye-to-eye. There was a little bit of Wettle in him, that made you want to see him get taken down a peg occasionally. "You have something to add?"
"I didn't tell you," Lillian said, "because I was still chewing it over, but the guy I met? At Site-06? He told me Bernie was working with the //giftschreiber,// too."
Udo frowned. "That makes less than no sense."
"Does it?" Del asked. "I mean, he's a Victim now. Basically //giftie// central."
"But that was after he died," said Udo. "There's never been any indication that he was working for the enemy. Any of the enemies. He trained Lillian."
"Perhaps that's now suspect, too," Pensak suggested from the vicinity of Lillian's back.
"I knew you'd say that," she said over her shoulder, "which is why I had to do some extra chewing. Self-preservation, and all that."
"Strictly against regulations," he murmured.
"You always do everything the regs say?" He smirked, and she looked back at Del. "Yeah, that's what I thought. But listen. What does it mean for a chaos cult to have a civil war? How are they that coherent? They're anarchists. They blow shit up with words. They're already dissolute. What cause could divide them on ideological lines like this, so that there's two different kinds of cult within what used to be one coherent body?"
"The cycle," Udo said immediately.
Del stiffened. "The cycle? Oh, for fuck's sake."
Pensak walked over to stand beside Lillian. "What are you talking about?"
Lillian put on her best lecturing voice, which was of course extremely condescending and exasperated. "The //giftschreiber// believe there's a cycle of order and chaos that humanity runs through every era. There used to be an order cult, but they've been dead and gone for centuries. The chaos cult is ascendant. But the thing is, when they ascend, they're supposed to end the world and then somehow move on to the next one."
"The next one," Pensak repeated.
"We don't know, so don't ask. But for that to work, I'm pretty sure they need the world healed. They need their boss back. The thing that gave them all their powers. The thing all the papers that didn't get redacted by the Breach seem to be calling the 'Uncontained'."
"The thing that's been wiped from existence so cleanly," Udo added, "we can only talk about it in terms we ourselves created."
Del was staring at her blotter. "So you think... they're stalling? Half of them are trying to push back against the chaos, to keep the world stable, while the others are just trying to get it over with and take their chances?"
Lillian's smile was unpleasant. "Kind of reminds you of the rest of us versus Noè, doesn't it?"
"That's not fair," Del snapped, then looked embarrassed to have snapped it.
Udo put a hand on her shoulder. "You've said worse."
"Yeah, but that's me."
"So," Pensak said, "we're now suggesting that operatives from two opposing cults have been working at Site-43, both of them for a really long time, and we only found out about this when they died. That... introduces some new avenues of investigation."
"Like what?" Udo asked.
Del answered. "Like if there were two of them here, are there more? More like them, or people they trained to //be// like them?"
Pensak was trying to speak, but Lillian beat him to it. "Like I said, I gave this one some thought. Nothing Bernie taught me was compulsive. He didn't //force// me to do anything. I'm not one of them, and I'm not a Manchurian Candidate or anything. I don't think they were trying to recruit, here. I think they were using this place as a base of operations for setting the world stage."
The security chief finally got a word in edgewise "You're saying you think Del Olmo was in an enemy cult //and// a friend to the Foundation? How does that even work?"
She shrugged. "His mission was classified. To me, that suggests double agent. Maybe Zlatá was one too. Maybe we've been sitting on a spy network, working against the crypto cults, this entire time."
"Run by who, though?" Del asked.
Nobody leapt to answer, though all four of them visibly strained to be the first to have one.
Pensak, to everyone's surprise, won the contest. "Who else has died in a high-profile way connected to the Breach?"
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Pensak_Lillihammer.jpg]] --]
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[[/=]]
Udo put a new question on the file they'd prepared for Dougall, then locked it back up in the safe.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_07_Okorie_Safe.jpg]]
The questions outnumbered the answers by a ratio of half a dozen to zero.
Perhaps they'd see next September.
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++ 19 September
[[/=]]
----
Phil had been going about his work for maybe ten minutes before he suddenly realized where he was, turned to the window, and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, didn't see you there." The smile immediately melted as he realized what he'd said. "Was that insensitive? That was probably..."
"She didn't notice you either," Doug growled from the mirror opposite the ADDC window.
"Yeah." Phil nodded to himself. "Yeah, that was insensitive. Sorry."
Reynders was smiling. It was a sad smile, but he thought hers always were. "Two apologies in a row. That's almost one 'hello'." She put one hand on the glass, on her side.
He'd seen this done before, and knew to mirror the gesture. "Hello," he said. "I'll be out of your hair soon."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_08_Reynders_Doug_Phil.jpg]]
"You were never in my hair. My hair doesn't tangle." She tugged at her bangs, to demonstrate. "I tried to tangle it, once. Used a screwdriver to put it into curls. They lasted just over an hour."
"Well, your hair looks very nice anyway. Very retro." He blinked. "I did it again. I know. I //know.// Shut up." Doug wasn't even saying anything, just groaning in condemnation.
Reynders didn't seem bothered to be out of the loop on the other conversation. Probably she was used to it. //Don't say that out loud.//
"I'll take the compliment in the spirit in which it was intended," she smiled. "Haven't seen you around here lately."
"Yeah, they don't like sending me on this route. Worried Doug will pop onto the glass." Phil gestured at the mirror, unnecessarily. "I keep telling them he won't, but..."
"I wonder what would happen if he did," she mused.
He winced. He didn't like to think about it. "Nobody knows. He'll jump onto glass that people are looking through, but never in their line of sight. If they look in his direction, he pops off somewhere else. And if you try to record, he'll never show up at all. Point a video camera at your side of the glass, and... well. Uh."
"Yes, I don't have access to a video camera, I'm afraid. Everything on this side of the glass is from 1942." She smirked. "Don't say you're sorry."
"S--... yeah. Yeah. It's too bad, though. S—... Ugh." He put both palms to his forehead, as though he could squeeze the stupid out if he pressed hard enough.
"What's too bad? You can just say it. I've heard it all."
He tried to look sympathetic. Judging by his reflection, he only looked constipated. "You ought to be able to come out here and see everything. See how it's all changed. You changed so much of it."
Her eyebrows went up. "Is that so?"
"For sure. Everyone talks about you all the time. All the stuff you invented. The things you figured out. You're a legend out here."
The words obviously registered, though it was hard to tell what effect they'd had. She always looked politely interested, probably because that kept people coming back.
Doug spoke at the same time she did. He said: "Not everyone is as selfish and mercenary as you, Philip." She said: "That's nice. I'd trade it, though."
It took him a second to disentangle the two statements. What would she trade? She'd trade being a legend. Okay. "For?"
"For being a //person// out there." She gestured at the corridor, then retracted the gesture. "No, actually, that isn't true. I wouldn't trade it."
"No?"
"No." Her cheeks stretched out in an expression that was something like satisfaction, though qualified. "I know I've helped people. I've done things that mattered."
"That must be nice," he mused.
"Mopping a floor must be nice, too."
He laughed. "You think?"
"Yeah. A nice, long corridor. There isn't enough room in here for me to get a good pace on. My legs don't really need stretching, but my brain thinks they do." She hopped up and down on the balls of her feet. She looked very small behind that massive window, though it probably looked a lot less massive to her. "You know?"
"I guess," he said. He looked down the handle of his mop at the bucket of water, which was already too filmy for Doug to appear in it. "I'm stuck down here so often, I keep thinking how nice it would be to go for a jog topside."
"So, why don't you?"
He frowned at the bubbles. "I dunno."
"Are you allowed?"
He looked up sharply. "Well, of course I'm //allowed.// Why wouldn't I be allowed?"
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She could tell the mirror monster was talking by the way the gash across its jaw was vibrating.
"It doesn't work that way, //Doug.//" Phil said the name like it was a curse. "I can go whenever I want. I'm not a //prisoner.//"
And then he looked at her, and his mouth became a comical 'o' of horror.
She forced another smile. "Don't say you're sorry."
"I am, though." He hung his head, and she noticed his hairline was slowly receding. "I keep putting my foot in my mouth."
"We've both got our problems." She tapped at the glass, and when he looked up again, she pointed at the mirror behind him. "You ever think about his?"
"His...?" Phil looked at the mirror, then back at her. "His problems?" He slumped again. "Oh, you mean //me.//"
She laughed. "No. Well, sort of. He has to follow you around, day by day. Trapped in the mirror. How do you think that feels?"
"I kinda don't care?" He said the words like he was trying them out. "I don't know that he //has// to do it. I think he just wants to."
"What has he said to make you think that?"
He frowned. "He hasn't //said// anything. But he never stops, and he never stops talking in my ear. Why would he stay there, if it wasn't what he wanted? Oh."
She didn't tell him not to apologize, and he didn't, but she almost felt like both of them should have. He could stop with the //faux pas// any time now.
But as always, she tried to see things from his perspective.
"I think it's a different thing," Phil said. "You're working on stuff. You're helping people. He..."
She shrugged. "Sure."
"It's different."
"Of course."
He suddenly smiled. "When you get out, I promise you can mop this corridor for me."
She chuckled. As far as he knew, it wasn't forced. "Something to look forward to."
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++ 23 September
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----
They were her extended social circle, and they didn't really overlap with the main one, so she didn't see them half as often. Except for Stacey, of course, but that was different. She still felt guilty, especially because she was only calling on them now because she needed them.
But she did need them, so.
"So," she said, standing behind one of the couches in the AO lounge and clutching the back as she'd seen Harry do at his A&R meetings, "I have a weird and unpleasant thing I need to talk with you guys about."
"Nobody ever calls me in for anything fun," Imrich said. It wasn't a complaint, just a statement of fact.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_09_Sykora_Couch.jpg]]
"You really haven't made that your brand," Rozálie smiled at him. They were sitting on either end of a couch opposite the one Udo was using as a podium.
Her girlfriend was sitting between them. "I'm sure we're all happy to help," Stacey smiled at her. "What's this about?"
She took a deep breath. "It's about Dougall." In descending order from Stacey to Roz to Imrich, they reacted with visible dismay. "You were probably expecting it to be about Adrijan. And it is. Sort of. I want to talk to you guys about the stuff that happened in 2002, maybe a few years leading up to it as well. What Dougall was working on. What he worked on with us."
Stacey looked more conflicted than Udo had ever seen her. She wasn't usually gripped by complex emotions. "I... don't know that I can really talk about that. Can I?"
"I'm working with Del, and Chief Pensak," Udo reassured her. "We've got the Director's authority. You can check on that, if you want."
Stacey shook her head, composure at least partially regained already. It took a lot to fluster her long-term. They'd certainly experimented with that a lot over the past few months... "No, of course I trust you."
Imrich had his tablet out already. "I'm checking on it."
"Of course you are," Roz sighed.
Udo hadn't been bluffing. "There should be notifications on your SCiPnet account."
"But why would you want to talk about Dougall," Stacey asked, her tone still more than little vulnerable, "all these years later?"
"Yeah," Imrich said flatly. "Why."
Stacey looked at him in confusion. "Imrich?"
He scrolled on his tablet, and didn't make eye contact. "Nothing."
"Is it because he died in the Breach, too?" Roz asked.
"He died //during// the Breach," Udo clarified. "I'm not sure that's the same thing."
Stacey's blonde brows were knitted tight now. "I never heard anything about there being any doubt."
Here came the guilt again. "We thought there might have been a conspiracy. We kept it to a small group. Very small."
Her girlfriend's face closed up. "I see."
"Stace..." Udo sighed. "It's complicated. You just have to trust me. We didn't want to tell anyone who didn't need to know, because it might be dangerous information."
Stacey's expression said it all. //Heard that before.//
"And now you're ready to endanger us all," Roz concluded.
"On Directorial authority!" Imrich announced, setting his tablet back on the side table. "Apparently. So, where do we start. What do you want to know, that you think we can help with?"
"Stacey first," Udo pointed. "You were Dougall's research partner. I never heard anything about what you guys were researching. What can you tell me?"
"Stable ontology." She was speaking very matter-of-factly now, her lips pressed thin.
Roz frowned at her. "What?"
"We were working on ways to shore up reality," Stacey explained, "and the connections between real things. It was the intersection of both of our Talents."
Imrich was frowning too. "Dr. Deering had a Talent? I never knew that."
"It was classified," Stacey told him. "It's still classified. I don't think I'm allowed to talk about //that,// even now."
"I have my suspicions," said Udo.
Stacey shot her a warning look. "I'd appreciate if you'd leave them at that, for now."
"Fine. What about //your// Talent?" It had somehow never come up.
"I..." Stacey actually gulped. "I would rather not talk about that, either."
"This is a very informative discussion," said Imrich.
Udo clutched the cushions tighter. They were vinyl, and they creaked, so the other three looked at her and waited. //Maybe there really is something to this couch podium stuff.// "What can you easily tell me about, Stace? Let's start with that."
"Okay." Stacey clasped her hands in her lap, and examined them as she spoke. "Dougall was concerned that we were seeing fluctuations in the stability of reality, both local and global. He assumed it was connected to, //ow.//" She winced, closing her left eye tight. "Owww."
Udo raised a hand. "It's okay. I know what just happened. You hit a mental block, and the memory isn't there."
"Yeah." Stacey had opened her eye again, but the rest of her face was still screwed up in irritation. It was very cute. "What the //heck.//"
"Don't worry about it," said Udo. "I know what it was connected to. There's a wider stability problem going on because of stuff connected to the Breach."
"But the Breach hadn't happened yet," Roz protested. "When Dr. Deering died, I mean."
"The Breach was the first really overt manifestation of a wider problem we're still figuring out," said Udo. "What I don't understand right now is how Dougall fit into it. But you're saying he... oh. Oh, //hmm.//"
"What?" Roz prompted.
"Were either Bernabé del Olmo or Adrijan Zlatá involved in this project?" Udo asked.
Stacey blinked. "Not that I know of."
"//I// know of," said Imrich.
Udo gestured at him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I was doing a thing with Zlatá on the side, thought it might end up as a chapter for my dissertation. His idea. We were trying to find a way of tracking mobile reality disruptors."
Roz regarded him with curiosity. "Mobile..."
"Not exactly reality benders, but a similar idea. Some people, particularly time travellers and people from alternate universes, but also a lot of other anomalous individuals native to this timeline, have a problematic relationship with the tapestry of reality. It unravels around them. They don't do it intentionally, they just represent different rulesets colliding with ours, with problematic results. Basically the opposite of a Scranton Reality Anchor, but as a person."
"And you thought you could track those sorts of people?" Udo asked.
"Obviously my project as a whole was about finding the most useful outlets for my Talent," he said in his customary arrogant drawl, "within the Foundation's containment project. Given the right criteria and a //lot// of complex math, I was pretty sure I could do what he was asking for."
Stacey looked thoughtful. "Adrijan asked for this specifically?"
"Yeah. The whole thing was his idea." He blinked. "So now it sounds like he was trying to find a way to hunt down some of the weirder folks involved in this whole debacle. //Giftschreiber// maybe. //Geistschreiber// almost definitely."
"This would have been useful information to have earlier," Udo noted. "Why wasn't it on record?"
"Because as soon as I finished my work, the Department of Containment showed up and declared the information privileged and super-secret, and redacted that entire chapter of my thesis. I still ended up getting credit, but only Zlatá ever knew what was in there." He chewed his inner cheek. "There's another thing, though."
"What?"
"He was adamant that I never attempt to use this aspect of my Talent at Site-43."
Stacey's grimace had eased to a frown. "I wonder why that would have been."
"I'm surprised you didn't do it anyway," Roz said, "and find out."
He smirked at her. "I never do what I'm told not to do. I just do what I //haven't// been told not to do, instead. Arrives at the same result."
"What result?" Udo asked. "What did you do?"
"Bog-standard path-plotting. I figured out where Zlatá was taking all my data, because I knew he had to be working on something big." He paused, obviously for dramatic emphasis. "He was taking it to Dougall Deering."
"Of course he was," Udo sighed.
Stacey looked back and forth between them. "I don't understand. Is Dougall implicated in all of this somehow?"
"Somehow," Udo agreed. "I just don't know the specifics. Roz, is there anything you can tell me about Dougall that seems strange? At the time, in retrospect, whatever?"
"Just one thing," her friend said.
"Yeah?"
"His aura was wrong."
Imrich rolled his eyes. "Oh boy."
Stacey gave him a stern look. "Dr. Astrauskas' auramancy has been proven accurate in dozens of test cases, Imrich. Her dissertation was just as solid as yours."
"Uh huh."
"Wrong how, Roz?" Udo pressed. "His aura?"
"I don't know how. I just know it was wrong." The wiry little woman's eyes rolled back as she called up the memory. "I never thought about it too hard at the time, because he was a thaumaturge -- supposedly -- and I figured it must be related to that. But at this point I've isolated the relevant elements of a person's aura, the Thaumic Channels and Thaumic Radii, and that wasn't what I saw on him. I don't remember what it was. If I'd looked closer, I might have figured it out. I haven't thought about it in years. There was something familiar..."
"Keep thinking about it," Udo encouraged her. "This is all good information. We might crack this yet."
"But to what end?" Stacey asked, her voice very thin and brittle. "Dougall will still be dead."
"That project you guys were working on is probably more important than ever," Udo told her. "If we can figure out what he wasn't telling any of us, and put it to use, we might be able to keep everyone else from dying."
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++ 30 September
----
[[/=]]
Ngo chose to stand. It somehow felt better betraying confidences upright, than sitting down.
"So." Anoki looked... bored? Was that boredom? "What do you have to report this year?"
She looked down at her clipboard. "They're all working on personal projects. Blank has his head in the archives, as always, and nothing he's looking at is particularly strange. All within the established CLIO guidelines. Ibanez and Okorie are spending a lot of time together, but they've been closer than most of the group, so that isn't particularly noteworthy. Okorie's been talking to a lot of her colleagues lately--"
"Which ones?" he interrupted.
"Her supervisor, Dr. Laiken, and two of her cohort. Astrauskas and Sýkora."
"Any threat there?"
"They're all rock solid. All patients of mine except Laiken, and their evals show firm dedication to our ideals. Laiken is obviously your patient, as a Section Chair."
"Obviously." If she'd left the implication hanging that he might reveal his opinion of Laiken's solidity, he did not take it up. "Any idea what they might be working on?"
"No."
"Are you sure you're looking?"
"Yes. I'm also firmly dedicated to our ideals. Presumably my evals show that." There was a hard edge in her voice, and she made no effort to soften it.
"I'll leave you guessing. What about Wettle?"
"What about him? He's working on replication studies. A lot of them. Probably preparing a paper nobody will read, and only the people he cites will cite him." Even though it was Wettle, and it was true, it still felt cruel to say out loud. "Nothing relevant, a wide field of study. Probably hoping to cherry-pick something good for promotion." She hated talking about her patients like this, even if the unkind things she was saying were unrelated to their blissfully infrequent sessions.
"Nascimbeni?"
She sighed. "I'm still worried about him. He shouldn't be in his position. He's a danger to everyone, but the Director... I shouldn't be saying this."
"Of course you should." Anoki smiled, but there was nothing behind it. "I asked you to speak candidly. I value your insight."
She forced herself to continue. //Sure. You're the one forcing this. Uh huh.// "The Director is convinced that the benefits of keeping him here outweigh the dangers. He trusts Chief Nascimbeni. I trust the Director, so I should trust him, too."
"That doesn't necessarily follow, but I appreciate how you got there. And the Director himself?"
She frowned. "I was under the impression I was only investigating Director McInnis as his actions relate to Sampi-5243 as a whole."
"We can frame it that way, if it makes you feel more comfortable. What have you learned?"
She hadn't prepared notes on this, so she spoke from the heart instead. Perhaps she should have been doing that all along. "He's a model leader. He dedicates all of his time to the cause."
"Which cause?" Anoki asked. "Ours, or theirs?"
"I don't see a difference, sir."
"Hmm." He narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps you haven't been looking as closely as you ought, after all."
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Forsythe pulled off the leads -- none too gently, and Nascimbeni yelped -- and indicated with a grunt that he should put his shirt back on. "That about does it."
"Give it to me straight," he said as he fluffed his hair back out.
"Nothing to give." Forsythe scribbled something on her tablet, and was halfway to the door. "You're healthy as a horse, and mentally competent."
"For a horse, maybe. I have it on good authority they're the stupidest creatures known to man."
She stopped just short of the hall, and looked back at him with a rueful look. "That authority went nuts and pulled out his own eyeball, so I don't know that I'd call him //good.//" She nodded, for punctuation more than any particular affirmation. "Okay, well. See you again next month."
He made no move to get off the exam bench.
"There a problem?"
"I'm not fit to perform my duties."
She rolled her eyes. "Sure you are."
"I'm not. I'm... I just am //not.//" He looked down at his boots. "You need to declare me unfit."
"I'm aware of no such need."
"I'm serious." He recited his memorized speech into the floor tiles. "I'm a danger to everyone here. I'm going to fuck up bigtime, and soon, if they don't take me out of circulation. Replace me. Anyone could do it. The place is practically all automated by now anyway."
"Automation you designed."
"To remove unnecessary human elements!" He looked up at her, not sure if he wanted it to look and sound like he was pleading or not. "Like me! I'm unnecessary. I'm a point of failure. I have failed before, on multiple occasions. I will fail again. And people will get hurt."
She shook her head. "I don't think that's true."
"I want to spend more time with my family. I want to help my granddaughter with her homework. I want to go fishing with my //son.//"
She snorted. "No, you don't. You want to mope around your bungalow until you die." He stared at her. "I'm not an idiot. 'Do no harm', right? Sending you out of here would be maximally harmful. You'd be dead within a year."
"You don't know that."
"I //do// know that. The work and those shots are all that's keeping you alive."
"So stop giving me the shots."
She glared at him. "You //know// I can't do that."
"What's in them?"
"I can't tell you."
"Do you know?"
"No!" With her hands on her hips, she looked like Del's taller, less dangerous sister.
"I do!" he said, and it came out almost as a mocking snarl.
"How?"
"I can't tell you," he half-sang mockingly.
She showed him the back of her labcoat. "See you next month, Chief."
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++ 2 October
----
[[/=]]
She'd thought about him from time to time over the years, but they hadn't kept in touch. The thing they had in common also came between them, had pushed them apart. So when she saw him approaching her window, Ilse assumed she was either hallucinating, or else another //geistschreiber// had infiltrated the Site.
But no.
There was no mistaking that smile. It was him, even under all the wrinkles and liver spots.
"Hello, Ilse," said Euler.
"Arik?" She almost couldn't believe it.
"Perhaps a little worse for wear," he smiled. His suit was too big for him. He was starting to resemble Falkirk, though only superficially.
"I'm sorry, I didn't... wow. //Wow.//" She shook her head, and her vision swam. She wiped her eyes with a sleeve. "It's been so long."
"Longer for you, I suspect." He knew better than to look on her with sympathy. Once she'd first seen respect on his face, had earned it, it had always persistently been there. "The blink of an eye for me."
"I wish I could experience time dilation. I would have dilated... oh. Probably most of the last ten years." She considered. "Maybe twenty. Maybe sixty?"
He placed a hand on the glass. Normally she had to initiate that particular gesture. "I have not been a very good friend to you."
She matched his palm and fingers, marvelling at the bulges of his knuckles. "Friendship isn't a responsibility. It's a gift. You give it when you get it. How have you been? I've heard a lot."
He deflected. "I would ask if it was all good, but I know better."
"I'd say it's been pretty good. You've been limiting the damage..."
He knew precisely what she meant. The Frontispiece. Their shared noöspheric perversion. "The damage we did, and the damage we enabled. Yes."
"We did it with good reason. But it was still wrong."
"And still right. Even today, I think."
She shook her head, just a little. "I don't know about that. But at the time, certainly."
He lowered his hand. She kept hers up. "You don't think we've come a long way since then?"
"Maybe my perspective is limited. I've got a very narrow window." She lifted her hand to tap the glass, then let it fall back to her side. "But it seems to me that we could have done a lot better than we have. I went in here during a world war. If I got out right now, I'd be in the middle of another one."
Euler nodded. "I wonder if they will class this as another Occult War. We're long overdue."
"I wonder if we'll be the good guys, or the bad guys."
His mouth bunched up beneath his nose. "The good, surely. The enemy seeks to destabilize everything we've built. And much of what we've built was for the good of mankind."
"Much," she agreed, "but not all."
"No, not all. But they build nothing. They contribute //nothing.//"
"What do we contribute? To society, I mean. Beyond just... allowing it to survive." It wasn't rhetorical. If he had an answer, she wanted to hear it.
"That's rather a lot." His eyes crinkled. "I was going to say 'Isn't that enough?' and then I realized I was just going through the motions, advocating for the devil."
"It's never good when you can associate your own cause with Satan," she said.
He still had some of the old fire, she was glad to see, even if it was presently burning him up. "It's a poor association. Satan was a rebel. Satan assaulted the established order. Satan was a largely sympathetic character."
"You're thinking //Paradise Lost.// I don't know that the Bible depicts him with quite the same verve."
He chuckled. "I forget sometimes that you have a literature degree."
"Yeah, somewhere in the back of my sheaf. I suppose Satan is more properly the Chaos Insurgency, right?"
"They do use one of his phrases as their motto."
//Should intermittent vengeance arm again his red right hand to plague us?//
"Pretty sure that was Belial, actually. An even worse role model." She shifted in place. "But let's get to the point directly. We've been apart too long to waste time like this. Are we the devil? Are we the aggressor? Or is this the same as the Panopticon Crisis, and we're merely ensuring that we survive, along with everyone else? I can't tell. I'm a slave to what other people allow me to see."
He still respected her enough to take the time to think through his response. "It's a difficult comparison to make. I think we are worse than we were, and I think the hour is later than it was. The circumstances more dire. We are over-correcting for a very bad situation. And that might be worsening it." His eyes unfocused, and she wondered what he was seeing as he looked through the glass, through her. "The things we did half a lifetime ago, in good faith, have led to countless deaths since then. They have weaponized... no. We gave them a weapon. It was used //as// a weapon. We attacked the psyche of mankind, and when we stepped away, the attacks were continued by others. I have no reason to imagine they'll ever stop."
"Maybe when there are no more enemies," she offered.
His smile was cold. "I remember the witch hunts, Ilse. There will always be more enemies. They will invent themselves, or we will invent them." And then the warmth crept back into him, and he raised his hand again. "I came here to console you. I understand you've been... under the weather."
She met him at the glass, as she always had. "It's all connected. Everything's connected. Everything but me." She gave him a bright smile to prevent a flood of consolation. "I have the benefit of long experience with long trends, and I can tell that this is all coming to a head. But my sense of the schedule is skewed. It might happen today. It might happen in ten years. Fifteen. Twenty. I don't know. But the drama won't go on forever."
"And how will it end, do you think?" This time it looked like was the one genuinely hoping she knew.
And she did, in a sense. "I think that depends on us."
He nodded, and then stood up a little straighter. "Then perhaps we ought to spend the intervening time on self-redefinition." He winked. "A simple task for two spring chickens such as ourselves."
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It was eerie as all hell, standing here with the two of them. Euler knew he couldn't keep it off his face, but maybe all the folds and wrinkles would disguise the discomfiture.
"Hi!" Udo waved.
Euler glanced through the window. "Does she remind you of him?"
"I called her by his name, once," Ilse said.
"Oh." He pursed his lips. "She doesn't remind me of him //that// much. No moustache."
"It was a silly little moustache," Ilse smiled.
"I thought it looked distinguished."
"Well, my tastes are outdated. Hello, Udo."
"You're talking about my grandfather." There was no sign on her face that this was a sensitive topic. It might just as well have been academic.
Euler nodded. "Yes. I would like us to talk more about him, in fact."
"How well did you know him?" Ilse asked.
Udo shrugged. "Hardly at all. He died before I was born."
"But you've heard stories, surely," Euler pressed.
She looked grim. "Not from my dad. Not much, anyway. I don't think they were close. I remember dad saying he was closed off. Distant." She noticed what had to be the dismay in his eyes, and hurriedly tried to smooth it over. "Harry showed me everything there is in the archives about him. I know he was a remote reader. And I know he worked with the two of you on the Frontispiece."
"He made it possible," said Euler. "He and Ilse were the prime theoreticians. My function was primarily practical." Euler's Talent was the ability to break down and reshape matter.
Ilse made a small noise of disagreement. Euler marvelled that the mic had even picked it up. "Arik's being modest, as usual. But your grandfather was a genius, Udo, and a good man too. I was sorry to hear he had died."
She nodded. "What do you know about that?"
"He was shot to death by Elizabeth Crocker," said Euler.
Udo's orange eyes shot open. "What?"
"That was a bit abrupt," Ilse murmured.
"I didn't see any point in circling the topic," said Euler.
"Elizabeth Crocker," Udo repeated. "Really. That wasn't in any of the files I saw."
"Most things relating to the function of the Frontispiece and its creators," Euler explained, "carry a very high level of classification."
The thaumaturge looked stricken. "This would have been... useful information, earlier."
"Why's that?" Ilse asked.
"Because Elizabeth Crocker is still alive."
Euler felt like a weight had been added to his shoulders... no. No, it was more like he was only now acknowledging a weight which had already been there. "I had my suspicions. But you're certain?"
"Yes. She was active in the mid-nineties. She burned Del's village."
"Good lord," he breathed.
"And if the deadlines are anything to go by, she was still kicking by the early 2000s. Probably still kicking today. Del's spending a lot of energy trying to find her."
Ilse's voice was very small. "I'd ask what she plans to do when she finds the woman, but."
"Yeah," Udo agreed.
"It's curious," Euler mused.
"What is?"
"The three of us, standing here, discussing Elizabeth Crocker as an imminent threat. I've become old, and you've replaced Izaak, and Ilse is unchanging as ever."
"Feels like there's some grand gesture we could make," Ilse agreed.
"Except the last one proved almost more trouble than it was worth." Euler couldn't bring himself to insert any levity into the statement. It was true, and not very funny.
"Almost," Ilse agreed, "but not quite."
Udo was frowning. "What trouble has the Frontispiece caused?"
Euler answered first, as the one who had taken point on the problem when their fellowship had first dissolved. "It has allowed the Foundation to operate with impunity. That seemed vital when we were unable to operate at all, but decades later I cannot say that it has done much for the organization's internal integrity."
"If character is what you do in the shadows," Ilse added, "I don't like to read the Foundation's character too closely."
"But close reading might be necessary," Euler concluded. "From what I understand, we are engaged in a battle of ideologies. Not of our own volition; we have been dragged into it. Our enemy has made noble claims on their behalf: they are champions of liberty, of choice. We are jailors and thieves. But we are much more than that, and surely they are more than they appear as well. What secrets are they still hiding from us?"
Udo didn't hesitate to answer. "You should try talking to them."
Both Euler and Ilse responded, with one voice. "What?"
The thaumaturge was smiling grimly. "They're practically begging us to figure it out. It's like they've got a surprise birthday party planned for the entire human race, and the cake is laced with strychnine."
[!-- [[=image Euler_Reynders_Okorie.jpg]] --]
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++ 3 October
----
[[/=]]
Zlatá's funeral was poorly attended.
The Chairs and Chiefs all came, of course, and if you didn't know better that would look like a decent turnout on its own. Unfortunately, nobody at the funeral didn't know better. A few of the older and younger researchers from ApplOcc showed up, but most of the people who'd worked extensively with the old man were long gone. Udo had assumed that if speeches were needed, someone would contact her, so when nobody did, she didn't prepare anything; but on the day all there was was a generic eulogy from the Director and an exquisitely awkward open mic that not one single human being walked up to.
Udo hadn't had much affection for Zlatá. She'd had no reason not to like him, they had simply never been close. It was therefore mostly on principle that this lukewarm remembrance troubled her.
Nobody, she felt, should die before someone could say something meaningful about how they had lived.
[[=]]
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++ 18 November
----
[[/=]]
Euler missed the conference call with Wheeler for the first time ever. It wasn't a serious problem; Lillian had spoken to him not long prior, and they'd chatted about the investigation into Del Olmo. The old man had seemed curiously detached; curious because Euler had mentored her mentor, many years before taking his place, and she would have thought he'd have needed to know the truth as desperately as she did.
Probably he was just tired. He was certainly getting up there.
Wheeler sounded tired, too, but by the end of the call she was much more upbeat. A little encouragement always went a long way, in their business.
Mind over matter, after all.
[[=]]
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++ 24 December
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**Monomoy National Wildlife Refuge: Massachusetts, United States of America**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Heat signatures carried a lot of information.
The first two of the twelve people visibly guarding the campsite were up in trees; Ibanez would later learn that they were wearing camouflage. They didn't have time to be upset that it didn't matter, at least not in this life. She discarded the sniper rifle at this point; she'd picked up the knack after the first deadline, when coincidentally she'd learned how to hit targets at long range with the Bremmelgun, but her first two victims were the only ones outside the perimeter fence, and she didn't fancy chancing the chain links. Ana Mukami could have, but that woman had been a wizard with her rifle.
The next two were just inside the gate, looking out. She closed the distance swiftly and silently, leaving little trace even in the snow. She'd learned some of this in Zevala, and some in field exercises conducted within the topside exclusion zone that had once been Ipperwash Park. The guards were heavily armoured, probably Insurgents, so she put a bullet between their eyes rather than merely stagger their centre mass.
There were five in the courtyard. One went down when her grenade took out the gate, and the other four caught some amount of the spread of shotgun pellets she sprayed into the breach.
Two more filed out of the cabin, and she emptied the rest of the pistol into them indiscriminately, having dropped the shotgun to let it hang by her hip. She then dropped the pistol to the ground, removed the cabin's window with her next shot, and noted the scream of agony with satisfaction before spinning to take out the thirteenth guard, who had been hiding beside the camp's running portable generator the entire time.
Heat signatures carried a lot of information, but there were ways to foil them, too. Ibanez never relied too heavily on any one source.
The //giftschreiber// in the cabin who had caught the brunt of the blast attempted to speak when Ibanez kicked the door in, so she painted the floor with his brains. That left the camp's fourteenth occupant, cowering in the corner as Ibanez had known she would be. She'd had a heat signature, too, because the kind of information they could carry did not intersect with the kind of information the //geistschreiber// could manipulate.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_11_Tarrow_Cower.jpg]]
Ibanez pointed the shotgun at her prisoner. "Hello again, Imogen. Don't open your fucking mouth."
[[=]]
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[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Nascimbeni didn't even notice Blank until his time at the party was almost over.
He was due at Gallo's in a few hours, as a Christmas surprise for his granddaughter, so he was preparing to leave while the evening was still young. It was only by chance that he saw the rumpled archivist against the wall, from across a cafeteria crowded with tipsy researchers. Harry had his sketchbook out, and he was sketching.
Against his best instincts, Nascimbeni sauntered over. "Merry Christmas!" He didn't have to shout to be heard, but he did need to raise his voice.
Harry nodded at him. "Merry Christmas." He cocked his head to one side, then turned a page in the notebook and began a new sketch.
"Are you drawing me?" Nascimbeni asked, amused.
"I'm drawing everybody."
"Why?"
Harry blinked. "Somebody's got to document it all."
Nascimbeni smiled under knitted brows. "You gonna have time to celebrate, though? Where're the others?"
Harry shrugged. "Around. Some of them." His brow furrowed. "I never could figure out how to draw that vest properly."
Nascimbeni was wearing his old vinyl J&M jacket. It was the closest he came to casual clothes. Harry had described it as being like how a //Star Trek// captain got to wear a unique uniform sometimes. He never needed much prompting to compare things to //Star Trek.//
Nascimbeni looked back at the crowd. Some were pairing off. Some were clustered at the tables in little groups, eating and drinking and laughing or arguing. It was, he admitted, a scene he wouldn't mind committing to memory.
Still. "You hanging out with anyone tonight? After the party?"
Harry smiled at him. "Say 'hi' to Flora for me."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_12_Blank_Sketch.jpg]]
And he looked back down at his latest sketch, and did not look back up.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-55 Site-55]: Boston, Massachusetts, United States of America**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Tarrow looked down at the handcuffs on her hands, then up at the sterile walls of her containment cell, then back down again at the two of them. "How did you find me?"
"That's fun," said Ibanez.
Pensak played along. "What's fun?"
"She thinks she's interviewing us."
"That //is// fun." He turned his full attention to their detainee. "This isn't even an interview. It's an interrogation. You know all about words, right? Big wordsmith. You probably know that the difference between those two words hides a whole lot of dirty meaning. Lots of interesting possibilities."
Ibanez grinned.
"Is this the torture?" Tarrow asked, face expressionless. "It's started already?"
"It doesn't need to start at all," Ibanez told her. "It doesn't really work, you know? Pain just makes people do whatever it takes to stop the pain. You know we know you're full of shit, all you people are the absolute worst kind of insufferable, lying shitheels, so if we tortured you you'd just try to tell us what you think we already think. Then we'd have to try and figure out what truth you'd be hiding with those lies, and man, that is just everybody tying themselves up in knots to not communicate information and read between the lines and all that noise, and honestly I don't think any of us want to deal with //that.// So how about we trade information, whatever we're willing, and when we've used up all the angles of conversation, we go our separate ways?"
"Us back to 43," Pensak said, "and you back to Site-06."
"Oh, is there a Site-06 again? That's lovely." She slapped the steel table with the manacle chain. "I'm a bit confused about how both of you are the good cop. You want a minute to get the roles straight?"
"Imogen." Ibanez knew she had a piercing stare, and she tried to put it straight through both of Tarrow's eyes. "Did you kill Adrijan Zlatá?"
The point sank in, but not as far as Ibanez would have liked. "I don't think so. He's dead?"
"So, you do know who he is?" Pensak asked. "You're admitting that?"
Tarrow shrugged. "Sure. Boring old guy. Apparently a wizard. That's free information, and I thought we were supposed to be honest now, so."
Ibanez settled easily into the back-and-forth division of labour. "What did you mean by 'I don't think so'?"
"I do a lot of things, and they're not all my idea. It's a bit of a web of relationships, you know? What with the whole anarchy thing, it's mostly favours for favours for favours. Sometimes the results can be unexpected. But that's on brand, of course."
"Of course," Pensak blandly agreed. "So, you think it's possible the //giftschreiber// might have killed Dr. Zlatá?"
"Possible, but not likely."
"Why's that?" Ibanez asked.
"Because he //is// a //giftschreiber.//" She started to smile, then frowned as she saw how little their expressions had changed. "Oh, wow, you already knew that. I was hoping that was going to be my big revelation. Damn."
"You'll just have to pay your way to a lighted cell some other way." Ibanez stretched. She definitely needed more exercise like what she'd just had at the cabin. "Let's change tack. Where's Alis?"
"I don't know."
"Not keeping in touch?" Pensak sneered. "Trading postcards? Christmas and Easter?"
"She's dead to me." There was nothing in Tarrow's face or voice to suggest this was anything but the truth.
"That's new." Ibanez noted it down on her tablet. "Why's dead to you?"
"She's given up the cause." There was genuine anger in those light brown eyes now.
"Taking up the other side?" Pensak suggested.
"No. Just given up. She's blown all the projects we were working on together. I thought she was with you."
Ibanez nudged Pensak. "//Is// she with us?"
"Not that I've noticed. So, hopefully not." If Ibanez hadn't known him for so long, she might have missed the subtle twitch of his brow that suggested his thoughts were wandering. "Does that imply the existence of a //third// faction of //giftschreiber?//"
"I really hope it doesn't," she told him. "Two is already too many."
"She doesn't believe in anything," Tarrow spat. "She lost sight of the goal. Which is ridiculous, since we're nearly there. Most of the obstacles are out of the way."
"That's why you're willing to blab so freely," Ibanez observed. "You think it's a done deal."
The other woman smiled sweetly. It was a fair approximation, anyway. She was a well-trained actress. "What do you think?"
"I think you're using plain speech to hide the fact that you're still dissimulating," said Ibanez
"Big word."
"I also think you might be more forthcoming once I start bringing in all your brothers and sisters."
Tarrow coughed derisively. "You got lucky. It won't happen again."
Ibanez put both hands on the table, and leaned forward. She had to stand on the seat of her chair to accomplish this feat. "That's where you're wrong. There was no luck involved, and as soon as we're done here, I'm going back out into the field to collect a few more folks for my ghost harem. In fact..." She glanced at her erstwhile partner. "You up to continue this alone, Rog? I really can't stand to retread old ground."
Tarrow raised a hand. "Wait."
"Sure thing," Pensak nodded.
Ibanez gestured at the prisoner. "Don't get her started on the big escape plan thing, she'll talk your ear off."
"Wait!" The //geistschreiber// looked almost panicked now.
Ibanez waited. "What?"
The look of fear evaporated instantly, nothing but a performance. "If you do find Alis, do me a favour. Kill her for me."
Ibanez shrugged. "I'll just deliver her to Wettle. Fate worse than death."
[!-- [[=image Intarrowgation.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
It had been a whole lot of nothing so far, but that didn't bother Pensak. The people at Site-55 had been sympathetic toward him, having to work on Christmas Eve, but he told them it didn't matter because he was Jewish. That seemed to satisfy them, and eventually he was left totally alone in the detention block with his hostile witness.
In a break in the questioning, while Pensak took a long draft of water from a plastic bottle, the //geistschreiber// asked: "What are they paying you?"
He put the bottle down. "Devolution to clichés. That's not very promising for the arc of this interrogation."
"I'm serious. What's this worth to you? Because from where I'm sitting, your position looks pretty uncomfortable. Miserable, even."
He tugged at his zipper. "It's the jumpsuit, right?"
"What?"
"You're confused because we're both wearing jumpsuits, you and I. Let me explain. //My// jumpsuit comes with a service weapon, a wage, a pension plan, the best medical benefits known to man, and as a distant, what is that, fourth? Fifth? The knowledge that I'm advancing the aims of mankind."
Tarrow grunted. "Mankind aims at its own nuts, buddy. That's how this always ends. We shoot them off."
He looked askance at her. "This is the topic I was warned not to engage you on. I can already see why."
She extended her bound hands across the table, as though daring him to free her. "You know what my greatest regret is in life?"
"Writing other people's stories for them?" he suggested.
"What?" She was taken aback.
"You're a ghostwriter. It's more than just a pun. You're not in control of your own destiny. You're an anarchist who follows //orders.// Is there anything less impressive than that?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_13_Pensak_Interview.jpg]]
Her composure flowed back in an instant. He hadn't struck a nerve after all. "That's the thing, though. Anarchy isn't the same as everybody pulling in random directions. There's a purpose here, and we all share it. My only regret is that I won't get to laugh at all of you when it happens."
"Because it won't be happening to you."
She nodded. "Right. We're not a suicide cult."
"You're an omnicide cult."
She smiled. "Try it sometime. You might like it."
"I'll pass."
The hands crept across the line separating his half of the table from hers. "You want to talk about benefits? How's this, for starters: being somewhere else when everything you know collapses into oblivion. You don't strike me as a sentimental guy, Roger. You seem plenty practical. You're working for the highest bidder right now; what happens when we shift to a moneyless economy? Because all the money is burned, and all the governments are gone, and there's big black holes opening up beneath your feet. What do you do when that happens?"
He kept his expression neutral. "I'm sure I'll think of something."
She wiggled her fingers at him. "Maybe you should think about it ahead of time. You know, just to be prepared."
[[=]]
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++ 29 December
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
It was an organizational technique they'd learned from Ilse Reynders. Lillian and Udo lay on the floor of the latter's dorm room, surrounded by all of the papers pertaining to both investigations. They'd been colour-coded and tabbed ahead of time, because now they were all in a mess, on the carpet, on each other, and on the coffee table. They were snatching each sheet up, one at a time, and trying to view them with fresh eyes.
It wasn't working, but it wasn't working in a novel way, and that was almost like progress.
Neither of them heard Harry come in, but suddenly there his boots were. He knelt down. "Thought I'd never find you."
"Sorry," she rolled over, scattering an autopsy report to the air conditioning, "too busy being awesome."
"No time for old people," Udo agreed.
Lillian mock-snarled at her. "We're the same age."
"Yeah, but he looks it. Old, I mean." She gestured at him -- he did look old -- and then back at her. "You don't."
"Hey," said Harry. Very lightly.
"You heard the lady." Lillian shooed him. "No time for fat old people."
"I didn't call him fat," Udo laughed.
"Yeah, I just sort of sensed that was the mood of the room."
"//Hey,//" Harry repeated. Suddenly Lillian realized that he actually didn't look old, not precisely.
It was something else.
"What happened?" Udo asked, in almost the same instance as Lillian said "No."
Harry didn't reach out to touch her. He knew her too well. But he did hold eye contact as he began the familiar spiel. "Yeah. We got a call from Site-87. I thought you ought to hear it first. Both of you."
"We can't both hear it first," Lillian snapped. She felt like breaking into a run, sprinting away from danger. "Didn't you learn anything from the //fucking// Password?"
He looked like he was about to cry. "I'm sorry, Lil."
"Can you just say it outright?" she almost shouted. "Can we get that over with?"
"Arik Euler died in his sleep last night."
"How the fuck do they know that?" she yelled.
Udo sat back on her tailbone, stunned. "Oh, god."
"Do they have a camera focused on his pillow? Died in his sleep. He probably woke up, choking and scared."
Udo stared at her, horrorstruck. "Lillian."
"Died in his //sleep.// Load of bullshit."
"He was..." The other woman swallowed, hard. "He was pretty old."
"Ninety-three," Harry agreed.
Lillian sprang to her feet, straight from prone, and ignored the sensation of dizziness. "Doesn't mean anything in the Foundation. Scout lived to be a hundred and twelve. Almost. Died on his birthday. They could have made Euler live longer. They just decided not to." She was rambling. She needed to keep on rambling. She couldn't abide even an instant of silence.
"That's true," he agreed again.
"You're not helping, Harry." Udo was freely weeping now.
Lillian almost kicked her in the head. "Yes, he is. He's agreeing with me that this is //bullshit.// They could have kept him going, but they didn't want to, because he was an old man with old man ideas about what we're supposed to do with our gifts and projects and all our resources. He thought we could make the world a better place, because he was //so fucking old// he was older than that cliché, so he didn't know it was one. He just thought it was a thing you //did.//"
"It isn't fair," said Harry.
Udo's brows were nearly touching. "This isn't the way to honour him."
"It's not //your// way," Lillian snapped. "You barely knew him. I knew him. This is my way. Getting angry is //my// way."
"I think he would have understood," said Harry. "I actually think he would have //approved.//"
Udo stared at him. "Why?"
"Euler was an angry young man, once. He lost family in the Holocaust."
"He showed me his tattoo." Lillian tapped her arm for emphasis. It was even thinner than his had been.
"I think he had doubts about whether the Foundation was a bold new direction," Harry said, "or backsliding into forties-style fascism."
"He didn't have any doubts." Lillian was pacing the room with strides too long for their container. "He fucking //hated// the Foundation."
"I never..." Udo took a deep breath. "I never heard anything like that. From him."
"You didn't have to hear it." Lillian took a sudden swing at nothing, and nearly fell over. "He didn't say it. He didn't have to say it. He did something he hated for them, because they needed him to, and when they didn't need it done, they kept doing it anyway. But worse. And I helped. I helped make it worse."
Harry hadn't stopped watching her the entire time. "But he didn't hate you."
"No," she agreed. "You don't hate people. You don't hate people because people can //change.//"
"Organizations can change," Udo protested. "Organizations are just people."
"Not this one. People don't live forever. Those fuckers at the top? They live //forever.//" She was almost spitting with rage, now. "Euler wouldn't have taken the water if they'd offered it to him. He didn't want to be like them. He wanted to be a //person.//"
"They're people," Udo said softly. "They have motivations. They can be convinced to change, if they need to."
Lillian barely heard her. "We should have had more time. //He// should have had more time. He had another moment in him."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_14_Lillihammer_Reacts_Euler.jpg]]
"What kind of moment?" Harry asked.
She stared at the ceiling, and stood there shivering with frustration and something else she refused to examine too closely. "Like the Frontispiece. He should've gone down fighting. Fixing a problem. Died in his sleep. I'd rather fucking //die.//"
"They're showing Mall Cop 2 at the drive-in," said Harry.
It took them both a moment to hear what it was he had said.
"What?" said Udo, completely baffled.
Lillian had already thrown on her dazzle coat. "Fuck the drive-in. They showing it at the mall?"
Harry nodded. "If you're sure you want to yell at the screen in a crowded theatre."
"Fucking right I do." She grabbed at the door, threw it open so hard it might have cracked the wall tiles. She didn't check. She didn't care. "You go to see that in theatre, you deserve some bitch hollering from the back row for two hours. Hour and a half?"
"Hour and a half," Harry confirmed.
"Thank Christ." She was already in the hall, but she knew they could still hear her. Her voice carried. It always had. "Two hours of Kevin James. I'd die in my sleep."
She didn't wait for him.
She knew he'd be following.
[!-- [[=image Lillihammer_Okorie_Blank.jpg]] --]
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[[/=]]
It was anybody's guess what the other patrons thought about the man with the greying hair and the woman with the fiery red, weeping sloppily into his shoulder. The movie was certainly that bad, but it probably still seemed a little much.
[[=]]
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++ 31 December
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**OSAT Station 11: Montréal, Québec, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Station 11 was the largest of OSAT's holdings in Canada. An uninformed observer might have supposed this was for the same reason that Site-19 was the Foundation's most extensive facility -- it had simply turned out that way, through long years of priority shuffling and facts on the ground -- but McInnis knew better. OSAT was actively aping the Foundation, mistaking an accident for a convention. It didn't tell him everything he needed to know about them, but it went a long way.
His Mountie escort brought him to what passed for a containment chamber, which was really little more than a jail cell without visible bars. The door opened from within, and the second thing he saw was Morwen Couch.
"Welcome to my parlour," she smiled. He hated the way she smiled, as something of an expert on the gesture.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_Couch_Greet.jpg]]
McInnis refrained from commenting on the metaphor, in which the Chief Superintendent had wildly misjudged their relative roles. "It was kind of you to invite me."
"Oh, well, you know." Couch shrugged. "I've been in your home. I thought it only fair you get to visit mine."
The escorts closed the door behind his back.
"Something of a lag between the two occasions, wasn't there?" he said mildly. It had been well over a decade now.
"Had to tidy up first." Couch gestured at the first thing he'd seen when the door had opened. "Get everything in order. You of all people know how that is."
"I suppose I do." He glanced down at the stinking, panting thing, then back up at Couch's even more distasteful visage. "To what do I owe the honour of this... what is this, precisely? A tour? An unveiling? A conference?"
"A conversation between equals," she suggested.
"Of course." He betrayed no sense of irony. "Well. I would have liked a chance to brush up on the topic, but I know you're more the extemporaneous type, so perhaps we could dive right in?"
"A bit premature," she chided him. "You're my guest. Aren't you going to compliment my house?"
He nodded amiably. "Your security is very impressive."
"You lie so well," she laughed. "It's second nature, with you people. But I appreciate the gesture. My techs tell me we'll have to replace every security feature you walk past, because you'll already have reverse-engineered it in your head. What do you think of that?"
"I think you'll have a few days' lead time," he told her in perfect honesty. "I'm no engineer, and I'll have to explain what I've seen to mine before they can start work thwarting you." Not that there would be much to explain. He wondered if Couch's information was really as badly out of date as she pretended.
"Honesty between us, at last. Well, then, we might as well address the elephant in the room."
It wasn't an elephant, of course. It was a werewolf. It looked much the worse for wear a dozen years on, its already patchy fur now almost gone. Withered and emaciated, a tube in its lupine esophagus. It didn't stink, however, and it wasn't chained up. He understood why Couch had taken such care to treat the creature humanely, though she probably didn't know he knew.
"I'm surprised it's still alive," he offered finally.
"He's resilient." Her teeth were gritted. "He always was."
"You know who this specimen was?" McInnis asked, playing dumb. "Before his transformation?"
"I've known him all my life." Couch leaned forward, both hands clenching the edge of the medical table. "He's my grandfather."
"Raynard Watts." He stuck out his lower lip in false contemplation. "You're quite certain?"
"I said, //he's my grandfather.//" Her eyes were cold steel. "Yes, I'm certain. This was done to him a short while after he had an argument with the previous Director of Site-43. Someone I'm sure you know quite well."
"Knew," he corrected her. "Vivian Scout passed away over a decade ago, regrettably."
"Regrettably," she repeated. "Do you know the most important thing you and I have in common, Director?"
"I'm afraid I have no Welsh ancestry, if that's what you're driving at."
"I'm talking about the responsibilities that come with power. To use it judiciously. To employ force only when necessary. To take only what you need, and only from those who can bear the loss. Do you follow?"
"The calculus is clear enough, in the abstract. It gets a little dicey when you introduce details."
"Exactly." She leaned back again, and looked down at the pathetic thing that lay between them. "I know your predecessor did this to my grandfather, Allan. And I know you'd do it to me, too, if it suited you."
He nodded. "Do you expect a confession? Because I have none to give."
"I expect //recognition,//" she snarled. "I expect you to acknowledge that you're just as capable of acting on your own self-interest as Scout was. And that I'm just as capable of kicking your door in as he was."
"Watts never made it to the doors." He smiled. "The only uninvited OSAT personnel to ever enter Site-43 came as the stooges of a much more powerful Group of Interest. You'll forgive me, Morwen, but I do not believe you personally will ever set foot on my floors again."
"Meaning I'll end up like this, or worse, if I set myself against you."
"Meaning, quite frankly, that you lack the power to assert yourself efficaciously against us."
She shook her head. The motion was jerky, unhinged. "You're too smug to be warned, aren't you? I keep trying, but you keep deflecting it like it's an incoming blow. Are you so insecure that you can't take a bit of friendly advice?"
"What would that advice be, Chief Superintendent? I assure you, I am listening."
She held his gaze. She was an imposing presence, if nothing else. "Your position right now is tenuous. The federal government hates your guts. You got what you got in the forties because Eastern Canada controlled the political climate. It doesn't anymore. I've got a broad mandate, and friends you wouldn't like to meet. But none of that matters, because you and I? We're on the same side. The //right// side."
"Beg pardon," he said, "but the same side of what?"
"You know."
For a moment there was no sound in the cell but the rattling rasp of the undying wolf.
"If I take your meaning," he said, "broadly I... don't take your meaning, more specifically. In what sense are we on the same side?"
"We both want order." She tapped the bed with a fist. The wolf was jostled, but did not react. "We're both responsible for its maintenance. We could never work with Scout, because that wasn't what he was about. He went to the indians with open hands, shaking with one and passing over our national patrimony with the other. He built himself an enclave for agitators and malcontents. The Council of Overseers who issues you your marching orders has never been happier to see the back of someone. When he died, we all got a second chance. But you haven't lifted a finger to seize it, and I want to know //why.//"
It was almost easy to pity her. "What chance do you perceive here, Morwen?"
"Falkirk I understood. He wanted control. He knew how to get it. You?" She snorted. "You stand at the head of a small army of iconoclasts, but you're not smashing any idols. You're standing //idle.// Why is that, I wonder? Are you perhaps more in tune with the program than we thought? Do you hide revolutionary sentiments under that polished veneer of English charm, or are you actually hiding a conservative streak? I'm willing to bet it's the latter."
He didn't play poker, but he was nevertheless a master of the fundamentals. "And what do you hope to gain, with this bet?"
"More time at the table, because the stakes are rising. You've got your sources on the matter, I'm sure, and I've got mine. I'm just suggesting we might, ah, take a look at each other's cards. Compare notes. See if there isn't room for two winners in this game."
"And you make me this offer over the near-corpse of your beloved grandfather," he gestured, hands easily in snapping reach should the thing suddenly lunge to life, "labouring in a condition for which you blame, though indirectly, myself. How am I to interpret this tonal incongruence?"
"I know what you did." Her face was a death mask of itself. "I know what you're capable of doing. And now you know that I know. This is what the past got us. You have the opportunity to make the future better. Will you take it?"
"I will take," he said, very slowly, "this opportunity to reflect. Thank you for the overture, Chief Superintendent. I will consider it, and consult with my advisors."
"My door is open," she said, and with a //click// behind him, it was. "For now. But not always."
[!-- [[=image McInnis_Couch_Wolf.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
By the way the background noise shifted Zwist was shaking his head, and if they had been meeting in person, Harry would have struggled not to shake the rest of the old man's body as he answered: "I'm sorry, but I won't change my mind on this."
He was sitting in the dark, in his office, the phone in his hand. He could feel a migraine coming on, and a lot of it was probably sympathetic. "She's hurting, Thilo, and I can't help her."
"Neither can I. I wish I could."
"No, you don't," Harry argued. "Because you can. You just won't."
There was an intake of breath, and he knew what was coming before it arrived. "I am not one of your colleagues, Harold. I'm not party to the excesses of your organization. I met with you as a favour for a friend, old and dear, and you have become something of a friend to me as well, so I did you several favours in the understanding that I was repaying a few old debts. Vivian spoke very highly of you, as you know, and I have always trusted his judgement. But that is not the same as trusting yours, and I have done altogether too many of these... 'house calls', let's call them."
"Let's not. You're meeting people in the park, to help them figure out the right course of action. It's not like you're marching into the Site with a security badge."
"No, that will never happen. But even this level of familiarity is, I feel, bad for us both. You'll come to rely upon me, and I will lose my moral compass. Neither of these outcomes is desirable."
"Do you think the people I've introduced you to are //bad// people?"
A pause. "Not //intrinsically,// but they are engaged in enterprises of dubious moral worth. Dr. Okorie at least is a bright young woman, but I felt the same way about her grandfather not that long ago -- by my reckoning, though not yours -- and the sting of his betrayal is still keen. I won't open myself up to that again, not for a good long while."
"By your reckoning, or mine?"
"That is my decision to make, and I will keep my own counsel on the matter. As for young miss Ibanez, her soul has been injured, and she seeks to spread the injury to others. She is in pain, and she wishes to inflict it at a multiplier on those she feels has wronged her."
Harry rubbed his temples. "You don't think she's suffered?"
"Of course she has. But I long ago learned that repaying violence with violence is no way to heal the initial wound. I will forever count the lives I have taken against whatever good I might do in the world. I lost a part of myself when I burned the //giftschreiber// at Herbsthausen, and I know there will come a time when miss Ibanez regrets the many lives she herself has taken."
"You'll forgive me if I doubt that."
"Then all the more reason for me not to associate myself with her. And from what I understand, my fears about your Dr. Okorie apply all the more precisely to Dr. Lillihammer. She is precisely the sort of opportunistic, unscrupulous soul--"
"I'm not going to sit here," and he found himself rising from his seat, the cable unspooling to follow, "and let you //insult// her. She's done more good in the last few years than you've done in a lifetime."
Zwist didn't miss a beat. Perhaps the long distance softened Harry's outrage. "That's as may be, but she has done it in the name of an unrighteous cause, and that colours her every accomplishment. You are filling the ledger of a black book, Dr. Blank. You are no cadre of saints."
"She's the most talented memeticist of her time. Maybe of //all// time."
"Memetics is a perversion of the art I foolishly demonstrated to your kind. An art that ought to have vanished from the Earth. I ought to have allowed, no, //ensured// that it was. It was my mistake. I won't make it again, but worse!" The old man was finally getting worked up. Harry suddenly wondered: if this was the last conversation they ever had, what would that do to him?
He shifted his tone from anger to frustration. "You've taken apprentices before. I've seen scattered references. Woody--"
"There have been lapses in my judgement," Zwist said. "I have suffered for them. I am still suffering. I have stretched a human soul across five times its appointed length, and that soul has holes in it. One for every life I've taken, or failed to save. It is ragged, and it is thin, and it is all that I am. And I am still needed. I will not risk further harm to myself, to console your friend for her momentary loss."
//'Momentary loss'. Christ, I hope I die before I get immortal.// "She lost a mentor. A friend. A father figure, even."
"I am no replacement for any of those things," Zwist sighed. "I am only now growing accustomed to this... arrangement, that you and I have. And you are making me regard it with suspicion. Do not become a burden to me, Harold. I have more vital ones to carry, and will shoulder you off if I must."
Harry sat down again, already exhausted. "We've been working together for almost twenty years."
"Yes. The blink of an eye. Perhaps after twenty more, you might reopen the issue."
He almost slammed down the receiver right then. "Never mind. She doesn't have the kind of time you need."
"I apologized already, Harold. I can't honestly apologize twice." Was there a hint in Zwist's voice, a plea for understanding?
"You don't need to," said Harry. "You're the wounded party here."
"I'm glad you understand that--"
"Because when she effortlessly overtakes you without your help, you'll know what it really means to feel the sting of a mistake."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_16_Blank_Zwist.jpg]]
And he did hang up.
But gently.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ ##990011|2016##
++ 9 January
----
[[/=]]
Udo considered the terminal with trepidation. As instruments of torture went, it was unassuming.
Veiksaar sat down at the chair, leaving Udo to stand. "Alright. You punch in your access code, like so." She hammered a few keys, and a series of asterisks appeared on the ancient CRT. She hit ENTER, and the DR-RHETORIC interface appeared. There wasn't much to it; it looked like a DOS prompt. "Then it's just a simple back and forth. Tell him what you want to tell him, preferably without seeding in too much shit the parser will have to parse out -- personal details, references to the real world that aren't pertinent to what you're researching, and for heaven's sake don't draw him on his life history -- and hit SEND. When you do that, the system will sift for anything problematic, then pass it on. When RHETORIC responds--"
"Rydderech," Udo corrected.
Veiksaar winced. "Best not to think of it that way. When RHETORIC responds, it'll also have been combed over for the removal of personal details, because we frequently let low clearance folks ask questions and we don't want them... well. Asking questions." Eileen spun, and stood up with a cracking of the knees. "Your turn. Got your abatement stuff?"
Udo had been clutching the piece of paper without realizing it, and it was all crumpled up. She nodded. Veiksaar gestured at the chair, and Udo sat down.
She cracked her knuckles.
She cracked her neck.
She took a breath.
"Just type," said Veiksaar, not unkindly.
Udo typed:
[[div class="danke site"]]
Hello, Dr. Rydderech
[[/div]]
and hit ENTER before Veiksaar could say anything. Veiksaar didn't say anything anyway.
The response came back in just a few seconds.
[[div class="page"]]
**Hello, Dr. Okorie.**
[[/div]]
The sound of a rapid intake of breath behind her made Udo turn around. Veiksaar was sheet pale. "What? What's wrong?" She pointed at the screen. "And when did you guys make this upgrade? It wasn't in the manual."
"Upgrade," Veiksaar repeated.
"Yeah. I thought it was supposed to call me FRIEND, not my actual name."
Veiksaar nodded. "Yes. That's right. But only when he calls you Vivian. It changes Vivian to FRIEND. This," and she shook her head, eyes wide. "This is different."
"Different... how?"
"It means DR-RHETORIC..." Eileen exhaled heavily. "It means Dr. //Rydderech// actually knows who you are."
Udo shrugged. "He's basically a god. Why is that surprising?"
Veiksaar had been slowly backing up, and she sat down in the first chair her ass encountered. "Because he hasn't known who anyone is since Scout died, two decades ago."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 19 January
----
[[/=]]
There had only been a few people working out in the gym when they arrived, and none of them were still working out now. A small crowd of new onlookers had also filtered in. Ibanez wanted to tell them all to fuck off, but she couldn't spare the breath.
Her opponent moved too fluidly. It was becoming a serious problem. Ibanez was used to transitions between moves, both for herself and for whoever she was fighting. She would take a step back to get more leverage for a punch, or widen her stance to adjust her centre of gravity. Her opponent, though responding to everything Ibanez did, was able to blend every move into every other without any interstitial corrections, and it meant there was absolutely no downtime between attacks.
Meaning Ibanez already had to be answering the second strike the instant she blocked the first.
She swung, and her opponent dropped to the floor and crabwalked a half-circle around her. She twisted her torso and kicked, but her opponent was already rolling in anticipation. She dropped to the floor and kicked again, but her opponent was already spinning away and preparing a kick of her own. Ibanez caught the shoe with both hands, and shoved, and as though this were her opponent's plan all along, the other woman performed an effortless backflip, arms outstretched like a battle ballerina.
"No fucking fair," Ibanez gasped. "You weigh like five pounds."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_17_Ngo_Crouch.jpg]]
"And my legs are long," Ngo agreed, falling into a crouch. "Now, let's see you throw that weight around."
Ibanez growled as she hurled herself across the mat toward the other woman, and put everything she had into a rib-crushing dropkick. Her face was aching, though she couldn't remember Ngo scoring a blow there yet. Something in the cheekbones, or just below.
[!-- [[=image Ngo_Ibanez_Spar.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 8 February
----
[[/=]]
Okorie was sitting at her desk, surrounded by piles on piles of paper, when Eileen walked in. She knocked on the open door. "You busy?"
The other woman looked up, and for an instant Eileen thought she saw a look of mixed disgust and disappointment cross her features before a smile overtook it. "Always, but come in."
Eileen closed the door and approached the pseudo-cubicle. The only difference was the stability and precise composition of its walls. "He's asking for you again."
The flash lasted longer this time. "I delegated the abatement consults this week."
Eileen nodded. "He doesn't want to talk to Pulaski. He won't even call her FRIEND. He's asking for you, by name."
Okorie hung her head. "I don't want to do it," she said.
Eileen leaned on the side of the desk. "I know you don't. But it has to be done." The Acroamatic Abatement Section of Site-43 performed dozens of discrete hands-on abatements daily, in addition to the ones that occurred automatically as esoteric effluence cycled through the three active refineries. A solid quarter of these were only possible thanks to the input of DR-RHETORIC, the world's finest source of non-linear thinking, and other things. Okorie was obviously thinking about the other things right now.
The thaumaturge shifted subtly in her seat, as if to move as far away as possible without making too overt a shift, and Eileen suddenly had the image of a battered tiger in its exhibit. And what was Rydderech, if not an animal similarly trapped in an elaborate cage...
//Or an enclosure.//
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_18_Eileen_Run.jpg]]
Okorie said something as Eileen darted for the door, pulled it open, and rushed down the hall to the nearest washroom, but the bile rising in her throat burned all other senses away.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 9 February
----
[[/=]]
Eileen didn't know what the ethics review was about, but it brought Cimmerian back to Site-43 a dozen times over the course of the year. It didn't seem to produce anything else, and she assumed that whatever he'd been called in for was going to be swept back under the rug, like most things were at the Foundation. Still, when she checked the scheduling system and saw he had a gap in his itinerary, purely on a whim, she filled it.
He came to her office, since he didn't have one of his own, and she made a space for him on a chair that was ordinarily the home of her old LC III. Or, rather, Marroquin's.
He didn't even have the chance to offer pleasantries before she blurted out: "What do you do?"
He blinked. "What, in general?"
"On the Ethics Committee."
"Well," he shifted in the chair, his bright yellow suit bunching up around the thighs, "right now I'm working as a liaison. That means I go from Site to Site, Area to Area, and handle any emergent ethics issues that they might be having trouble with. I'm a troubleshooter."
"How would you characterize the other facilities you've been to?"
He seemed a little taken aback by the intensity of her questioning. But she couldn't rein it in. "It varies. I'm not at liberty to discuss most of them in detail, but you get a vague sense of each place after a while, and each place is definitely different." He visibly racked his brain for illustrative examples. "Site-19 is too damn big, and so are all the personalities there, so it's easy for bad behaviour to go unpunished when the paperwork gets lost in the general shuffle. 17 is a mass war grave, a hole in the ground to throw violent people into, and you didn't hear that from me. 87 is great, from a humanitarian standpoint, but boy do they get into some weird problems over there. You know they've got a goat man?"
That was enough to momentarily distract her. "Working at the Site?"
"No, walking around in the woods. Scaring teenagers. That's their normal." Cimmerian took off his glasses, and she saw they were hung from his neck by a chain. It was a strange, almost charming, affectation for a man. "You can't judge each place by the standards of the others, is what I'm getting at. They've all got different situations to handle, different leadership approaches, different staff bodies. Why do you ask?"
She wouldn't be drawn on that quite yet. "Where would you say 43 falls? On a simple scale. Good to bad."
He frowned. "I try not to operate in black and white."
"I won't hold you to it. I'm just... curious."
"Well," he reflected, "you don't have D-Class, and I understand your Director made a big stand about that at some point -- the Overseers still consider it an open sore of an issue -- so //that's// something. You've got a very low rate of interpersonal conflict, and I almost never see flagged experiment requests from 43 cross my desk. Your nearest neighbours all think pretty highly of you, and the psych reports suggest there might not be a more stable group of people working anywhere in the Foundation right now. Some of that is down to your location in the boondocks, and some of it is the kind of work you people do; if you had 17's remit, maybe things wouldn't look so rosy. But overall, I'd say you're in the top few percentile of the Foundation for ethical behaviour. Minus the one I came here to look at, which again, can't divulge."
"I see."
He was examining her face with an auditor's eye. "You seem... disappointed. Were you hoping I'd think this place was a hellish blacksite, or something?"
She shook her head, too eagerly by far. "No, and I'm not surprised or anything. I just..."
"If you have concerns, I'd be happy to hear them."
She sighed. "I'm not sure it's anything I could articulate right now."
"I didn't necessarily mean right now." He put his glasses back on. "If you have, or develop, concerns, I'll be happy to hear them whenever you //can// articulate them."
"Thank you." She stood, and he followed suit.
"Word of advice in the interim, though?"
"Please."
"If you think something's bothering you, don't wait to tell me until you're sure. That'll usually be too late."
She nodded miserably. "I'll try to keep that in mind."
"You do that."
[!-- [[=image Veiksaar_Cimmerian.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 14 February
----
[[/=]]
Udo had known that a conversation of this nature was coming eventually, but she'd hoped to put it off. When she found herself alone with Roz in the ApplOcc lounge, however, the others having long since gone to bed, it was obvious it couldn't be stalled any further.
It didn't start out the way she'd expected. "I'm really sorry," the other woman said.
Udo glanced across the coffee table at her. They were occupying opposite couches, tablets in hand, scrolling through Stacey's experiment reports. "Thanks."
"How are you holding up?"
Udo sighed, and dropped the tablet onto her chest. "Honest answer?"
"If you can spare it."
"I never knew my grandfather. Everyone is always very sorry for me when they hear that, because he's dead. So I can't really know him now, except what people tell me about him. But the thing is... that's how it is for most people."
Roz was frowning. "What do you mean?"
"Most people who've ever existed, nobody's alive who knew them. Sure, there's a lot of ancient anomalies hanging around, but most of them only knew a few hundred people, tops. Most of the human race is just an entry in the historical record, at best, and a total cipher at worst. My grandfather's not much different from that. I didn't know what I was missing when I was a kid, and now that I know, it's just... academic. Okay?"
Roz nodded. "Okay."
"The difference with Euler is that we worked together a bit. But we didn't work together a //lot.// Lillian's going to be taking it a whole lot harder than I am. I feel bad about it, but there's a part of my brain that just says... he's gone to where my grandfather always was, so why not put whatever you felt about him with whatever you felt about your grandfather? Someone I know more about from legend than reality."
"But you did like him. Respected him."
"And he felt very strongly about me. I reminded him of his friend, who's dead, who I never knew. I don't know in what ways I was like him. I don't even know really in what ways I'm like my parents. Everyone else sees this stuff, but I don't. Because I'm living it. I'm just me."
Roz shifted herself upright. "You could never be //just// you. You're a legend while you're still alive."
Udo smiled. "I appreciate the vote of confidence."
"It's more than a vote of confidence."
Something changed in the air.
"I know."
"Do you?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/49-repent-at-leisure/DL_49_19_Astrauskas_Confess.jpg]]
Udo sat up, the tablet falling into the crack between the cushions.
"Do you know?" Roz repeated. "I guess I can just blurt it out. Everyone's doing that lately, so why not?" She cleared her throat. "I like you a lot, Udo Okorie."
Now this, this hurt. "I like you a lot too, Roz."
"I mean... it in a stronger sense. Than that." Her lightly bronzed skin was flushing rapidly.
"I know."
"You know," Roz repeated.
"Yes."
"And?"
She didn't know what more to say.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. But I had to shoot my shot." The other woman took a deep breath, and stood up.
"We should talk about this," said Udo, not really meaning it, but knowing it had to be said.
"No, that's okay." Roz stretched; practically her entire skeleton was visible. "There's a whole novel between those lines, and it's a depressing one. Don't worry about it."
"Roz..."
"So, I'm going back to Area-21." She picked up her tablet, and her coat. "Seems like they might have a //geistschreiber// problem there, and I'm wondering if maybe they might need an auramancer."
"We need you here."
"You don't. I can do more good in Austria. This isn't just some Canadian thing. Lots of stuff that needs doing."
"You don't have to leave every time we have a problem."
Roz shook her head. "That's not it."
"Then what?"
"I don't need to come back here every time I convince myself there's an opportunity." Her friend smiled at her, conveying more despair than if she'd been weeping and wailing. "Be good to yourself, Udo. For a change. I'm going to try to do the same."
[!-- [[=image Astrauskas_Okorie_Finished.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 21 February
----
[[/=]]
There was a mirror beside Wettle's lab door, one of the multitude reserved for SCP-5056, though in that worthy's absence Wettle's own reflection was temporarily allowed to use it. He could therefore see himself as he looked at the stranger locked outside, and the idea that they belonged to the same species of being, much less the same gender, seemed almost absurd. The other was chiseled, muscular, well-groomed and pretty. Wettle was Wettle. He almost didn't unlock the door out of spite.
Only almost.
"Hi," he said to the stranger. He didn't move out of the way.
The stranger raised his ID card. His name was apparently Imrich Sýkora. "The Director asked me to meet with you. He said you knew to expect me."
"He should have known better," Wettle grumbled. He moved aside, banging the back of his head on the open door, and gestured for Sýkora to enter. "I never expect anything, unless it's bad."
"Well, this is pretty bad." The pretty boy sat down on a stool beside one of the lab's counters, contorted, and pulled a notepad out of his back pocket. "So here's the deal. I'm a thaumaturge."
Wettle nodded. "Not wearing your wizard clothes, though."
"Because the wizard clothes are stupid." Sýkora waved the notepad at Wettle. "Using math, and my Talent, I can predict a wide range of occurrences and behaviours to a high degree of accuracy. I was told you'd want to see proof."
Wettle bristled. "Well, I don't. If you're a wizard, you know your wizard business."
Sýkora smiled. It wasn't precisely friendly. "I was actually told that if I told you I was told you'd want to see proof, you'd say you didn't need it just to be contrarian, and that would save me time."
Wettle considered. "Were you told to tell me that?"
"I was not."
"Well, I appreciate it. I guess. If it means what I think. It was really, really badly phrased."
Sýkora shifted on the stool. "So, here's the thing. I've had a pretty perfect mastery over this Talent for quite a few years now. It works like clockwork. Or, well... like //math.// Which it is. And I'm still able to get the right results eventually, but lately my performance has been..." His pretty mouth twisted, like there was something sour on his tongue. "Less adequate than I'm used to."
"I don't have anything for erectile dysfunction." Wettle crossed his arms, after a false start where he slammed the knuckles of both fists together. "I'm not that kind of chemist."
Sýkora let this pass. "I know I'm not doing it wrong. I've had EVE tests, and there's nothing wrong with my //equipment,// either." Elan-Vital Energy was the fuel for most thaumaturgy, and was carefully monitored by Health and Pathology month to month. "But I have to do most tests more than once to get the right results, now, and that's making it a real pain in the ass to get anything done."
Wettle saw where this was going. "I see where this is going. You want me to do replication studies on your magic math bullshit."
"It's not bullshit," Sýkora grunted, "but other than that, yes. The Director suggested it, and considering we both have our names on a paper..."
Wettle blinked. "What paper?"
Sýkora blinked back at him. "The pilot study? With Dr. Zlatá? //Geistschreiber// detection?"
"Oh!" Wettle laughed. "That was you? Why didn't you say so!"
"Because I didn't think I had to? How many people do mathematical divination at this Site, do you think?"
"Don't know." Wettle went to his desk, only banging his knees twice as he sat down to turn on his computer terminal. "Don't talk to many wizards. So, before we get started, we need a hypothesis. Don't ask me why, because I don't know. Uh, what do you think might be the cause of your... inadequacy?"
Sýkora sighed. "Well, the prevailing theory of why my thaumaturgy works is that it ties into the underlying codebase of universal laws. So if the results are now varying wildly..."
Wettle stared at him.
"Yeah."
"No, I was... I was waiting for you to continue."
Sýkora blinked again, and then he did continue.
Wettle was surprised to find that some things could still frighten him.
@@ @@
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Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:
Rozálie Astrauskas: "portrait | vale triste?" "Valentina" and "vale solare" by Andrea Fistetto, all released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/2894689596
https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/6837642131
https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/2810284003
Philip Deering: "Twitter 365 Project - Day 55" and "Tokyo" by Richard Giles, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076
Noè Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822, and
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0:
Nhung Ngo: Nhi Dang, "Huyen," released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/nhi_dg/7186551316/ and Rod Waddington, "Hmong Woman," released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/rod_waddington/44409399060
Ilse Reynders: "Practicing that blank stare" and "Quinn working" by Quinn Dombrowski, both released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529 https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028
Imogen Tarrow: "Teacher Leader Conference 2 August 2012" courtesy US Department of Education, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/48445211@N06/7733033618
Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470
Thilo Zwist: Thomas Leuthard, untitled photograph, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/41346951@N05/12544389645
> **Filename:** Everything!
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
[[/<]]
=====
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5-veil-tiers
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<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>To speak of "the Veil" is inaccurate when there are almost as many veils as there are independent paranormal cultures.</p>
</div>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Agoc/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div style="text-align: right; margin-right: 2em; margin-top: -20px;">
<p>by <a href="/ethagon-s-author-page">Ethagon</a></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<div class="title">Table of Contents</div>
<div id="toc-list">
<div style="margin-left: 3em;"><a href="#toc0">Level I: Fully Concealed</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 3em;"><a href="#toc1">Level II: Partially Concealed</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 3em;"><a href="#toc2">Level III: Aspect-Unconcealed</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 3em;"><a href="#toc3">Level IV: Partially Unconcealed</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 3em;"><a href="#toc4">Level V: Fully Unconcealed</a></div>
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<div class="blockquote">
<p>The Second Mission, Concealment, is first and foremost concerned with a global release of knowledge of the occult and parathreats, colloquially called a "veilbreak". The structure of the occult world makes the Second Mission, to a degree, self-enforcing. This means a Second Mission failure is most likely followed by an imminent First Mission failure. Still we must remain vigilant and stop even local Mission failures, less they turn into a global final failure.</p>
<p>As we do not rely on the ethical shortcuts that amnestics represent, it is paramount that each operative knows what is required to uphold the Second Mission, no matter the circumstance.</p>
<p>It is common among new operatives to divide the world into the two categories they've experienced. The world of the innocent and the world behind the Veil. In actuality, there is a full breath of categories between being fully concealed and the breath of knowledge provided by the Coalition.</p>
<p>To speak of "the Veil" is inaccurate when there are almost as many veils as there are independent paranormal cultures. The Genius Loci (codeword Etna, colloquially sometimes "<a href="/locations-of-interest">Nexus</a>") for instance is often characterized by having a lifted veil solely for the specific paranormal phenomenon that is its anchor. Only very few Etnas are exceptions to this.</p>
<p>This handbook divides the different kinds of knowledge one can have about the paranormal into 5 distinct categories, based on differing reaction expected of operatives.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc0"><span>Level I: Fully Concealed</span></h3>
<p><span style="font-size:80%;"><strong>Locations:</strong> Worldwide, Normal Towns</span><br/>
<span style="font-size:80%;"><strong>Agencies:</strong> Uncountable</span><br/>
<span style="font-size:80%;"><strong>Individuals:</strong> Uncountable</span></p>
<p>The innocent. The vast majority of the global population (both human and animal) fall into this category. The Fully Concealed have no notion of the paranormal based in fact or lived experience. Belief in conspiracy theories or conceptions of the occult in popular culture, even with superficial resemblance to actual occult events, makes no difference for this classification.</p>
<p>In 99% of cases nothing paranormal can be derived from information available in the fully concealed world, be it through science and especially through research of what the Fully Concealed believe to be the occult.</p>
<p>It is the opinion of PSYCHE that the anomalous condition is only proliferated by direct encounters with the paranormal and in rare cases through accidental ritual.</p>
<p>The proper action when encountering any Level-I civilian is to keep them from interacting or even witnessing any paranormal phenomenon. For operatives, this means using appropriately concealed gear based on your location and evacuations prior to open engagement with any parathreat.</p>
<p>It is an unfortunate reality that encounters of the paranormal by the Fully Concealed are often unavoidable. Multiple ICSUT studies suggest that a slip into Level II after such an event is next to inevitable. Not even the application of the morally questionable amnestics serves as a sure way to prevent this transition.</p>
<p>Despite the low chances of success, necessary steps must be taken to ensure a stay at Level I as long as possible. These include:</p>
<ul>
<li>Downplaying any witnessed paranormal events</li>
<li>Creating official accounts of the event that present a rational explanation</li>
<li>ensure no evidence of the event remains in case the civilian tries to prove the event's existence</li>
</ul>
<p>In rare cases and if a Type Blue learned in oath-magic is present a civilian can agree to an Oath of Suppression. This method has the highest chance of success but is dependent on a fully willing subject. More than light pressure may break the oath and is therefore not advised.</p>
<p>A larger group or location becoming aware of the paranormal should be upgraded to the corresponding level or be disbanded on a case-by-case basis. In case of a newly emergent Etna, the threat to the Fivefold Mission is to be immediately evaluated and liquidated if found standing against it.</p>
<p>Only through these methods can the innocence of the Fully Concealed World be protected from the inherent danger of the paranormal world and the anomalous condition.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc1"><span>Level II: Partially Concealed</span></h3>
<p><span style="font-size:80%;"><strong>Locations:</strong> <a href="/scp-8123">Pando Estates</a>, <a href="/secure-facility-dossier-site-333">Atlantic City</a>, Backgardens, <a href="/scp-7034">The Smog Wastes</a>, Louvre, Hanged King Theatre, etc.</span><br/>
<span style="font-size:80%;"><strong>Agencies:</strong> Parawatch Wiki (partly), <a href="/spicy-crust-platoon">Spicy Crust Pizzeria</a>, Oddity Support Groups, Monster Hunts, Together Dreaming, etc.</span><br/>
<span style="font-size:80%;"><strong>Individuals:</strong> Hector Canvera, Large number of private detectives, Foundation Clearance 1 Operatives, Folklore enthusiasts</span></p>
<p>The affected. The Partially Concealed, are aware of only a small number of parathreats. Rarely more than three, often only one. The ones they know often comprise the entirety of the paranormal world for them. They think their situation unique and the rest of the world unaffected by the paranormal. This delusion <span style="text-decoration: underline;">must</span> not be broken, so Operatives engaging with the Partially Concealed have to appear about as knowledgeable as a Level I police officer could be in this situation.</p>
<p>With removal from Level II impossible, Operatives are to mainly focus on stopping the proliferation of the anomalous condition. Most of this process is automatic as a grand ritual by the Electorate of Demomancers causes most attempts by the Partially Concealed to spread their knowledge to be met by increased social ostracism. The remaining tasks are to help in this process and encourage them to ignore the paranormal for their own good.</p>
<p>If a Partially Concealed has started attempts to move to a Level II location or group, these efforts should be supported instead. Level II is known as an unstable level of concealment, with the seed of the anomalous condition often festering until it has grown into a full aspect. It is possible for the Partially Concealed to develop paranormal characteristics by self-experimentation, reflection of the abnormal encounter, or directly initiated by the encountered parathreat.</p>
<p>The lack of a safety net provided by higher Levels paired with the higher chance of a paranormal encounter caused by self-experimentation and a more open eye to the paranormal than Level I, makes Level II especially dangerous on an individual level. This is why not letting the Fully Concealed progress to Level II is so important.</p>
<p>Larger groups or locations of this level may alleviate the danger, but are still lacking in know-how needed to properly protect themselves. The number of Level-II groups makes protection of all of them impossible. Any encountered Level-II group must be found capable of protecting themselves, put under observation if possible, or disbanded for their own safety.</p>
<p>Special circumstances may let a Partially Concealed instead regress back to a Level I-adjacent state. Cathartic removal of the parathreat may result in the subject moving on with its life. To make an example: A group of children have encountered a paranormal game, which traps the children in some way as soon as they start playing. As the game progresses various paranormal effects of the game are revealed, the group concluding the game to be "cursed". By subtly helping the children work through the game they can finish it out of perceived own efforts and throw the game away. Operatives can then remove the parathreat for liquidation without being noticed. If the option presents itself, Operatives are encouraged to choose this course of action over the ones previously mentioned.</p>
<p>A concerning amount of private detectives keep stumbling into parathreats after having progressed to Level II. As of yet, no rational explanation could be found on why the amount of parathreats discovered this way dwarves most other parathreat discovery methods. As an unknown amount of them are indirectly employed by KTO-Kewpie ("The Foundation") standard Kewpie engagement protocols apply: Observe and strongarm into handing over the parathreat when possible.</p>
<p>Another noteworthy anomaly to the normal Level II progression can be found in Oddity Support Groups. Created by the Coalition and co-curated by the Foundation Oddity Support Groups consist entirely of individuals who are stopped from progressing to Level III or to convert to a Level I-adjacent state. Members are consistently targeted by a range of parathreats. If a civilian seems to fit into this profile, Operatives are to discreetly point them towards the nearest Oddity Support Group. Following the creation of the Support Groups an unknown amount of Oddity Support Groups have formed without Coalition or Foundation involvement.</p>
<p>Any Etna falling into this level is likely a misclassification or entirely ignorable for Second Mission concerns.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc2"><span>Level III: Aspect-Unconcealed</span></h3>
<p><span style="font-size:80%;"><strong>Locations:</strong> Backdoor Soho, <a href="/locations-of-interest#eventide">Eventide</a>, Nälkä Communities, Alagadda, Lampeter Network, etc.</span><br/>
<span style="font-size:80%;"><strong>Agencies:</strong> Horizon Initiative, Soiling Craft, Oneiroi, War Machine, etc.</span><br/>
<span style="font-size:80%;"><strong>Individuals:</strong> dado, <strong><em><span style="font-family: 'palitoonregular'"><a href="/nt-4041-nimuedianetic-karhu">Her Lady</a></span></em></strong>, Eric, Primrose Fatish Von Trevil, etc.</span></p>
<p>The Para-User. While not necessarily paranormal themselves, the paranormal is part of the Aspect-Unconcealed's day-to-day life. For a Level III individual, there exists only a single thematically coherent aspect of the paranormal world. The average anartist knows just as little about theological parathreats as a psychic knows about thaumaturgy.</p>
<p>The Aspect-Unconcealed gather in a single group or location focused on their paranormal aspect. Often this ends up being an Etna where this aspect is strengthened over all other paranormal phenomena. The Second Mission is to a degree self-enforcing in any Level-III Etna. Differing paranormal phenomena will be suppressed, hidden or integrated depending on how well they interact with the strengthened aspect. Only a strong enough phenomenon can overcome this hurdle. This is ill-advised due to Second Mission concerns and the likelihood of this action making the Etna hostile.</p>
<p>The <a href="/a-taste-of-theft">Whytefels</a> are a family that is speculated to have applied some properties of goats to them through occult rituals. Yet as they live in Backdoor Soho the population believes their goatheads to be elaborate anart-tattoos. The Etna helps them hide their not-anart based magic, because the family feeds into the Etna's aspect by evaluating art through consumption.</p>
<p>Missions are easier when Operatives comply with the Etna. Ill-fitting equipment is to be concealed and thaumaturgical workings disguised as aspect-appropriate alternatives. A good Coalition-Etna relationship will make it easier to remove unrelated parathreats, though it may be protective of parathreats likewise strengthening its aspect.</p>
<p>If the liquidation of an Etna was decided, Operatives should instead try to overpower the Etna with ill-fitting paranormal phenomenon, causing a weakened cohesion.</p>
<p>Level III is self-sustaining. As the Partially Concealed gain more and more of an eye for a single aspect of the paranormal they eventually complete their journey of discovery with the Etna (or group) most central to that aspect. Further progression will not happen unprompted. Any attempt to progress to Level IV or V seems to go slightly counter to the anomalous condition. Progression of individual Aspect-Unconcealed is easy though progression of an entire group seems to be actively resisted by most groups. Proper integration into larger occult society takes time and is easiest to achieve via economic interaction as part of the occult globalization process.</p>
<p>While a Level III Etna can definitionally not know of the Coalition proper they are still part of the paranormal world proper and thus fall under the Coalition's governance. As such each Level III Etna must be made aware of the Coalition as some UN organisation under which supervision of this aspect together with more mundane tasks falls. Governance may remain largely independent with some UN-level justified legislation. Operatives may point to such UN legislation which has been thaumaturgically modified to be in accord with the Etna. This does of course not apply if the government of the Etna is a member organization of the Coalition. In this case, to what degree its population be made aware of the Coalition or whether or not efforts are to be made to upgrade the Etna to Level V is fully within the rights of the member organization to decide.</p>
<p>Caution is advised the less connected a Level III Etna is to Earth. As the number of anchors an Etna has decreases, so does its grip on physical reality loosen. Without anything as a counterbalance, the Etna starts feeding into its own reality recursively. After the anchoring decreases beyond the Randall Limit, the Etna is to be classified as an extradimensional entity and, in most circumstances, a parathreat. This process is the cause of all known hells and one speculated origin of Alagadda.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc3"><span>Level IV: Partially Unconcealed</span></h3>
<p><span style="font-size:80%;"><strong>Locations:</strong> See Agencies</span><br/>
<span style="font-size:80%;"><strong>Agencies:</strong> The Foundation, Marshall, Carter & Dark Ltd., Chaos Insurgency</span><br/>
<span style="font-size:80%;"><strong>Individuals:</strong> Nobody, Plundering Tourist</span></p>
<p>The Observer. This category should not exist. It is not really reached from Level III, most on this level coming here directly from Level II or I. The most common cause is not any encounter with the paranormal, but indoctrination into one of the existing Level IV agencies.</p>
<p>The Partially Unconcealed are aware of multiple aspects of the paranormal, but are not directly part of it. As the anomalous condition resists the combination of multiple aspects, the Partially Unconcealed use a different framework to unite the known aspects under one theme.</p>
<p>The Foundation, as the most famous example of a Level IV agency, combines most aspects of the paranormal under its philosophy of Science and Containment. Containment, in turn, becomes its own pseudo-aspect that is able to integrate, or more accurately contain, other aspects into it. Answering how Containment can be an aspect of the paranormal is too complex to answer without a thorough understanding of Unified Thaumaturgy, but the short answer is that all actions under the anomalous condition count as microrituals that may potentially affect the world.</p>
<p>Protocol in theory dictates the elimination of Level IV as an active consideration. In the long-term the Coalition aims for all agencies in Level IV to either be liquidated or upgraded to Level V as part of the Coalition. No new Level IV entities are allowed to be formed. The Partially Unconcealed are not part of the occult world. They nevertheless often interfere with it with potentially <a href="/scp-6500">disastrous consequences</a>. In the interest of the Fivefold Mission their existence is tolerated as long as direct interaction with Occult Society remains limited.</p>
<p>Second Mission concerns can almost be entirely waived when interacting with the Partially Unconcealed and are solely focused on keeping them from progressing to Level V on their own. Concealment is only necessary as part of general efforts to hinder the replication of Coalition technology.</p>
<p>Operatives are to ensure at all times they are not followed by Level IV individuals or agencies when travelling towards a Level III or V location. In isolated cases, the Coalition may cooperate with a Level IV agency in service of the Fivefold Mission. During such missions only equipment marked for Level IV usage may be given to Level IV agencies.</p>
<p>Similar to agencies, existing Level IV individuals may under circumstances be cooperated with in service of the Fivefold Mission. Barring those circumstances and depending on associated risk to the Fivefold Mision they are to be integrated into Level V or designated as a parathreat.</p>
<p><a href="/eberstrom-s-proposal-arc">No Level IV Etna exists.</a></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc4"><span>Level V: Fully Unconcealed</span></h3>
<p><span style="font-size:80%;"><strong>Locations:</strong> Eurtec, Wanderer's Library</span><br/>
<span style="font-size:80%;"><strong>Agencies:</strong> Global Occult Coalition</span><br/>
<span style="font-size:80%;"><strong>Individuals:</strong> Black Queen</span></p>
<p>The Occult Civilian. The Fully Unconcealed is part of Occult Society and as such under indirect governance of the Global Occult Coalition through its member organizations.</p>
<p>The Fully Unconcealed is aware of the many differing parts of society that make up the Global Occult and is thus able to overcome the restrictions of the anomalous condition without having to rely on a specific aspect colouring their perspective. Full awareness of how different aspects relate, or the role Etnas play in the occult ecosystem, can only be achieved in Level V.</p>
<p>The Second Mission can be disregarded entirely. Excluding the non-earth-based Wanderers Library, Level V is the Coalition. There is neither a reason to hide from our own men nor the people we govern. It is instead necessary for any Level V zone to be guarded. None of its occult influences will spread out into the concealed world, and in return, any Level V zone enjoys sovereignty under the Coalition per United Nations mandate. Outside of Level V zones, each occult citizen is responsible for their own concealment. Breaking concealment is a crime judged by intent, severity, and/or risk of the induced Second Mission failure. Operatives are to apprehend such criminals and bring them to the nearest Level V zone.</p>
<p>All recognized Level V zones are governed by one or more member organizations of the Coalition. These may be concealed or isolated places in the concealed world, or special zones in Level III Etnas. The latter is of special importance as the exchange of paranormal phenomena which feeds the Etnas and holds the occult ecosystem at large together can only be properly judged by a Level V individual. Only through occult globalization is a progression beyond Level III Etnas even possible.</p>
<p>Level V Etnas exist, as Eurtec serves as evidence, but it is not the Etna's natural state. Left to its own devices, a Level V Etna will revert to Level III, focusing on its core aspect. After a period of lapsed attention in the Maintainance district of Eurtec, the district converted into a state rejecting everything paranormal save for Gen2+ Technology. Thaumaturgy no longer works in the district except as a supportive and hidden element of technology. Inhabitants of the district have likewise shown little awareness of thaumaturgy at large. These results are consistent with a Level III Etna.</p>
<p>For similar reasons Coalition Technology should not be solely developed in Eurtec. They may stop working outside the city due to not entirely conforming to physics.</p>
<p>It is unknown how or if the Wanderer's Library solves this problem. It has been suggested to downgrade the Library to Level IV in accordance with the theory that its core aspect, occult knowledge, integrates other aspects under it similar to a Level IV agency. Despite being at its core opposed to the Second Mission, the Wanderer's Library poses no direct threat due to its non-interference policy.</p>
<p>Any rogue individuals who have reached Level V through their own faction will be judged as a one-individual faction and must be opposed. The Black Queen poses a direct threat to the Fivefold Mission and the established Concealment system. Liquidate as soon as possible.</p>
<p>Only through these methods can the civilians of Occult Society stay protected under the mantle of the Coalition. Only through the existence of the Second Mission can our citizens stay safe from any excrescence of the innocent world that would not know better than to lock us up and deny the occult its existence.</p>
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<p>"<a href="/5-veil-tiers">Recovered Document of the Veil Tiers: Engagement under Second Mission Concerns</a>" by Ethagon, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/5-veil-tiers">https://scpwiki.com/5-veil-tiers</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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To speak of "the Veil" is inaccurate when there are almost as many veils as there are independent paranormal cultures.
]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:goc">:scp-wiki:theme:goc</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
h3 {
color: rgb(var(--medium-accent));
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div style="text-align: right; margin-right: 2em; margin-top: -20px;"]]
by [[[Ethagon's Author Page| Ethagon]]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[toc]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
The Second Mission, Concealment, is first and foremost concerned with a global release of knowledge of the occult and parathreats, colloquially called a "veilbreak". The structure of the occult world makes the Second Mission, to a degree, self-enforcing. This means a Second Mission failure is most likely followed by an imminent First Mission failure. Still we must remain vigilant and stop even local Mission failures, less they turn into a global final failure.
As we do not rely on the ethical shortcuts that amnestics represent, it is paramount that each operative knows what is required to uphold the Second Mission, no matter the circumstance.
It is common among new operatives to divide the world into the two categories they've experienced. The world of the innocent and the world behind the Veil. In actuality, there is a full breath of categories between being fully concealed and the breath of knowledge provided by the Coalition.
To speak of "the Veil" is inaccurate when there are almost as many veils as there are independent paranormal cultures. The Genius Loci (codeword Etna, colloquially sometimes "[[[Locations of Interest|Nexus]]]") for instance is often characterized by having a lifted veil solely for the specific paranormal phenomenon that is its anchor. Only very few Etnas are exceptions to this.
This handbook divides the different kinds of knowledge one can have about the paranormal into 5 distinct categories, based on differing reaction expected of operatives.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
+++ Level I: Fully Concealed
[[size 80%]]**Locations:** Worldwide, Normal Towns [[/size]]
[[size 80%]]**Agencies:** Uncountable [[/size]]
[[size 80%]]**Individuals:** Uncountable [[/size]]
The innocent. The vast majority of the global population (both human and animal) fall into this category. The Fully Concealed have no notion of the paranormal based in fact or lived experience. Belief in conspiracy theories or conceptions of the occult in popular culture, even with superficial resemblance to actual occult events, makes no difference for this classification.
In 99% of cases nothing paranormal can be derived from information available in the fully concealed world, be it through science and especially through research of what the Fully Concealed believe to be the occult.
It is the opinion of PSYCHE that the anomalous condition is only proliferated by direct encounters with the paranormal and in rare cases through accidental ritual.
The proper action when encountering any Level-I civilian is to keep them from interacting or even witnessing any paranormal phenomenon. For operatives, this means using appropriately concealed gear based on your location and evacuations prior to open engagement with any parathreat.
It is an unfortunate reality that encounters of the paranormal by the Fully Concealed are often unavoidable. Multiple ICSUT studies suggest that a slip into Level II after such an event is next to inevitable. Not even the application of the morally questionable amnestics serves as a sure way to prevent this transition.
Despite the low chances of success, necessary steps must be taken to ensure a stay at Level I as long as possible. These include:
* Downplaying any witnessed paranormal events
* Creating official accounts of the event that present a rational explanation
* ensure no evidence of the event remains in case the civilian tries to prove the event's existence
In rare cases and if a Type Blue learned in oath-magic is present a civilian can agree to an Oath of Suppression. This method has the highest chance of success but is dependent on a fully willing subject. More than light pressure may break the oath and is therefore not advised.
A larger group or location becoming aware of the paranormal should be upgraded to the corresponding level or be disbanded on a case-by-case basis. In case of a newly emergent Etna, the threat to the Fivefold Mission is to be immediately evaluated and liquidated if found standing against it.
Only through these methods can the innocence of the Fully Concealed World be protected from the inherent danger of the paranormal world and the anomalous condition.
@@ @@
+++ Level II: Partially Concealed
[[size 80%]]**Locations:** [[[SCP-8123|Pando Estates]]], [[[secure-facility-dossier-site-333|Atlantic City]]], Backgardens, [[[scp-7034|The Smog Wastes]]], Louvre, Hanged King Theatre, etc. [[/size]]
[[size 80%]]**Agencies:** Parawatch Wiki (partly), [[[spicy-crust-platoon|Spicy Crust Pizzeria]]], Oddity Support Groups, Monster Hunts, Together Dreaming, etc.[[/size]]
[[size 80%]]**Individuals:** Hector Canvera, Large number of private detectives, Foundation Clearance 1 Operatives, Folklore enthusiasts [[/size]]
The affected. The Partially Concealed, are aware of only a small number of parathreats. Rarely more than three, often only one. The ones they know often comprise the entirety of the paranormal world for them. They think their situation unique and the rest of the world unaffected by the paranormal. This delusion __must__ not be broken, so Operatives engaging with the Partially Concealed have to appear about as knowledgeable as a Level I police officer could be in this situation.
With removal from Level II impossible, Operatives are to mainly focus on stopping the proliferation of the anomalous condition. Most of this process is automatic as a grand ritual by the Electorate of Demomancers causes most attempts by the Partially Concealed to spread their knowledge to be met by increased social ostracism. The remaining tasks are to help in this process and encourage them to ignore the paranormal for their own good.
If a Partially Concealed has started attempts to move to a Level II location or group, these efforts should be supported instead. Level II is known as an unstable level of concealment, with the seed of the anomalous condition often festering until it has grown into a full aspect. It is possible for the Partially Concealed to develop paranormal characteristics by self-experimentation, reflection of the abnormal encounter, or directly initiated by the encountered parathreat.
The lack of a safety net provided by higher Levels paired with the higher chance of a paranormal encounter caused by self-experimentation and a more open eye to the paranormal than Level I, makes Level II especially dangerous on an individual level. This is why not letting the Fully Concealed progress to Level II is so important.
Larger groups or locations of this level may alleviate the danger, but are still lacking in know-how needed to properly protect themselves. The number of Level-II groups makes protection of all of them impossible. Any encountered Level-II group must be found capable of protecting themselves, put under observation if possible, or disbanded for their own safety.
Special circumstances may let a Partially Concealed instead regress back to a Level I-adjacent state. Cathartic removal of the parathreat may result in the subject moving on with its life. To make an example: A group of children have encountered a paranormal game, which traps the children in some way as soon as they start playing. As the game progresses various paranormal effects of the game are revealed, the group concluding the game to be "cursed". By subtly helping the children work through the game they can finish it out of perceived own efforts and throw the game away. Operatives can then remove the parathreat for liquidation without being noticed. If the option presents itself, Operatives are encouraged to choose this course of action over the ones previously mentioned.
A concerning amount of private detectives keep stumbling into parathreats after having progressed to Level II. As of yet, no rational explanation could be found on why the amount of parathreats discovered this way dwarves most other parathreat discovery methods. As an unknown amount of them are indirectly employed by KTO-Kewpie ("The Foundation") standard Kewpie engagement protocols apply: Observe and strongarm into handing over the parathreat when possible.
Another noteworthy anomaly to the normal Level II progression can be found in Oddity Support Groups. Created by the Coalition and co-curated by the Foundation Oddity Support Groups consist entirely of individuals who are stopped from progressing to Level III or to convert to a Level I-adjacent state. Members are consistently targeted by a range of parathreats. If a civilian seems to fit into this profile, Operatives are to discreetly point them towards the nearest Oddity Support Group. Following the creation of the Support Groups an unknown amount of Oddity Support Groups have formed without Coalition or Foundation involvement.
Any Etna falling into this level is likely a misclassification or entirely ignorable for Second Mission concerns.
@@ @@
+++ Level III: Aspect-Unconcealed
[[size 80%]]**Locations:** Backdoor Soho, [[[locations-of-interest#eventide|Eventide]]], Nälkä Communities, Alagadda, Lampeter Network, etc. [[/size]]
[[size 80%]]**Agencies:** Horizon Initiative, Soiling Craft, Oneiroi, War Machine, etc.[[/size]]
[[size 80%]]**Individuals:** dado, **//[[span style="font-family: 'palitoonregular'"]][[[nt-4041-nimuedianetic-karhu|Her Lady]]][[/span]]//**, Eric, Primrose Fatish Von Trevil, etc. [[/size]]
The Para-User. While not necessarily paranormal themselves, the paranormal is part of the Aspect-Unconcealed's day-to-day life. For a Level III individual, there exists only a single thematically coherent aspect of the paranormal world. The average anartist knows just as little about theological parathreats as a psychic knows about thaumaturgy.
The Aspect-Unconcealed gather in a single group or location focused on their paranormal aspect. Often this ends up being an Etna where this aspect is strengthened over all other paranormal phenomena. The Second Mission is to a degree self-enforcing in any Level-III Etna. Differing paranormal phenomena will be suppressed, hidden or integrated depending on how well they interact with the strengthened aspect. Only a strong enough phenomenon can overcome this hurdle. This is ill-advised due to Second Mission concerns and the likelihood of this action making the Etna hostile.
The [[[a-taste-of-theft|Whytefels]]] are a family that is speculated to have applied some properties of goats to them through occult rituals. Yet as they live in Backdoor Soho the population believes their goatheads to be elaborate anart-tattoos. The Etna helps them hide their not-anart based magic, because the family feeds into the Etna's aspect by evaluating art through consumption.
Missions are easier when Operatives comply with the Etna. Ill-fitting equipment is to be concealed and thaumaturgical workings disguised as aspect-appropriate alternatives. A good Coalition-Etna relationship will make it easier to remove unrelated parathreats, though it may be protective of parathreats likewise strengthening its aspect.
If the liquidation of an Etna was decided, Operatives should instead try to overpower the Etna with ill-fitting paranormal phenomenon, causing a weakened cohesion.
Level III is self-sustaining. As the Partially Concealed gain more and more of an eye for a single aspect of the paranormal they eventually complete their journey of discovery with the Etna (or group) most central to that aspect. Further progression will not happen unprompted. Any attempt to progress to Level IV or V seems to go slightly counter to the anomalous condition. Progression of individual Aspect-Unconcealed is easy though progression of an entire group seems to be actively resisted by most groups. Proper integration into larger occult society takes time and is easiest to achieve via economic interaction as part of the occult globalization process.
While a Level III Etna can definitionally not know of the Coalition proper they are still part of the paranormal world proper and thus fall under the Coalition's governance. As such each Level III Etna must be made aware of the Coalition as some UN organisation under which supervision of this aspect together with more mundane tasks falls. Governance may remain largely independent with some UN-level justified legislation. Operatives may point to such UN legislation which has been thaumaturgically modified to be in accord with the Etna. This does of course not apply if the government of the Etna is a member organization of the Coalition. In this case, to what degree its population be made aware of the Coalition or whether or not efforts are to be made to upgrade the Etna to Level V is fully within the rights of the member organization to decide.
Caution is advised the less connected a Level III Etna is to Earth. As the number of anchors an Etna has decreases, so does its grip on physical reality loosen. Without anything as a counterbalance, the Etna starts feeding into its own reality recursively. After the anchoring decreases beyond the Randall Limit, the Etna is to be classified as an extradimensional entity and, in most circumstances, a parathreat. This process is the cause of all known hells and one speculated origin of Alagadda.
@@ @@
+++ Level IV: Partially Unconcealed
[[size 80%]]**Locations:** See Agencies [[/size]]
[[size 80%]]**Agencies:** The Foundation, Marshall, Carter & Dark Ltd., Chaos Insurgency[[/size]]
[[size 80%]]**Individuals:** Nobody, Plundering Tourist [[/size]]
The Observer. This category should not exist. It is not really reached from Level III, most on this level coming here directly from Level II or I. The most common cause is not any encounter with the paranormal, but indoctrination into one of the existing Level IV agencies.
The Partially Unconcealed are aware of multiple aspects of the paranormal, but are not directly part of it. As the anomalous condition resists the combination of multiple aspects, the Partially Unconcealed use a different framework to unite the known aspects under one theme.
The Foundation, as the most famous example of a Level IV agency, combines most aspects of the paranormal under its philosophy of Science and Containment. Containment, in turn, becomes its own pseudo-aspect that is able to integrate, or more accurately contain, other aspects into it. Answering how Containment can be an aspect of the paranormal is too complex to answer without a thorough understanding of Unified Thaumaturgy, but the short answer is that all actions under the anomalous condition count as microrituals that may potentially affect the world.
Protocol in theory dictates the elimination of Level IV as an active consideration. In the long-term the Coalition aims for all agencies in Level IV to either be liquidated or upgraded to Level V as part of the Coalition. No new Level IV entities are allowed to be formed. The Partially Unconcealed are not part of the occult world. They nevertheless often interfere with it with potentially [[[SCP-6500|disastrous consequences]]]. In the interest of the Fivefold Mission their existence is tolerated as long as direct interaction with Occult Society remains limited.
Second Mission concerns can almost be entirely waived when interacting with the Partially Unconcealed and are solely focused on keeping them from progressing to Level V on their own. Concealment is only necessary as part of general efforts to hinder the replication of Coalition technology.
Operatives are to ensure at all times they are not followed by Level IV individuals or agencies when travelling towards a Level III or V location. In isolated cases, the Coalition may cooperate with a Level IV agency in service of the Fivefold Mission. During such missions only equipment marked for Level IV usage may be given to Level IV agencies.
Similar to agencies, existing Level IV individuals may under circumstances be cooperated with in service of the Fivefold Mission. Barring those circumstances and depending on associated risk to the Fivefold Mision they are to be integrated into Level V or designated as a parathreat.
[[[eberstrom-s-proposal-arc|No Level IV Etna exists.]]]
@@ @@
+++ Level V: Fully Unconcealed
[[size 80%]]**Locations:** Eurtec, Wanderer's Library [[/size]]
[[size 80%]]**Agencies:** Global Occult Coalition[[/size]]
[[size 80%]]**Individuals:** Black Queen [[/size]]
The Occult Civilian. The Fully Unconcealed is part of Occult Society and as such under indirect governance of the Global Occult Coalition through its member organizations.
The Fully Unconcealed is aware of the many differing parts of society that make up the Global Occult and is thus able to overcome the restrictions of the anomalous condition without having to rely on a specific aspect colouring their perspective. Full awareness of how different aspects relate, or the role Etnas play in the occult ecosystem, can only be achieved in Level V.
The Second Mission can be disregarded entirely. Excluding the non-earth-based Wanderers Library, Level V is the Coalition. There is neither a reason to hide from our own men nor the people we govern. It is instead necessary for any Level V zone to be guarded. None of its occult influences will spread out into the concealed world, and in return, any Level V zone enjoys sovereignty under the Coalition per United Nations mandate. Outside of Level V zones, each occult citizen is responsible for their own concealment. Breaking concealment is a crime judged by intent, severity, and/or risk of the induced Second Mission failure. Operatives are to apprehend such criminals and bring them to the nearest Level V zone.
All recognized Level V zones are governed by one or more member organizations of the Coalition. These may be concealed or isolated places in the concealed world, or special zones in Level III Etnas. The latter is of special importance as the exchange of paranormal phenomena which feeds the Etnas and holds the occult ecosystem at large together can only be properly judged by a Level V individual. Only through occult globalization is a progression beyond Level III Etnas even possible.
Level V Etnas exist, as Eurtec serves as evidence, but it is not the Etna's natural state. Left to its own devices, a Level V Etna will revert to Level III, focusing on its core aspect. After a period of lapsed attention in the Maintainance district of Eurtec, the district converted into a state rejecting everything paranormal save for Gen2+ Technology. Thaumaturgy no longer works in the district except as a supportive and hidden element of technology. Inhabitants of the district have likewise shown little awareness of thaumaturgy at large. These results are consistent with a Level III Etna.
For similar reasons Coalition Technology should not be solely developed in Eurtec. They may stop working outside the city due to not entirely conforming to physics.
It is unknown how or if the Wanderer's Library solves this problem. It has been suggested to downgrade the Library to Level IV in accordance with the theory that its core aspect, occult knowledge, integrates other aspects under it similar to a Level IV agency. Despite being at its core opposed to the Second Mission, the Wanderer's Library poses no direct threat due to its non-interference policy.
Any rogue individuals who have reached Level V through their own faction will be judged as a one-individual faction and must be opposed. The Black Queen poses a direct threat to the Fivefold Mission and the established Concealment system. Liquidate as soon as possible.
Only through these methods can the civilians of Occult Society stay protected under the mantle of the Coalition. Only through the existence of the Second Mission can our citizens stay safe from any excrescence of the innocent world that would not know better than to lock us up and deny the occult its existence.
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-11-19T19:51:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"eurtec",
"global-occult-coalition",
"no-dialogue",
"tale",
"worldbuilding"
] |
Recovered Document of the Veil Tiers: Engagement under Second Mission Concerns - SCP Foundation
| 37
|
[
"ethagon-s-author-page",
"5-veil-tiers#toc0",
"5-veil-tiers#toc1",
"5-veil-tiers#toc2",
"5-veil-tiers#toc3",
"5-veil-tiers#toc4",
"locations-of-interest",
"scp-8123",
"secure-facility-dossier-site-333",
"scp-7034",
"spicy-crust-platoon",
"locations-of-interest#eventide",
"nt-4041-nimuedianetic-karhu",
"a-taste-of-theft",
"scp-6500",
"eberstrom-s-proposal-arc",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"goc-hub-page"
] |
[] |
1457407199
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/5-veil-tiers
|
|
50-turning-and-turning
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
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<p><strong>Turning and Turning</strong><br/>
Anyone fancy a gyre?</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank">More by this author!</a></strong></p>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>Turning and Turning</span></h1>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #990011">2016</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>22 February</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>There were fewer women in the Mobile Task Forces than there were in Site security, which suited Ibanez fine. She got along with men much better, once the ground rules had been established.</p>
<p>Her time doing ridealongs with Van Rompay had helped a great deal in that regard. She'd only had to punch one person in the balls since taking the old soldier's job, and she was pretty sure the recipient understood that he'd had it coming.</p>
<div class="muddle">
<p>Most Mobile Task Forces are stationed at a single facility. Nu-7 ("Hammer Down"), a battalion tasked almost excusively with regaining control over lost or rogue facilities, deploys out of Armed Bio-Containment Area-14. Alpha-1 ("Red Right Hand") are the bodyguards of the O5 Council, and therefore operate primarily at Site-01, though squadrons can be found wherever the Overseers roam. Some MTFs leapfrog from station to station, going where they're needed most, and very few are explicitly tied to the organizational hierarchy of the place where they hang their helmets. As it so often is, Site-43 is an exception to this rule.</p>
<p>The majority of the Mobile Task Forces operating out of Site-43 are stationed there long-term, and rarely travel far from their point of origin. This is due to the facility's role as a hub of Foundation authority in Canada and the northernmost United States; relying on units stationed southward presents all manner of difficulties, from the sheer logistics of flying up to Lake Huron to the awkwardness of black helicopters crossing the American border. Deviation from the standard name-and-numbering rules is used to indicate this peculiarity: most forces tied to Site-43 are numbered to indicate as much, with a solid proportion of the range between Alpha- and Omega-43 already covered.</p>
<p>This long-term residency arrangement, coupled with the fact that most of the MTFs operate out of Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-A's upper levels and are therefore isolated from the rest of the Site's staff, has made the agents and researchers under Chief Ibanez's command particularly tight-knit. Contrary to Foundation policy for fraternization between researchers, of which Site-43 has always been in flagrant violation, this is generally considered to be a good thing. Morale is morale.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>That was all well and good, but the fact remained that Ibanez was not yet properly a member of the family whose matriarch she now was. It had been a patriarchy before, which was a problem, and it had operated according to a discipline specific to Van Rompay's personal style, which was another.</p>
<p>As Chief of Security and Containment, she'd been able to flit between only three nerve centres and hang out with the staff on-duty, getting to know them and observing their work. The MTFs had no dedicated central socializing space, because each of them had their own unique tasks, personnel makeup and equipment, and so she found herself spending most of each shift wandering from room to room, spending a few minutes max with each agent, then moving on. She was going to be a cipher to most of them for months, and there really wasn't anything she could do about it but put in the work.</p>
<p>The other Survivors were her friends, but there were some things best kept among colleagues, and she felt that the rougher kinds of socialization fell firmly into that category. So when her body and brain started to ache from too many days spent solely on filling the old man's big combat boots, it was natural, if not precisely admirable, that she'd call on her former associates to fill the need.</p>
<p>Which was how she found out that Howard Yancy's wife had been in an automobile accident, and he was out of the facility on indefinite leave.</p>
<p>Ordinarily, she would have gone on down the list of potential drinking buddies until she found someone available.</p>
<p>The problem was that somehow, in between Breaches and survival training and executing hapless thaumaturges and chasing <em>gift</em> and <em>geistschreiber</em> and shifting career paths, she'd never actually extended that list beyond a single item.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc3"><span>24 February</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>No doubt he'd heard it a thousand times before, but never from her, so she had plausible deniability. Imrich had his own office now — probably had for years — and he'd left the door open, so Udo walked in brazenly and declared: "I'll bet you knew I was coming."</p>
<p>"No." He didn't look up from his desk. This wasn't anything new, and didn't necessarily signify anything.</p>
<p>"No?"</p>
<p>"No." He stopped scribbling in his notepad; she saw a stack of them behind him on the squat filing cabinet, and realized with dull surprise that all of them were used. He finally looked up. "What do you want?"</p>
<p>She got right into it. Imrich hated preambles. "Du was talking about how predictive thaumaturgy doesn't work right anymore. I was wondering if he was talking about you."</p>
<p>He didn't sigh, but his eyes did. "I didn't know you were coming because I don't spend my time predicting what you'll do. I've got more important things to waste my time with."</p>
<p>"So, it <em>hasn't</em> affected you?" she nudged.</p>
<p>"Of course it's affected me. It's affected me since F-D blew up for the first time. I've been accounting for it, but." His jaw jutted out, and he seethed for a moment.</p>
<p>She didn't like to pry, but she didn't see a choice. "Yes?"</p>
<p>"But it's like suddenly I need glasses, and I don't have any. Relatable?"</p>
<p>"Not particularly." She tilted down the lenses of her enormous round spectacles. "I don't need glasses."</p>
<p>He looked legitimately surprised, which was a true rarity. "Really?"</p>
<p>"Really."</p>
<p>"I didn't know that."</p>
<p>"Good." She pushed them back up the bridge of her nose. "It's a stupid affectation. Thanks for not considering that possibility." She moved to take the door in one hand, "Can we talk? We don't really talk anymore."</p>
<p>"Why not?"</p>
<p>"Why not, as in yes, or why not, as in—"</p>
<p>"Not why not as in why don't we talk anymore. We don't talk anymore because we stopped being friends, and it was too pointless and embarrassing to start again, and you've only needed my help on the seldomest of occasions since then. And that's still the case, so let's not talk about that. You want to talk about 5243."</p>
<p>She took her time closing the door, to process all of that. "Mostly I wanted to talk about you. I know it drives Reynders up the window, having to see all that alternate reality stuff. Is it the same with you?"</p>
<p>"No." The way he poured it all out, she was sure her question had accorded precisely with his most keen frustrations. "With me it's like I used to have the world's most accurate roadmap, written in a language I don't read but can cross-translate, and now it's like someone printed a whole other map on top of that one, in the same ink, at a slight angle, and it's <em>almost fucking impossible</em> to tell which is which. And that's happened three times now. And also the world is falling apart, a little bit, so actually even the baseline map underneath is a little bit wrong in all the wrong places. So all in all it's going just <em>fantastic.</em>" He picked up the notepad and flung it into the trashbin, which fell over. There were other notepads in there, she saw.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry."</p>
<p>She knew so many people who liked to make eye contact. "Scuttlebutt is you're the only one with no reason to be. Everyone else has fucked up the conprocs, but you don't even really <em>do</em> anything, so how can you?"</p>
<p>She was an old hand at not taking offence at Imrich's bluntness. In a way, it had prepared her for friendship with Lillian Lillihammer. "I meant I was sorry you're dealing with that. But…" It was like a light going on in the back of her head. "You've given me an idea."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"I wonder if you could use your Talent to map my actions during 5243, and get a little more evidence of what exactly is <em>happening.</em> The security feeds are unreadable. My memories are irretrievable. But maybe…?"</p>
<p>"No." And there it was again.</p>
<p>"No?"</p>
<p>"No. I'm still working on Wettle's replications. We're trying to map the fractures, predict where they'll happen next. That's more important." He pulled a fresh notepad out of a box on the fake windowsill.</p>
<p>"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, 5243 is the cause of all of this, and the more we know about why and how it happens, the closer we'll get to stopping these fractures from even existing."</p>
<p>"In other words," he said, still with his back to her, "it all comes down to you, and how important you are."</p>
<p>"I never said I was important," she said.</p>
<p>"No," he shook his head, "you never do."</p>
<p>"But Du and Reynders said that the Breach is definitely what's causing this. Every little hint about how it works could be invaluable."</p>
<p>"I suppose."</p>
<p>"Will you at least think about it?"</p>
<p>He spun back around, notepad in hand. "Sure. I'll think about it. At least when I'm just using my god-given brain, instead of this infernal <em>nonsense,</em>" and to her amazement he threw the new pad across the room, too, "I can only see one path forward, and one path back."</p>
<p>"That," she sighed, "sounds nice."</p>
<p>And she bent down to pick it up for him.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc4"><span>29 February</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"I'm surprised you're doing this remotely," said the voice on the phone that Ngo had once been able to put a face to.</p>
<p>"It's what you asked for."</p>
<p>"Yeah," Bradbury agreed, "but I didn't think you'd allow it."</p>
<p>"Why not?"</p>
<p>The shrug was inaudible, but implied. "I don't know. You've got your therapeutic environment all set up. I thought you might insist I go there. Or you might insist on coming here."</p>
<p>"Melissa, you've barely left that house in thirteen years. That's your comfort environment. You feel safe there. That's a pretty serious requirement of trauma therapy. Would you feel safe here? At 43?"</p>
<p>"I want to." A pause. "But I wouldn't."</p>
<p>"Well, there we go then. Now. Which of the treatment methods we discussed seemed most promising to you?"</p>
<p>"I don't think I can choose just one."</p>
<p>"That's alright!" Ngo tried to keep her tone upbeat. She was glad that Bradbury had reached out. She knew the silver-haired physicist had been doing contract work from her home in Grand Bend for years now, but she'd never been able to get a solid read on her mental state. Sure, they did their annual calls for psych reviews, and her phone and all her socials were bugged and scrutinized, but still. Nothing beat face-to-face contact, and she was very much hoping to build up to that. "I can help. Given what you've told me about these intrusive thoughts, maybe Cognitive Processing Therapy might be a good place to start."</p>
<p>"That's… not what I meant."</p>
<p>Ngo frowned. "What did you mean, then?"</p>
<p>"I meant I don't <em>want</em> to choose just one."</p>
<p>It was an absurd thing to do, but Ngo did it anyway. She took the device off the side of her head, and turned to stare at it.</p>
<p>She could still hear Bradbury's tinny voice on the other end. "Because I am sick to <em>death</em> of my comfort environment, Dr. Ngo."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc5"><span>1 March</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>More than a decade on, and the saloon's atmosphere still hadn't recovered from the death of David Markey. The lazy old tech had never much cared for Ambrogi's moonshine, and had gotten his fix in loud, sloppy fashion with the rest of the hard cases who didn't mind the optics of drinking during the day. Ibanez hadn't liked the man very much, but she'd liked the ambience he provided just fine.</p>
<p>Sitting at the bar with Udo Okorie almost felt <em>respectable,</em> which was not at all the vibe that she was looking for.</p>
<p>No respectable establishment would have entertained Udo's taste for girly cocktails, but the saloon was a serve-yourself model, so she sat there primly sipping at a Piña Colada while Ibanez pounded back bottle after bottle of the Site's private reserve. Forsythe had often marvelled that someone so small could metabolize so much alcohol. Udo was visibly admiring it now.</p>
<p>Or was that fear? <em>Works for me, either way.</em></p>
<p>There was nobody else in the room, and it was particularly well-soundproofed for fairly obvious reasons, so there was no reason for them not to talk shop. Udo was doing most of the talking, while Ibanez grunted agreement or dissent.</p>
<p>"Lillian remembered something interesting today," the thaumaturge remarked.</p>
<p>Ibanez grunted through her beer.</p>
<p>"She first met Wheeler, Marion Wheeler, at Site…" Udo furrowed her brow for a second. "Site-41, where Antimemetics is based — I think. She was there on Del Olmo's trail, after he dropped clean out of the record. She was tracking down anybody who might be able to give her a new perspective on why he'd disappeared."</p>
<p>Ibanez wiped the foam from her lip. "You say Lillian <em>remembered</em> this, today? I didn't think Lillian could forget things."</p>
<p>Udo nodded. "Yeah, but that's not the same as thinking about everything at once, right? She'd go nuts." She smirked. "Nutser. She can still dismiss thoughts she doesn't want to have right now."</p>
<p>"Ought to teach that to Phil Deering," Ibanez remarked. "Or Harry."</p>
<p>Udo nodded. "So, because it was tied up with Antimemetics, it was harder for her to focus on it. Didn't occur to her to bring it up until today, because I was telling her we were gonna have this little meeting," and she playfully nudged Ibanez's ribs with her shoe, "and she'd just gotten off the phone telling Wheeler some random thing she didn't feel like telling <em>me.</em>"</p>
<p>Ibanez took another pull, and wiped the residue away again. "What's the short version of why this matters?"</p>
<p>"Wheeler told her Del Olmo was tracking down a global cult, and that Antimemetics had an interest. He was doing spot treatments. Busting people, getting them contained, amnesticized, whatever."</p>
<p>"Secret agent shit."</p>
<p>"Apparently. Now, you'd think this was the <em>giftschreiber,</em> right? It wasn't."</p>
<p>"Not the new guys, either?"</p>
<p>"No. Neither side. Wheeler said it was unrelated to any of that. Del Olmo was handling a global memetic crisis, but not the one <em>we're</em> handling. Lillian says that's how she got saddled with whatever <em>her</em> thing with Antimem is about."</p>
<p>Ibanez tried to take another gulp, but the bottle was almost empty. All she got were a few bitter dregs. "Ngh. Okay. What's that information get us?"</p>
<p>"I think it cuts down on the number of angles we need to pursue. If Del Olmo was working on something unrelated to the cryptomancers, that just leaves Zlatá and Deering to figure out. And if he was talking to them, too…"</p>
<p>"…then they might all have gotten whacked because of the same weird thing, which isn't the main weird thing we're all working on. Which means…" Ibanez grinned.</p>
<p>"What's it mean? I didn't get an extra step out of that."</p>
<p>"It means this thing you and I have been investigating together never had anything to do with the others anyway, so we can cut them out again and do it our way." She slid off the stool. "Wanna play darts?"</p>
<p>Udo put down her glass. It was empty. When she took to her feet, she was more than a little wobbly. "For fun, or divination?"</p>
<p>Ibanez snorted. "Fun. This isn't <em>Twin Peaks.</em>"</p>
<p>"That's good." Udo placed a hand on Ibanez's shoulder to steady herself. "Agent Cooper never figured out a goddamn thing with that shit, and even more people died."</p>
<p>Ibanez knocked on the stool's wooden legs before they staggered off to the board together.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc6"><span>12 March</span></h2>
<p><strong><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011">Grand Bend</span>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</span></strong></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>It wasn't a fair comparison.</p>
<p>From a strictly physical point of view, Morwen Couch was not unattractive. She was fit, sharp-featured and more than a little impish in demeanour; in some ways she reminded Udo of Lillian, though that was a secret she would take to her grave, particularly if she shared it with the memeticist. Couch looked not the slightest bit ridiculous in her casual shirt and slacks, blending into the Tim Hortons atmosphere far more effectively than did Udo herself.</p>
<p>But seeing the Chief Superintendent of OSAT out of uniform nevertheless reminded her powerfully of those candid shots of Hitler in his short pants and knee-high socks.</p>
<p>"So," said Udo. "What are we going to talk about?"</p>
<p>"How sad it is that you're wasting your talents?" Couch sipped at her mocha latte. "Or rather, that they're being wasted for you? It was my understanding that you're some kind of wizard-woman. Why would they send you on a diplomacy mission?"</p>
<p>Udo stirred her tea, and smiled. "Do you think you're being clever? Framing it that way?" She leaned in. "You want to know why they only sent a researcher to talk with you. You think you're so much more important than that."</p>
<p>The other woman's face split apart in a wide grin. "I like you! You don't take any shit. Like the short one." Couch idly rotated the sleeve on her cardboard cup, in tune with Udo's spoon. "But seriously, I would think they could find something more entertaining for you to get up to. I certainly could."</p>
<p>Udo laughed. "Wow. Yeah, consider me flattered and intrigued. I can't wait to hear the amazing pitch you give me, about how I should come work for your hobbled X-Files unit as opposed to the world-renowned research and containment initiative that <em>fucking raised me.</em>"</p>
<p>Couch lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender, which of course meant that she hadn't really cared if the implied offer made an impact. "Fair play. It was worth a try. You want to get down to business, that's fine by me. Are you familiar with the Québec insomnia case?"</p>
<p>"Yeah." She certainly was. It had begun when the Foundation had decommissioned SCP-5281, at the behest of OSAT and the Global Occult Coalition. She'd read a heavily redacted version of the file — the real one was rated at Clearance Level 4, meaning only the Director and a few of his senior Chairs and Chiefs could get the entire story — and it had struck her as a situation with no good possible outcome. 5281 had been a French-Canadian phantasm known as <em>Bonhomme Sept-Heures,</em> the Seven O'Clock Gentleman, with the unsettling abilities to teleport anywhere within the Province of Québec, induce sleep with a fine red powder, and consume more than his own body weight in victims in a single night, if he so chose. And he chose quite whimsically.</p>
<p>Only in terms of the quantity of his meals, however. The quality was firmly fixed.</p>
<p><em>Bonhomme Sept-Heures</em> had exclusively eaten children.</p>
<p>They'd tried containing him. They'd tried reasoning with him. They'd tried disabling him. Nothing worked. And so, finally, they'd turned to their final option. The Decommissioning Department had executed him via lethal injection in April of 1996.</p>
<p>At which point, children across Québec had begun exhibiting signs of chronic insomnia.</p>
<p>It soon became clear that the gentleman cannibal had performed some sort of soporific function in addition to his irregular feeding patterns, which had gone unnoticed by either the Foundation or OSAT. As this new difficulty was anomalous in nature, and too close scrutiny by agencies outside the Veil risked exposing the whole sordid story — in which absolutely nobody came off very well — the Foundation had stepped in to ameliorate. Medical treatments with paranatural origins were administered to the affected children, and fatalities were kept to a minimum. The most effective treatment of all involved the use of the red dust 5281 had used to sedate his victims; the same red dust which Udo used in all her thaumaturgic rites, having found it a uniquely comfortable fit.</p>
<p>If this was what Couch wanted to talk about, well, that explained why Udo had been sent to listen. She wasn't about to tell the Chief Superintendent any of that, of course, so she left it at that brief affirmation.</p>
<p>"Bad business," Couch remarked. "None of us covered ourselves in glory. Of course, it was before my time. And yours." She pretended to look concerned. It was an unnatural look on her arch features. "Well, the business with the boogeyman was. The children, not so much. It's been getting worse every year, despite all that bizarre red medicine your people have been passing along. I thought you might learn something from the fellow's <em>vestments,</em> but apparently you didn't get anything valuable from that trade. Teach me to be generous with my resources, I suppose."</p>
<p>That was a laugh. Couch had traded 5281's clothes, granted to OSAT as a reward for its participation in the debacle, for a comatose <em>loup-garou</em> in Site-43's possession. The tradeoff had been handled so poorly, thanks to the bungling of Edwin Falkirk (and, though nobody said as much in public, Karen Elstrom), that a handful of Site personnel had been killed. And the threadbare Victorian attire had produced, after weeks of careful study, not a single appreciable benefit.</p>
<p>Udo didn't say anything about that, either, offering not even a lukewarm defence. She simply nodded.</p>
<p>Couch continued. "Fact is, the Prime Minister's pissed. He's taking this out on me and mine. You lot gave OSAT the mandate for handling the crisis on the ground, and we fought you for that right. Well, it's proving a right pain in our asses now, and we've reached the limits of what we can do. Your people, on the other hand… well." Couch took another sip, watching Udo closely over the rim. She spent a moment savouring the coffee before concluding. "That worldwide reach you were just bragging about. All those big brains. All those wonderful things you've got in containment. Surely you can think of a way to help us poor government employees out?"</p>
<p>Udo frowned. "You're passing the insomnia case back to us?"</p>
<p>The cop shook her head. "No. I'm asking for your <em>assistance.</em> On behalf of the good little boys and girls of Canada's secondmost populous province. I'm always hearing about how the Foundation tries so hard to help the whole of mankind. This seems a great opportunity to put your money where your mouths are."</p>
<p>Udo's tea was cold. She'd spent twenty minutes stirring it, waiting for Couch to arrive. There was no point trying to drink it now. She stood up. "Send us whatever files you've got, and I'll see what I can do. For the children. Not for you."</p>
<p>"Obviously," Couch grinned. "Oh, and say hello to Karen for me, would you? Assuming she hasn't taken the honourable way out already. I know how those tight-laced types can get."</p>
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<h2 id="toc7"><span>14 March</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Couch's files on 5281 turned out to be nothing very special, which didn't surprise Udo one bit. She'd seen OSAT's database entry on the werewolf they'd procured from Falkirk, back in 2003, and it had been full of misconceptions and ill-conceived speculation. She read what she could of the file again; Harry was working with the Records and Archives Information Security Administration and Project CLIO to determine how much of the full file could be declassified for her eyes; he was also collating as much textual material on <em>Bonhomme Sept-Heures</em> as existed in his prodigious databases. While she waited, Udo decided to seek out an expert consultation on the matter.</p>
<p>When it came to myth figures, she had an inside woman.</p>
<p>Or at least, she'd thought she did. Brenda Corbin refused to take her calls. She left three messages on the woman's phone, and tried contacting her through the Site's direct messaging system; no dice. The messages didn't go undelivered, they simply went unanswered.</p>
<p>Possibly, just <em>possibly,</em> that might have had something to do with the fact that Udo had only begrudgingly assisted Corbin in her research on the Victims and their manifestations of something larger. She probably should have been more cooperative, though she hadn't known enough to be very much more forthcoming.</p>
<p>She was halfway to TheoTelo to knock on Corbin's office door, hat in hand — literally, she was holding the dead skip's long-since-sanitized tophat — when she ran into someone with parallel qualifications and a much more welcoming attitude.</p>
<p>"Is that from 5281?" Anastasios Mataxas called out, as Udo paused on the threshold to Corbin's pentagrammatic workspace.</p>
<p>Udo turned to face the old man. "Yeah. I'm working on the case again."</p>
<p>"Still the sand? Or something else?"</p>
<p>"Something else. The insomnia. It's not getting better."</p>
<p>Mataxas clicked his tongue. "That <em>is</em> distressing. It's been nearly two decades! If it hasn't gotten any better yet, it might never. A worthy cause for study. What approach were you planning to take?"</p>
<p>It occurred to Udo that though the Chair of Research and Experimentation was no expert in cryptids or French-Canadian myth figures, he knew an awful lot about things that went bump in the night. He was the Site's foremost expert in spectremetry, the rational study of ghosts. Perhaps this qualified? "I hadn't given it much thought, yet. Still collecting research materials. Doing consultations. I don't suppose you've got the time…?"</p>
<p>The old man smiled brilliantly. "I always have time for consultations, Dr. Okorie. Collaboration is the soul of science, and souls of all kinds are my business. What sort of colleague would I be if I passed up the chance to talk shop, on such an important issue?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," Udo smiled, feeling empty in the vicinity of her stomach. "What kind. Uh. Do you think there might be a spiritual angle to this?"</p>
<p>Mataxas cocked his head back in a comical gesture of consideration. "As I recall, initial research dismissed the possibility that our child-eating fiend was a construct of the public imaginary. He scoffed at the concept himself, I believe. But this connection to the minds and bodies of the people of Québec, that is interesting. Very interesting. He parasitized that entire population for centuries. They thought of him often. They suffer in his absence. A… dare I say it, a collective <em>haunting?</em>" His gaze snapped back to her like lightning grounding itself. "Yes, I think I might be able to find an angle here, Dr. Okorie. I believe I shall be very grateful to have interrupted your pilgrimage to the land of the lay pastors."</p>
<p>It had taken zero effort to prise the tophat out of Trevor Bremmel's possession. The cantankerous engineer had been more than happy to lose what was by no means one of his prize possessions, nor one of Arms and Equipment's star finds. When she came back with Mataxas in tow and asked to sign out the spectre's walking cloak and suit as well, Bremmel had foisted the entire tub on them and signed away authority in perpetuity.</p>
<p>"Riddance to rubbish," he snarled, then went back to berating his daughter. He was trying something radical in the way of research assistants, and by the look on Joanna's already no longer fresh face, it wasn't working out well for either of them.</p>
<div class="muddle">
<p>Under the tenure of Anastasios Mataxas, ghost hunter extraordinaire, the Research and Experimentation Section has acquired a few pieces of state-of-the-art spectremetry kit. There's no dedicated workspace to store them in, as a formal Section for the purposes of plumbing the afterlife has never been authorized by the Chairs and Chiefs, but there are small and scattered mini-labs across the facility's western front which feature strange and spooky bits of tech wherever the space can be spared. In this way, rather appropriately, the spectre of Spectrometry and Spectremetry now haunts the body of Site-43 in metatextual commentary on the ghosts and goblins it would, were it to manifest fully, concretize the study of.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>The extent to which Harry didn't care about the Mataxas dream of an S&S Section could even be glimpsed in his prose; the singular paragraph on the subject in <em>Lines in a Muddle</em> actually ended in a preposition, and had since its unaltered first draft. Standing in one of those far-flung and spooky science closets, Udo had to agree that it seemed unlikely that the study of the unquiet dead would ever be one of the Site's flagship concerns.</p>
<p>The Keter Range EMF Reader, unlike the portable Safe and Euclid versions, was a huge and heavy piece of machinery resembling a hollowed-out photocopier. Mataxas dropped the riding cloak in first, and closed the lid. "Polly!" he called out.</p>
<p>His daughter, Polyxeni Mataxas, emerged from the connected monitoring room. If the partition between the two spaces had been removed, the whole thing would have been the size of a comfortably spacious personal washroom. "Hey, dad. Hey, Dr. Okorie."</p>
<p>Udo waved. She liked Polly. Everyone called her Pollyanna, after the optimistic heroine of a book nobody had heard of until Harry had relentlessly made it a thing.</p>
<p>"My daughter will operate the machinery," Anastasios explained, "while we wait in the monitoring room."</p>
<p>"Why's that?" Udo asked. "Is it like a dentist's x-ray, or something?"</p>
<p>The old man laughed. "Nothing so dangerous. No, it's just that your thaumic signature might interfere with the reading, and I'm such a true believer, my brainwaves might do the same. To get a clean look, we'll have to take ourselves out of range."</p>
<p>Udo frowned good-naturedly. "Don't believe in ghosts, Polly?"</p>
<p>The other woman could have been her photo negative, except that the long, curly hair was rich brown on both. Polly grinned. "I'm a scientific believer. Late-season Scully. No Mulders allowed in here."</p>
<p>Udo got the reference; Harry had showed her a few episodes of The X-Files during their latest and final attempt to make a go of it. That Udo hadn't cared for the show had probably been one of the final coffin nails.</p>
<p>"If you'll escort me, <em>madameoiselle,</em>" Mataxas said, and he gestured at the open door.</p>
<p>Polly rolled her eyes.</p>
<p>Udo reached up and took his arm, and they walked into the monitoring room like a pair of promenading Victorians. It seemed appropriate to the occasion, and to its theme.</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc8"><span>15 March</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"Extraordinary."</p>
<p>Mataxas walked around the extent of the drum, tapping the displays on each of the five devices he'd attached around its circumference. Udo knew that the sand within was now cris-crossed with spectral lasers that would not diffract in silica, forming a five-pointed star. She couldn't very well complain about the cliché, as a witch wearing a wizard hood and sleeves.</p>
<p>"What's extraordinary?"</p>
<div class="muddle">
<p>High-Yield Storage at Site-43 comes in many forms. The most impressive are the series of over one hundred massive metal drums, constructed of various materials and in various sizes, to contain anomalous matter not yet scheduled for acroamatic abatement. Some of it is merely undergoing further study before destruction, vacuum-tubed to the labs above in AAF-B, -C and -D or Applied Occultism, then sucked back down through gratings in the exam room floors. Some is stored indefinitely, because it has a practical use; the best example is the five square metre cistern on the fourth sublevel of AAF-D, unaffected by the cataclysm of 2002, which contains the <em>vim harenae</em> used by Dr. Udo Okorie to enable her acts of micamancy. It was once the soporofic sand SCP-5281 used to sedate his victims, before an out-of-control act of thaumaturgic prodigism turned the entire vat merely magical, instead of malefic. This was no setback to the study of the stuff itself, as four more vats retaining their French-Canadian spectral savour remain.</p>
<p>Reports that these subterranean vaults of esoteric leavings are haunted are both totally unproven, and really quite likely.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Mataxas pointed at the vat, one of the ones she hadn't denatured, a gigantic quantity of supernatural sand produced by the <em>Bonhomme</em>'s skeleton before she'd accidentally crushed it into bone meal during one of her other experiments. "Euclid spectremetry is maximal. This stuff is radiating Wolpert Particles at a rate beyond the range of our devices. If I filled the KR-EMF with it, the thing would either blow up or start speaking in tongues. <em>In brevi,</em> doctor, this sand is haunted."</p>
<p>She felt a little sick, and wasn't immediately sure why. "Haunted by what?"</p>
<p>"Its source, one would imagine. The Gentleman himself."</p>
<p>"But he's dead," she said, and immediately regretted it.</p>
<p>He smiled sympathetically at her. "Quite so. Quite so."</p>
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<h2 id="toc9"><span>17 March</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"That's very interesting." Harold Blank always made a point of calling anything Mataxas described 'very interesting', or 'intriguing', or even 'fascinating', after Leonard Nimoy. Mataxas preferred the latter, as it reminded him of <em>In Search Of…</em> and Rod Serling. He'd been a fan.</p>
<p>"It's hooey," Bremmel chuffed.</p>
<p>They were sitting in the Chairs and Chiefs boardroom. All the Chairs and Chiefs were there. Full meetings weren't the norm, but they were a requirement for proposals of this nature.</p>
<p>"Dr. Mataxas has proven his points to my satisfaction," McInnis remarked, keeping his eyes trained on Bremmel. The antagonistic engineer simply grunted.</p>
<p>"But is that enough?" Michael Nass could barely restrain his distaste. "Because I know where the resources are going to come from, if we do this. Don't think I don't."</p>
<p>The ASC raised a hand in warning. "Budgetary concerns are no reason to stymie scientific innovation. If a need is shown here, and the ability to fill that need is demonstrated, and general agreement reached by this body, the new Section will be funded. No-one is suggesting we undermine TheoTelo, either in jurisdiction or financial support."</p>
<p>"You say that now," the theologian sighed.</p>
<p>"It sounds like your readings pass muster for scientific note," Lillian yawned. "Sorry. They're really boring though. Don't care about ghosts."</p>
<p>"They care about you," Stacey Laiken smiled. "Rather a lot, I'm given to understand."</p>
<p>"Low blow. But whatever. That's two good experiments, connected to an ongoing project that might end up being something important. Super cool. Not enough to justify an entire Section, though. I'd need to see at least a few more practical applications, with more obvious and vital benefits — sorry, didn't mean to be punny, there — before I signed off on this."</p>
<p>Mataxas could see that she knew she'd made a mistake when she saw the smile this produced on his own face. "Funny you should ask. A couple, you say?"</p>
<div class="generic">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc10"><span>12 February</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"It waxes and wanes," Mataxas nodded as he scanned the room for a second time. "But the readings are no less powerful than they were in 2002. I might even say they're stronger now than they were back then, though that might be an artifact of how primitive my earlier equipment was."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni hadn't moved from the doorway after opening it up for them. Rozálie Astrauskas was standing in the middle of the bathroom, squinting at something in the corner where the sink cabinets met the wall. She glanced at the Chief, than at Mataxas, and said "I'm surprised you've been able to improve it at all, with no budget."</p>
<p>Mataxas shrugged, and offered a smile. "That's the beauty of doing a job you love, young woman. You can explore the entire possibility field most effectively: the things your employer cares about while you're on the clock, and the things that intrigue you personally while you're not. Though obviously I wouldn't mind expanding this field to a permanent fixture, rather than these <em>ad hoc</em> explorations."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni looked away, and crossed his arms.</p>
<p>"You should've called me in here earlier," Rozálie murmured. The second-floor washroom in AAF-D had suffered few ill effects when everything downstairs had been rent asunder; the only sign it had ever been connected to the disaster was the horrible, terrible, no-good feeling everyone got as soon as they entered. Nascimbeni had refused to take a single step further, and Mataxas had to keep returning to the door to show the old tech what he'd found so far.</p>
<p>"Well, all matters connected with 5243 are heavily classified." Mataxas saw her attention kept flicking back to the same spot on the wall. "I've been allowed to do my annual readings, which <em>I</em> feel have been quite conclusive, but it took a lot of badgering to wangle a consult."</p>
<p>"You'll be glad you did," she smiled. She pointed at the junction that had so enraptured her. "Because the moment I started my auramancy reading, I saw it."</p>
<p>"Saw what?" Nascimbeni took a step back.</p>
<p>"The aura."</p>
<p>Mataxas moved to stand beside her. "In the corner, there?"</p>
<p>She shook her head. "No, that's just the emitter for the vigour band. The epicentre." She made a gesture that took in the entire room: toilet stalls, sinks, floor, walls and ceiling all together. "Emotion and psychic bands radiate off that, and there's some really interesting fractalization in the Hume spirals. Yeah." She smiled, and then shivered, and then smiled even wider. "Yeah, I'd say you've got five, maybe as high as ten percent saturation here."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni stared at her. "Ten percent saturation of <em>what?</em>"</p>
<p>"Of a human being's aura, of course. This bathroom is <em>totally</em> haunted."</p>
</div>
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<h2 id="toc11"><span>17 March</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Mataxas dealt copies of his report to each of his peers like they were playing cards. They soared over the polished table to land in front of each set of eyes, curious or incurious alike. "It hasn't got the same virtuosity of Dr. Astrauskas' personal touch — there's no technological replacement for a good thaumaturge, whatever they might think at Site-36 — but the device we've constructed gives readings with more than acceptable resolution to function as a first responder tool."</p>
<p>"First responder," said Blank, staring at the blobs of colour on the page in front of him. "For hauntings?"</p>
<p>"That's right." Mataxas shuffled out a new dataset, this one nothing but charts and tables, and beamed at them all in turn. It took a while. There were a lot of Chairs and Chiefs, though he'd always felt there was room for at least one more. "And as a bonus, the devices turn up signatures that map to what Dr. Astrauskas calls the 'identity gradient', a personal and non-replicable indentifier for all sapient beings. Every being, living or dead, we've tested it on has returned a different result. With one set of exceptions."</p>
<p>The ASC looked up. "What set would that be?"</p>
<p>"The set including the parahominid strings buried in Ipperwash Park, the <em>Cladrastis lutea</em> planted above it, the cultured droplets recovered from that tree-being's sodden uniform, the AAF-D second sublevel water closet, the grouting recovered from its monitoring room, biological remains recovered from that same room — apologies, Chief Nascimbeni — and the set of compressed human xeroxes presently kept in cold storage. In summation, friends, we have proven that the victims of SCP-5243 now share a single identity matrix, and also properly identified Researcher Wirth's remains some fourteen years after the fact." He favoured Nascimbeni with a sympathetic smile (the Chief of J&M looked stricken, as he always did when the fate of his nephew was mentioned), then widened it for the rest of them. "And as the showman said, friends, that's not all!"</p>
<div class="generic">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc12"><span>15 February</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"Somatic imaging is on."</p>
<p>Polly inclined her head to acknowledge her father's statement, and spoke in her softest tones: "Can you hear me, Dr. Astrauskas?"</p>
<p>Rozálie stared at the focus object swinging like a pendulum in front of her, and reached up to touch the leads attached to her temples, one by one. "I can hear you."</p>
<p>Polly kept the rhythm steady. "You're standing in a hallway. You're at Area-21. You're talking to an old friend. Who are you talking to?"</p>
<p>"Udo." Rozálie smiled, a mixture of melancholy and embarrassment and something a little spicier. "Udo Okorie."</p>
<p>"That's right," Polly cooed. "That's good. But there's someone else there. Can you see them?"</p>
<p>Rozálie frowned. "She's moving fast. She's going somewhere. She's <em>up to something.</em>"</p>
<p>"How can you tell?"</p>
<p>"Because she isn't who she says she is."</p>
<p>"How do you know that?"</p>
<p>"Because…" Rozálie gasped. "I can see it. I can see who she is. I've never met her, but she's wearing someone I know, like a disguise. I can see every gradient! I don't understand them all."</p>
<p>"Focus in on the one you don't understand. Focus, Rozálie. This is very important." Polly looked up at her father.</p>
<p>His face was a rictus of joy.</p>
<p>"I'm focusing," Rozálie whispered.</p>
<p>"Oh, you brilliant thing," Anastasios Mataxas crowed as he saw the results. "You certainly are."</p>
</div>
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<h2 id="toc13"><span>17 March</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"One final handout, class, with my apologies." This time Mataxas passed a thick sheaf in both directions, and let the Chairs and Chiefs help themselves. "This is a report authored after the events I've just recounted, with myself as the primary author, Drs. Astrauskas, Sýkora and Wettle as secondaries, and a great deal of assistance from Junior Researcher Polyxeni Mataxas."</p>
<p>"Showing… what?" Bremmel flipped through the pages dismissively. "Can I get a woo translation, please?"</p>
<p>Laiken gasped.</p>
<p>"Something the matter, Stacey?" Mataxas asked, giddiness creeping into his voice.</p>
<p>"Are you serious about this?"</p>
<p>"Dead," he said, and he saw Blank suppressing a laugh.</p>
<p>"What's the Coles Notes version?" Elstrom asked. She looked completely out of her depth, as did almost everyone in the Practical Sections.</p>
<p>Laiken tapped the paper, less for emphasis, Mataxas thought, than to prove to herself that she was actually holding it in her hands. "They claim that they can detect residual emissions from passively antimemetic entities. Reliably and accurately, this time."</p>
<p>"As in <em>geistschreiber?</em>" Lillian demanded. She looked down at the paper in surprise. "Well, <em>that's</em> not nothing. Wait. Sýkora…?"</p>
<p>"What's Imrich contributing?" Harry asked. "Stace?"</p>
<p>Laiken's mouth was wide open, She looked up again at the rest of them, shock written in every line. "They can detect the emissions, and they can get <em>readings</em> from the emissions, and the readings are… math."</p>
<p>"Math," Nass repeated. "So…?</p>
<p>"So Imrich Sýkora, whose talent is mathemagical pathing prediction, can use those readings to get a tenuous trace on the actions of whoever's emissions have been detected." Laiken set the paper down, and began blinking rapidly. "Anastasios, your ghost hunting tech will allow them to hunt the f—" She swallowed the incredible thing, by her standards, she'd been about to say. "Hunt the <em>giftschreiber.</em> Oh my god."</p>
<p>Ibanez raised a hand. "Can we call the vote right now? Because I'm absolutely voting yes."</p>
<p>Mataxas looked around the room as the ASC prepared the ballots. Most of the occupants were in shock. Many of them were smiling, many of them at him. Even the ones who didn't care looked impressed.</p>
<p>Harold Blank met his eyes.</p>
<p>Mataxas waggled his eyebrows.</p>
<p>Blank began to smile.</p>
<div class="muddle">
<p><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">There's no dedicated workspace to store them in, as a formal Section for the purposes of plumbing the afterlife has never been authorized by the Chairs and Chiefs, but there are small and scattered mini-labs across the facility's western front which feature strange and spooky bits of tech wherever the space can be spared. In this way, rather appropriately, the spectre of Spectrometry and Spectremetry now haunts the body of Site-43 in metatextual commentary on the ghosts and goblins it would, were it to manifest fully, concretize the study of.</span></p>
<p>The Spectrometry and Spectremetry Section of Site-43 is the latest addition to the org charts, and as yet has acquired no fully new facilities. The fabbers in J&M are already churning out panels at time of writing, however, so expansion into the Mishepeshu caves to relieve the pressure on the existing R&E plant is likely in the offing. For now, the nascent Section will need to make do with a solid chunk of space carved out of the field-agnostic facilities in the centre-east of the academic sprawl, opposite its more dogmatic rivals in Theology and Teleology. The permanent large-scale spectremetry devices already constructed, on the back of a raft of high-profile experimental successes, is truly staggering; these include […]</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>"You sure made the old man happy," Zaman smiled at her. "Not bad for a few days' work."</p>
<p>Udo smiled back at the Chief of Hiring and Regulation. His office was festooned with personal trinkets: miniature airplanes, reproduction medals, pastel watercolours ranging from childhood crudeness to the practised hand of an adult. It was a sunny setting for her victory lap, and she was feeling magnanimous. "I was late to the party. He was just looking for a few more easy wins to make it a slam-dunk."</p>
<p>"All to the good, in my opinion. Been a long time since we saw a whole new science sprout up in here. Probably something Reynders invented, last time."</p>
<p>Udo nodded. "I don't think this one is very new, but the attention it's getting is." She folded her hands in her lap to indicate a shift in seriousness of their conversation. "Chief Zaman, I have a request to make."</p>
<p>"On behalf of ApplOcc, or S&S? You still posted under Laiken?"</p>
<p>"Yes, of course. I'm still a thaumaturge. I won't be hunting many ghosts. But there's one I do need to get on the trail of, and unfortunately… you and I have him as a mutual acquaintance, in a sense." She kept talking as she saw his face fall. "Post-mortem, in my case. Pre-mortem in yours."</p>
<p>"<em>Sept-Heures,</em>" he croaked. His eyes were suddenly watering. "You're talking about <em>Sept-Heures.</em>"</p>
<p>Everyone else who eschewed the number called the entity <em>Bonhomme.</em> That Zaman did not carried some sort of import, and Udo suspected she knew what it was. "That's right. He's dead, but I don't believe he's fully gone. Not the essence of him. As a few of those experiments suggest."</p>
<p>Zaman nodded. He plucked a tissue out of the box on his desk, and blew his nose. He shook his head. "Sorry. Weird feelings. Really weird. Not… not the best period of my life, you know? Not my crowning achievement as a, I don't know. As a human being, really."</p>
<p>She nodded sympathetically. "No judgement here. We've all done things we regret. But I need to know more about him, about the… about <em>Sept Heures.</em>"</p>
<p>He took a deep breath, and straightened in his chair. "You want to interview me?"</p>
<p>"If you think you know something I can use, sure." She wanted to reach out and take his trembling hands, still clutching the tissue on the desktop, but it wouldn't have been appropriate. "But for starters, I just need your approval so I can look at the tapes."</p>
<p>He blinked, confused, but only for a moment. "The tapes…? The tapes. The interview footage. Yeah. Well, yeah. Of course." He sniffled. "Get me the forms."</p>
<p>She reached into her satchel, drew them out, and placed them on the desk. This time her smile was apologetic. "Eager to get started," she explained.</p>
<p>Zaman reached for his pen. "I hope that sustains you, through what you're about to see."</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc14"><span>19 March</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Harry hefted the second massive banker's box up onto the counter. "Why can't you have tables in here at normal height?" he grunted. "It's not like this place needs to be a lab."</p>
<p>Wettle glared across the Replication Studies main workspace, which was formatted and outfitted like the science classroom at a large North American high school. "If anything in science needs a lab, I need a lab. Is that all the stuff I asked for?"</p>
<p>Harry shook his head. "No. There's two more carts."</p>
<p>"Why?" Wettle whined. He pushed away from his microscope and sat there, hands hanging at his sides even though he was in a chair. "It should all have fit in one box."</p>
<p>"Because you asked for a box's worth of stuff that's contained in seven boxes." Harry pushed the cart he'd used to bring in the boxes back toward the double doors. "We're not mixing and matching contents for your pleasure."</p>
<p>"Well, you should. I'm doing important work."</p>
<p>"That's a switch."</p>
<p>Something in Wettle snapped. "More important work than <em>you</em> are."</p>
<p>Harry shrugged. He was a (an?) historian. He was used to hearing this from pretty much everyone. He was also used to ignoring Wettle. "You just keep telling yourself that, bud." He opened the door with his elbow, and began backing out with the cart.</p>
<p>"It's true!" Wettle shouted. He stood up, knocking over the microscope and smashing its slide. He barely noticed. "When I crack this, it's going to be the scientific discovery of a lifetime! Everybody says so."</p>
<p>"Everybody's saying so because they need you kept busy." Harry paused at the threshold for a moment, frowning. There were dark bags under his eyes. "Don't you get it? They're just letting you do whatever the fuck, because it doesn't matter. They're only keeping you around for September the eighth."</p>
<p>And with a strange look on his face, like he'd just eaten something sour, Harry left.</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc15"><span>20 March</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>The SCP-5281-D session fonds were comprised of twenty archival boxes full of VHS tapes, and a substantial binder of transcripts. After a moment's hesitation, Udo settled on the tapes. She didn't want to miss any nuance. How bad could it be?</p>
<div class="Zaman">
<p><em><Specialist Zaman and SCP-5281 are seated on opposite sides of a steel table in the middle of its containment chamber.></em></p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> Why do you hate children?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Hate…? What ever could I have said to give you such a distorted impression? I don't hate children. Far from it.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> You eat them.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Well yes. Of course. But I fail to see the connection. Do you hate <em>chicken,</em> Noor?</p>
</div>
<p>She hated herself for laughing, but she did laugh. Not long, not hard, but suddenly and with great surprise. She hadn't expected the hateful thing — or rather, the thing without hate — to be <em>charming.</em> No wonder the reports were redacted.</p>
<div class="Zaman">
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> They had mothers, 5281. Mothers who loved them.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> The same could be said for pigs. Cows. All manner of live stock.</p>
</div>
<p>It was the blackest of black comedies, but it was also real. She struggled to reconcile these facts.</p>
<div class="Zaman">
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> Human beings aren't cattle. They're sapient.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Yes, you've designed the categories to privilege the things that define you. To privilege yourselves. What if I told you I've done the same? Placed myself at a higher stage on the hierarchy? Would it make my place in the food chain more acceptable to you, that I had defined you as inferior?</p>
</div>
<p>She watched as time and time again, Noor Zaman, as talented a negotiator and interviewer as any she'd known, failed to gain any discursive ground with his chatty subject. Failed to get a rise. The crag-faced old man had an answer for every accusation, and when Zaman claimed a point of moral order, the most he ever got in return was a confused shrug. It was mesmerizingly awful.</p>
<div class="Zaman">
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> The agony you've caused…</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Are we back on the parents again? Noor, do you know what gives beauty its lustre? Makes joy even possible? The knowledge that nothing is permanent. Everything fades. I am entropy, and that is a gift to the world. Everything positive a parent might experience is heightened by the fact of my existence. Without me, they would have little cause to cherish each moment they have with their little darlings. Can you fault me for that?</p>
</div>
<p>She realized suddenly why all of this felt so familiar. It had been bothering her more and more, and she'd almost wondered: was there something sinister in her connection to the sandman's private reserve? Did she have some unknown, unsuspected affiliation with this reprehensible creature?</p>
<p>But no. That wasn't it.</p>
<p>It was merely that arguing with one force of nature sounded much like arguing with any other.</p>
<div class="Zaman">
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Do you tell the bacteria not to breed, Noor? The stars in the sky not to wheel? Do you command that a babe shall not cry, and expect it to honour you? No.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> Don't talk to me about babies.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> And why not? When <em>I</em> bid them calm, they calm. By the shadows beneath your eyes, I can see you lack this power.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> Do you never learn? Can't you see where this is going? How it has to end?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Can't you?</p>
</div>
<p>She realized at this moment that what she'd taken for a quirk of the lighting in the most recent tape, or a VHS artifact, was actually nasty bruising across the skip's face. Was it possible that Zaman…</p>
<p>No. No, of course it wasn't possible.</p>
<p>Then again, <em>'not my crowning achievement'</em>…</p>
<div class="Zaman">
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> I would like to receive visitors. Could you arrange that?</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> Oh, yeah, sure. I'll get right on it. Who do you want to see first? The tooth fairy?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Have I ever taken such a tone with you? Given cause for personal offence? I feel I'm owed more respect than this.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> Do you.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Yes.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> Well gosh, please accept my apologies.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Gladly.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> Now, what guests would you like to grace with your august presence, 5281?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> I was thinking I might like to speak with some children.</p>
</div>
<p>Udo, and Zaman on the screen, recoiled together in the same instant.</p>
<div class="Zaman">
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> No.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> The things you've said intrigue me, Noor. You've <em>reached</em> me, to an extent. I've so enjoyed our talks, you and I, conversing as equals. Perhaps I might be edified, instructed in the alleged error of my ways, by meeting—</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> I said, <em>no.</em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> But why?</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> Why? Because you'll <em>eat</em> them!</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> On my honour, I will not.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> The honour of a pedophage.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> What is a man, if his word is not his bond?</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> You're no man.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Have I ever lied to you?</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> Get thee behind me, <em>Moloch.</em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Moloch? An interesting comparison. Moloch demands sacrifice. Impels you to perform the act of violence yourself. I offer no such imposition. I leave your hands clean.</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Do you not see it that way?</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Well, I tried. You can't say I didn't. I really thought you believed all those things you told me, about anguish and love and the foreshortening of life's possibilities. But I can see now you lack the strength of those convictions. Perhaps they were never really yours. Were you reading from a script?</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> Any child I place in front of you will die. If not right away, then later. You'll mark them as prey. It would be like setting you a buffet.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> If you must believe that, I will not attempt to dissuade you. I only thought you might be pleased to think you had done all you could, before my next incursion into Lower Canada. My mistake.</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> I can sense your conscience is clear.</p>
</div>
<p>Now Udo knew for certain why she'd needed to seek permission to watch these videos. They were cognitohazardous, and not in any anomalous sense. They simply did a number on your mind, playing your preconceptions and logical processes against each other in perverse fashion. She wondered if it was even safe to keep watching. It had to have been hours already.</p>
<p>She kept watching.</p>
<div class="Zaman">
<p><em><Specialist Zaman and SCP-5281 are seated on opposite sides of a chess table in the middle of its containment chamber. They are playing together.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Why do you agree to these games?</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> I guess I'm all out of questions.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> And moral outrage?</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> The lectures and pleading never did any good.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Then why keep showing up at all?</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> I don't know. Maybe because it means, for the length of a match, you aren't out there ruining people's lives. Ending them.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Mm. I don't think so. No, that isn't it.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> What, then?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Perhaps my honesty refreshes you.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> You may rest assured, I am anything but refreshed.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Then I think I know your secret.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> Do tell.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> You are a man who would talk to the wind.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> You're not a natural force. You're anything but. You're a horror from out of the collective unconscious.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Humans are no less natural than the beasts who crawl. And no better. But you do dream that you might be more. Might ascend. Might hold conversations with the universe. More than just a soliloquy. A give-and-take.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> You do flatter yourself.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> You've always known I'm something special, Noor. There's no shame in admitting it.</p>
</div>
<p>She rubbed her eyes, and glanced at the clock. <em>Christ, it's been six hours.</em></p>
<p>There was only one more tape.</p>
<p>She didn't want to drag this out over more than one day. She wanted to be able, when it was over, to blot out the whole affair as a single terrible evening.</p>
<p>She slipped in the final tape, and pressed play.</p>
<div class="Zaman">
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> It's been decided.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> I understand.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> No argument? No defence? Not even recriminations, protestations of innocence?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> What would it avail me? I am what I am. I make no pretense. I am honest. It is more, so much more, than your Foundation can claim.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> I expect you'll be leaving us soon.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> <em>Pourquoi?</em></p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> Surely you won't just let us kill you. You can teleport.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> I leave only to feed. And I'm not particularly hungry.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> Do you <em>want</em> to die?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Not that I'm aware of. Do you want to kill me?</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> Yes. Yes, I think I do.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> I am touched by your hesitation. I know you could have stopped this, Noor, and I respect that you chose not to. You and I will finally have something in common.</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> We will both have taken a life.</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> Thank you, Noor.</p>
<p><strong>Specialist Zaman:</strong> For what?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-5281:</strong> For being such a good friend.</p>
</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc16"><span>21 March</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>McInnis glanced over the reports, seeming to grace each page with at least a modicum of interest. If he was simply pretending, as everyone else did, well. He was much more convincing than them. "This looks excellent, Dr. Wettle. Thank you."</p>
<p>Wettle's chest would normally have puffed out with pride at this affirmation, but the breath got caught somewhere beneath his ribs this time, and he sighed it back out instead. "Okay. Good. Thanks."</p>
<p>McInnis cocked his head to one side. "Something the matter?"</p>
<p>"No." Wettle reached down to organize the papers back into a single pile. Naturally this only disorganized them further. "No, it's good. I'm good. Alllll good."</p>
<p>McInnis reached out and neatly formatted the reports into a monolithic block. "William, you can tell me. I won't judge. Perhaps I can help."</p>
<p>The Director almost never called him William. Virtually nobody besides his mother did. He grimaced. "Am I useless?"</p>
<p>McInnis tapped the papers. "I have objective evidence to the contrary."</p>
<p>"That's not what I mean. Am I… are you just keeping me here because of the Breach? Because I have to be here for it anyway, so you're just… stringing me along?" It wasn't the right phrasing to convey the meaning he wanted, but no amount of searching for words ever helped, so he left it at that instead of stammering out a clarification. McInnis wouldn't care.</p>
<p>The other man's eyes crinkled at the corners. He looked very kind. "I can promise you, with complete and total honesty, that this is not the case. I don't know where you got that idea from, but it is wildly incorrect. You were chosen for your post for a variety of reasons, and while I'm not at liberty to divulge them all at this time, you may consider yourself assured that your presence at Site-43 in the long-term is one of the most important elements of our ongoing projects of research, containment, and protection."</p>
<p>This time the swelling did come, and Wettle felt suddenly three inches taller. "Thanks, sir. Thank you. Thanks." He picked up the papers, and didn't even drop them. "Thank you."</p>
<p>"Of course. Next week?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. Next week!" Wettle fairly pranced to the door. He didn't care how ridiculous it looked. He didn't even know what was happening next week. Who cared? Not him.</p>
<p>He'd never even dared to dream that the answer to his question might be something so perfect.</p>
<p>He finally knew something Harold Blank didn't.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc17"><span>22 March</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"We have to tell her," Ibanez insisted.</p>
<p>"I appreciate that this is your position." McInnis sat primly in one of the bullpen chairs, like he was just another attentive guard on duty, only perhaps a little posh. Pensak was leaning on the wall next to the water cooler, in the spot that had once been hers. She was sitting on one of the desks, cross-legged, to compensate for the height difference.</p>
<p>"Back me up here, Roger," she sighed. "For fuck's sake. Udo's cleared to know all kinds of crazy shit. She's been through hell and back with us, meaning you and me, Allan, three times already. And we know it's going to happen again. Are you concerned with how well that's going to go? Do you think she's not stable enough to handle the whole of reality crashing down?"</p>
<p>Pensak, not having been given an opening to respond to her exhortation, simply stood there with his foot up on the beige stucco, and watched them argue.</p>
<p>"Of course I have no such concerns," McInnis said. "But it's Dr. Ngo's opinion, and though my own expertise on the matter is more limited, I certainly concur, that it would merely reopen old wounds to allow Dr. Okorie to retain her memories of September the eighth each year. She has largely put Dr. Deering behind her. I can see no benefit to dredging up the past."</p>
<p>"The past dredges itself up! It keeps coming back! It's not <em>settled.</em>"</p>
<p>"Again, without going into specifics, Dr. Ngo does not concur."</p>
<p>"You're treating her like a <em>child.</em>" Ibanez regretted taking a seat, even if it put her eyes at Pensak's chest level instead of his belly button, because of how her position interacted with that statement. "She deserves to get over this herself. You can't just erase people's trauma."</p>
<p>"We do it every day," Pensak rumbled.</p>
<p>"Oh, now you talk," she almost hissed at him.</p>
<p>He blinked at her. slowly. "Sorry, was there a break in that rant where I could have said something?"</p>
<p>"Delfina." McInnis leaned forward, hands on one knee. "Dr. Deering's resurrection is one of the most closely-guarded secrets pertaining to SCP-5243. We don't understand it."</p>
<p>"You haven't <em>tried</em> to understand it. You need to <em>ask him!</em>"</p>
<p>He shook his head. "Out of the question. It would engender possible multiversal instability to allow him to survive even a few hours past the occurrence of the Breach. I'm already very concerned that we took so long to act the first time."</p>
<p>She scoffed. "He was dead within an hour. You decided to <em>murder him,</em> or rather, make <em>me</em> murder him, within an <em>hour.</em>"</p>
<p>"Yes," the Director agreed. "It should have been done immediately. But these matters are complex, and I could not get hold of our temporal experts that quickly. Dr. Deering must die in the six minutes constituting the Breach, each year, or very soon thereafter. There is no room for debate on this topic. What would it benefit Dr. Okorie to know that her former lover is still alive for those six minutes, six and change at the most?"</p>
<p>"I don't have an answer for that. But if you give me more than six minutes, I'm sure I'll think of something. And you can keep the fucking change."</p>
<p>Pensak snorted.</p>
<p>"Consider Dr. Laiken," McInnis sighed. "Did you think it strange how quickly that nascent relationship collapsed?"</p>
<p>"They're back together again."</p>
<p>"Yes, but… you understand why Dr. Okorie involved herself with Dr. Blank in the first place, do you not?"</p>
<p>She didn't feel she could answer that question without betraying her friend. She didn't say anything.</p>
<p>"I believe that recidivism proves my point. There is nothing shameful in allowing a close relationship to colour your outlook on life. We all heal at different rates, and perhaps Dr. Okorie heals most slowly of all, just as she ages almost imperceptibly." There was something in McInnis' eyes as he said that, something Pensak wouldn't recognize. Ibanez did. "I concur with her psychologist, and even if I did not, the orders from Overwatch are clear. Only a minimum necessary number of personnel are cleared to know that Dr. Deering rejoins us briefly each year, on the anniversary of his death. I am afraid there is nothing further to discuss on the matter."</p>
<p>"Great." Ibanez slid off the desk, and stalked for the door. "Thanks for the help, Rog."</p>
<p>Pensak's voice was almost sleepily louche. "Don't know what you expected, honestly. It's not your job anymore, and I'm fine with the annual target practice."</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc18"><span>25 March</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Ville de Montréal</strong></span><strong>: Québec, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Benoit Gauthier had once been fat.</p>
<p>Udo could see it in the way his skin hung loose around his jowls, and under his neck. She could see it in the strange way he walked, like he was used to carrying around a lot more weight. He was walking now, to the refrigerator. "Get you anything?</p>
<p>She shook her head, and smiled. "No, sir, thank you."</p>
<p>The retired Chief Superintendent of OSAT, Couch's immediate precedessor, made a small but expressive sound of humour. "Nobody's called me 'sir' in ages. Not my grandkids, even. Never anybody from the Foundation."</p>
<p>She was glad he'd said that. She didn't want to give him the honourific, and now she had a reason to drop it. "I'm sorry to barge in on you like this. Where did your family go?"</p>
<p>He returned from the kitchen with a bottle of beer, and twisted off the cap with rough, calloused hands. He put the cap in his pocket, and the whole neck of the bottle down his throat, and when he was done, half the bottle was already gone. Meaning its contents. She'd had her doubts until she saw the neck come back out. "Sent them away. I don't get to do that every often, since this isn't my house. But I tell them it's government work, and they scatter. It's funny."</p>
<p>"Funny?"</p>
<p>He sat down gingerly in his recliner. He had to be pushing eighty. "If they knew anything about where I worked, they'd know not to respect it. Nobody ever did. Least of all your people." He frowned, as though remembering something unpleasant. "Then again… I say 'OSAT', and they head for the hills. Just like all the ghosts and ghoulies used to do." He winked at her. "Obviously they were afraid of us."</p>
<p>"Obviously," she smiled. She hadn't expected him to have a sense of humour about OSAT's low success rate. She very much doubted Morwen Couch did. "Chief Superintendent—"</p>
<p>"Only one of those at a time, and it's Morrie Couch right now. Call me Benny."</p>
<p>"Benny." He did look like more of a Benny than a Benoit. He had the faintest trace of a Québecois accent, though. "I came to talk to you about one of your cases. Something you worked on with the Foundation."</p>
<p>"Doesn't fit very many bills."</p>
<p>"And the GOC."</p>
<p>He sucked in his teeth. They looked real. "And that can be only one. <em>Bonhomme Sept-Heures.</em>" It was a subtle change, but the way his bearing shifted, the way his expression closed off, the way his eyes unfocused, now she wondered if he was more like ninety years old.</p>
<p>"That's right."</p>
<p>"Bad business." That was the same term Couch had used. "Still gives me nightmares."</p>
<p>"I've seen footage of him," Udo agreed. "I understand."</p>
<p>"Not what I mean." Gauthier pulled down the rest of his bottle, and placed it on a coaster on the coffee table. "I'm a cop. I've seen worse, if you can believe it. Even in Montréal."</p>
<p>She nodded gravely. Cops always expected this. They loved to tell you they'd seen unspecified horrors, though typically as a prelude to calling the present one worse than all the rest. At least, that was how it went on television.</p>
<p>"No," he continued, keeping eye contact with her, "what bothers me is what <em>we</em> did. What we did to those children."</p>
<p>"You couldn't have known."</p>
<p>"Couldn't we?" He shook his head. "I don't know. I think we saw what we thought was the right course of action, and we took it without looking too closely. We had a destination in mind, and one path seemed to get us there fast. Preconceptions. The worst thing you can bring to any investigation."</p>
<p>"Well." She felt hot in the sweater she was wearing; somehow she'd expected Gauthier's home to be some greasy dive, and that he would greet her in a stained tank top and shorts, so she'd opted for clothes she could take off again when she got back to the car. But instead she'd found a middle-aged man in relatively good hygeine, in a middle-class home well-kept by its occupants. <em>Preconceptions indeed.</em> But she wasn't going to take the sweater off. In her experience, that was a good way to stop all the eye contact. "I'm fact-finding right now, because the insomnia is still a problem, and I'd like to see if there's a way to correct that."</p>
<p>He raised his eyebrows and lowered his lids in the universal expression for <em>I am not impressed.</em> "Since when are you folks in the problem correction business? Children dying doesn't faze you. At one time we had a dossier on what we were convinced was a Foundation-run child sacrifice ring."</p>
<p><em>'Get thee behind me, Moloch'.</em></p>
<p>"I can't speak to that." She was grateful that this was mostly true. "But I assure you, I want to get to the bottom of this. I want to know why it's still happening, if there's something out there hurting these children, or, I don't know, something missing from the environment that we can restore. It's our blunder, Benny. The Foundation's, and OSAT's. It's up to us to make it right."</p>
<p>He shrugged. "What do you think I can tell you, to help?"</p>
<p>"You examined the files we released to you. You were in contact with the GOC. You were involved in the <em>Bonhomme</em>'s initial capture. You know as much about him as anyone else alive, I think. At least outside of Site-43. Can you think of any reason why his influence hasn't faded?"</p>
<p>Gauthier closed his eyes, and sank back into the cushions. From the way the recliner practically consumed him, this was probably something he'd done thousands of times before. "Mm," he said. "You know, I spent an entire career chasing phantoms, and like I said, I didn't catch many. But you learn something from the chase, even if it never pans out. You follow in their wake…" He winced, for some reason, before continuing. "You catch a glimpse, a whiff, a flutter. You see the evidence they leave behind. The things they cause to happen. This one, he wasn't any ghost. He was a beast that walked like a man. But there was something in his eyes."</p>
<p>"You met him?"</p>
<p>"I was there when they put the needle in." Gauthier's haunted eyes snapped open. "He didn't understand. Didn't understand why we were doing this. From his perspective, he was just… living his life. Following his instincts. I know for a fact that he didn't need to be in that room on the day that he died. He could have vanished into thin air. But he didn't."</p>
<p>"Why? Why do you think that is?"</p>
<p>He shook his head. "I don't know. But after all those years on the ghost trail, even though they amounted to nothing much…" His mouth twisted into a bitter line. "The one thing I can tell you for certain, is that these things want to be chased. They want to be followed. They want you to <em>understand</em> them. But they want you to work for it, Dr. Okorie. They expected you to <em>sacrifice</em> for it. He could have told us what would happen when he died. He could have warned us what we were doing to those children. And I'm convinced, absolutely <em>convinced,</em>" and he pounded the arm of his chair for emphasis, the tendons and knuckles on his hand standing out in white contrast under his ruddy skin, "that he could have done something to stop it. But he didn't. Because…" He relaxed, and seemed to shrink a little. Bones in an old bag of pink flesh, with only the eyes still angry and young. "Because the perverted old son of a bitch didn't think we'd <em>earned</em> it."</p>
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<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
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<p>Ngo always allowed her patients to choose where they wanted to sit. In roughly equal proportion, they chose the chair or the fold-back couch.</p>
<p>McInnis was the only one who ever chose to stand. The closest to it was Elstrom, who posed in the chair like she was having her picture taken.</p>
<p>"I suspect that's essentially it," the Director told her with a closed-mouth smile. They'd only been talking for twenty minutes, and he'd managed to turn the conversation back to her and the things she was working on for well over half that time. "There really isn't that much to say, particularly when we're running on a streak of successes between each Breach."</p>
<p>Ngo smiled up at him from behind her desk. She couldn't ever tell if he meant what he was saying. Perhaps he always did. Perhaps never, though it seemed less likely. "Well, I still think it's worthwhile that we keep the appointments monthly. Gives me more data to work with, and lets us track the progression of everyone's mental health across the calendar year. There are bound to be peaks and troughs, but the general trends are what matters the most."</p>
<p>He nodded amiably. His hands were in his pockets, and he was making eye contact; it was reminiscent of a stereotypical 'friendly boss' giving directives, which was not at all the usual vibe of a psych consult. "If you think it's best, I defer to your good judgement. I take it you'll be seeing the other Survivors soon?" He raised a hand to forestall her reply. "No, of course you can't tell me that. Confidentiality. I understand."</p>
<p>She had been about to tell him the answer was yes, actually. Confidentiality was entirely subordinate to security clearance levels, and anyway she'd had an… unusual relationship with the concept, for a long while now. But she didn't argue. "I appreciate your understanding, sir, as always."</p>
<p>He nodded again. "As I said, I trust your judgement. If you feel you need the information, we will continue to provide it. And I've no doubt you will put it to good use."</p>
<p>She felt something catch in her throat, "I… appreciate that, as well, sir. I'm sorry if this feels a little…" She struggled to find the word. "Obtrusive? Invasive? Anything like that."</p>
<p>"Nonsense." He didn't wave the apology away, but his tone served much the same purpose. "Your ethics are beyond reproach. Whatever you feel you must do, you have my full confidence and support. Had I any reason to worry about your sense of the fitness of things, I would not have you as one of this facility's top psychologists."</p>
<p>She couldn't articulate a response to this. She stared at him. He smiled again, nodded for the third time, and took his leave.</p>
<p>She was an hour late for her next appointment, and if it had been McInnis who walked in and sat down on the couch, rather than Harry, she still wouldn't have been able to come up with an answer that felt correct.</p>
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<h2 id="toc19"><span>28 March</span></h2>
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<p>Mataxas suggested all manner of ways he might mediate her communion with technology, but Udo had refused them all. She knew precisely what she needed to do.</p>
<p>She had the techs open one of the still-active vats of sleeping dust — all of them in hexmat suits — and provide her with a ladder.</p>
<p>When the airflow to the tank was sufficient to sustain human life, she climbed up, stepped over the edge, and dropped down into the embrace of a self which was not her own, but not nearly as unfamiliar as she would have liked.</p>
<p>She fell into dreams in an instant.</p>
<p>They were standing in a desert.</p>
<p>They were standing in <em>the</em> desert. Not the one with the moons, or the black cloud. A desert she knew in her bones was her own.</p>
<p>"Good evening, child," said the <em>Bonhomme.</em></p>
<p>He was a tall man with an awkward, pockmarked face and irises so dark they were almost black. His spectre wore the hat, the suit, the cloak and riding boots. They were apparently irreducible elements of his identity.</p>
<p>Well. They would see how irreducible he was, in the end.</p>
<p>"Monsieur,' she said.</p>
<p>"Have you come to set me free?" His voice was soft, gentle, deep and bassy. His expression would not have looked out of place in a casket.</p>
<p>"No." She looked down at herself. She was wearing her ApplOcc robes, and her satchel was at her side. That was good; she hadn't really wanted to confront him naked. "I've come for answers."</p>
<p>"I have never given satisfaction in that way. I suspect you will be disappointed."</p>
<p>"Maybe you were never asked the right questions."</p>
<p>He inclined his head. Other than that, it was only his mouth that moved. "I will help you if I can. But there may be a price."</p>
<p>"We can haggle if I find you've got anything to offer." She drew herself up to her full height, such as it was, and asked: "What did you do to the children of Quebec?"</p>
<p>She had the sense that he almost smiled. "Besides the obvious?"</p>
<p>"Yes." She fought a wave of nausea. She won, because this body wasn't real.</p>
<p>"I offered them relief."</p>
<p>"From a problem you caused."</p>
<p>He shook his head. "No. I was called to them, and performed my duty. I brought them into the embrace of Nox. And when I found them astray from the gates of slumber…" Finally, his mouth split in a rictus that did his cadaverous features no favours. "Then I extracted my fee for this service."</p>
<p>She approached him. His cloak whipped in a sudden wind, and he looked at the emptiness in the direction from which it had come with dull surprise. "They're dying because of you. Don't try to dodge responsibility."</p>
<p>"Responsibility?" He loomed over her, even taller than before, as though growing in the face of her cold rage. "Child, I did not take my own life. It was taken from me."</p>
<p>"You could have warned them."</p>
<p>"They believed they knew best. Who was I to gainsay?"</p>
<p>"How did you do it?" They stood nearly toe to toe. He stank of grave soil. "Worm your way into their brains? Was it habit-forming, your sleep dust?"</p>
<p>He regarded her with the purest look of pity she had ever seen."I have encountered anger before, little one. My friend was very cross with me. He thought me a threat to his child. It is a very powerful instinct, to protect. I never understood it, but I respected it. And the policeman, he was angry too. Angry that he was powerless to stop me. A failure. But this anger, yours, is different, and now I see why. Yours is the anger of fear. You fear your affinity with my mortal remains. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. You have done great things with what I left behind. And you fear to think you might owe it all to me." And now he was more than a man; black and billowing, he was a vast, dark stormcloud.</p>
<p>But she was the desert.</p>
<p>"What are you?" she demanded. "Really?"</p>
<p>"Just a man," the beast lied, "with a hunger, and the means to feed."</p>
<p>"It can't be only that." She was the wind that lashed him. "What are you to <em>me?</em>"</p>
<p>"It goes the other way." She no longed sounded so certain. "You are my legacy."</p>
<p>"I don't accept that. Your dust is a tool. My tool. I've shaped it to my own needs." She was shaping it now. It ran through her sand like veins. "What do you think would happen if I abated it all? Would it erase you from this prison?"</p>
<p>"I don't know." He was a grinning death's head. He was a featureless, unknowable force of nature. "Perhaps you should try, if you feel that's the right thing to do."</p>
<p>"I've never known a living creature so blasé about its own life."</p>
<p>"I have died before." His voice was thunder.</p>
<p>"And you were no more concerned than you are now." Her voice was the wind.</p>
<p>"I had died before that, too."</p>
<p>The moment crystallized. They were man and woman, standing in the wastes, a city on the horizon, and the sky was grey.</p>
<p>"What do you mean?" she asked him, and he told her:</p>
<p>"I do not know."</p>
<p>"What's the first thing you remember?"</p>
<p>"The sands."</p>
<p>"Your sand? Or these sands?" She stamped her feet, and thrilled at the sensation on her skin as it rippled. "A desert?"</p>
<p>"A desert," he agreed. "This desert. Vast and black." And so it was. "I was called forth."</p>
<p>"By who?" she demanded.</p>
<p>"If I did not know better, I might have said by <em>you.</em>"</p>
<p>"What's that supposed to mean?"</p>
<p>"Those burning eyes. I would know them anywhere."</p>
<p>She could see them reflected in the hollow pools at the back of his sunken sockets. "I didn't create you."</p>
<p>"But you have seen the desert."</p>
<p>"Are you corrupting me?" She raised her hands, and the earth rose up behind her. "Making me see what you want me to see?"</p>
<p>"I am a prisoner." He looked up at the towering wave she was posed to send crashing down over him. "Nothing else. Once I was more. Once, I was… <em>so much more.</em> But I was broken, and then again, and now I am but a shadow on the sand."</p>
<p>"There has to be more to it than that."</p>
<p>"There is not."</p>
<p>"I don't believe you!" She was trembling. He was casting no shadow. She had blotted out the sun, wherever it hid in the tattered fabric of the sky. "What did you do to the children?!"</p>
<p>"I existed," he whispered. "Everything bends around everything else. Nothing moves without stirring its neighbour. That is the lesson of the dunes. My advent formed a niche in my mirror image, and I filled it. Now it is empty, and things fall into the gap."</p>
<p>"You're saying…" She hesitated, and the glint in his eye said he knew it. "You're saying they can't sleep because… you need to put them to sleep, and that's not something you caused, but reality bending around the <em>fact</em> of you? Accounting for your existence?"</p>
<p>"That sounds right." He nodded.</p>
<p>"You don't know?"</p>
<p>He shrugged. "I never gave it much thought. I never gave anything much thought." He sneered. "That's what you people are for."</p>
<p>"You know what?" She lowered her arms, and the sand came crashing back down. Behind her. "You're right."</p>
<p>And she turned over her hands, and she reached out.</p>
<p>But not to touch him.</p>
<p>He looked down at himself, as though he could feel her probing the space within. Could sense that she knew the shape of what was inside. That she had taken it for herself. That she had owned it.</p>
<p>That she owned it still.</p>
<p>She suspected he knew and could sense these things, because for the first time — perhaps the very first time, if the tapes were anything to go by — <em>Bonhomme Sept-Heures</em> looked sad.</p>
<p>"Will you tell Noor something for me?" he asked.</p>
<p>She was ready. "No."</p>
<p>"Tell him I'm sorry."</p>
<p>She paused. "Are you?"</p>
<p>"Not in the slightest." The beast smiled, gently. "But it might ease his mind to hear."</p>
<p>With a flick of her wrist, she compacted his skeleton into a handful of pulverized white meal. The remainder of him melted around it, and was carried away by the gale. Her gale.</p>
<p>"And give my regards to my children," he whispered with the teeth of the wind.</p>
<p>And he was gone.</p>
<p>Harry was going to have to update <em>Lines in a Muddle</em> again.</p>
<p>On the bright side, now she had five vats of <em>vim harenae.</em></p>
<p>And they were absolutely, definitively hers.</p>
<p>The offices in TheoTelo didn't have windows, but they did have peepholes in the doors. Udo was quite sure the flowers were the reason Corbin finally answered her knocking.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry I've been avoiding you," said Udo as the door swung open. She thrust the bouquet of begonias into the other woman's chest.</p>
<p>Corbin took them with good grace. "I'm not sorry I've been avoiding you back."</p>
<p>Udo nodded. "That's fair."</p>
<p>"Yeah." Corbin headed into her office. Udo didn't know where to look first in the assault of colour that hit her as she followed, so she settled on the other woman's bald pate. Though the theologian liked to experiment with her appearance, this particular look felt targeted to Udo. "But I'm not sorry you've been avoiding me, either. You were right."</p>
<p>"About what?" Udo again tried to focus on a single element of her surroundings, and found it impossible. Corbin's office was packed with <em>things.</em> Bright things. Knitted rugs, arthouse movie posters, lewd sculptures, a photograph of Jesus turned upside-down…</p>
<p><em>A photograph?</em></p>
<p>Corbin plucked a large canine skull off a bookshelf, placed it on her desk — her <em>wicker</em> desk, Udo saw — and stuck the flowers into the left eyesocket at a rakish angle. "They were fobbing me off. Is that how that expression works? They were giving me access to just you, as a way of keeping me happy without opening up the files. You know less than Lillihammer or McInnis. Probably less than Ibanez. If they'd given me Nascimbeni or Wettle I'd have figured it out sooner, but you were just informed enough to be plausible." She sat down in her rattan chair, and gestured for Udo to take one of the dark oak barstools opposite. "Plus, it's a matter of record that I'm easy when it comes to witches."</p>
<p>Udo sat down. "It is?"</p>
<p>Corbin snatched up a cigarette from between the number and function rows of her keyboard, and the twirling began. "That story doesn't come free. Point is, you were never going to give me what I wanted. Probably nobody is. I wasn't hired to see miracles, I was hired to identify them at a distance. It's time I made peace with that. Wouldn't have happened if you'd given me the time of day, strung me along."</p>
<p>Udo wasn't sure what to say. "I'm… glad?"</p>
<p>"It was still a bitch thing to do, though." The other woman was smiling now.</p>
<p>"Yeah." Udo nodded. "Sorry." She smiled back, tentatively. "I might be able to make it up to you now, just a little."</p>
<p>Corbin leaned back. The rattan creaked. "Do tell."</p>
<p>"So, 5281-D. You know?"</p>
<p>"Black caped black hat sallow Québec kiddie-eater."</p>
<p>Udo stared at her, open-mouthed. "Holy <em>shit.</em>"</p>
<p>"Been holding on to that for ages. Isn't it horrible?"</p>
<p>It really was. "It really is."</p>
<p>"What about him?"</p>
<p>"I killed him. Deader than he already was. Wiped him out."</p>
<p>Corbin didn't look impressed. "You think telling me a cool thing I never got to see is now even less possible to see is going to cheer me up?"</p>
<p>"I think finding out what he was, and what that represents, might. But I don't know how off-base I am. I need an expert consult."</p>
<p>The other woman spread her arms wide. "Well, let's hear it."</p>
<p>"I spoke to him in dream space. He told me his earliest memory was being called into existence in a big black desert, and then being broken. Splintered."</p>
<p>"Into what?"</p>
<p>"He didn't know. He did know that a niche opened up to fit his new form, and he filled that niche."</p>
<p>Corbin was nodding. "Hmm."</p>
<p>"What do you know about gods of sleep, or the night?"</p>
<p>"Oh," the theologian yawned. "Only <em>everything,</em>"</p>
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<h2 id="toc20"><span>12 April</span></h2>
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<p>Wettle drummed his fat fingers on the table. He'd been doing it for hours. Harry wished Lillian was here; she'd have dropped a heavy book on them already, and somehow gotten away with it. "We could… get him a really good friend, right? Somebody who hangs around him all day, every day. Maybe the monster needs time to take a shine to somebody."</p>
<p>"That wouldn't help," Harry sighed. "Because we wouldn't know if it worked until Phil dies, at which point whatever we're doing <em>has</em> to work."</p>
<p>They were sitting on opposite ends of a long lab counter. Harry had his notes in front of him. Wettle's notes were in one of the sinks; he hadn't put them there on purpose.</p>
<p>"We could do it anyway," Wettle suggested. "As a backup. You get enough backups, one of them is bound to work, and you don't need to know which one before it happens."</p>
<p>Harry shook his head. "Ngo's basically already tried this. They've been making people go on dates with Phil. Never any chemistry, so he's still single."</p>
<p>Wettle stared at him. "They're setting him up with dates? Without telling him?"</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"Is that a service that's just, like… available to anybody, or…?"</p>
<p>"Point is, getting someone to follow Phil around is a non-starter."</p>
<p>Wettle grunted. "Don't hear you coming up with any great ideas."</p>
<p>"Mm." Harry resisted the urge to pick up his phone and try a more fruitful consult. It wouldn't end well. "Maybe we could loop Imrich Sykora in on the thing." The thing in question, Project SARGENT, was a longstanding initiative to prepare for the worst in the event of Phil Deering's death. Nobody know what was going to happen when his mirror monster was untethered. Would it disappear? Would it latch onto someone new? Would it stay in the last reflective space it jumped into before being deprived of its constant companion, and issue that ear-splitting screech it made whenever they were separated, forever? It was a serious problem, and so far no serious solution had been proposed. Everyone outside of senior staff who participated in the brainstorming sessions was amnesticized afterward, ostensibly because it was a high security issue, but really because the official story was that multiple solutions had already been found, and they were just looking for backups now. It wouldn't do to have everyone thinking there was no game plan.</p>
<p>Alone of the Project SARGENT staff, Harry and Wettle got to keep their sinking feeling that there would still have been no progress made when the issue went critical. Not that it seemed to bother Wettle any. He was probably used to getting pulled down.</p>
<p>Wettle waited for Harry to finish his musing — they knew each other well enough by now to recognize muse-faces — before saying "I don't know who that is."</p>
<p>"Who?"</p>
<p>"Skikora. Stickora. Nicholas Picholas. Whatever it was you just said."</p>
<p>"Imrich Sykora? You do too know him. Thaumaturge. Pretty boy."</p>
<p>"Oh!" Wettle reached for his notes, accidentally striking the faucet and pouring water all over them instead. Harry had been waiting for that particular gun to fire since this session's first act. "Shit! Fuck. Okay." The water off, Wettle retrieved his sodden papers and began waving them around, spraying droplets everywhere and losing sheet by sheet by sheet. "Yeah. Sykora's busy. With a different thing. Very important thing that he and I are doing."</p>
<p>"Uh huh," said Harry.</p>
<p>"Why don't you ask Bradbury? She does consults all the time."</p>
<p>Harry stared at him.</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"Why don't I ask Dr. Bradbury to help us solve this problem?"</p>
<p>"Yeah!"</p>
<p>"This problem we have with SCP-5056?"</p>
<p>Wettle beamed, as though he'd made an excellent suggestion that was now being praised. "Right!"</p>
<p>"SCP-5056," and Harry took a moment to steady his hands and voice, "which put Melissa in a coma for a year, and forced her to retire from active duty?"</p>
<p>To his surprise, Wettle was <em>still</em> nodding. "Yeah. That's what I meant. You think I forgot, or something? Okorie got over her shit by killing that kid eater thing. Why wouldn't it work for Bradbury?"</p>
<p>For the first time ever, Harry couldn't think of a snarky thing to say in response.</p>
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<h2 id="toc21"><span>14 April</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Montréal-Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport</strong></span><strong>: Ville de Montréal, Québec, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Udo had vacation time banked up, as did most of her colleagues, but she didn't even need to use it. As soon as she declared her intention to visit Québec — even though she hadn't told anyone her reasons — in the Site's scheduling system, she found the trip flagged as research-related. She didn't question it. Some combination of Elstrom, the ASC, and McInnis would have had to confirm that detail, so it hadn't been done whimsically. They just knew.</p>
<p>It was nice to think that someone was paying attention. Probably that was a nice thing.</p>
<p>She decided to start with Montréal, because that was the only part of the province where she could reasonably expect to speak English most of the time and actually accomplish anything. Not that she was entirely certain what she expected to accomplish. She carried two suitcases, one full of her regular clothes and toiletries, the other containing what would have looked to any customs officials who cared to inspect like a vintage costume for a fancy dress party.</p>
<p>She'd put it on once already, in a containment chamber rather than her dormitory, so that it would feel more scientific than personal. She'd been wholly unable to find a way to teleport. Thus, the plane ride.</p>
<p>By the time she'd flagged down a taxi, she already felt ridiculous. By the time she'd checked into her room at the Holiday Inn, she was wondering what the hell she'd been thinking.</p>
<p>When she woke up in the middle of the night, she knew she'd been right.</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc22"><span>1 May</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>OSAT Station 11</strong></span><strong>: Montréal, Québec, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Ibanez was not surprised to find that Raynard Watts, first Chief Superintendent of OSAT, had looked like a serial killer's soul embodied in an underfed ferret.</p>
<p>At least, it was probably a photo of Watts sitting on Couch's desk, facing out towards her visitor. Glowering from under his too-large hat, judging the representative of the Foundation he had so perfectly, if ineffectually, despised.</p>
<p>"I'm so popular these days," Couch grinned at her. "First Okorie, now you. I'm flattered by all the attention, really I am."</p>
<p>"This isn't a follow-up." Ibanez shifted on the stool she'd been provided with. It was a short stool. She wondered whether this was standard practice, to lower anyone meeting with Couch to below her stature, or if it was intended to accentuate Ibanez's own lack of verticality. It didn't matter. She knew fully well, whether the other woman showed it or not, that <em>she</em> knew where the power in the room presently resided. "But since you mention it: the thing with the insomnia is pretty well handled, now."</p>
<p>Couch raised an eyebrow. "That so? Do tell."</p>
<p>"I think you'll find we never agreed to tell you anything." Ibanez smiled her closest approximation of sweetness. "But hey, you might be able to squeeze a few details out of me, if you don't mind sharing some outdated, useless intel."</p>
<p>The mountie stood up, tugging down the short sleeves of her blue officer's shirt and stretching as she turned to face the window. The blinds were pulled, but she didn't seem to notice. "I'm supposed to buy your version of what is and is not useless, huh?"</p>
<p>Ibanez shrugged, though Couch wasn't looking at her. "Judge for yourself. I want to know what you know about Elizabeth Crocker."</p>
<p>The other woman turned to face her, a predatory gleam in her eye. "Oh, you know, I'm supposed to be <em>very</em> embarrassed about that. Diplomatic incident. Brought a few of our men down into your home, shot it up a bit. Terrible black mark on the taskforce."</p>
<p>"Is that pride I hear?"</p>
<p>Couch laughed, and leaned in, palms on the desk. "Damn right it is. We might have been cheating, bringing in a ringer, but we penetrated to the inner sanctum. How many other agencies can say the same?"</p>
<p>"Not many," Ibanez agreed. "Learn anything interesting from that impressive feat?"</p>
<p>"Yes, actually." With her shit-eating grin, Couch's expression was essentially inscrutable. In this aspect only, she might have fit in well at 43. "That ringer of ours? Crocker? She was <em>terrible</em> at what she did."</p>
<p>"Which is what?"</p>
<p>"Mind control." Couch leaned back again, and adjusted the tuck of her shirt into her black dress pants. "She used mind control to convince everyone she was part of OSAT, even though women weren't allowed in the RCMP back then, and she used mind control to get the escort she used to invade your Site. Only the moment she was out of the building, this building, Station 11, everyone she'd spoken to knew she was bogus. And I hear it didn't take much to shake the officers out of their trance, though of course you'd know more about that than I would."</p>
<p>Ibanez did know, but she hadn't thought it particularly noteworthy, because it had been Thilo Zwist doing the trance-shaking. The immortal Austrian had chased Crocker out of the Site, and restored to her rent-a-cops what passed for their minds in the process. "Hmm. Do you have anything… else…?"</p>
<p>She suddenly realized that this was not, as it had appeared at first blush, nothing. The various means of mind control employed in the first deadline had also failed to make a serious impression on the mounties, who'd been camped out in AAF-D; Falkirk, as acting Director, had used them as his muscle in the corridors beyond the protective range of the telekill sheathe protecting the Site staff from Wirth's grey matter poking and Mukami's discursive prodding. <em>Corroboration is the soul of evidence,</em> she thought.</p>
<p>"Seems to me like that's plenty." Couch sat down again. "But maybe I'll think of something else, while you tell me Dr. Okorie's story of triumph."</p>
<p>Couch reluctantly agreed not to attempt Udo's capture.</p>
<p>Ibanez hadn't intended to insist upon it. She doubted the Dudley Do-Wrongs would have stood an even chance.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc23"><span>5 May</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Weeks of study had produced one very interesting fact about the ongoing replication crisis, and Imrich Sykora's predictive thaumaturgy.</p>
<p>The less interesting facts were things he'd already known: if he did the same calculations enough times, the result he got the most often was the correct one; if he did them only once, they were always wrong; and over time, the number of interations he needed to go through for the discrepancies to shake themselves out was increasing, though at a fairly slow rate.</p>
<p>The interesting fact was that when he used his Talent to predict whether Wettle's other replication studies would succeed or fail, he experienced his formerly accustomed success rate of one hundred percent.</p>
<p>"What does that mean?" Wettle openly pondered. Most of his thoughts came straight out of his mouth.</p>
<p>Imrich waited a while for a better explanation to suggest itself. He very much hoped that it would.</p>
<p>It didn't.</p>
<p>"I think," he sighed, with great resignation, "it means only one thing in the universe is certain right now."</p>
<p>"Please let it be death," said Wettle. "I fucked up my taxes again this year."</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc24"><span>7 May</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Harry found Udo in the containment cell where her annual drama played out. He had no idea what she was doing there, and he didn't ask, and she didn't offer to explain when she saw him outside the rotating door. She cycled it through, and came out. "Hey?"</p>
<div class="muddle">
<p>Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-D, and certain rooms in Applied Occultism and the first sublevel chambers of Security and Containment, experience a total reversion to the 2002 configuration every time SCP-5243 recurs. After the six minutes of chaos have passed, the reversion does not itself revert; what has been broken stays broken, what has been lost remains lost. It has therefore been deemed a waste of resources to fix the facilities which are no longer in frequent use. Of the affected spaces, only the containment cell in ApplOcc receives an annual visit from Janitorial and Maintenance, and that only to scrape scoring off the walls and disconnected pipes. These relics act as both promise and reminder that three hundred and sixty-five days later, with a margin of error of one day depending on the year, 2002 will come again with a vengeance.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>It used to be that whenever she was looking into something in this room, she had a blasted, confused look on her face. At some point while they'd been dating, it had disappeared. It was back now, worse than ever, and he knew the demise of their relationship had nothing to do with why. Like everyone else, he wondered what fresh hell had unleashed itself each September that it should require Udo to be amnesticized when her six annual minutes of fame were up.</p>
<p>He didn't think this would help, but perhaps it would at least provide a distraction.</p>
<p>He held out the book he was holding in his hands. "Took a lot of arguing, and a few months of vetting by like five different departments, but I finally got 91 to release this to my custody. I was wondering if you could take a look at it."</p>
<p>She took the heavy leather volume, and read the title on its spine. "<em>The Book of the Turning Gyre,</em>" she said. Her orange eyes met his, a question in them.</p>
<p>He answered. "Written by a <em>giftschreiber.</em> Outlines their theory of history, their methods of altering societal progress. I've done papers on it. But it's never been looked at by a thaumaturge before. I thought you might be able to bring a fresh perspective."</p>
<p>She shrugged. "Okay."</p>
<p>He nodded. "Okay."</p>
<p>She glanced back at the containment cell.</p>
<p>He waved at it. "Didn't mean to interrupt."</p>
<p>She frowned, and looked like she wanted to say something.</p>
<p>He wanted to say something, too.</p>
<p>But for the first time, they both realized that what they wanted to say today would only make more problems for tomorrow, problems they'd already solved.</p>
<p>So she went back into the cell, and he headed back out to the hall.</p>
<p>It was, in a sense, progress.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc25"><span>12 May</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Sunset Cove, Pensacola</strong></span><strong>: Florida, United States of America</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Ibanez had been to the retirement home in Sunset Cove a few times, but she'd managed to avoid ever visiting a bog standard old folks' home until now. She wasn't particularly glad of the experience.</p>
<p>The decor was unappealingly faux-cheerful, and the lighting was bad. There were elderly people everywhere, wherever they'd last been abandoned by their minders or their family members. She didn't see any orderlies beating or berating anyone, as they did in the movies, but it wasn't like the staff she saw seemed terribly thrilled to be there, either. Maybe it was worse in the States.</p>
<p>She remembered Zevala, as she often did when confronted with the realities of family in North America. She remembered that other than old man Lobo, who'd simply been too ornery, every oldster lived with and was taken care of by their offspring.</p>
<p>She remembered her grandfather.</p>
<p>The man in front of her was not flattered by the comparison. He had the same old man's barrel chest, but there was a harshness to his features and a grim set to his jaw that her grandfather had never had.</p>
<p>Then again, her grandfather had never been a cop.</p>
<p>"Don't remember much," the ancient mountie grunted. He tried to reorient himself in his wheelchair, but his arms wouldn't bear the weight, so he stayed sat at an odd angle. He grunted again. "That's your folks' doin', I reckon."</p>
<p>"I reckon," she agreed.</p>
<p>His cataracts flashed. "Sassy little thing, aren't you?" He chuckled wetly. "But yeah. Yeah, you took the memory. I try to tell them sometimes, you know?" He waved a withered hand at the reception desk. "Tell them how you took my memories. Think they care?"</p>
<p>"Don't reckon."</p>
<p>He rolled his eyes. "Dunno why I'd bother talking to you. No respect."</p>
<p>"Nobody else is visiting you. You're bored and lonely. Give me something useful, and I might stay for a game of chess."</p>
<p>Another gleam, this one mercenary. "Checkers?"</p>
<p>"Same difference to me."</p>
<p>He grunted for a third time. "Somethin' useful. Useful, you say. You know, you weren't so good with the memory-scrapes back then. Things slipped through. Little things. Impressions."</p>
<p>"What impressed you the most?"</p>
<p>He gave her a toothless grin. "How she had to keep puttin' her fingers in my brain, and swishin' around. Never took proper. Had to keep tryin'. An' she said somethin' about it once. Think it was in an elevator. Long elevator. That ring a bell?"</p>
<p>She made a noncommital half-nod.</p>
<p>"Sure it does. Means somethin' to you. She says in the elevator… what does she say." He closed his eyes. "She says 'You're only good as an insult. But I want 'em insulted. Gimme a pair of anarchists, and I could give 'em a whole lot more than mud in their eyes'. That was it, more or less."</p>
<p>"Huh."</p>
<p>"But I reckon she was all talk and no walk, that one."</p>
<p>"Why do you say that?" she asked, not necessarily expecting an answer more deep than sexism in response.</p>
<p>"Because we didn't wanna go down there with her — heard enough tell of what was in that charnel house to want to stay away — and she <em>did somethin'</em> to make us go, but it didn't hardly take."</p>
<p>"Didn't hardly take," Ibanez repeated.</p>
<p>"Nope. She had to keep doin' what she was doin'." The old man's chest puffed up. "Takes more'n a pretty face to sway the men in red, I don't mind sayin', and her face weren't all that pretty anyhow." A plaintive tone crept into the affable hostility. "What's all that worth to you?"</p>
<p>She could use the time to think about it anyway. The evidence had been corroborated. But what was it evidence <em>of?</em> "At least one game. I'll be red."</p>
<p>"The hell you will," the old mountie snarled.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>The Director of the Decommissioning Department looked like an SCP object, which was a nice bit of irony. His eyes were crystal, and he was wearing a complex rebreather. It was the result of having had a misunderstanding with an anomalous medical system, and it gave him an otherworldly, menacing appearance.</p>
<p>But underneath it, he was just an average guy.</p>
<p>There was probably something metaphorically pertinent about that, too.</p>
<p>"So." Calvin Bold stroked his mask as though it were a goatee. "You decommissioned 5281… again."</p>
<p>Udo nodded, but it was more of a diagonal shaking of the head. "I think of it as an acroamatic abatement, really."</p>
<p>Bold nodded. "That's good. I like that. That means you're not in trouble. Except now you're going to leap to that every time you don't want to call the DeD before you neutralize an anomaly."</p>
<p>She wondered who'd called Bold's department the DeD. Probably whoever had named the D-class department 'HARMA'. "Only we won't," she told him, "because that's not something we do here anyway."</p>
<p>"Director." Noor Zaman was sitting on her side of the boardroom table. "The DeD already authorized this decommissioning. It's just that it wasn't carried out correctly in the first place. Double jeopardy."</p>
<p>Bold made a sound like Darth Vader grunting. Possibly it was just a grunt. "Double jeopardy is actually the thing where you can't be punished twice for the same crime. Totally the opposite of what you meant." He paused. "But I take your meaning. We really screwed that one up, didn't we?"</p>
<p>"We did," Zaman agreed.</p>
<p>"At this point, I think we can say that the primary anomaly here was the insomnia cases in Québec." Bold looked back and forth between them. "Where are we on that? Did banishing the boogeyman help all those kids get back to sleep?"</p>
<p>Udo shook her head. "No, sir. I did."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"When I neutralized the <em>Bonhomme,</em> it was basically a more elaborate version of the abatement I performed around the turn of the century. The one that created my <em>vim harenae.</em>"</p>
<p>"I'm not familiar with that term. You mean the dust you sourced from 5281's corpse?"</p>
<p>"Yes, sir. Ever since I did that, I've had a tremendously improved affinity with my Talent. I can do things now I never dreamed of before. It's become clear to me that I somehow internalized the power that was in that sand. The power that came from <em>him.</em>"</p>
<p>Bold managed to look startled even with half of his face covered. "You're saying you took a part of the anomaly into you? Into your body?"</p>
<p>Zaman looked ill.</p>
<p>"That's right." She looked him right in the glass eyes. "I don't know why, but I always had an affinity for him, and the things he left behind. I still do."</p>
<p>"What does that mean?"</p>
<p>"It meant that I could commune with his spirit. It meant that I could destroy him. And it means—"</p>
<p>"Hold up," Zaman interrupted. "Are you about to say that when you killed him for the second time, you took even more of his power?"</p>
<p>"That's what I believed at the time, yes." Udo felt her heart racing to beat the band. "And I now have experimental proof that this is the case."</p>
<p>"Meaning…?" Zaman still looked stricken.</p>
<p>"Meaning that I went to Québec, and could almost immediately sense the location of the affected children. The ones who are experiencing some sort of withdrawal from the spiritual service the <em>Bonhomme</em> used to provide."</p>
<p>"Like, a homing instinct?" Bold asked.</p>
<p>"Pretty much," she agreed.</p>
<p>"And what did you do with this instinct? Please don't tell me you…" Bold shook his head. "I actually don't know what I don't want you to tell me you did. So just…" He spread his hands in defeat. "Tell me, I guess."</p>
<p>"What do you think, sir?" She could almost tell herself she was enjoying this. "I put on my Halloween costume, engaged in a little B&E, and blew some sand into some tired faces."</p>
<p>"You did <em>what,</em>" Zaman asked flatly.</p>
<p>Bold didn't look all that surprised. But then, his means of expressing that particular emotion were obviously limited. In any case, he asked the only question that mattered. "And did it work?"</p>
<p>She smiled at him in response.</p>
<p>"So, they're cured?"</p>
<p>"I don't know about <em>cured.</em> For now, I believe I've addressed all of the active cases. They might need more spot treatments later. It might be a gradual weaning. Or it might end up needing to be a long-term solution." She smiled, a little nervously. "So I might need a little more vacation than was already scheduled, in the interim."</p>
<p>"Well." Bold glanced at Zaman, then back at her. "I suspect that can be handled without too much difficulty."</p>
<p>"Yeah," Zaman said. He sounded stunned.</p>
<p>"I understand your thaumaturgy already paints a little outside the known lines," Bold continued. "But this seems like a whole new paradigm."</p>
<p>She nodded. "I've been fundamentally changed by an SCP object. There's really no getting around that." She'd known she was going to have to say this eventually, but it made her heart sink to do it anyway.</p>
<p>Bold, however, contrived to look amused. "Oh," he said. "You get used to it."</p>
<p>Bold told her he would smooth things out with the DeD, and also make sure his colleagues in the Integration Program ensured she'd be able to retain her position and station despite her new anomalous augmentation. "Least I could do," he told her, "for the woman who corrected one of my worst mistakes."</p>
<p>From the Site-43 point of view, it did also require a note on her HR file.</p>
<p>Zaman made very much the same comment when he filled it out for her. By the time she left his office, she felt almost certain the crying man had been about to try and hug her.</p>
<p>Relief at the end of a long road was a strange drug.</p>
<p>She was looking forward to trying it out someday.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc26"><span>18 May</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<div class="muddle">
<p>In addition to its posts at three corners of the third sublevel, Security and Containment has the entire first floor all to itself. This is where the containment chambers for Site-43's inventory of animate SCP objects and Nexus critters is kept, whether pending evaluation or serving out their non-negotiable life sentences in the name of the Foundation's protection initiative. There are considerably fewer of them now than once there were, and more empty chambers than the facility's designers ever expected. Once it was projected that space for a new row of rooms would need to be excavated by the mid-2020s; now so many chambers have been mothballed that there's been talk of turning them into extra dormitory space for the upstairs agents. This depopulation does not reflect a new policy of catch and release, but rather the practical reality of life after SCP-5243. With the annual drop in containment integrity, it is no longer safe to keep dangerous creatures locked up on the shores of Lake Huron.</p>
<p>These anomalies are simply being remanded to the care of other facilities, rather than achieving their freedom. In this they are luckier than the personnel who have left Site-43's employ in the wake of the Breach that Keeps On Breaching, some of whom return annually for a ghoulish display, some of whom have gone where no force pantomime can touch them, and some of whom have simply decided to stay away.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>He sent the excerpt, and waited.</p>
<p>The response came a few minutes later.</p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<div class="text-container">
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
Haven't you written this bit up before?</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>He frowned. He hadn't been sure how the amendments would be received, but he hadn't been prepared for precisely this response.</p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<div class="text-container">
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
Probably?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
I've drafted most of the thing a few times over.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
You know that.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>The next messages didn't come until an hour later, when he'd given up on writing and texting and had settled in to enjoy a TV dinner while scrolling through Memory Alpha on his desktop.</p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<div class="text-container">
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
Sounds like you need to commit.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
Or maybe just learn to let things go.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Repent at Leisure">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/49-repent-at-leisure">Repent at Leisure</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="The Breach Goes On: Deadlined">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub">The Breach Goes On: Deadlined</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Stop the Clock">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/51-stop-the-clock">Stop the Clock</a></p>
</div>
</div>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/50-turning-and-turning">Turning and Turning</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/50-turning-and-turning">https://scpwiki.com/50-turning-and-turning</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Chapter title quotes William Butler Yeats, "The Second Coming," 1919, in the public domain.</p>
<p>Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:</p>
<p>Rozálie Astrauskas: "portrait | vale triste?" "Valentina" and "vale solare" by Andrea Fistetto, all released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/2894689596">https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/2894689596</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/6837642131">https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/6837642131</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/2810284003">https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/2810284003</a></p>
<p>Bonhomme Sept-Heures: "CDV of a man wearing a cape and top hat with a dog," by oakenroad, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://openverse.org/image/9c20b1cc-430a-43bb-a61f-1b45c7fa9565">https://openverse.org/image/9c20b1cc-430a-43bb-a61f-1b45c7fa9565</a></p>
<p>Brenda Corbin: "Screen Shot 2022-07-09 at 19.20.22" by Tracy Rolling, released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tracy_the_astonishing/52222024374">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tracy_the_astonishing/52222024374</a></p>
<p>Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653</a></p>
<p>Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023</a></p>
<p>Nhung Ngo: Nhi Dang, "Huyen," released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/nhi_dg/7186551316/">https://www.flickr.com/photos/nhi_dg/7186551316/</a> and Rod Waddington, "Hmong Woman," released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/rod_waddington/44409399060">https://www.flickr.com/photos/rod_waddington/44409399060</a></p>
<p>William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260">https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260</a></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Everything!<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735469654" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
</blockquote>
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[=]]
**Turning and Turning**
Anyone fancy a gyre?
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[=]]
+ Turning and Turning
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ ##990011|2016##
++ 22 February
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
There were fewer women in the Mobile Task Forces than there were in Site security, which suited Ibanez fine. She got along with men much better, once the ground rules had been established.
Her time doing ridealongs with Van Rompay had helped a great deal in that regard. She'd only had to punch one person in the balls since taking the old soldier's job, and she was pretty sure the recipient understood that he'd had it coming.
[[div class="muddle"]]
Most Mobile Task Forces are stationed at a single facility. Nu-7 ("Hammer Down"), a battalion tasked almost excusively with regaining control over lost or rogue facilities, deploys out of Armed Bio-Containment Area-14. Alpha-1 ("Red Right Hand") are the bodyguards of the O5 Council, and therefore operate primarily at Site-01, though squadrons can be found wherever the Overseers roam. Some MTFs leapfrog from station to station, going where they're needed most, and very few are explicitly tied to the organizational hierarchy of the place where they hang their helmets. As it so often is, Site-43 is an exception to this rule.
The majority of the Mobile Task Forces operating out of Site-43 are stationed there long-term, and rarely travel far from their point of origin. This is due to the facility's role as a hub of Foundation authority in Canada and the northernmost United States; relying on units stationed southward presents all manner of difficulties, from the sheer logistics of flying up to Lake Huron to the awkwardness of black helicopters crossing the American border. Deviation from the standard name-and-numbering rules is used to indicate this peculiarity: most forces tied to Site-43 are numbered to indicate as much, with a solid proportion of the range between Alpha- and Omega-43 already covered.
This long-term residency arrangement, coupled with the fact that most of the MTFs operate out of Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-A's upper levels and are therefore isolated from the rest of the Site's staff, has made the agents and researchers under Chief Ibanez's command particularly tight-knit. Contrary to Foundation policy for fraternization between researchers, of which Site-43 has always been in flagrant violation, this is generally considered to be a good thing. Morale is morale.
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
That was all well and good, but the fact remained that Ibanez was not yet properly a member of the family whose matriarch she now was. It had been a patriarchy before, which was a problem, and it had operated according to a discipline specific to Van Rompay's personal style, which was another.
As Chief of Security and Containment, she'd been able to flit between only three nerve centres and hang out with the staff on-duty, getting to know them and observing their work. The MTFs had no dedicated central socializing space, because each of them had their own unique tasks, personnel makeup and equipment, and so she found herself spending most of each shift wandering from room to room, spending a few minutes max with each agent, then moving on. She was going to be a cipher to most of them for months, and there really wasn't anything she could do about it but put in the work.
The other Survivors were her friends, but there were some things best kept among colleagues, and she felt that the rougher kinds of socialization fell firmly into that category. So when her body and brain started to ache from too many days spent solely on filling the old man's big combat boots, it was natural, if not precisely admirable, that she'd call on her former associates to fill the need.
Which was how she found out that Howard Yancy's wife had been in an automobile accident, and he was out of the facility on indefinite leave.
Ordinarily, she would have gone on down the list of potential drinking buddies until she found someone available.
The problem was that somehow, in between Breaches and survival training and executing hapless thaumaturges and chasing //gift// and //geistschreiber// and shifting career paths, she'd never actually extended that list beyond a single item.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 24 February
----
[[/=]]
No doubt he'd heard it a thousand times before, but never from her, so she had plausible deniability. Imrich had his own office now -- probably had for years -- and he'd left the door open, so Udo walked in brazenly and declared: "I'll bet you knew I was coming."
"No." He didn't look up from his desk. This wasn't anything new, and didn't necessarily signify anything.
"No?"
"No." He stopped scribbling in his notepad; she saw a stack of them behind him on the squat filing cabinet, and realized with dull surprise that all of them were used. He finally looked up. "What do you want?"
She got right into it. Imrich hated preambles. "Du was talking about how predictive thaumaturgy doesn't work right anymore. I was wondering if he was talking about you."
He didn't sigh, but his eyes did. "I didn't know you were coming because I don't spend my time predicting what you'll do. I've got more important things to waste my time with."
"So, it //hasn't// affected you?" she nudged.
"Of course it's affected me. It's affected me since F-D blew up for the first time. I've been accounting for it, but." His jaw jutted out, and he seethed for a moment.
She didn't like to pry, but she didn't see a choice. "Yes?"
"But it's like suddenly I need glasses, and I don't have any. Relatable?"
"Not particularly." She tilted down the lenses of her enormous round spectacles. "I don't need glasses."
He looked legitimately surprised, which was a true rarity. "Really?"
"Really."
"I didn't know that."
"Good." She pushed them back up the bridge of her nose. "It's a stupid affectation. Thanks for not considering that possibility." She moved to take the door in one hand, "Can we talk? We don't really talk anymore."
"Why not?"
"Why not, as in yes, or why not, as in--"
"Not why not as in why don't we talk anymore. We don't talk anymore because we stopped being friends, and it was too pointless and embarrassing to start again, and you've only needed my help on the seldomest of occasions since then. And that's still the case, so let's not talk about that. You want to talk about 5243."
She took her time closing the door, to process all of that. "Mostly I wanted to talk about you. I know it drives Reynders up the window, having to see all that alternate reality stuff. Is it the same with you?"
"No." The way he poured it all out, she was sure her question had accorded precisely with his most keen frustrations. "With me it's like I used to have the world's most accurate roadmap, written in a language I don't read but can cross-translate, and now it's like someone printed a whole other map on top of that one, in the same ink, at a slight angle, and it's //almost fucking impossible// to tell which is which. And that's happened three times now. And also the world is falling apart, a little bit, so actually even the baseline map underneath is a little bit wrong in all the wrong places. So all in all it's going just //fantastic.//" He picked up the notepad and flung it into the trashbin, which fell over. There were other notepads in there, she saw.
"I'm sorry."
She knew so many people who liked to make eye contact. "Scuttlebutt is you're the only one with no reason to be. Everyone else has fucked up the conprocs, but you don't even really //do// anything, so how can you?"
She was an old hand at not taking offence at Imrich's bluntness. In a way, it had prepared her for friendship with Lillian Lillihammer. "I meant I was sorry you're dealing with that. But..." It was like a light going on in the back of her head. "You've given me an idea."
"What?"
"I wonder if you could use your Talent to map my actions during 5243, and get a little more evidence of what exactly is //happening.// The security feeds are unreadable. My memories are irretrievable. But maybe...?"
"No." And there it was again.
"No?"
"No. I'm still working on Wettle's replications. We're trying to map the fractures, predict where they'll happen next. That's more important." He pulled a fresh notepad out of a box on the fake windowsill.
"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, 5243 is the cause of all of this, and the more we know about why and how it happens, the closer we'll get to stopping these fractures from even existing."
"In other words," he said, still with his back to her, "it all comes down to you, and how important you are."
"I never said I was important," she said.
"No," he shook his head, "you never do."
"But Du and Reynders said that the Breach is definitely what's causing this. Every little hint about how it works could be invaluable."
"I suppose."
"Will you at least think about it?"
He spun back around, notepad in hand. "Sure. I'll think about it. At least when I'm just using my god-given brain, instead of this infernal //nonsense,//" and to her amazement he threw the new pad across the room, too, "I can only see one path forward, and one path back."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/50-turning-and-turning/DL_50_01_Sykora_Throw.jpg]]
"That," she sighed, "sounds nice."
And she bent down to pick it up for him.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 29 February
----
[[/=]]
"I'm surprised you're doing this remotely," said the voice on the phone that Ngo had once been able to put a face to.
"It's what you asked for."
"Yeah," Bradbury agreed, "but I didn't think you'd allow it."
"Why not?"
The shrug was inaudible, but implied. "I don't know. You've got your therapeutic environment all set up. I thought you might insist I go there. Or you might insist on coming here."
"Melissa, you've barely left that house in thirteen years. That's your comfort environment. You feel safe there. That's a pretty serious requirement of trauma therapy. Would you feel safe here? At 43?"
"I want to." A pause. "But I wouldn't."
"Well, there we go then. Now. Which of the treatment methods we discussed seemed most promising to you?"
"I don't think I can choose just one."
"That's alright!" Ngo tried to keep her tone upbeat. She was glad that Bradbury had reached out. She knew the silver-haired physicist had been doing contract work from her home in Grand Bend for years now, but she'd never been able to get a solid read on her mental state. Sure, they did their annual calls for psych reviews, and her phone and all her socials were bugged and scrutinized, but still. Nothing beat face-to-face contact, and she was very much hoping to build up to that. "I can help. Given what you've told me about these intrusive thoughts, maybe Cognitive Processing Therapy might be a good place to start."
"That's... not what I meant."
Ngo frowned. "What did you mean, then?"
"I meant I don't //want// to choose just one."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/50-turning-and-turning/DL_50_02_Ngo_Phone.jpg]]
It was an absurd thing to do, but Ngo did it anyway. She took the device off the side of her head, and turned to stare at it.
She could still hear Bradbury's tinny voice on the other end. "Because I am sick to //death// of my comfort environment, Dr. Ngo."
[!-- [[=image Ngo_Bradbury_Therapy.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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++ 1 March
----
[[/=]]
More than a decade on, and the saloon's atmosphere still hadn't recovered from the death of David Markey. The lazy old tech had never much cared for Ambrogi's moonshine, and had gotten his fix in loud, sloppy fashion with the rest of the hard cases who didn't mind the optics of drinking during the day. Ibanez hadn't liked the man very much, but she'd liked the ambience he provided just fine.
Sitting at the bar with Udo Okorie almost felt //respectable,// which was not at all the vibe that she was looking for.
No respectable establishment would have entertained Udo's taste for girly cocktails, but the saloon was a serve-yourself model, so she sat there primly sipping at a Piña Colada while Ibanez pounded back bottle after bottle of the Site's private reserve. Forsythe had often marvelled that someone so small could metabolize so much alcohol. Udo was visibly admiring it now.
Or was that fear? //Works for me, either way.//
There was nobody else in the room, and it was particularly well-soundproofed for fairly obvious reasons, so there was no reason for them not to talk shop. Udo was doing most of the talking, while Ibanez grunted agreement or dissent.
"Lillian remembered something interesting today," the thaumaturge remarked.
Ibanez grunted through her beer.
"She first met Wheeler, Marion Wheeler, at Site..." Udo furrowed her brow for a second. "Site-41, where Antimemetics is based -- I think. She was there on Del Olmo's trail, after he dropped clean out of the record. She was tracking down anybody who might be able to give her a new perspective on why he'd disappeared."
Ibanez wiped the foam from her lip. "You say Lillian //remembered// this, today? I didn't think Lillian could forget things."
Udo nodded. "Yeah, but that's not the same as thinking about everything at once, right? She'd go nuts." She smirked. "Nutser. She can still dismiss thoughts she doesn't want to have right now."
"Ought to teach that to Phil Deering," Ibanez remarked. "Or Harry."
Udo nodded. "So, because it was tied up with Antimemetics, it was harder for her to focus on it. Didn't occur to her to bring it up until today, because I was telling her we were gonna have this little meeting," and she playfully nudged Ibanez's ribs with her shoe, "and she'd just gotten off the phone telling Wheeler some random thing she didn't feel like telling //me.//"
Ibanez took another pull, and wiped the residue away again. "What's the short version of why this matters?"
"Wheeler told her Del Olmo was tracking down a global cult, and that Antimemetics had an interest. He was doing spot treatments. Busting people, getting them contained, amnesticized, whatever."
"Secret agent shit."
"Apparently. Now, you'd think this was the //giftschreiber,// right? It wasn't."
"Not the new guys, either?"
"No. Neither side. Wheeler said it was unrelated to any of that. Del Olmo was handling a global memetic crisis, but not the one //we're// handling. Lillian says that's how she got saddled with whatever //her// thing with Antimem is about."
Ibanez tried to take another gulp, but the bottle was almost empty. All she got were a few bitter dregs. "Ngh. Okay. What's that information get us?"
"I think it cuts down on the number of angles we need to pursue. If Del Olmo was working on something unrelated to the cryptomancers, that just leaves Zlatá and Deering to figure out. And if he was talking to them, too..."
"...then they might all have gotten whacked because of the same weird thing, which isn't the main weird thing we're all working on. Which means..." Ibanez grinned.
"What's it mean? I didn't get an extra step out of that."
"It means this thing you and I have been investigating together never had anything to do with the others anyway, so we can cut them out again and do it our way." She slid off the stool. "Wanna play darts?"
Udo put down her glass. It was empty. When she took to her feet, she was more than a little wobbly. "For fun, or divination?"
Ibanez snorted. "Fun. This isn't //Twin Peaks.//"
"That's good." Udo placed a hand on Ibanez's shoulder to steady herself. "Agent Cooper never figured out a goddamn thing with that shit, and even more people died."
Ibanez knocked on the stool's wooden legs before they staggered off to the board together.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 12 March
**[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|Grand Bend##: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
It wasn't a fair comparison.
From a strictly physical point of view, Morwen Couch was not unattractive. She was fit, sharp-featured and more than a little impish in demeanour; in some ways she reminded Udo of Lillian, though that was a secret she would take to her grave, particularly if she shared it with the memeticist. Couch looked not the slightest bit ridiculous in her casual shirt and slacks, blending into the Tim Hortons atmosphere far more effectively than did Udo herself.
But seeing the Chief Superintendent of OSAT out of uniform nevertheless reminded her powerfully of those candid shots of Hitler in his short pants and knee-high socks.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/50-turning-and-turning/DL_50_03_Couch_Casual.jpg]]
"So," said Udo. "What are we going to talk about?"
"How sad it is that you're wasting your talents?" Couch sipped at her mocha latte. "Or rather, that they're being wasted for you? It was my understanding that you're some kind of wizard-woman. Why would they send you on a diplomacy mission?"
Udo stirred her tea, and smiled. "Do you think you're being clever? Framing it that way?" She leaned in. "You want to know why they only sent a researcher to talk with you. You think you're so much more important than that."
The other woman's face split apart in a wide grin. "I like you! You don't take any shit. Like the short one." Couch idly rotated the sleeve on her cardboard cup, in tune with Udo's spoon. "But seriously, I would think they could find something more entertaining for you to get up to. I certainly could."
Udo laughed. "Wow. Yeah, consider me flattered and intrigued. I can't wait to hear the amazing pitch you give me, about how I should come work for your hobbled X-Files unit as opposed to the world-renowned research and containment initiative that //fucking raised me.//"
Couch lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender, which of course meant that she hadn't really cared if the implied offer made an impact. "Fair play. It was worth a try. You want to get down to business, that's fine by me. Are you familiar with the Québec insomnia case?"
"Yeah." She certainly was. It had begun when the Foundation had decommissioned SCP-5281, at the behest of OSAT and the Global Occult Coalition. She'd read a heavily redacted version of the file -- the real one was rated at Clearance Level 4, meaning only the Director and a few of his senior Chairs and Chiefs could get the entire story -- and it had struck her as a situation with no good possible outcome. 5281 had been a French-Canadian phantasm known as //Bonhomme Sept-Heures,// the Seven O'Clock Gentleman, with the unsettling abilities to teleport anywhere within the Province of Québec, induce sleep with a fine red powder, and consume more than his own body weight in victims in a single night, if he so chose. And he chose quite whimsically.
Only in terms of the quantity of his meals, however. The quality was firmly fixed.
//Bonhomme Sept-Heures// had exclusively eaten children.
They'd tried containing him. They'd tried reasoning with him. They'd tried disabling him. Nothing worked. And so, finally, they'd turned to their final option. The Decommissioning Department had executed him via lethal injection in April of 1996.
At which point, children across Québec had begun exhibiting signs of chronic insomnia.
It soon became clear that the gentleman cannibal had performed some sort of soporific function in addition to his irregular feeding patterns, which had gone unnoticed by either the Foundation or OSAT. As this new difficulty was anomalous in nature, and too close scrutiny by agencies outside the Veil risked exposing the whole sordid story -- in which absolutely nobody came off very well -- the Foundation had stepped in to ameliorate. Medical treatments with paranatural origins were administered to the affected children, and fatalities were kept to a minimum. The most effective treatment of all involved the use of the red dust 5281 had used to sedate his victims; the same red dust which Udo used in all her thaumaturgic rites, having found it a uniquely comfortable fit.
If this was what Couch wanted to talk about, well, that explained why Udo had been sent to listen. She wasn't about to tell the Chief Superintendent any of that, of course, so she left it at that brief affirmation.
"Bad business," Couch remarked. "None of us covered ourselves in glory. Of course, it was before my time. And yours." She pretended to look concerned. It was an unnatural look on her arch features. "Well, the business with the boogeyman was. The children, not so much. It's been getting worse every year, despite all that bizarre red medicine your people have been passing along. I thought you might learn something from the fellow's //vestments,// but apparently you didn't get anything valuable from that trade. Teach me to be generous with my resources, I suppose."
That was a laugh. Couch had traded 5281's clothes, granted to OSAT as a reward for its participation in the debacle, for a comatose //loup-garou// in Site-43's possession. The tradeoff had been handled so poorly, thanks to the bungling of Edwin Falkirk (and, though nobody said as much in public, Karen Elstrom), that a handful of Site personnel had been killed. And the threadbare Victorian attire had produced, after weeks of careful study, not a single appreciable benefit.
Udo didn't say anything about that, either, offering not even a lukewarm defence. She simply nodded.
Couch continued. "Fact is, the Prime Minister's pissed. He's taking this out on me and mine. You lot gave OSAT the mandate for handling the crisis on the ground, and we fought you for that right. Well, it's proving a right pain in our asses now, and we've reached the limits of what we can do. Your people, on the other hand... well." Couch took another sip, watching Udo closely over the rim. She spent a moment savouring the coffee before concluding. "That worldwide reach you were just bragging about. All those big brains. All those wonderful things you've got in containment. Surely you can think of a way to help us poor government employees out?"
Udo frowned. "You're passing the insomnia case back to us?"
The cop shook her head. "No. I'm asking for your //assistance.// On behalf of the good little boys and girls of Canada's secondmost populous province. I'm always hearing about how the Foundation tries so hard to help the whole of mankind. This seems a great opportunity to put your money where your mouths are."
Udo's tea was cold. She'd spent twenty minutes stirring it, waiting for Couch to arrive. There was no point trying to drink it now. She stood up. "Send us whatever files you've got, and I'll see what I can do. For the children. Not for you."
"Obviously," Couch grinned. "Oh, and say hello to Karen for me, would you? Assuming she hasn't taken the honourable way out already. I know how those tight-laced types can get."
[!-- [[=image Couch_Ibanez_Elstrom.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 14 March
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Couch's files on 5281 turned out to be nothing very special, which didn't surprise Udo one bit. She'd seen OSAT's database entry on the werewolf they'd procured from Falkirk, back in 2003, and it had been full of misconceptions and ill-conceived speculation. She read what she could of the file again; Harry was working with the Records and Archives Information Security Administration and Project CLIO to determine how much of the full file could be declassified for her eyes; he was also collating as much textual material on //Bonhomme Sept-Heures// as existed in his prodigious databases. While she waited, Udo decided to seek out an expert consultation on the matter.
When it came to myth figures, she had an inside woman.
Or at least, she'd thought she did. Brenda Corbin refused to take her calls. She left three messages on the woman's phone, and tried contacting her through the Site's direct messaging system; no dice. The messages didn't go undelivered, they simply went unanswered.
Possibly, just //possibly,// that might have had something to do with the fact that Udo had only begrudgingly assisted Corbin in her research on the Victims and their manifestations of something larger. She probably should have been more cooperative, though she hadn't known enough to be very much more forthcoming.
She was halfway to TheoTelo to knock on Corbin's office door, hat in hand -- literally, she was holding the dead skip's long-since-sanitized tophat -- when she ran into someone with parallel qualifications and a much more welcoming attitude.
"Is that from 5281?" Anastasios Mataxas called out, as Udo paused on the threshold to Corbin's pentagrammatic workspace.
Udo turned to face the old man. "Yeah. I'm working on the case again."
"Still the sand? Or something else?"
"Something else. The insomnia. It's not getting better."
Mataxas clicked his tongue. "That //is// distressing. It's been nearly two decades! If it hasn't gotten any better yet, it might never. A worthy cause for study. What approach were you planning to take?"
It occurred to Udo that though the Chair of Research and Experimentation was no expert in cryptids or French-Canadian myth figures, he knew an awful lot about things that went bump in the night. He was the Site's foremost expert in spectremetry, the rational study of ghosts. Perhaps this qualified? "I hadn't given it much thought, yet. Still collecting research materials. Doing consultations. I don't suppose you've got the time...?"
The old man smiled brilliantly. "I always have time for consultations, Dr. Okorie. Collaboration is the soul of science, and souls of all kinds are my business. What sort of colleague would I be if I passed up the chance to talk shop, on such an important issue?"
"Yeah," Udo smiled, feeling empty in the vicinity of her stomach. "What kind. Uh. Do you think there might be a spiritual angle to this?"
Mataxas cocked his head back in a comical gesture of consideration. "As I recall, initial research dismissed the possibility that our child-eating fiend was a construct of the public imaginary. He scoffed at the concept himself, I believe. But this connection to the minds and bodies of the people of Québec, that is interesting. Very interesting. He parasitized that entire population for centuries. They thought of him often. They suffer in his absence. A... dare I say it, a collective //haunting?//" His gaze snapped back to her like lightning grounding itself. "Yes, I think I might be able to find an angle here, Dr. Okorie. I believe I shall be very grateful to have interrupted your pilgrimage to the land of the lay pastors."
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
It had taken zero effort to prise the tophat out of Trevor Bremmel's possession. The cantankerous engineer had been more than happy to lose what was by no means one of his prize possessions, nor one of Arms and Equipment's star finds. When she came back with Mataxas in tow and asked to sign out the spectre's walking cloak and suit as well, Bremmel had foisted the entire tub on them and signed away authority in perpetuity.
"Riddance to rubbish," he snarled, then went back to berating his daughter. He was trying something radical in the way of research assistants, and by the look on Joanna's already no longer fresh face, it wasn't working out well for either of them.
[[div class="muddle"]]
Under the tenure of Anastasios Mataxas, ghost hunter extraordinaire, the Research and Experimentation Section has acquired a few pieces of state-of-the-art spectremetry kit. There's no dedicated workspace to store them in, as a formal Section for the purposes of plumbing the afterlife has never been authorized by the Chairs and Chiefs, but there are small and scattered mini-labs across the facility's western front which feature strange and spooky bits of tech wherever the space can be spared. In this way, rather appropriately, the spectre of Spectrometry and Spectremetry now haunts the body of Site-43 in metatextual commentary on the ghosts and goblins it would, were it to manifest fully, concretize the study of.
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
The extent to which Harry didn't care about the Mataxas dream of an S&S Section could even be glimpsed in his prose; the singular paragraph on the subject in //Lines in a Muddle// actually ended in a preposition, and had since its unaltered first draft. Standing in one of those far-flung and spooky science closets, Udo had to agree that it seemed unlikely that the study of the unquiet dead would ever be one of the Site's flagship concerns.
The Keter Range EMF Reader, unlike the portable Safe and Euclid versions, was a huge and heavy piece of machinery resembling a hollowed-out photocopier. Mataxas dropped the riding cloak in first, and closed the lid. "Polly!" he called out.
His daughter, Polyxeni Mataxas, emerged from the connected monitoring room. If the partition between the two spaces had been removed, the whole thing would have been the size of a comfortably spacious personal washroom. "Hey, dad. Hey, Dr. Okorie."
Udo waved. She liked Polly. Everyone called her Pollyanna, after the optimistic heroine of a book nobody had heard of until Harry had relentlessly made it a thing.
"My daughter will operate the machinery," Anastasios explained, "while we wait in the monitoring room."
"Why's that?" Udo asked. "Is it like a dentist's x-ray, or something?"
The old man laughed. "Nothing so dangerous. No, it's just that your thaumic signature might interfere with the reading, and I'm such a true believer, my brainwaves might do the same. To get a clean look, we'll have to take ourselves out of range."
Udo frowned good-naturedly. "Don't believe in ghosts, Polly?"
The other woman could have been her photo negative, except that the long, curly hair was rich brown on both. Polly grinned. "I'm a scientific believer. Late-season Scully. No Mulders allowed in here."
Udo got the reference; Harry had showed her a few episodes of The X-Files during their latest and final attempt to make a go of it. That Udo hadn't cared for the show had probably been one of the final coffin nails.
"If you'll escort me, //madameoiselle,//" Mataxas said, and he gestured at the open door.
Polly rolled her eyes.
Udo reached up and took his arm, and they walked into the monitoring room like a pair of promenading Victorians. It seemed appropriate to the occasion, and to its theme.
[[=]]
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++ 15 March
----
[[/=]]
"Extraordinary."
Mataxas walked around the extent of the drum, tapping the displays on each of the five devices he'd attached around its circumference. Udo knew that the sand within was now cris-crossed with spectral lasers that would not diffract in silica, forming a five-pointed star. She couldn't very well complain about the cliché, as a witch wearing a wizard hood and sleeves.
"What's extraordinary?"
[[div class="muddle"]]
High-Yield Storage at Site-43 comes in many forms. The most impressive are the series of over one hundred massive metal drums, constructed of various materials and in various sizes, to contain anomalous matter not yet scheduled for acroamatic abatement. Some of it is merely undergoing further study before destruction, vacuum-tubed to the labs above in AAF-B, -C and -D or Applied Occultism, then sucked back down through gratings in the exam room floors. Some is stored indefinitely, because it has a practical use; the best example is the five square metre cistern on the fourth sublevel of AAF-D, unaffected by the cataclysm of 2002, which contains the //vim harenae// used by Dr. Udo Okorie to enable her acts of micamancy. It was once the soporofic sand SCP-5281 used to sedate his victims, before an out-of-control act of thaumaturgic prodigism turned the entire vat merely magical, instead of malefic. This was no setback to the study of the stuff itself, as four more vats retaining their French-Canadian spectral savour remain.
Reports that these subterranean vaults of esoteric leavings are haunted are both totally unproven, and really quite likely.
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
Mataxas pointed at the vat, one of the ones she hadn't denatured, a gigantic quantity of supernatural sand produced by the //Bonhomme//'s skeleton before she'd accidentally crushed it into bone meal during one of her other experiments. "Euclid spectremetry is maximal. This stuff is radiating Wolpert Particles at a rate beyond the range of our devices. If I filled the KR-EMF with it, the thing would either blow up or start speaking in tongues. //In brevi,// doctor, this sand is haunted."
She felt a little sick, and wasn't immediately sure why. "Haunted by what?"
"Its source, one would imagine. The Gentleman himself."
"But he's dead," she said, and immediately regretted it.
He smiled sympathetically at her. "Quite so. Quite so."
[[=]]
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++ 17 March
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[[/=]]
"That's very interesting." Harold Blank always made a point of calling anything Mataxas described 'very interesting', or 'intriguing', or even 'fascinating', after Leonard Nimoy. Mataxas preferred the latter, as it reminded him of //In Search Of...// and Rod Serling. He'd been a fan.
"It's hooey," Bremmel chuffed.
They were sitting in the Chairs and Chiefs boardroom. All the Chairs and Chiefs were there. Full meetings weren't the norm, but they were a requirement for proposals of this nature.
"Dr. Mataxas has proven his points to my satisfaction," McInnis remarked, keeping his eyes trained on Bremmel. The antagonistic engineer simply grunted.
"But is that enough?" Michael Nass could barely restrain his distaste. "Because I know where the resources are going to come from, if we do this. Don't think I don't."
The ASC raised a hand in warning. "Budgetary concerns are no reason to stymie scientific innovation. If a need is shown here, and the ability to fill that need is demonstrated, and general agreement reached by this body, the new Section will be funded. No-one is suggesting we undermine TheoTelo, either in jurisdiction or financial support."
"You say that now," the theologian sighed.
"It sounds like your readings pass muster for scientific note," Lillian yawned. "Sorry. They're really boring though. Don't care about ghosts."
"They care about you," Stacey Laiken smiled. "Rather a lot, I'm given to understand."
"Low blow. But whatever. That's two good experiments, connected to an ongoing project that might end up being something important. Super cool. Not enough to justify an entire Section, though. I'd need to see at least a few more practical applications, with more obvious and vital benefits -- sorry, didn't mean to be punny, there -- before I signed off on this."
Mataxas could see that she knew she'd made a mistake when she saw the smile this produced on his own face. "Funny you should ask. A couple, you say?"
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
[[div class="generic"]]
[[=]]
++ 12 February
----
[[/=]]
"It waxes and wanes," Mataxas nodded as he scanned the room for a second time. "But the readings are no less powerful than they were in 2002. I might even say they're stronger now than they were back then, though that might be an artifact of how primitive my earlier equipment was."
Nascimbeni hadn't moved from the doorway after opening it up for them. Rozálie Astrauskas was standing in the middle of the bathroom, squinting at something in the corner where the sink cabinets met the wall. She glanced at the Chief, than at Mataxas, and said "I'm surprised you've been able to improve it at all, with no budget."
Mataxas shrugged, and offered a smile. "That's the beauty of doing a job you love, young woman. You can explore the entire possibility field most effectively: the things your employer cares about while you're on the clock, and the things that intrigue you personally while you're not. Though obviously I wouldn't mind expanding this field to a permanent fixture, rather than these //ad hoc// explorations."
Nascimbeni looked away, and crossed his arms.
"You should've called me in here earlier," Rozálie murmured. The second-floor washroom in AAF-D had suffered few ill effects when everything downstairs had been rent asunder; the only sign it had ever been connected to the disaster was the horrible, terrible, no-good feeling everyone got as soon as they entered. Nascimbeni had refused to take a single step further, and Mataxas had to keep returning to the door to show the old tech what he'd found so far.
"Well, all matters connected with 5243 are heavily classified." Mataxas saw her attention kept flicking back to the same spot on the wall. "I've been allowed to do my annual readings, which //I// feel have been quite conclusive, but it took a lot of badgering to wangle a consult."
"You'll be glad you did," she smiled. She pointed at the junction that had so enraptured her. "Because the moment I started my auramancy reading, I saw it."
"Saw what?" Nascimbeni took a step back.
"The aura."
Mataxas moved to stand beside her. "In the corner, there?"
She shook her head. "No, that's just the emitter for the vigour band. The epicentre." She made a gesture that took in the entire room: toilet stalls, sinks, floor, walls and ceiling all together. "Emotion and psychic bands radiate off that, and there's some really interesting fractalization in the Hume spirals. Yeah." She smiled, and then shivered, and then smiled even wider. "Yeah, I'd say you've got five, maybe as high as ten percent saturation here."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/50-turning-and-turning/DL_50_05_Astrauskas_Aura.jpg]]
Nascimbeni stared at her. "Ten percent saturation of //what?//"
"Of a human being's aura, of course. This bathroom is //totally// haunted."
[!-- [[=image Mataxas_Astrauskas_Nascimbeni.jpg]] --]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
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++ 17 March
----
[[/=]]
Mataxas dealt copies of his report to each of his peers like they were playing cards. They soared over the polished table to land in front of each set of eyes, curious or incurious alike. "It hasn't got the same virtuosity of Dr. Astrauskas' personal touch -- there's no technological replacement for a good thaumaturge, whatever they might think at Site-36 -- but the device we've constructed gives readings with more than acceptable resolution to function as a first responder tool."
"First responder," said Blank, staring at the blobs of colour on the page in front of him. "For hauntings?"
"That's right." Mataxas shuffled out a new dataset, this one nothing but charts and tables, and beamed at them all in turn. It took a while. There were a lot of Chairs and Chiefs, though he'd always felt there was room for at least one more. "And as a bonus, the devices turn up signatures that map to what Dr. Astrauskas calls the 'identity gradient', a personal and non-replicable indentifier for all sapient beings. Every being, living or dead, we've tested it on has returned a different result. With one set of exceptions."
The ASC looked up. "What set would that be?"
"The set including the parahominid strings buried in Ipperwash Park, the //Cladrastis lutea// planted above it, the cultured droplets recovered from that tree-being's sodden uniform, the AAF-D second sublevel water closet, the grouting recovered from its monitoring room, biological remains recovered from that same room -- apologies, Chief Nascimbeni -- and the set of compressed human xeroxes presently kept in cold storage. In summation, friends, we have proven that the victims of SCP-5243 now share a single identity matrix, and also properly identified Researcher Wirth's remains some fourteen years after the fact." He favoured Nascimbeni with a sympathetic smile (the Chief of J&M looked stricken, as he always did when the fate of his nephew was mentioned), then widened it for the rest of them. "And as the showman said, friends, that's not all!"
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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[[/=]]
[[div class="generic"]]
[[=]]
++ 15 February
----
[[/=]]
"Somatic imaging is on."
Polly inclined her head to acknowledge her father's statement, and spoke in her softest tones: "Can you hear me, Dr. Astrauskas?"
Rozálie stared at the focus object swinging like a pendulum in front of her, and reached up to touch the leads attached to her temples, one by one. "I can hear you."
Polly kept the rhythm steady. "You're standing in a hallway. You're at Area-21. You're talking to an old friend. Who are you talking to?"
"Udo." Rozálie smiled, a mixture of melancholy and embarrassment and something a little spicier. "Udo Okorie."
"That's right," Polly cooed. "That's good. But there's someone else there. Can you see them?"
Rozálie frowned. "She's moving fast. She's going somewhere. She's //up to something.//"
"How can you tell?"
"Because she isn't who she says she is."
"How do you know that?"
"Because..." Rozálie gasped. "I can see it. I can see who she is. I've never met her, but she's wearing someone I know, like a disguise. I can see every gradient! I don't understand them all."
"Focus in on the one you don't understand. Focus, Rozálie. This is very important." Polly looked up at her father.
His face was a rictus of joy.
"I'm focusing," Rozálie whispered.
"Oh, you brilliant thing," Anastasios Mataxas crowed as he saw the results. "You certainly are."
[[/div]]
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++ 17 March
----
[[/=]]
"One final handout, class, with my apologies." This time Mataxas passed a thick sheaf in both directions, and let the Chairs and Chiefs help themselves. "This is a report authored after the events I've just recounted, with myself as the primary author, Drs. Astrauskas, Sýkora and Wettle as secondaries, and a great deal of assistance from Junior Researcher Polyxeni Mataxas."
"Showing... what?" Bremmel flipped through the pages dismissively. "Can I get a woo translation, please?"
Laiken gasped.
"Something the matter, Stacey?" Mataxas asked, giddiness creeping into his voice.
"Are you serious about this?"
"Dead," he said, and he saw Blank suppressing a laugh.
"What's the Coles Notes version?" Elstrom asked. She looked completely out of her depth, as did almost everyone in the Practical Sections.
Laiken tapped the paper, less for emphasis, Mataxas thought, than to prove to herself that she was actually holding it in her hands. "They claim that they can detect residual emissions from passively antimemetic entities. Reliably and accurately, this time."
"As in //geistschreiber?//" Lillian demanded. She looked down at the paper in surprise. "Well, //that's// not nothing. Wait. Sýkora...?"
"What's Imrich contributing?" Harry asked. "Stace?"
Laiken's mouth was wide open, She looked up again at the rest of them, shock written in every line. "They can detect the emissions, and they can get //readings// from the emissions, and the readings are... math."
"Math," Nass repeated. "So...?
"So Imrich Sýkora, whose talent is mathemagical pathing prediction, can use those readings to get a tenuous trace on the actions of whoever's emissions have been detected." Laiken set the paper down, and began blinking rapidly. "Anastasios, your ghost hunting tech will allow them to hunt the f--" She swallowed the incredible thing, by her standards, she'd been about to say. "Hunt the //giftschreiber.// Oh my god."
Ibanez raised a hand. "Can we call the vote right now? Because I'm absolutely voting yes."
Mataxas looked around the room as the ASC prepared the ballots. Most of the occupants were in shock. Many of them were smiling, many of them at him. Even the ones who didn't care looked impressed.
Harold Blank met his eyes.
Mataxas waggled his eyebrows.
Blank began to smile.
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
[[div class="muddle"]]
--There's no dedicated workspace to store them in, as a formal Section for the purposes of plumbing the afterlife has never been authorized by the Chairs and Chiefs, but there are small and scattered mini-labs across the facility's western front which feature strange and spooky bits of tech wherever the space can be spared. In this way, rather appropriately, the spectre of Spectrometry and Spectremetry now haunts the body of Site-43 in metatextual commentary on the ghosts and goblins it would, were it to manifest fully, concretize the study of.--
The Spectrometry and Spectremetry Section of Site-43 is the latest addition to the org charts, and as yet has acquired no fully new facilities. The fabbers in J&M are already churning out panels at time of writing, however, so expansion into the Mishepeshu caves to relieve the pressure on the existing R&E plant is likely in the offing. For now, the nascent Section will need to make do with a solid chunk of space carved out of the field-agnostic facilities in the centre-east of the academic sprawl, opposite its more dogmatic rivals in Theology and Teleology. The permanent large-scale spectremetry devices already constructed, on the back of a raft of high-profile experimental successes, is truly staggering; these include [...]
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
"You sure made the old man happy," Zaman smiled at her. "Not bad for a few days' work."
Udo smiled back at the Chief of Hiring and Regulation. His office was festooned with personal trinkets: miniature airplanes, reproduction medals, pastel watercolours ranging from childhood crudeness to the practised hand of an adult. It was a sunny setting for her victory lap, and she was feeling magnanimous. "I was late to the party. He was just looking for a few more easy wins to make it a slam-dunk."
"All to the good, in my opinion. Been a long time since we saw a whole new science sprout up in here. Probably something Reynders invented, last time."
Udo nodded. "I don't think this one is very new, but the attention it's getting is." She folded her hands in her lap to indicate a shift in seriousness of their conversation. "Chief Zaman, I have a request to make."
"On behalf of ApplOcc, or S&S? You still posted under Laiken?"
"Yes, of course. I'm still a thaumaturge. I won't be hunting many ghosts. But there's one I do need to get on the trail of, and unfortunately... you and I have him as a mutual acquaintance, in a sense." She kept talking as she saw his face fall. "Post-mortem, in my case. Pre-mortem in yours."
"//Sept-Heures,//" he croaked. His eyes were suddenly watering. "You're talking about //Sept-Heures.//"
Everyone else who eschewed the number called the entity //Bonhomme.// That Zaman did not carried some sort of import, and Udo suspected she knew what it was. "That's right. He's dead, but I don't believe he's fully gone. Not the essence of him. As a few of those experiments suggest."
Zaman nodded. He plucked a tissue out of the box on his desk, and blew his nose. He shook his head. "Sorry. Weird feelings. Really weird. Not... not the best period of my life, you know? Not my crowning achievement as a, I don't know. As a human being, really."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/50-turning-and-turning/DL_50_06_Zaman_Sad.jpg]]
She nodded sympathetically. "No judgement here. We've all done things we regret. But I need to know more about him, about the... about //Sept Heures.//"
He took a deep breath, and straightened in his chair. "You want to interview me?"
"If you think you know something I can use, sure." She wanted to reach out and take his trembling hands, still clutching the tissue on the desktop, but it wouldn't have been appropriate. "But for starters, I just need your approval so I can look at the tapes."
He blinked, confused, but only for a moment. "The tapes...? The tapes. The interview footage. Yeah. Well, yeah. Of course." He sniffled. "Get me the forms."
She reached into her satchel, drew them out, and placed them on the desk. This time her smile was apologetic. "Eager to get started," she explained.
Zaman reached for his pen. "I hope that sustains you, through what you're about to see."
[!-- [[=image Zaman_D.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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++ 19 March
----
[[/=]]
Harry hefted the second massive banker's box up onto the counter. "Why can't you have tables in here at normal height?" he grunted. "It's not like this place needs to be a lab."
Wettle glared across the Replication Studies main workspace, which was formatted and outfitted like the science classroom at a large North American high school. "If anything in science needs a lab, I need a lab. Is that all the stuff I asked for?"
Harry shook his head. "No. There's two more carts."
"Why?" Wettle whined. He pushed away from his microscope and sat there, hands hanging at his sides even though he was in a chair. "It should all have fit in one box."
"Because you asked for a box's worth of stuff that's contained in seven boxes." Harry pushed the cart he'd used to bring in the boxes back toward the double doors. "We're not mixing and matching contents for your pleasure."
"Well, you should. I'm doing important work."
"That's a switch."
Something in Wettle snapped. "More important work than //you// are."
Harry shrugged. He was a (an?) historian. He was used to hearing this from pretty much everyone. He was also used to ignoring Wettle. "You just keep telling yourself that, bud." He opened the door with his elbow, and began backing out with the cart.
"It's true!" Wettle shouted. He stood up, knocking over the microscope and smashing its slide. He barely noticed. "When I crack this, it's going to be the scientific discovery of a lifetime! Everybody says so."
"Everybody's saying so because they need you kept busy." Harry paused at the threshold for a moment, frowning. There were dark bags under his eyes. "Don't you get it? They're just letting you do whatever the fuck, because it doesn't matter. They're only keeping you around for September the eighth."
And with a strange look on his face, like he'd just eaten something sour, Harry left.
[[=]]
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++ 20 March
----
[[/=]]
The SCP-5281-D session fonds were comprised of twenty archival boxes full of VHS tapes, and a substantial binder of transcripts. After a moment's hesitation, Udo settled on the tapes. She didn't want to miss any nuance. How bad could it be?
[[div class="Zaman"]]
//<Specialist Zaman and SCP-5281 are seated on opposite sides of a steel table in the middle of its containment chamber.>//
**Specialist Zaman:** Why do you hate children?
**SCP-5281:** Hate...? What ever could I have said to give you such a distorted impression? I don't hate children. Far from it.
**Specialist Zaman:** You eat them.
**SCP-5281:** Well yes. Of course. But I fail to see the connection. Do you hate //chicken,// Noor?
[[/div]]
She hated herself for laughing, but she did laugh. Not long, not hard, but suddenly and with great surprise. She hadn't expected the hateful thing -- or rather, the thing without hate -- to be //charming.// No wonder the reports were redacted.
[[div class="Zaman"]]
**Specialist Zaman:** They had mothers, 5281. Mothers who loved them.
**SCP-5281:** The same could be said for pigs. Cows. All manner of live stock.
[[/div]]
It was the blackest of black comedies, but it was also real. She struggled to reconcile these facts.
[[div class="Zaman"]]
**Specialist Zaman:** Human beings aren't cattle. They're sapient.
**SCP-5281:** Yes, you've designed the categories to privilege the things that define you. To privilege yourselves. What if I told you I've done the same? Placed myself at a higher stage on the hierarchy? Would it make my place in the food chain more acceptable to you, that I had defined you as inferior?
[[/div]]
She watched as time and time again, Noor Zaman, as talented a negotiator and interviewer as any she'd known, failed to gain any discursive ground with his chatty subject. Failed to get a rise. The crag-faced old man had an answer for every accusation, and when Zaman claimed a point of moral order, the most he ever got in return was a confused shrug. It was mesmerizingly awful.
[[div class="Zaman"]]
**Specialist Zaman:** The agony you've caused...
**SCP-5281:** Are we back on the parents again? Noor, do you know what gives beauty its lustre? Makes joy even possible? The knowledge that nothing is permanent. Everything fades. I am entropy, and that is a gift to the world. Everything positive a parent might experience is heightened by the fact of my existence. Without me, they would have little cause to cherish each moment they have with their little darlings. Can you fault me for that?
[[/div]]
She realized suddenly why all of this felt so familiar. It had been bothering her more and more, and she'd almost wondered: was there something sinister in her connection to the sandman's private reserve? Did she have some unknown, unsuspected affiliation with this reprehensible creature?
But no. That wasn't it.
It was merely that arguing with one force of nature sounded much like arguing with any other.
[[div class="Zaman"]]
**SCP-5281:** Do you tell the bacteria not to breed, Noor? The stars in the sky not to wheel? Do you command that a babe shall not cry, and expect it to honour you? No.
**Specialist Zaman:** Don't talk to me about babies.
**SCP-5281:** And why not? When //I// bid them calm, they calm. By the shadows beneath your eyes, I can see you lack this power.
**Specialist Zaman:** Do you never learn? Can't you see where this is going? How it has to end?
**SCP-5281:** Can't you?
[[/div]]
She realized at this moment that what she'd taken for a quirk of the lighting in the most recent tape, or a VHS artifact, was actually nasty bruising across the skip's face. Was it possible that Zaman...
No. No, of course it wasn't possible.
Then again, //'not my crowning achievement'//...
[[div class="Zaman"]]
**SCP-5281:** I would like to receive visitors. Could you arrange that?
**Specialist Zaman:** Oh, yeah, sure. I'll get right on it. Who do you want to see first? The tooth fairy?
**SCP-5281:** Have I ever taken such a tone with you? Given cause for personal offence? I feel I'm owed more respect than this.
**Specialist Zaman:** Do you.
**SCP-5281:** Yes.
**Specialist Zaman:** Well gosh, please accept my apologies.
**SCP-5281:** Gladly.
**Specialist Zaman:** Now, what guests would you like to grace with your august presence, 5281?
**SCP-5281:** I was thinking I might like to speak with some children.
[[/div]]
Udo, and Zaman on the screen, recoiled together in the same instant.
[[div class="Zaman"]]
**Specialist Zaman:** No.
**SCP-5281:** The things you've said intrigue me, Noor. You've //reached// me, to an extent. I've so enjoyed our talks, you and I, conversing as equals. Perhaps I might be edified, instructed in the alleged error of my ways, by meeting—
**Specialist Zaman:** I said, //no.//
**SCP-5281:** But why?
**Specialist Zaman:** Why? Because you'll //eat// them!
**SCP-5281:** On my honour, I will not.
**Specialist Zaman:** The honour of a pedophage.
**SCP-5281:** What is a man, if his word is not his bond?
**Specialist Zaman:** You're no man.
**SCP-5281:** Have I ever lied to you?
**Specialist Zaman:** Get thee behind me, //Moloch.//
**SCP-5281:** Moloch? An interesting comparison. Moloch demands sacrifice. Impels you to perform the act of violence yourself. I offer no such imposition. I leave your hands clean.
//<Silence on recording.>//
**SCP-5281:** Do you not see it that way?
//<Silence on recording.>//
**SCP-5281:** Well, I tried. You can't say I didn't. I really thought you believed all those things you told me, about anguish and love and the foreshortening of life's possibilities. But I can see now you lack the strength of those convictions. Perhaps they were never really yours. Were you reading from a script?
**Specialist Zaman:** Any child I place in front of you will die. If not right away, then later. You'll mark them as prey. It would be like setting you a buffet.
**SCP-5281:** If you must believe that, I will not attempt to dissuade you. I only thought you might be pleased to think you had done all you could, before my next incursion into Lower Canada. My mistake.
//<Silence on recording.>//
**SCP-5281:** I can sense your conscience is clear.
[[/div]]
Now Udo knew for certain why she'd needed to seek permission to watch these videos. They were cognitohazardous, and not in any anomalous sense. They simply did a number on your mind, playing your preconceptions and logical processes against each other in perverse fashion. She wondered if it was even safe to keep watching. It had to have been hours already.
She kept watching.
[[div class="Zaman"]]
//<Specialist Zaman and SCP-5281 are seated on opposite sides of a chess table in the middle of its containment chamber. They are playing together.>//
**SCP-5281:** Why do you agree to these games?
**Specialist Zaman:** I guess I'm all out of questions.
**SCP-5281:** And moral outrage?
**Specialist Zaman:** The lectures and pleading never did any good.
**SCP-5281:** Then why keep showing up at all?
**Specialist Zaman:** I don't know. Maybe because it means, for the length of a match, you aren't out there ruining people's lives. Ending them.
**SCP-5281:** Mm. I don't think so. No, that isn't it.
**Specialist Zaman:** What, then?
**SCP-5281:** Perhaps my honesty refreshes you.
**Specialist Zaman:** You may rest assured, I am anything but refreshed.
**SCP-5281:** Then I think I know your secret.
**Specialist Zaman:** Do tell.
**SCP-5281:** You are a man who would talk to the wind.
**Specialist Zaman:** You're not a natural force. You're anything but. You're a horror from out of the collective unconscious.
**SCP-5281:** Humans are no less natural than the beasts who crawl. And no better. But you do dream that you might be more. Might ascend. Might hold conversations with the universe. More than just a soliloquy. A give-and-take.
**Specialist Zaman:** You do flatter yourself.
**SCP-5281:** You've always known I'm something special, Noor. There's no shame in admitting it.
[[/div]]
She rubbed her eyes, and glanced at the clock. //Christ, it's been six hours.//
There was only one more tape.
She didn't want to drag this out over more than one day. She wanted to be able, when it was over, to blot out the whole affair as a single terrible evening.
She slipped in the final tape, and pressed play.
[[div class="Zaman"]]
**Specialist Zaman:** It's been decided.
**SCP-5281:** I understand.
**Specialist Zaman:** No argument? No defence? Not even recriminations, protestations of innocence?
**SCP-5281:** What would it avail me? I am what I am. I make no pretense. I am honest. It is more, so much more, than your Foundation can claim.
**Specialist Zaman:** I expect you'll be leaving us soon.
**SCP-5281:** //Pourquoi?//
**Specialist Zaman:** Surely you won't just let us kill you. You can teleport.
**SCP-5281:** I leave only to feed. And I'm not particularly hungry.
**Specialist Zaman:** Do you //want// to die?
**SCP-5281:** Not that I'm aware of. Do you want to kill me?
**Specialist Zaman:** Yes. Yes, I think I do.
**SCP-5281:** I am touched by your hesitation. I know you could have stopped this, Noor, and I respect that you chose not to. You and I will finally have something in common.
//<Silence on recording.>//
**SCP-5281:** We will both have taken a life.
//<Silence on recording.>//
**SCP-5281:** Thank you, Noor.
**Specialist Zaman:** For what?
**SCP-5281:** For being such a good friend.
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 21 March
----
[[/=]]
McInnis glanced over the reports, seeming to grace each page with at least a modicum of interest. If he was simply pretending, as everyone else did, well. He was much more convincing than them. "This looks excellent, Dr. Wettle. Thank you."
Wettle's chest would normally have puffed out with pride at this affirmation, but the breath got caught somewhere beneath his ribs this time, and he sighed it back out instead. "Okay. Good. Thanks."
McInnis cocked his head to one side. "Something the matter?"
"No." Wettle reached down to organize the papers back into a single pile. Naturally this only disorganized them further. "No, it's good. I'm good. Alllll good."
McInnis reached out and neatly formatted the reports into a monolithic block. "William, you can tell me. I won't judge. Perhaps I can help."
The Director almost never called him William. Virtually nobody besides his mother did. He grimaced. "Am I useless?"
McInnis tapped the papers. "I have objective evidence to the contrary."
"That's not what I mean. Am I... are you just keeping me here because of the Breach? Because I have to be here for it anyway, so you're just... stringing me along?" It wasn't the right phrasing to convey the meaning he wanted, but no amount of searching for words ever helped, so he left it at that instead of stammering out a clarification. McInnis wouldn't care.
The other man's eyes crinkled at the corners. He looked very kind. "I can promise you, with complete and total honesty, that this is not the case. I don't know where you got that idea from, but it is wildly incorrect. You were chosen for your post for a variety of reasons, and while I'm not at liberty to divulge them all at this time, you may consider yourself assured that your presence at Site-43 in the long-term is one of the most important elements of our ongoing projects of research, containment, and protection."
This time the swelling did come, and Wettle felt suddenly three inches taller. "Thanks, sir. Thank you. Thanks." He picked up the papers, and didn't even drop them. "Thank you."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/50-turning-and-turning/DL_50_07_Wettle_Pleased.jpg]]
"Of course. Next week?"
"Yeah. Next week!" Wettle fairly pranced to the door. He didn't care how ridiculous it looked. He didn't even know what was happening next week. Who cared? Not him.
He'd never even dared to dream that the answer to his question might be something so perfect.
He finally knew something Harold Blank didn't.
[!-- [[=image McInnis_Wettle.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 22 March
----
[[/=]]
"We have to tell her," Ibanez insisted.
"I appreciate that this is your position." McInnis sat primly in one of the bullpen chairs, like he was just another attentive guard on duty, only perhaps a little posh. Pensak was leaning on the wall next to the water cooler, in the spot that had once been hers. She was sitting on one of the desks, cross-legged, to compensate for the height difference.
"Back me up here, Roger," she sighed. "For fuck's sake. Udo's cleared to know all kinds of crazy shit. She's been through hell and back with us, meaning you and me, Allan, three times already. And we know it's going to happen again. Are you concerned with how well that's going to go? Do you think she's not stable enough to handle the whole of reality crashing down?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/50-turning-and-turning/DL_50_08_Ibanez_Bullpen.jpg]]
Pensak, not having been given an opening to respond to her exhortation, simply stood there with his foot up on the beige stucco, and watched them argue.
"Of course I have no such concerns," McInnis said. "But it's Dr. Ngo's opinion, and though my own expertise on the matter is more limited, I certainly concur, that it would merely reopen old wounds to allow Dr. Okorie to retain her memories of September the eighth each year. She has largely put Dr. Deering behind her. I can see no benefit to dredging up the past."
"The past dredges itself up! It keeps coming back! It's not //settled.//"
"Again, without going into specifics, Dr. Ngo does not concur."
"You're treating her like a //child.//" Ibanez regretted taking a seat, even if it put her eyes at Pensak's chest level instead of his belly button, because of how her position interacted with that statement. "She deserves to get over this herself. You can't just erase people's trauma."
"We do it every day," Pensak rumbled.
"Oh, now you talk," she almost hissed at him.
He blinked at her. slowly. "Sorry, was there a break in that rant where I could have said something?"
"Delfina." McInnis leaned forward, hands on one knee. "Dr. Deering's resurrection is one of the most closely-guarded secrets pertaining to SCP-5243. We don't understand it."
"You haven't //tried// to understand it. You need to //ask him!//"
He shook his head. "Out of the question. It would engender possible multiversal instability to allow him to survive even a few hours past the occurrence of the Breach. I'm already very concerned that we took so long to act the first time."
She scoffed. "He was dead within an hour. You decided to //murder him,// or rather, make //me// murder him, within an //hour.//"
"Yes," the Director agreed. "It should have been done immediately. But these matters are complex, and I could not get hold of our temporal experts that quickly. Dr. Deering must die in the six minutes constituting the Breach, each year, or very soon thereafter. There is no room for debate on this topic. What would it benefit Dr. Okorie to know that her former lover is still alive for those six minutes, six and change at the most?"
"I don't have an answer for that. But if you give me more than six minutes, I'm sure I'll think of something. And you can keep the fucking change."
Pensak snorted.
"Consider Dr. Laiken," McInnis sighed. "Did you think it strange how quickly that nascent relationship collapsed?"
"They're back together again."
"Yes, but... you understand why Dr. Okorie involved herself with Dr. Blank in the first place, do you not?"
She didn't feel she could answer that question without betraying her friend. She didn't say anything.
"I believe that recidivism proves my point. There is nothing shameful in allowing a close relationship to colour your outlook on life. We all heal at different rates, and perhaps Dr. Okorie heals most slowly of all, just as she ages almost imperceptibly." There was something in McInnis' eyes as he said that, something Pensak wouldn't recognize. Ibanez did. "I concur with her psychologist, and even if I did not, the orders from Overwatch are clear. Only a minimum necessary number of personnel are cleared to know that Dr. Deering rejoins us briefly each year, on the anniversary of his death. I am afraid there is nothing further to discuss on the matter."
"Great." Ibanez slid off the desk, and stalked for the door. "Thanks for the help, Rog."
Pensak's voice was almost sleepily louche. "Don't know what you expected, honestly. It's not your job anymore, and I'm fine with the annual target practice."
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_McInnis_Pensak_Argue.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 25 March
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Ville de Montréal##: Québec, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Benoit Gauthier had once been fat.
Udo could see it in the way his skin hung loose around his jowls, and under his neck. She could see it in the strange way he walked, like he was used to carrying around a lot more weight. He was walking now, to the refrigerator. "Get you anything?
She shook her head, and smiled. "No, sir, thank you."
The retired Chief Superintendent of OSAT, Couch's immediate precedessor, made a small but expressive sound of humour. "Nobody's called me 'sir' in ages. Not my grandkids, even. Never anybody from the Foundation."
She was glad he'd said that. She didn't want to give him the honourific, and now she had a reason to drop it. "I'm sorry to barge in on you like this. Where did your family go?"
He returned from the kitchen with a bottle of beer, and twisted off the cap with rough, calloused hands. He put the cap in his pocket, and the whole neck of the bottle down his throat, and when he was done, half the bottle was already gone. Meaning its contents. She'd had her doubts until she saw the neck come back out. "Sent them away. I don't get to do that every often, since this isn't my house. But I tell them it's government work, and they scatter. It's funny."
"Funny?"
He sat down gingerly in his recliner. He had to be pushing eighty. "If they knew anything about where I worked, they'd know not to respect it. Nobody ever did. Least of all your people." He frowned, as though remembering something unpleasant. "Then again... I say 'OSAT', and they head for the hills. Just like all the ghosts and ghoulies used to do." He winked at her. "Obviously they were afraid of us."
"Obviously," she smiled. She hadn't expected him to have a sense of humour about OSAT's low success rate. She very much doubted Morwen Couch did. "Chief Superintendent--"
"Only one of those at a time, and it's Morrie Couch right now. Call me Benny."
"Benny." He did look like more of a Benny than a Benoit. He had the faintest trace of a Québecois accent, though. "I came to talk to you about one of your cases. Something you worked on with the Foundation."
"Doesn't fit very many bills."
"And the GOC."
He sucked in his teeth. They looked real. "And that can be only one. //Bonhomme Sept-Heures.//" It was a subtle change, but the way his bearing shifted, the way his expression closed off, the way his eyes unfocused, now she wondered if he was more like ninety years old.
"That's right."
"Bad business." That was the same term Couch had used. "Still gives me nightmares."
"I've seen footage of him," Udo agreed. "I understand."
"Not what I mean." Gauthier pulled down the rest of his bottle, and placed it on a coaster on the coffee table. "I'm a cop. I've seen worse, if you can believe it. Even in Montréal."
She nodded gravely. Cops always expected this. They loved to tell you they'd seen unspecified horrors, though typically as a prelude to calling the present one worse than all the rest. At least, that was how it went on television.
"No," he continued, keeping eye contact with her, "what bothers me is what //we// did. What we did to those children."
"You couldn't have known."
"Couldn't we?" He shook his head. "I don't know. I think we saw what we thought was the right course of action, and we took it without looking too closely. We had a destination in mind, and one path seemed to get us there fast. Preconceptions. The worst thing you can bring to any investigation."
"Well." She felt hot in the sweater she was wearing; somehow she'd expected Gauthier's home to be some greasy dive, and that he would greet her in a stained tank top and shorts, so she'd opted for clothes she could take off again when she got back to the car. But instead she'd found a middle-aged man in relatively good hygeine, in a middle-class home well-kept by its occupants. //Preconceptions indeed.// But she wasn't going to take the sweater off. In her experience, that was a good way to stop all the eye contact. "I'm fact-finding right now, because the insomnia is still a problem, and I'd like to see if there's a way to correct that."
He raised his eyebrows and lowered his lids in the universal expression for //I am not impressed.// "Since when are you folks in the problem correction business? Children dying doesn't faze you. At one time we had a dossier on what we were convinced was a Foundation-run child sacrifice ring."
//'Get thee behind me, Moloch'.//
"I can't speak to that." She was grateful that this was mostly true. "But I assure you, I want to get to the bottom of this. I want to know why it's still happening, if there's something out there hurting these children, or, I don't know, something missing from the environment that we can restore. It's our blunder, Benny. The Foundation's, and OSAT's. It's up to us to make it right."
He shrugged. "What do you think I can tell you, to help?"
"You examined the files we released to you. You were in contact with the GOC. You were involved in the //Bonhomme//'s initial capture. You know as much about him as anyone else alive, I think. At least outside of Site-43. Can you think of any reason why his influence hasn't faded?"
Gauthier closed his eyes, and sank back into the cushions. From the way the recliner practically consumed him, this was probably something he'd done thousands of times before. "Mm," he said. "You know, I spent an entire career chasing phantoms, and like I said, I didn't catch many. But you learn something from the chase, even if it never pans out. You follow in their wake..." He winced, for some reason, before continuing. "You catch a glimpse, a whiff, a flutter. You see the evidence they leave behind. The things they cause to happen. This one, he wasn't any ghost. He was a beast that walked like a man. But there was something in his eyes."
"You met him?"
"I was there when they put the needle in." Gauthier's haunted eyes snapped open. "He didn't understand. Didn't understand why we were doing this. From his perspective, he was just... living his life. Following his instincts. I know for a fact that he didn't need to be in that room on the day that he died. He could have vanished into thin air. But he didn't."
"Why? Why do you think that is?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. But after all those years on the ghost trail, even though they amounted to nothing much..." His mouth twisted into a bitter line. "The one thing I can tell you for certain, is that these things want to be chased. They want to be followed. They want you to //understand// them. But they want you to work for it, Dr. Okorie. They expected you to //sacrifice// for it. He could have told us what would happen when he died. He could have warned us what we were doing to those children. And I'm convinced, absolutely //convinced,//" and he pounded the arm of his chair for emphasis, the tendons and knuckles on his hand standing out in white contrast under his ruddy skin, "that he could have done something to stop it. But he didn't. Because..." He relaxed, and seemed to shrink a little. Bones in an old bag of pink flesh, with only the eyes still angry and young. "Because the perverted old son of a bitch didn't think we'd //earned// it."
[!-- [[=image Gauthier.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Ngo always allowed her patients to choose where they wanted to sit. In roughly equal proportion, they chose the chair or the fold-back couch.
McInnis was the only one who ever chose to stand. The closest to it was Elstrom, who posed in the chair like she was having her picture taken.
"I suspect that's essentially it," the Director told her with a closed-mouth smile. They'd only been talking for twenty minutes, and he'd managed to turn the conversation back to her and the things she was working on for well over half that time. "There really isn't that much to say, particularly when we're running on a streak of successes between each Breach."
Ngo smiled up at him from behind her desk. She couldn't ever tell if he meant what he was saying. Perhaps he always did. Perhaps never, though it seemed less likely. "Well, I still think it's worthwhile that we keep the appointments monthly. Gives me more data to work with, and lets us track the progression of everyone's mental health across the calendar year. There are bound to be peaks and troughs, but the general trends are what matters the most."
He nodded amiably. His hands were in his pockets, and he was making eye contact; it was reminiscent of a stereotypical 'friendly boss' giving directives, which was not at all the usual vibe of a psych consult. "If you think it's best, I defer to your good judgement. I take it you'll be seeing the other Survivors soon?" He raised a hand to forestall her reply. "No, of course you can't tell me that. Confidentiality. I understand."
She had been about to tell him the answer was yes, actually. Confidentiality was entirely subordinate to security clearance levels, and anyway she'd had an... unusual relationship with the concept, for a long while now. But she didn't argue. "I appreciate your understanding, sir, as always."
He nodded again. "As I said, I trust your judgement. If you feel you need the information, we will continue to provide it. And I've no doubt you will put it to good use."
She felt something catch in her throat, "I... appreciate that, as well, sir. I'm sorry if this feels a little..." She struggled to find the word. "Obtrusive? Invasive? Anything like that."
"Nonsense." He didn't wave the apology away, but his tone served much the same purpose. "Your ethics are beyond reproach. Whatever you feel you must do, you have my full confidence and support. Had I any reason to worry about your sense of the fitness of things, I would not have you as one of this facility's top psychologists."
She couldn't articulate a response to this. She stared at him. He smiled again, nodded for the third time, and took his leave.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/50-turning-and-turning/DL_50_09_McInnis_Ngo.jpg]]
She was an hour late for her next appointment, and if it had been McInnis who walked in and sat down on the couch, rather than Harry, she still wouldn't have been able to come up with an answer that felt correct.
[!-- [[=image McInnis_Ngo.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 28 March
----
[[/=]]
Mataxas suggested all manner of ways he might mediate her communion with technology, but Udo had refused them all. She knew precisely what she needed to do.
She had the techs open one of the still-active vats of sleeping dust -- all of them in hexmat suits -- and provide her with a ladder.
When the airflow to the tank was sufficient to sustain human life, she climbed up, stepped over the edge, and dropped down into the embrace of a self which was not her own, but not nearly as unfamiliar as she would have liked.
She fell into dreams in an instant.
[!-- [[=image 5281-D.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
They were standing in a desert.
They were standing in //the// desert. Not the one with the moons, or the black cloud. A desert she knew in her bones was her own.
"Good evening, child," said the //Bonhomme.//
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/50-turning-and-turning/DL_50_10_Bonhomme.jpg]]
He was a tall man with an awkward, pockmarked face and irises so dark they were almost black. His spectre wore the hat, the suit, the cloak and riding boots. They were apparently irreducible elements of his identity.
Well. They would see how irreducible he was, in the end.
"Monsieur,' she said.
"Have you come to set me free?" His voice was soft, gentle, deep and bassy. His expression would not have looked out of place in a casket.
"No." She looked down at herself. She was wearing her ApplOcc robes, and her satchel was at her side. That was good; she hadn't really wanted to confront him naked. "I've come for answers."
"I have never given satisfaction in that way. I suspect you will be disappointed."
"Maybe you were never asked the right questions."
He inclined his head. Other than that, it was only his mouth that moved. "I will help you if I can. But there may be a price."
"We can haggle if I find you've got anything to offer." She drew herself up to her full height, such as it was, and asked: "What did you do to the children of Quebec?"
She had the sense that he almost smiled. "Besides the obvious?"
"Yes." She fought a wave of nausea. She won, because this body wasn't real.
"I offered them relief."
"From a problem you caused."
He shook his head. "No. I was called to them, and performed my duty. I brought them into the embrace of Nox. And when I found them astray from the gates of slumber..." Finally, his mouth split in a rictus that did his cadaverous features no favours. "Then I extracted my fee for this service."
She approached him. His cloak whipped in a sudden wind, and he looked at the emptiness in the direction from which it had come with dull surprise. "They're dying because of you. Don't try to dodge responsibility."
"Responsibility?" He loomed over her, even taller than before, as though growing in the face of her cold rage. "Child, I did not take my own life. It was taken from me."
"You could have warned them."
"They believed they knew best. Who was I to gainsay?"
"How did you do it?" They stood nearly toe to toe. He stank of grave soil. "Worm your way into their brains? Was it habit-forming, your sleep dust?"
He regarded her with the purest look of pity she had ever seen."I have encountered anger before, little one. My friend was very cross with me. He thought me a threat to his child. It is a very powerful instinct, to protect. I never understood it, but I respected it. And the policeman, he was angry too. Angry that he was powerless to stop me. A failure. But this anger, yours, is different, and now I see why. Yours is the anger of fear. You fear your affinity with my mortal remains. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. You have done great things with what I left behind. And you fear to think you might owe it all to me." And now he was more than a man; black and billowing, he was a vast, dark stormcloud.
But she was the desert.
"What are you?" she demanded. "Really?"
"Just a man," the beast lied, "with a hunger, and the means to feed."
"It can't be only that." She was the wind that lashed him. "What are you to //me?//"
"It goes the other way." She no longed sounded so certain. "You are my legacy."
"I don't accept that. Your dust is a tool. My tool. I've shaped it to my own needs." She was shaping it now. It ran through her sand like veins. "What do you think would happen if I abated it all? Would it erase you from this prison?"
"I don't know." He was a grinning death's head. He was a featureless, unknowable force of nature. "Perhaps you should try, if you feel that's the right thing to do."
"I've never known a living creature so blasé about its own life."
"I have died before." His voice was thunder.
"And you were no more concerned than you are now." Her voice was the wind.
"I had died before that, too."
The moment crystallized. They were man and woman, standing in the wastes, a city on the horizon, and the sky was grey.
"What do you mean?" she asked him, and he told her:
"I do not know."
"What's the first thing you remember?"
"The sands."
"Your sand? Or these sands?" She stamped her feet, and thrilled at the sensation on her skin as it rippled. "A desert?"
"A desert," he agreed. "This desert. Vast and black." And so it was. "I was called forth."
"By who?" she demanded.
"If I did not know better, I might have said by //you.//"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Those burning eyes. I would know them anywhere."
She could see them reflected in the hollow pools at the back of his sunken sockets. "I didn't create you."
"But you have seen the desert."
"Are you corrupting me?" She raised her hands, and the earth rose up behind her. "Making me see what you want me to see?"
"I am a prisoner." He looked up at the towering wave she was posed to send crashing down over him. "Nothing else. Once I was more. Once, I was... //so much more.// But I was broken, and then again, and now I am but a shadow on the sand."
"There has to be more to it than that."
"There is not."
"I don't believe you!" She was trembling. He was casting no shadow. She had blotted out the sun, wherever it hid in the tattered fabric of the sky. "What did you do to the children?!"
"I existed," he whispered. "Everything bends around everything else. Nothing moves without stirring its neighbour. That is the lesson of the dunes. My advent formed a niche in my mirror image, and I filled it. Now it is empty, and things fall into the gap."
"You're saying..." She hesitated, and the glint in his eye said he knew it. "You're saying they can't sleep because... you need to put them to sleep, and that's not something you caused, but reality bending around the //fact// of you? Accounting for your existence?"
"That sounds right." He nodded.
"You don't know?"
He shrugged. "I never gave it much thought. I never gave anything much thought." He sneered. "That's what you people are for."
"You know what?" She lowered her arms, and the sand came crashing back down. Behind her. "You're right."
And she turned over her hands, and she reached out.
But not to touch him.
He looked down at himself, as though he could feel her probing the space within. Could sense that she knew the shape of what was inside. That she had taken it for herself. That she had owned it.
That she owned it still.
She suspected he knew and could sense these things, because for the first time -- perhaps the very first time, if the tapes were anything to go by -- //Bonhomme Sept-Heures// looked sad.
"Will you tell Noor something for me?" he asked.
She was ready. "No."
"Tell him I'm sorry."
She paused. "Are you?"
"Not in the slightest." The beast smiled, gently. "But it might ease his mind to hear."
With a flick of her wrist, she compacted his skeleton into a handful of pulverized white meal. The remainder of him melted around it, and was carried away by the gale. Her gale.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/50-turning-and-turning/DL_50_10_Okorie_Blow.jpg]]
"And give my regards to my children," he whispered with the teeth of the wind.
And he was gone.
[!-- [[=image Okorie_5281-D.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Harry was going to have to update //Lines in a Muddle// again.
On the bright side, now she had five vats of //vim harenae.//
And they were absolutely, definitively hers.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
The offices in TheoTelo didn't have windows, but they did have peepholes in the doors. Udo was quite sure the flowers were the reason Corbin finally answered her knocking.
"I'm sorry I've been avoiding you," said Udo as the door swung open. She thrust the bouquet of begonias into the other woman's chest.
Corbin took them with good grace. "I'm not sorry I've been avoiding you back."
Udo nodded. "That's fair."
"Yeah." Corbin headed into her office. Udo didn't know where to look first in the assault of colour that hit her as she followed, so she settled on the other woman's bald pate. Though the theologian liked to experiment with her appearance, this particular look felt targeted to Udo. "But I'm not sorry you've been avoiding me, either. You were right."
"About what?" Udo again tried to focus on a single element of her surroundings, and found it impossible. Corbin's office was packed with //things.// Bright things. Knitted rugs, arthouse movie posters, lewd sculptures, a photograph of Jesus turned upside-down...
//A photograph?//
Corbin plucked a large canine skull off a bookshelf, placed it on her desk -- her //wicker// desk, Udo saw -- and stuck the flowers into the left eyesocket at a rakish angle. "They were fobbing me off. Is that how that expression works? They were giving me access to just you, as a way of keeping me happy without opening up the files. You know less than Lillihammer or McInnis. Probably less than Ibanez. If they'd given me Nascimbeni or Wettle I'd have figured it out sooner, but you were just informed enough to be plausible." She sat down in her rattan chair, and gestured for Udo to take one of the dark oak barstools opposite. "Plus, it's a matter of record that I'm easy when it comes to witches."
Udo sat down. "It is?"
Corbin snatched up a cigarette from between the number and function rows of her keyboard, and the twirling began. "That story doesn't come free. Point is, you were never going to give me what I wanted. Probably nobody is. I wasn't hired to see miracles, I was hired to identify them at a distance. It's time I made peace with that. Wouldn't have happened if you'd given me the time of day, strung me along."
Udo wasn't sure what to say. "I'm... glad?"
"It was still a bitch thing to do, though." The other woman was smiling now.
"Yeah." Udo nodded. "Sorry." She smiled back, tentatively. "I might be able to make it up to you now, just a little."
Corbin leaned back. The rattan creaked. "Do tell."
"So, 5281-D. You know?"
"Black caped black hat sallow Québec kiddie-eater."
Udo stared at her, open-mouthed. "Holy //shit.//"
"Been holding on to that for ages. Isn't it horrible?"
It really was. "It really is."
"What about him?"
"I killed him. Deader than he already was. Wiped him out."
Corbin didn't look impressed. "You think telling me a cool thing I never got to see is now even less possible to see is going to cheer me up?"
"I think finding out what he was, and what that represents, might. But I don't know how off-base I am. I need an expert consult."
The other woman spread her arms wide. "Well, let's hear it."
"I spoke to him in dream space. He told me his earliest memory was being called into existence in a big black desert, and then being broken. Splintered."
"Into what?"
"He didn't know. He did know that a niche opened up to fit his new form, and he filled that niche."
Corbin was nodding. "Hmm."
"What do you know about gods of sleep, or the night?"
"Oh," the theologian yawned. "Only //everything,//"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/50-turning-and-turning/DL_50_12_Corbin_Yawn.jpg]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 12 April
----
[[/=]]
Wettle drummed his fat fingers on the table. He'd been doing it for hours. Harry wished Lillian was here; she'd have dropped a heavy book on them already, and somehow gotten away with it. "We could... get him a really good friend, right? Somebody who hangs around him all day, every day. Maybe the monster needs time to take a shine to somebody."
"That wouldn't help," Harry sighed. "Because we wouldn't know if it worked until Phil dies, at which point whatever we're doing //has// to work."
They were sitting on opposite ends of a long lab counter. Harry had his notes in front of him. Wettle's notes were in one of the sinks; he hadn't put them there on purpose.
"We could do it anyway," Wettle suggested. "As a backup. You get enough backups, one of them is bound to work, and you don't need to know which one before it happens."
Harry shook his head. "Ngo's basically already tried this. They've been making people go on dates with Phil. Never any chemistry, so he's still single."
Wettle stared at him. "They're setting him up with dates? Without telling him?"
"Yeah."
"Is that a service that's just, like... available to anybody, or...?"
"Point is, getting someone to follow Phil around is a non-starter."
Wettle grunted. "Don't hear you coming up with any great ideas."
"Mm." Harry resisted the urge to pick up his phone and try a more fruitful consult. It wouldn't end well. "Maybe we could loop Imrich Sykora in on the thing." The thing in question, Project SARGENT, was a longstanding initiative to prepare for the worst in the event of Phil Deering's death. Nobody know what was going to happen when his mirror monster was untethered. Would it disappear? Would it latch onto someone new? Would it stay in the last reflective space it jumped into before being deprived of its constant companion, and issue that ear-splitting screech it made whenever they were separated, forever? It was a serious problem, and so far no serious solution had been proposed. Everyone outside of senior staff who participated in the brainstorming sessions was amnesticized afterward, ostensibly because it was a high security issue, but really because the official story was that multiple solutions had already been found, and they were just looking for backups now. It wouldn't do to have everyone thinking there was no game plan.
Alone of the Project SARGENT staff, Harry and Wettle got to keep their sinking feeling that there would still have been no progress made when the issue went critical. Not that it seemed to bother Wettle any. He was probably used to getting pulled down.
Wettle waited for Harry to finish his musing -- they knew each other well enough by now to recognize muse-faces -- before saying "I don't know who that is."
"Who?"
"Skikora. Stickora. Nicholas Picholas. Whatever it was you just said."
"Imrich Sykora? You do too know him. Thaumaturge. Pretty boy."
"Oh!" Wettle reached for his notes, accidentally striking the faucet and pouring water all over them instead. Harry had been waiting for that particular gun to fire since this session's first act. "Shit! Fuck. Okay." The water off, Wettle retrieved his sodden papers and began waving them around, spraying droplets everywhere and losing sheet by sheet by sheet. "Yeah. Sykora's busy. With a different thing. Very important thing that he and I are doing."
"Uh huh," said Harry.
"Why don't you ask Bradbury? She does consults all the time."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/50-turning-and-turning/DL_50_13_Blank_Gobsmacked.jpg]]
Harry stared at him.
"What?"
"Why don't I ask Dr. Bradbury to help us solve this problem?"
"Yeah!"
"This problem we have with SCP-5056?"
Wettle beamed, as though he'd made an excellent suggestion that was now being praised. "Right!"
"SCP-5056," and Harry took a moment to steady his hands and voice, "which put Melissa in a coma for a year, and forced her to retire from active duty?"
To his surprise, Wettle was //still// nodding. "Yeah. That's what I meant. You think I forgot, or something? Okorie got over her shit by killing that kid eater thing. Why wouldn't it work for Bradbury?"
For the first time ever, Harry couldn't think of a snarky thing to say in response.
[!-- [[=image Blank_Phil_Wettle.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 14 April
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Montréal-Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport##: Ville de Montréal, Québec, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Udo had vacation time banked up, as did most of her colleagues, but she didn't even need to use it. As soon as she declared her intention to visit Québec -- even though she hadn't told anyone her reasons -- in the Site's scheduling system, she found the trip flagged as research-related. She didn't question it. Some combination of Elstrom, the ASC, and McInnis would have had to confirm that detail, so it hadn't been done whimsically. They just knew.
It was nice to think that someone was paying attention. Probably that was a nice thing.
She decided to start with Montréal, because that was the only part of the province where she could reasonably expect to speak English most of the time and actually accomplish anything. Not that she was entirely certain what she expected to accomplish. She carried two suitcases, one full of her regular clothes and toiletries, the other containing what would have looked to any customs officials who cared to inspect like a vintage costume for a fancy dress party.
She'd put it on once already, in a containment chamber rather than her dormitory, so that it would feel more scientific than personal. She'd been wholly unable to find a way to teleport. Thus, the plane ride.
By the time she'd flagged down a taxi, she already felt ridiculous. By the time she'd checked into her room at the Holiday Inn, she was wondering what the hell she'd been thinking.
When she woke up in the middle of the night, she knew she'd been right.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 1 May
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**OSAT Station 11##: Montréal, Québec, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Ibanez was not surprised to find that Raynard Watts, first Chief Superintendent of OSAT, had looked like a serial killer's soul embodied in an underfed ferret.
At least, it was probably a photo of Watts sitting on Couch's desk, facing out towards her visitor. Glowering from under his too-large hat, judging the representative of the Foundation he had so perfectly, if ineffectually, despised.
"I'm so popular these days," Couch grinned at her. "First Okorie, now you. I'm flattered by all the attention, really I am."
"This isn't a follow-up." Ibanez shifted on the stool she'd been provided with. It was a short stool. She wondered whether this was standard practice, to lower anyone meeting with Couch to below her stature, or if it was intended to accentuate Ibanez's own lack of verticality. It didn't matter. She knew fully well, whether the other woman showed it or not, that //she// knew where the power in the room presently resided. "But since you mention it: the thing with the insomnia is pretty well handled, now."
Couch raised an eyebrow. "That so? Do tell."
"I think you'll find we never agreed to tell you anything." Ibanez smiled her closest approximation of sweetness. "But hey, you might be able to squeeze a few details out of me, if you don't mind sharing some outdated, useless intel."
The mountie stood up, tugging down the short sleeves of her blue officer's shirt and stretching as she turned to face the window. The blinds were pulled, but she didn't seem to notice. "I'm supposed to buy your version of what is and is not useless, huh?"
Ibanez shrugged, though Couch wasn't looking at her. "Judge for yourself. I want to know what you know about Elizabeth Crocker."
The other woman turned to face her, a predatory gleam in her eye. "Oh, you know, I'm supposed to be //very// embarrassed about that. Diplomatic incident. Brought a few of our men down into your home, shot it up a bit. Terrible black mark on the taskforce."
"Is that pride I hear?"
Couch laughed, and leaned in, palms on the desk. "Damn right it is. We might have been cheating, bringing in a ringer, but we penetrated to the inner sanctum. How many other agencies can say the same?"
"Not many," Ibanez agreed. "Learn anything interesting from that impressive feat?"
"Yes, actually." With her shit-eating grin, Couch's expression was essentially inscrutable. In this aspect only, she might have fit in well at 43. "That ringer of ours? Crocker? She was //terrible// at what she did."
"Which is what?"
"Mind control." Couch leaned back again, and adjusted the tuck of her shirt into her black dress pants. "She used mind control to convince everyone she was part of OSAT, even though women weren't allowed in the RCMP back then, and she used mind control to get the escort she used to invade your Site. Only the moment she was out of the building, this building, Station 11, everyone she'd spoken to knew she was bogus. And I hear it didn't take much to shake the officers out of their trance, though of course you'd know more about that than I would."
Ibanez did know, but she hadn't thought it particularly noteworthy, because it had been Thilo Zwist doing the trance-shaking. The immortal Austrian had chased Crocker out of the Site, and restored to her rent-a-cops what passed for their minds in the process. "Hmm. Do you have anything... else...?"
She suddenly realized that this was not, as it had appeared at first blush, nothing. The various means of mind control employed in the first deadline had also failed to make a serious impression on the mounties, who'd been camped out in AAF-D; Falkirk, as acting Director, had used them as his muscle in the corridors beyond the protective range of the telekill sheathe protecting the Site staff from Wirth's grey matter poking and Mukami's discursive prodding. //Corroboration is the soul of evidence,// she thought.
"Seems to me like that's plenty." Couch sat down again. "But maybe I'll think of something else, while you tell me Dr. Okorie's story of triumph."
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Couch.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Couch reluctantly agreed not to attempt Udo's capture.
Ibanez hadn't intended to insist upon it. She doubted the Dudley Do-Wrongs would have stood an even chance.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 5 May
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Weeks of study had produced one very interesting fact about the ongoing replication crisis, and Imrich Sykora's predictive thaumaturgy.
The less interesting facts were things he'd already known: if he did the same calculations enough times, the result he got the most often was the correct one; if he did them only once, they were always wrong; and over time, the number of interations he needed to go through for the discrepancies to shake themselves out was increasing, though at a fairly slow rate.
The interesting fact was that when he used his Talent to predict whether Wettle's other replication studies would succeed or fail, he experienced his formerly accustomed success rate of one hundred percent.
"What does that mean?" Wettle openly pondered. Most of his thoughts came straight out of his mouth.
Imrich waited a while for a better explanation to suggest itself. He very much hoped that it would.
It didn't.
"I think," he sighed, with great resignation, "it means only one thing in the universe is certain right now."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/50-turning-and-turning/DL_50_14_Sykora_Prediction.jpg]]
"Please let it be death," said Wettle. "I fucked up my taxes again this year."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 7 May
----
[[/=]]
Harry found Udo in the containment cell where her annual drama played out. He had no idea what she was doing there, and he didn't ask, and she didn't offer to explain when she saw him outside the rotating door. She cycled it through, and came out. "Hey?"
[[div class="muddle"]]
Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-D, and certain rooms in Applied Occultism and the first sublevel chambers of Security and Containment, experience a total reversion to the 2002 configuration every time SCP-5243 recurs. After the six minutes of chaos have passed, the reversion does not itself revert; what has been broken stays broken, what has been lost remains lost. It has therefore been deemed a waste of resources to fix the facilities which are no longer in frequent use. Of the affected spaces, only the containment cell in ApplOcc receives an annual visit from Janitorial and Maintenance, and that only to scrape scoring off the walls and disconnected pipes. These relics act as both promise and reminder that three hundred and sixty-five days later, with a margin of error of one day depending on the year, 2002 will come again with a vengeance.
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
It used to be that whenever she was looking into something in this room, she had a blasted, confused look on her face. At some point while they'd been dating, it had disappeared. It was back now, worse than ever, and he knew the demise of their relationship had nothing to do with why. Like everyone else, he wondered what fresh hell had unleashed itself each September that it should require Udo to be amnesticized when her six annual minutes of fame were up.
He didn't think this would help, but perhaps it would at least provide a distraction.
He held out the book he was holding in his hands. "Took a lot of arguing, and a few months of vetting by like five different departments, but I finally got 91 to release this to my custody. I was wondering if you could take a look at it."
She took the heavy leather volume, and read the title on its spine. "//The Book of the Turning Gyre,//" she said. Her orange eyes met his, a question in them.
He answered. "Written by a //giftschreiber.// Outlines their theory of history, their methods of altering societal progress. I've done papers on it. But it's never been looked at by a thaumaturge before. I thought you might be able to bring a fresh perspective."
She shrugged. "Okay."
He nodded. "Okay."
She glanced back at the containment cell.
He waved at it. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
She frowned, and looked like she wanted to say something.
He wanted to say something, too.
But for the first time, they both realized that what they wanted to say today would only make more problems for tomorrow, problems they'd already solved.
So she went back into the cell, and he headed back out to the hall.
It was, in a sense, progress.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 12 May
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Sunset Cove, Pensacola##: Florida, United States of America**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Ibanez had been to the retirement home in Sunset Cove a few times, but she'd managed to avoid ever visiting a bog standard old folks' home until now. She wasn't particularly glad of the experience.
The decor was unappealingly faux-cheerful, and the lighting was bad. There were elderly people everywhere, wherever they'd last been abandoned by their minders or their family members. She didn't see any orderlies beating or berating anyone, as they did in the movies, but it wasn't like the staff she saw seemed terribly thrilled to be there, either. Maybe it was worse in the States.
She remembered Zevala, as she often did when confronted with the realities of family in North America. She remembered that other than old man Lobo, who'd simply been too ornery, every oldster lived with and was taken care of by their offspring.
She remembered her grandfather.
The man in front of her was not flattered by the comparison. He had the same old man's barrel chest, but there was a harshness to his features and a grim set to his jaw that her grandfather had never had.
Then again, her grandfather had never been a cop.
"Don't remember much," the ancient mountie grunted. He tried to reorient himself in his wheelchair, but his arms wouldn't bear the weight, so he stayed sat at an odd angle. He grunted again. "That's your folks' doin', I reckon."
"I reckon," she agreed.
His cataracts flashed. "Sassy little thing, aren't you?" He chuckled wetly. "But yeah. Yeah, you took the memory. I try to tell them sometimes, you know?" He waved a withered hand at the reception desk. "Tell them how you took my memories. Think they care?"
"Don't reckon."
He rolled his eyes. "Dunno why I'd bother talking to you. No respect."
"Nobody else is visiting you. You're bored and lonely. Give me something useful, and I might stay for a game of chess."
Another gleam, this one mercenary. "Checkers?"
"Same difference to me."
He grunted for a third time. "Somethin' useful. Useful, you say. You know, you weren't so good with the memory-scrapes back then. Things slipped through. Little things. Impressions."
"What impressed you the most?"
He gave her a toothless grin. "How she had to keep puttin' her fingers in my brain, and swishin' around. Never took proper. Had to keep tryin'. An' she said somethin' about it once. Think it was in an elevator. Long elevator. That ring a bell?"
She made a noncommital half-nod.
"Sure it does. Means somethin' to you. She says in the elevator... what does she say." He closed his eyes. "She says 'You're only good as an insult. But I want 'em insulted. Gimme a pair of anarchists, and I could give 'em a whole lot more than mud in their eyes'. That was it, more or less."
"Huh."
"But I reckon she was all talk and no walk, that one."
"Why do you say that?" she asked, not necessarily expecting an answer more deep than sexism in response.
"Because we didn't wanna go down there with her -- heard enough tell of what was in that charnel house to want to stay away -- and she //did somethin'// to make us go, but it didn't hardly take."
"Didn't hardly take," Ibanez repeated.
"Nope. She had to keep doin' what she was doin'." The old man's chest puffed up. "Takes more'n a pretty face to sway the men in red, I don't mind sayin', and her face weren't all that pretty anyhow." A plaintive tone crept into the affable hostility. "What's all that worth to you?"
She could use the time to think about it anyway. The evidence had been corroborated. But what was it evidence //of?// "At least one game. I'll be red."
"The hell you will," the old mountie snarled.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
The Director of the Decommissioning Department looked like an SCP object, which was a nice bit of irony. His eyes were crystal, and he was wearing a complex rebreather. It was the result of having had a misunderstanding with an anomalous medical system, and it gave him an otherworldly, menacing appearance.
But underneath it, he was just an average guy.
There was probably something metaphorically pertinent about that, too.
"So." Calvin Bold stroked his mask as though it were a goatee. "You decommissioned 5281... again."
Udo nodded, but it was more of a diagonal shaking of the head. "I think of it as an acroamatic abatement, really."
Bold nodded. "That's good. I like that. That means you're not in trouble. Except now you're going to leap to that every time you don't want to call the DeD before you neutralize an anomaly."
She wondered who'd called Bold's department the DeD. Probably whoever had named the D-class department 'HARMA'. "Only we won't," she told him, "because that's not something we do here anyway."
"Director." Noor Zaman was sitting on her side of the boardroom table. "The DeD already authorized this decommissioning. It's just that it wasn't carried out correctly in the first place. Double jeopardy."
Bold made a sound like Darth Vader grunting. Possibly it was just a grunt. "Double jeopardy is actually the thing where you can't be punished twice for the same crime. Totally the opposite of what you meant." He paused. "But I take your meaning. We really screwed that one up, didn't we?"
"We did," Zaman agreed.
"At this point, I think we can say that the primary anomaly here was the insomnia cases in Québec." Bold looked back and forth between them. "Where are we on that? Did banishing the boogeyman help all those kids get back to sleep?"
Udo shook her head. "No, sir. I did."
"What?"
"When I neutralized the //Bonhomme,// it was basically a more elaborate version of the abatement I performed around the turn of the century. The one that created my //vim harenae.//"
"I'm not familiar with that term. You mean the dust you sourced from 5281's corpse?"
"Yes, sir. Ever since I did that, I've had a tremendously improved affinity with my Talent. I can do things now I never dreamed of before. It's become clear to me that I somehow internalized the power that was in that sand. The power that came from //him.//"
Bold managed to look startled even with half of his face covered. "You're saying you took a part of the anomaly into you? Into your body?"
Zaman looked ill.
"That's right." She looked him right in the glass eyes. "I don't know why, but I always had an affinity for him, and the things he left behind. I still do."
"What does that mean?"
"It meant that I could commune with his spirit. It meant that I could destroy him. And it means--"
"Hold up," Zaman interrupted. "Are you about to say that when you killed him for the second time, you took even more of his power?"
"That's what I believed at the time, yes." Udo felt her heart racing to beat the band. "And I now have experimental proof that this is the case."
"Meaning...?" Zaman still looked stricken.
"Meaning that I went to Québec, and could almost immediately sense the location of the affected children. The ones who are experiencing some sort of withdrawal from the spiritual service the //Bonhomme// used to provide."
"Like, a homing instinct?" Bold asked.
"Pretty much," she agreed.
"And what did you do with this instinct? Please don't tell me you..." Bold shook his head. "I actually don't know what I don't want you to tell me you did. So just..." He spread his hands in defeat. "Tell me, I guess."
"What do you think, sir?" She could almost tell herself she was enjoying this. "I put on my Halloween costume, engaged in a little B&E, and blew some sand into some tired faces."
"You did //what,//" Zaman asked flatly.
Bold didn't look all that surprised. But then, his means of expressing that particular emotion were obviously limited. In any case, he asked the only question that mattered. "And did it work?"
She smiled at him in response.
"So, they're cured?"
"I don't know about //cured.// For now, I believe I've addressed all of the active cases. They might need more spot treatments later. It might be a gradual weaning. Or it might end up needing to be a long-term solution." She smiled, a little nervously. "So I might need a little more vacation than was already scheduled, in the interim."
"Well." Bold glanced at Zaman, then back at her. "I suspect that can be handled without too much difficulty."
"Yeah," Zaman said. He sounded stunned.
"I understand your thaumaturgy already paints a little outside the known lines," Bold continued. "But this seems like a whole new paradigm."
She nodded. "I've been fundamentally changed by an SCP object. There's really no getting around that." She'd known she was going to have to say this eventually, but it made her heart sink to do it anyway.
Bold, however, contrived to look amused. "Oh," he said. "You get used to it."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Bold told her he would smooth things out with the DeD, and also make sure his colleagues in the Integration Program ensured she'd be able to retain her position and station despite her new anomalous augmentation. "Least I could do," he told her, "for the woman who corrected one of my worst mistakes."
From the Site-43 point of view, it did also require a note on her HR file.
Zaman made very much the same comment when he filled it out for her. By the time she left his office, she felt almost certain the crying man had been about to try and hug her.
Relief at the end of a long road was a strange drug.
She was looking forward to trying it out someday.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 18 May
----
[[/=]]
[[div class="muddle"]]
In addition to its posts at three corners of the third sublevel, Security and Containment has the entire first floor all to itself. This is where the containment chambers for Site-43's inventory of animate SCP objects and Nexus critters is kept, whether pending evaluation or serving out their non-negotiable life sentences in the name of the Foundation's protection initiative. There are considerably fewer of them now than once there were, and more empty chambers than the facility's designers ever expected. Once it was projected that space for a new row of rooms would need to be excavated by the mid-2020s; now so many chambers have been mothballed that there's been talk of turning them into extra dormitory space for the upstairs agents. This depopulation does not reflect a new policy of catch and release, but rather the practical reality of life after SCP-5243. With the annual drop in containment integrity, it is no longer safe to keep dangerous creatures locked up on the shores of Lake Huron.
These anomalies are simply being remanded to the care of other facilities, rather than achieving their freedom. In this they are luckier than the personnel who have left Site-43's employ in the wake of the Breach that Keeps On Breaching, some of whom return annually for a ghoulish display, some of whom have gone where no force pantomime can touch them, and some of whom have simply decided to stay away.
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
He sent the excerpt, and waited.
The response came a few minutes later.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
Haven't you written this bit up before?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
He frowned. He hadn't been sure how the amendments would be received, but he hadn't been prepared for precisely this response.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
Probably? [[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
I've drafted most of the thing a few times over.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
You know that.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
The next messages didn't come until an hour later, when he'd given up on writing and texting and had settled in to enjoy a TV dinner while scrolling through Memory Alpha on his desktop.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
Sounds like you need to commit.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
Or maybe just learn to let things go.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/49-repent-at-leisure | previous-title=Repent at Leisure
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/51-stop-the-clock | next-title=Stop the Clock
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub | hub-title=The Breach Goes On: Deadlined
]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
[[<]]
Chapter title quotes William Butler Yeats, "The Second Coming," 1919, in the public domain.
Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:
Rozálie Astrauskas: "portrait | vale triste?" "Valentina" and "vale solare" by Andrea Fistetto, all released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/2894689596
https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/6837642131
https://www.flickr.com/photos/andreafis/2810284003
Bonhomme Sept-Heures: "CDV of a man wearing a cape and top hat with a dog," by oakenroad, released CC BY 2.0: https://openverse.org/image/9c20b1cc-430a-43bb-a61f-1b45c7fa9565
Brenda Corbin: "Screen Shot 2022-07-09 at 19.20.22" by Tracy Rolling, released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/tracy_the_astonishing/52222024374
Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653
Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023
Nhung Ngo: Nhi Dang, "Huyen," released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/nhi_dg/7186551316/ and Rod Waddington, "Hmong Woman," released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/rod_waddington/44409399060
William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260
> **Filename:** Everything!
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-09-20T23:01:00
|
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"fantasy",
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"science-fiction",
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Turning and Turning - SCP Foundation
| 41
|
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1456876228
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/50-turning-and-turning
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51-stop-the-clock
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
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<p><strong>Stop the Clock</strong><br/>
It comes around.</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank">More by this author!</a></strong></p>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>Stop the Clock</span></h1>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div class="flashboss">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #990011">1995</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>21 December</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Site-01</strong></span><strong>: Undisclosed Location</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>As Scout's Chair of Administration and Oversight, McInnis had been present for and helped to conduct perhaps half a dozen preparatory briefings for personnel the Director intended to bring before the Overseer Council. Invariably, the old man gave them instructions on the order of "Let me do the talking," "Just sit there and look serious," "Don't say a word unless they address you personally," or "Stick to the script, and <em>do not improvise.</em>" These instructions were greeted with relief and ready acceptance in every case, and McInnis had no intention of being the exception to the rule when his time came.</p>
<p>Except that when it did, there was no briefing. The Red Right Hand chopper arrived unannounced, and Scout ushered him in, and within minutes of takeoff the Director had his fedora down over his eyes and was fast asleep.</p>
<p>McInnis had never been more flattered by anything in all his life.</p>
<p>It wasn't a proper Council meeting, but the security measures were still in place. The Council Chamber was pitch black save for a single white light, desk mounted, which only served to make it clear that there was a masculine silhouette at the table they were facing.</p>
<p>"Vivian," O5-8 said in a casual tone. McInnis had expected a voice changer, or perhaps a booming amplifier. "And Dr. McInnis. This is your first time at Site-01. Welcome."</p>
<p>McInnis nodded with a depth suggestive of bowing. "Sir. Thank you."</p>
<p>The silhouette gestured. "Have a stand."</p>
<p>Scout chuckled.</p>
<p>"So, the petition." The Overseer appeared to bow his head; McInnis wondered how he could possibly be reading anything in a manner that cast no light on his features. "I'm a little confused. Don't you already have no D-class? Sorry, that's not the right way to say that, is it. Double negative." He looked back up. "Doesn't Site-43 already prohibit the use of D-class personnel?"</p>
<p>Scout nodded. McInnis could sense the movement, though he couldn't see his mentor in the dark. "Of course. This proposal isn't about 43. It's about the entire Foundation."</p>
<p>A grunt, and the man's head bowed down again. There was a sound of rustling paper. McInnis was amazed to think that the Overseers printed things out before reading them. Then again, it did diminish the threat of electronic cognitohazards. "Table of logistical concerns is pretty thin."</p>
<p>"I believe the moral imperatives more than make up for that deficiency," Scout replied.</p>
<p>A snort. "You know better than to come to me with morality alone, Vivian. Why are you proposing we hamstring the Department of Containment in this manner? I see you haven't consulted with HARMA at all."</p>
<p>Scout sighed. "HARMA and the D-class program are atrocities, sir. War crimes looking for a war. We've suggested dozens of initiatives that could replace—"</p>
<p>"Bah." The Overseer looked up once more, and from the sound of it, closed the report. "A solution looking for a problem. D-class are efficient. The system works. It's proven and tested, and it's helping us prove and test everything else. Give me one good reason, and I do mean <em>good,</em> and I do mean <em>one,</em> why we should do absolutely anything to change this <em>status quo?</em>"</p>
<p>"Because the <em>status quo,</em> sir, if I may," McInnis found himself saying, "is seriously injurious to the sustainability of our academic efforts." He could feel Scout's eyes on him now. "Only the most psychopathic of scientists will have their enthusiasm undampened by implication with forced labour and illicit human experimentation, and such scientists are rarely in the top percentile of intelligence, creativity or dedication. We are limiting our own capacity to do right by doing this wrong."</p>
<p>There was silence in the chamber for what felt like an age. O5-8 broke it, because the other two knew this was his prerogative. "Are you suggesting, Dr. McInnis, that this single, entirely justifiable act of ethical greyscaling might be enough to turn our best people against the cause of protecting mankind? That they would sacrifice the good of their fellow human beings writ large, on behalf of the worst of us, in limited quantity?"</p>
<p>McInnis allowed a moment for Scout to intervene. It didn't happen, so he answered for himself. "I am not suggesting that this will lead to open revolt, no, sir. We all know the importance of the Veil. But that it materially injures our souls is a foregone conclusion, and it has been my experience that soulless experimentation can only very rarely be bent towards the good."</p>
<p>"Hmm." McInnis wished he could see the other man's face. Communication wasn't only about words and tone of voice. "Hmm hmm hmm. Well. I'll pass this along to the others. They'll vote it down later this evening. I'll let you know when that's happened, Vivian."</p>
<p>"Sir," the old man acknowledged. There was no sadness or anger in his voice, only the weariness of having an unpleasant forethought confirmed. He placed a hand on McInnis' shoulder, and turned them both towards where the door was hidden in shadow.</p>
<p>"One more thing, Vivian," the Overseer said to their backs.</p>
<p>McInnis moved to turn, but Scout's firm grip told him not to. The impudence sent a thrill down his spine as the Director responded: "Sir?"</p>
<p>"You were absolutely right about him."</p>
<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
<p>"I look forward to seeing you again, Dr. McInnis," O5-8 said.</p>
<p><em>We didn't see each other at all,</em> he thought as the door opened, and the Red Right Hand reached in to reclaim them.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc3"><span><span style="color: #990099">1992</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc4"><span>29 October</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>He couldn't tell if they were growing closer, or if the old man was simply getting more lenient in his old age. But this was the second time in one week that Scout had invited McInnis to the Director's Complex for dinner, and the second time they'd rounded out the night with a spirited philosophical debate.</p>
<p>By their standards.</p>
<p>"Might it not be more efficient to simply recruit the like-minded?" McInnis swished his glass of red wine.</p>
<p>"If by 'efficient' you mean 'easy', sure." The old man was still picking at the remnants of the pork chop on his plate. "Find people who already agree with you, and make them work with you. But what's the flaw in that logic?"</p>
<p>McInnis took a freshly-oxygenated sip, and shook his head as he dabbed at his lips with one of Scout's black handkerchiefs. "I don't know that I can see any such flaw."</p>
<p>"You could if you'd let yourself look." The old man sat back, and McInnis saw that his belly was bulging as the rest of him receding. "Don't be so sure of yourself. Don't come at every discussion like it's an argument, and don't argue like the only possible positive outcome is <em>winning.</em> Maybe you're wrong. You <em>are</em> wrong, in this case. Why are you wrong?"</p>
<p>It sometimes seemed like everything the Director did was to force him to consider a new perspective. Confident that there was a good reason for the exercise, he always obliged. "You believe that converting others to our way of thinking is better than preaching to the choir. You believe we should be nurturing our sensibilities where no such seed has yet been planted."</p>
<p>"I do," Scout nodded. "It's good to know you've been paying attention, even if sometimes you're not willing to interrogate what you're seeing."</p>
<p>He didn't take it personally. Anything that could make him stronger couldn't harm him. "I am trying. Perhaps a hint?"</p>
<p>"I'm getting too old for hints." Scout covered his mouth; if he burped, he did so very discreetly. "I'll just say it outright. A thing which is <em>learned</em> is far more dear than a thing which is <em>believed.</em> You can't teach a person who believes something to <em>know</em> it. They're two different things."</p>
<p>"Overwatch would appear to disagree."</p>
<p>Scout pointed at him in affirmation. "More than they're letting on. They don't want us teaching people a better way. They want to make the entire world see things the way they do."</p>
<p>"They do have an elevated perspective," McInnis reminded him. Advocacy for the devil was his role at this table, he'd swiftly learned. Scout always harkened to his better angels.</p>
<p>"I'll thank you not to craft any more positive euphemisms for standing atop an ivory tower." Scout cleaned his hands, and draped his handkerchief over the bone on his plate like a shroud of funereal modesty. "That sort of thing is beneath such a gifted communicator as yourself. The Council wants you to think we should only hire acclaimed experts because it's a better use of our resources. Let the world beyond the Veil create our people for us. But they're wrong. The kinds of people we need, the world doesn't generate those in quantity. The world teaches people to hate, to mistrust, to judge. Prejudice is the death of science. It's the death of humanism. It will be the death of humanity."</p>
<p>"There is no mind free of prejudice," McInnis smiled.</p>
<p>"No," Scout allowed, "but it only truly takes root and grows in the right conditions. Catch people before they become so much loamy soil. While they're still people. While they can still change their minds, and not see it as a weakness, or something to be feared." He was speaking with his hands now, something he never did. He was obviously excited, and it wasn't just the wine.</p>
<p>Though it was very, very good wine.</p>
<p>"I understand the philosophical point, but I wonder if, given the gravity of our responsibilities, we ought to be populating our force of world-saving geniuses exclusively with graduate students and young quarterbacks."</p>
<p>Scout chuckled with a warmth that probably did have something to do with the wine. "Not exclusively, but substantially. Don't misjudge the wisdom that comes with youth. A sharp intellect is a sharp intellect, no matter the vintage of its frame."</p>
<p>"I might counter that ignorance often masquerades as open-mindedness."</p>
<p>"I would rather have the ignorant," the old man said, "a thousand times over I would rather have the ignorant than the learned intolerant, and if you'll allow me today, Allan, I will tell you why."</p>
<p>It was a long, though not unproductive, evening.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc5"><span><span style="color: #990099">1996</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc6"><span>1 April</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>This time, the entire Council had been in chambers.</p>
<p>The Directorship of Site-43 was, for reasons McInnis had not fully understood until now, one of the most important posts at the SCP Foundation. All thirteen Overseers had impressed upon him the vitality of the work he would be doing, and shared a mind-boggling array of secrets, often in a bored monotone. (O5-2, the Archivist, at least had a reason for that.) But the meeting eventually ended, and when it did, all but two of the nameplates blinked out.</p>
<p>The lights remained off. Scout had been so trusted, after his eighty years of service, that he could sit and chat with Eight without any of the chamber's security features active. Twenty-odd years was insufficient to earn that privilege, apparently.</p>
<p>Eight was one of the two who lingered. The other was Thirteen, who spoke first. "A lot to wrap your head around, isn't it?"</p>
<p>McInnis didn't nod. Perhaps they could have seen it somehow if he had, but as always he strove for the clearest possible communication within the bounds of his circumstances. "Yes, sir.''</p>
<p>"He'll manage." Eight was the Foundation's special projects supervisor, and had been Scout's Overseer sponsor for a good long chunk of his career. He was used to dealing with technology rather than people, and his manner was often brusque. "Let's get to the final item, shall we?"</p>
<p>Thirteen's silhouette nodded. "Allan," the Mediator said. "We were unable to convince your predecessor to meet us halfway on a few key issues. I'm afraid we're going to have to be quite insistent with you."</p>
<p>McInnis tried not to stiffen. "Sirs."</p>
<p>Eight took over, as though this routine had been rehearsed. Probably it had. "Vivian ran 43 like a freshman college class. I could count on one hand the number of times he hired someone over the age of thirty. Your demographics skew younger than anywhere else in the Foundation. That ends today."</p>
<p>"Well," Thirteen chided, "not <em>today.</em> But a gradual trend is beginning, to be sure. Director McInnis, we feel very strongly that your facility requires more age and experience than it presently boasts. Do you understand what I'm saying?"</p>
<p>He found he'd been grinding his teeth. He doubted they could hear it… but then, he had the vague sense that the cylindrical bulk of the Archivist was still in the room, and perhaps it could. Perhaps his protest was already on record. Nevertheless… "I believe I do, sir. You're saying you expect me to shift our hiring trends away from recent graduates, and toward proven experts. Is that right?"</p>
<p>"That's right," Thirteen nodded.</p>
<p>"I see." He considered. "And you've expressed, unless I mistook your tone, a disinterest in debating this point. Yes?"</p>
<p>"Yes," said Eight. Very firmly.</p>
<p>McInnis shrugged. "Very well, sirs. Your preference will become official policy."</p>
<p>Thirteen sat back, apparently satisfied, but Eight sat forward. "You wouldn't be planning to pay lip service here, and continue Vivian's course behind our backs, would you?"</p>
<p>This time he allowed himself a little body language. He raised his eyebrows slightly. "You've invested a great deal of trust in me, sir. I shouldn't suppose your judgement in that matter was faulty."</p>
<p>It was something of a surprise when they let it go at that, considering how tactically he'd avoided actually answering the question.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc7"><span><span style="color: #990011">2016</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc8"><span>20 May</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>McInnis was on the way out of his office when he stopped, for no particular reason, and looked down at his assistant.</p>
<p>Zulfikar was greying around the temples, but he hadn't slowed down a bit. He met McInnis' eyes, and asked: "Sir?"</p>
<p>McInnis pulled a waiting chair up from the wall, and sat down. "You remember the expansion plans?"</p>
<p>Zulfikar nodded. Veil maintenance in the communities surrounding Lambton County was becoming more difficult to manage from Site-43. There was talk of opening satellite facilities in the coming years.</p>
<p>"Have you considered entering the administration track?"</p>
<p>His assistant blinked. "I… No, sir, not really?"</p>
<p>McInnis nodded. "And why is that?"</p>
<p>He hadn't seen Zulfikar so flustered since the first deadline. "I just… There's always so much to do here. So much work." He smiled almost bashfully. "The Good Work. Sir."</p>
<p>"Of course. But have you not considered that said Work cannot be progressed from Site-43 alone?"</p>
<p>Zulfikar was trying to keep an upbeat mood, but the conversation was clearly distressing him. "Are you asking me to transfer? Are you unhappy with my…?"</p>
<p>McInnis laughed. He didn't laugh often. It was an unsubtle tool, and difficult to tune. He hit what sounded to his ear like the right balance: warm, sympathetic, not mocking, but incredulous. "You? Your work has never been anything less than extraordinary. But you've been here almost twenty years, Zulfikar, and you're the Director's Assistant. You could be an Assistant Director. Even a Director, possibly."</p>
<p>It was difficult to tell on the other man's tanned and bearded face, but it seemed like he might be blushing. "Thanks, sir. I appreciate it. Really, I do. But I feel like this is where I'm meant to be. I…" He looked away, embarrassed. "I just really believe in what we're doing here. I have for a very long time. And that means the world to me."</p>
<p><em>I don't have to ask,</em> McInnis thought. <em>I could simply not ask.</em></p>
<p>"Around when," he asked, "did you first acquire this faith? If you recall."</p>
<p>His assistant considered. "Funny thing," he said after a moment. "Earliest I remember is right after the Breach, in 2002. You gave that incredible speech about duty and sacrifice." He smiled shyly. "I guess there's something to that whole thing about people coming together in a crisis, huh?"</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc9"><span>23 May</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Falconer University</strong></span><strong>: Toronto, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Harry couldn't help it. He picked up the stack of paper, and dropped it on his desk again. It made an audible <em>thud.</em> "You wrote all of this… yesterday?"</p>
<p>Reggie nodded. "Ayup."</p>
<p>"How on Earth?"</p>
<p>She shrugged. "When I go, I go."</p>
<p>"You certainly do." He turned over the first page of the first chapter, and his eyes automatically travelled to the footnotes. As he'd feared, they were immaculate. "I have trouble getting a few thousand words done a day. This is… is this the entire first section?"</p>
<p>She was beaming. "Ayupyup."</p>
<p>"And to what do you credit this outrageous success?"</p>
<p>She took on the affect of a robot. "The extensive and incisive commentary of my supervisor on the earlier drafts, of course."</p>
<p>"Of course." He continued paging through, expecting to find that most of the middle pages were blank, and this was an elaborate gag. They were not. It was not. "Jeez. <em>Wow.</em>"</p>
<p>"Kinda serious though." She glanced to the side. "Those comments were <em>really</em> helpful."</p>
<p>Altan reached into his school bag, smirking. "Have to agree."</p>
<p>Harry watched in dismay as a second gigantic pile of paper was slapped onto his desk. "Not you, too."</p>
<p>Heng produced a smaller stack, which was probably at least a full chapter. "I didn't consider the material culture angle at all until you mentioned it today," he said sheepishly. "That's a whole other thing now. I'm gonna redo my second chapter from scratch."</p>
<p>"I'm sure it doesn't need <em>that</em> much amendment," Harry said. He was feeling a little faint.</p>
<p>"No," Heng sighed, "it does. I hadn't read Nora before. I've got like fifty pages of notes. It's going to be so much better now."</p>
<p>He looked at Reggie. He looked at Altan. He looked at Heng. He said: "You guys are creeping me out."</p>
<p>"You'll just have to live with being an excellent supervisor," Reggie smiled.</p>
<p>"We're part of a lineage now," Heng grinned.</p>
<p>"Yeah," Altan nodded, "apparently. Who was yours, again?"</p>
<p>Ah. That was it. They were buttering him up. "Again <em>nothing.</em> I never told you."</p>
<p>"I checked," said Heng. "It's not on record. Buddy's dissertation has blank — ha ha — spaces where the committee goes, and his acknowledgements page is missing."</p>
<p>Reggie whistled. "Wow. We really do have a super spy in our midst."</p>
<p>"They probably just misplaced the page," said Harry. It sounded thin even to him.</p>
<p>"I meant Heng," said Reggie. She winked at her jacked colleague. "He got out the physical copy of your dissertation. Who does that? The case is locked."</p>
<p>Heng shrugged. "Knowledge should be free."</p>
<p>"If that's enough idle chatter," Harry said, staring at the mass of unfinished chapters and dreading the amount of reading and writing he was going to have to do over the next few days, "we've got some actual work to get on with. Don't we?"</p>
<p>Reggie shook her head. "I don't know if it's more important than solving the Case of the Disappearing Committee."</p>
<p>"Literally 'The Disappearing Committee', Reggie," Harry warned her. "As in, the committee that will <em>disappear</em> you if you look too closely. Stick to your dissertation, please."</p>
<p>She turned to the others, and pointed at him. "Not natural. He's got some sort of weird government super powers."</p>
<p>Something about that set alarm bells ringing in his head, but they didn't give him the time or headspace to figure out why.</p>
<p>"What were those Canadian superheroes called?" Altan asked. "The Fab Four?"</p>
<p>"Five," Heng corrected. "The Fab Four were the Beatles. I don't think Harry was a Beatle."</p>
<p>"I can picture him with a bowl cut," Altan mused.</p>
<p>"<em>Friends,</em>" said Harry, and he couldn't help but hear it in Allan McInnis' voice. "Please stop living in the moment. It's unbecoming of historians."</p>
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<h2 id="toc10"><span>24 May</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Nascimbeni kept a spreadsheet.</p>
<p>He had access, even editorial access, to dozens of them. But he only kept one for himself, on his private partition. He was suspicious of spreadsheets by nature; they were the sort of tool a manager used to control his workers, and Nascimbeni still considered himself far more the latter than the former. But this spreadsheet was different.</p>
<p>It only had power over him.</p>
<p>It was pretty complex. He might have enjoyed bragging about it to someone who would understand, like Veiksaar or even Lillian. It tracked J&M's accidents, upgrades, efficiencies, inefficiencies, merits and demerits and another half dozen metrics, and measured them monthly by a single criterion.</p>
<p>How much of that month he'd spent on or off the job.</p>
<p>He would have given anything for there to have been no correlation.</p>
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<h2 id="toc11"><span>27 May</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><span style="color: #990011">Pannonian Steppe</span>: Pannonian Basin, Hungary</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Ibanez crossed the tall grass on her belly, crushing a path for the towable ELIDAR array and dragging it in her wake. There was a gentle <em>ping</em> in her headset every time she came close to the edge of the field, and she turned around before reaching it every time, preserving its silhouette and remaining shielded from view. If a plane had passed overhead, it would have seen one of the strangest acts of crop marking ever to be non-anomalous.</p>
<p>"That's it," Rozálie whispered over the secure comms. "Crawl back here."</p>
<p>"On the double." She almost made a joke about being doubled over, and recognized the influence immediately. <em>Spend less time around Blank.</em> She made the mental note.</p>
<p>Rozálie was waiting under a tree at the edge of the field, shielded from view by a crude dugout Ibanez had erected around her. The geophysical information from the array had been beaming in for the past hour, and there was now apparently a result.</p>
<p>When she saw what was on the screen, Ibanez almost broke stealth to whistle.</p>
<p>The other woman pointed at a specific node on the display. "Looks like an air vent shaft," she whispered, her mic and Ibanez's earpiece enhancing and raising the volume. "Readings suggest natural stability in the area."</p>
<p>"Can you pinpoint me?"</p>
<p>Rozálie grinned. "Damn right. You thinking of dropping in?"</p>
<p>Ibanez hefted the Bremmelgun, and tuned it down to its low-heat boring mode. "Yeah, I think they need a lesson on what 'insurgency' really means."</p>
<p>"That," Rozálie breathed, "is <em>extremely</em> hot."</p>
<p>Del winked, but she also checked the gun's gauge a second time in case she'd misunderstood.</p>
<p>Crocker wasn't in the firebase.</p>
<p>More specifically, she wasn't in:</p>
<ul>
<li>the upper maintenance tunnels, where Ibanez snapped a man's neck and made a second man accidentally shoot himself in the throat by throwing one of the first man's combat boots at him;</li>
<li>the main access corridor, where she hung from an air vent and recorded each target's vital stats before dropping down and widening the entire thing's diameter by an inch, vaporizing everyone and everything;</li>
<li>the security station, which was nothing but a red and grey indentation in the corridor after she was done demonstrating her automatic rifle to its denizens;</li>
<li>the security lounge, where a variety of entertainments quickly gave way to her own, until nobody was enjoying themselves except for her;</li>
<li>the laboratories, where frantic scientists started spiking their experiments but quickly found her indiscriminate bullet spray a much more efficient means of closing the book:</li>
<li>the dormitories, where a hard-bitten commander who reminded her of Gedeon Van Rompay tried to negotiate a ceasefire whilst still firing back at her, insisting that she could take everyone inside as her sole surviving hostages; or</li>
<li>the secret laboratories, which she hadn't been meant to know existed — that geophys was really very good, capable of seeing through a hundred meters of solid rock — which she entered via a hole in the wall left by the high explosive grenade she'd flung in response to the commander's offer.</li>
</ul>
<p>A few short minutes later and she — with the help of a very small backup team, most of whom only served to divide the enemy's fire — whittled the firebase's complement down to a legitimate last stand, which legitimately surrendered. She called topside to tell Rozálie to await extraction, then trotted to the base's front door, opened it, and exited through the entrance.</p>
<p>She hadn't killed any of the terrified noncombatants, or even the Insurgents who had thrown down their weapons.</p>
<p>Because none of them were Crocker.</p>
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<h2 id="toc12"><span>29 May</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>McInnis wasn't often the one to bring up concerns at the Survivors' meetings. He was typically content to direct the conversation after one of the others provided the topic. Today, though, he almost took centre stage. Wettle wondered what had gotten into him.</p>
<p>They were discussing the capabilities of each Victim during each Deadline, specifically how they mapped to pre-existing talents in an exaggerated way. Harry said something about Mukami's exceptional powers of persuasion, and McInnis, apparently lost in thought, had responded with something vague about the depth of responsibility that kind of thing engendered. Lillihammer had been about to pave over the pothole with a new tangent, when Wettle shook himself out of half-sleep and grunted: "What?"</p>
<p>He grunted it loud enough that Lillihammer couldn't talk over him, and so McInnis heard. Because he had heard, he had to respond, because he was McInnis. He responded: "Nothing. Well… ah. Not precisely nothing." The Director sighed. "I've simply been musing on our own trajectories since the Breach."</p>
<p>"Meaning what?" Lillihammer snapped, obviously irritated at having been pre-empted. Re-empted?</p>
<p>"Meaning that in 2002, I was not wholly sanguine about my own leadership abilities. In the interim, they would seem to have increased in efficacy."</p>
<p>"You can't even brag in plain language," Nascimbeni grumbled.</p>
<p>McInnis nodded at him. "I can state it more directly. I seem to have learned more about how to inspire confidence in the past fourteen years than in all the years prior."</p>
<p>"Good for you, eh?" Lillihammer patted the air in front of her recliner, as though it were McInnis' shoulder. "Now, as I was—"</p>
<p>"<em>Isn't</em> that a good thing?" Wettle interrupted. "Because you sound kinda bummed."</p>
<p>McInnis frowned. Behind Wettle, Lillihammer probably began to turn red. He was glad he couldn't see it. She could be very scary when he didn't want her to be. "I've noticed that certain of my staff are choosing to remain here, under my leadership, as opposed to progressing their own careers."</p>
<p>"Captain Kirk effect," said Harry. "Guess you're just that awesome. Super relatable."</p>
<p>"As I was about to say," Lillihammer began.</p>
<p>"What?" said Wettle. He waved at Harry until the archivist turned to look at him. "What's relatable about it?"</p>
<p>Harry frowned. That was three of them frowning now; well, Lillihammer was probably scowling at this point. "Nothing."</p>
<p>"Oh." Wettle nodded. "Nothing like nothing, or nothing like the Director's nothing, which was actually something?"</p>
<p>Harry sighed. "It's just that I never thought I was that great of a teacher before, and these days it seems like all my students are kicking ass. I don't feel like I've been putting in the kind of effort normally required to accomplish that."</p>
<p>McInnis nodded. "This is my feeling as well. I spent decades honing my leadership skills, to less effect than I've seen simply by following my own instincts."</p>
<p>"Instincts work," Ibanez said. "Can confirm."</p>
<p>"Can we get back to—" Lillihammer tried once more.</p>
<p>"What?" said Wettle. "What was that about? Instincts?"</p>
<p>Lillihammer made a sound like a hot teakettle as Ibanez followed up. "Feels like I can do no wrong when I go with my gut, these days. Haven't lost a single soldier. Most bad shit that happens, happens because somebody else is in charge. Present company excepted." She nodded at McInnis, who smiled in return.</p>
<p>"Yeah, everybody in this room is super fuckin' great at their jobs now, and it's backpats all around." Lillihammer put her foot on the back of Wettle's neck, and pushed him over. "But that's not what I wanted to talk about, and it is <em>my</em> fucking <em>turn.</em>"</p>
<p>"Huh?" Wettle rolled over to stare at her. "Everybody? Is <em>everybody</em> here better at their jobs than they were before?"</p>
<p>Everyone else in the room exchanged glances, one by one.</p>
<p>Wettle closed his eyes.</p>
<p>"Sounds like we need to do another fucking replication study," Harry sighed. "Willie?"</p>
<p>He pretended to be asleep.</p>
<p>When the others had gone, Lillian remained. She didn't make a move to dismount the recliner, so Udo got a glass of water from the kitchenette, and returned to rejoin her. "So."</p>
<p>"Mngh," Lillian grunted.</p>
<p>Udo waited.</p>
<p>Eventually, the other woman's expression solidified into something like presence. "Okay. So. We're marked by the Breach, and it's doing something to us. That's…"</p>
<p>"Bad?" Udo suggested.</p>
<p>"More complicated than bad." Lillian took several deep breaths, as though forcing extra oxygen into her brain. "Mostly it seems to be making us better, or at least more intense, versions of ourselves. Helping with my memory. Making Nascimbeni a better engineer. But what's it doing to <em>you?</em>"</p>
<p>Udo frowned. "I dunno. I never thought it was doing <em>anything</em> to me."</p>
<p>"But it makes sense," Lillian insisted, leaning forward and then flopping back as the angle of the recliner defeated her. "Obviously we've been singled out. We're the only ones who get to keep our heads when the timeline shifts. We're the only ones who can do our conproc duties."</p>
<p>"That part isn't proven," Udo reminded her.</p>
<p>Lillian waved the correction away. "I'm sure it's true. We're special. All of us. But what's special about <em>you?</em>"</p>
<p>Udo raised both eyebrows.</p>
<p>"That's not what I meant. Obviously you're a genius and all that bullshit. But how has that changed since 2002?"</p>
<p>Udo leaned back into the cushions, and sipped at her water. "I dunno," she said after a moment's thought. "I'm much better with my micamancy, but that's nothing new. That was the progression I was on before the Breach."</p>
<p>"Still, you've been pushing yourself. Learning new things. Trying…" Lillian snapped her fingers. "Learning. You're learning more than ever."</p>
<p>Udo shook her head. "I've been <em>trying</em> to learn more than ever. Putting in the effort. No magic breach power is doing that to me."</p>
<p>"It's still a change. We've all been changed. Maybe more than we know." Lillian sighed. "I just wish…"</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>The other woman made eye contact. "I wish you weren't such an enigma. We don't know what you do during the Breach. We don't know what's been happening lately, that's got them wiping your brain every year."</p>
<p>"Surprised you haven't forced that information out of them yet. Seems like your kind of deal."</p>
<p>"Yeah." Lillian opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to think of something better to say instead. "Yeah, that <em>does</em> seem like my kind of deal. You know what I did the last time they tried to stop me from learning something I wanted to learn, Udo? You'll enjoy this story."</p>
<p>Udo did not enjoy the story.</p>
<p>She was going to have to think about it a lot over the next few months, and then decide whether she wanted to use the information to cross a new, exciting threshold in her career at the SCP Foundation.</p>
<p>The line between doing what she was told, and the potential for consequences.</p>
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<h2 id="toc13"><span>3 June</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"It's not that I don't understand his reservations," Polly sighed, and then yelped as she heard her own word choice. "Concerns, I mean. I—"</p>
<p>"I know what you mean," McInnis smiled gently.</p>
<p>"Okay. I'm sorry. It's just that…" She left the sentence hanging in the office's conditioned air, expecting him to finish it for her.</p>
<p>He didn't.</p>
<p>So she considered what she was going to say, and then said it. <em>Not so hard, eh?</em> "It's just that we are where we are, sir, and the best test subjects for this equipment are pretty well all going to be indigenous." She blinked. "Okay. I hear what I'm saying, and I don't like it."</p>
<p>He nodded. "You've already had permission to explore the pioneer cemetery, yes?"</p>
<p>"We've already explored it to death, sir. No pun intended. There isn't anything there to find. It might be the only unhaunted cemetery in Canada. But Nexus-94 is awash with ghosts. It's not like I'm planning to go all Ghostbusters on his ancestors."</p>
<p>"I understand that, and so does the All-Sections Chief. I believe he explained this to you already."</p>
<p>"He did, sir. Yes." She waited for him to explain how he understood her interest, sympathized, but could do nothing more to help her.</p>
<p>He didn't.</p>
<p>So she pushed ahead once more. "I don't mean to go over his head."</p>
<p>"But you are doing so, nevertheless."</p>
<p>"It's just that I don't get how we take one approach to all other anomalies, and a different one to the First Nations stuff in our own backyard."</p>
<p>"One element of your misunderstanding is that characterization. It is not our own backyard. We do not own any of the space we occupy."</p>
<p>"But we do cordon it off. We control it, and restrict access. And we have mutual cooperation pacts with the people who live and lived around here."</p>
<p>"That does not extend to harassing the spirits of their forebears," he reminded her.</p>
<p>"Why wouldn't they want to help us broaden our knowledge base, though? Sir?"</p>
<p>"Because knowledge collected on their traditions, possessions and culture has almost always either been used against them, or used to profit at their expense. Because while we and they are allied, they do not share our goals and do not necessarily trust our intentions. Most importantly, though, Dr. Mataxas, they deny our requests as a way of learning something about <em>us.</em>"</p>
<p>She shook her head. "I don't understand."</p>
<p>"If the people of Kettle Point deny us access to their land, we can access it nevertheless. If they deny us access to their ancestors, we can attempt to contact them regardless. Historically such interventions have not ended well, but we could certainly attempt them. With near-impunity. There is no organized force in the vicinity capable of preventing us, and the federal government would turn a blind eye. Probably even OSAT would decline to become involved. If we were to do these things, then our allies would acquire invaluable information. They would learn that we are monsters."</p>
<p>"And if we don't…"</p>
<p>"Then they will know that our word is our bond."</p>
<p>The frustration was almost overwhelming. "Don't they already know that? Haven't we proven it to them before?"</p>
<p>"We have. And we will do so again, for as long as we occupy this stolen ground. Because for the people who once lived here, the people who have been shunted aside so that we might operate our <em>oubliette</em> beneath their feet, trust is not a thing once bought and forever owned. Trust, for those people, is like leadership."</p>
<p>"I don't…" She hated to say it twice, but she <em>was</em> a scientist. It came with the territory. "I don't understand."</p>
<p>"Leadership," he smiled, "is not a tree that once planted, continues to grow. Leadership is an annual flower. You renew it, over and over, indefinitely, or you admit that it is dead and gone."</p>
<p>She suddenly understood why he had forced her to formulate the problems herself.</p>
<p>"We do not lead the residents of Nexus-94, but we do renew their trust with every neglected opportunity to abuse it. Your work is worth a great deal to the Foundation, Dr. Mataxas, but you will need to find a way to perform these tests elsewhere. There will come a time when we need these allies, and I expect to be fully in their good graces when that hour arrives. I deny your request, therefore, as an instrument both of my leadership here and the trust justifiably placed in me elsewhere. Do you understand?"</p>
<p>He was not the most emotional of men, but it always gave him a little thrill to see, against all odds, that the answer was "Yes."</p>
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<h2 id="toc14"><span>5 June</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>At first, Ibanez thought there had been a security breach.</p>
<p>She thought she was looking at Thilo Zwist with a shaved beard. The man was thin-faced and tired-looking, and he was leaning on a cane. It wasn't until she got a better look at the craggy features, particularly that incredible cleft chin, that she realized she was looking at Gedeon Van Rompay.</p>
<p>He was standing awkwardly in the middle of the lobby of Lake Huron Supply, Control and Purification. Not examining the potted plants or looking out the wide glass windows, as anyone else might have done, but staring resolutely at the stairwell from which she had emerged. When she approached, in her civilian clothes — her MTF uniform was a bit exotic for a bog standard refinery — the man behind the reception desk visibly relaxed.</p>
<p>"Ged," she said as the big man looked her up and down. "What's up?"</p>
<p>He finished his appraisal of her with a grunt that might have signified satisfaction, or at least acceptance. "How's the fort?"</p>
<p>"Still held down." She tried again. "What're you doing here?"</p>
<p>She wasn't used to seeing complex emotions on Van Rompay's face. He shifted his feet back and forth, leaning heavily on the cane. "Fucking bored," he said. "Got any work?"</p>
<p>He came into sharper focus as her eyes widened. New wrinkles on the forehead and around his mouth. Thinner cheeks. Bags under his eyes. Tendons standing out more prominently on his neck. The strain of keeping himself upright, visible in a slight tremble of his arms. He was wearing a flat black t-shirt and blue jeans, and where she was used to seeing a beret, there was the remains of a receding brush cut. He looked old. Very old.</p>
<p>"Uh," she said.</p>
<p>He bit his lip, then stopped biting his lip. A look of anger washed over him. "Look," he said. "I'm not asking for my job back. I'm asking for something to do. Florida…" He gritted his teeth. "I can't do Florida, Delfina. I can't."</p>
<p>He'd never called her by her first name before. Probably he'd never called any of them by their first names before. Except for Forsythe. She frowned. "I mean, we can usually find desk work for retired folk. McTeer—"</p>
<p>He waved this suggestion off with his free hand. "I'm not a paper jockey, woman. I'm a soldier. Give me someone to shoot at. Preferably someone who shoots back…" He blinked, and ended the sentence there.</p>
<p>She stared at him.</p>
<p>Unexpectedly, he turned on his heel and headed for the exit. The limp was pretty bad.</p>
<p>"I'll see if we have anything," she said to his broad back.</p>
<p>His shoulders rounded further as he reached the double doors.</p>
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<h2 id="toc15"><span>8 June</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>This time the desert rose up at the horizon, into spires and domes which glittered in the sun. Udo was looking upon her home, she knew, though she'd never looked upon it before.</p>
<p>A cloud was rising behind it — no, the cloud was <em>settling.</em> Settling onto the sands. As she watched, one of the towers crumbled to dust.</p>
<p>She raised her hand, and set it right again.</p>
<p>"I should have known better," a voice behind her sighed, and she woke up surrounded by red sand in the dark.</p>
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<h2 id="toc16"><span>10 June</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Du examined the object through the glass. "Hmm."</p>
<p>"What do you think it is?" the agent, Yancy, asked.</p>
<p>"I think… yes." Du turned to him. "I think it's too small and too far away. Why did we put it in a chamber? Is it supposed to be dangerous? I can't make heads or tails at this distance."</p>
<p>Yancy frowned. "Did they not inform you, sir? Someone should have…" The big man sighed. "We didn't put it in there. It <em>appeared</em> in there."</p>
<p>Du blinked. "On its own?"</p>
<p>"Yes, sir. That's why—"</p>
<p>"—why you called Quantum Supermechanics. Right. Of course."</p>
<p>Du looked through the glass again. The object was a small statuette, red with black markings. It looked like a carving of a cat, or maybe a bear. It was hard to tell at this distance, and anyway it seemed very stylized. Like a tchotchke one might find at a world marketplace in a state fair.</p>
<p>"Hexmat suit it is, then."</p>
<p>There was a note attached to the statuette, made from chopped-up newspaper and magazine clippings.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>YOU take IT.</p>
<p>Too dangerOUS. GOT into a fight and SENT my boyfriend to the CHALLENGER DEEP.<br/>
Didn't like WHAT I got back.</p>
<p>Good luck.</p>
</div>
<p>So that was concerning.</p>
<p>"Object is carved stone, or heavy wood." Du turned it over in his hexmat glove. "No maker's mark or other obvious signs of manufacture or origin. Attached note features a stylized image of what might be a rose, with a cross or plus sign at the centre. Note suggests…" What <em>did</em> the note suggest? "Note suggests object is dangerous — states it outright, in point of fact — and <em>appears</em> to suggest one of two things, depending on interpretation. Interpretation one: object's former owner translocated their boyfriend to the bottom of the Marianas Trench, and object appeared in his place. Interpretation two…"</p>
<p>Interpretation two was much more fun.</p>
<p>Interpretation two turned out to be correct.</p>
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<h2 id="toc17"><span>20 July</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Ibanez had kept an eye open to implication and unlikely connection over the course of her investigation, and it bore unexpected fruit one evening as she pored over a pile of seemingly unrelated documents.</p>
<p>"Fuck," she said.</p>
<p>She was sitting at Nascimbeni's desk, in his quarters. She liked the claustrophobia of that unlivable space, a storeroom for ancient machinery with absolutely zero room to pace, because it forced her to concentrate on her work rather than flexing her muscles.</p>
<p>It did come with its complications, though.</p>
<p>"What fuck?" Nascimbeni was soldering something on his coffee table. The overhead fan was whirring double time to remove the carcinogens from the air — he was using lead flux, because he was repairing the control circuitry for an alchemical detoxifier, and had convinced himself that these insufficient safety measures were probably good enough, it'd be fine, and how many brain cells did he need at his age <em>really</em> — and she barely heard him over the white noise. It had been another thing recommending this workspace to her tonight.</p>
<p>She glanced over her shoulder, sighed, then stood up and turned her chair to face him. "Remember <em>Moonlight Maria?</em>"</p>
<p>He nodded glumly, and put his soldering iron down. <em>Moonlight Maria</em> had been an Acroamatic Abatement Group project at Area-21 involving a B-52 Stratofortress and some manner of complex toxicological system. It had blown up in 2002, a few months before the Breach, killing everyone on the project except technician-on-temporary-loan Philip Deering.</p>
<p>"Well, I know what it was for now."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni grimaced. "I already know everything I want to know about that. It was the AAG, and it was a bomber. They were building some sort of chemical weapon."</p>
<p>"Yeah." She looked back at the sheets, covered in a series of red lines and circles. "You don't want to know what they were bombing?"</p>
<p>He shrugged. "It's got to be the Chaos Insurgency, right? That's why it showed up in your files. That's what you're already looking at."</p>
<p>She bobbed her head from left to right in the universal gesture for <em>well, kind of.</em> "Depends on your perspective. The official pitch was definitely that it'd be used against the Insurgency. But the thing about them is… well, I've told you my new war stories." She grinned at the memory, then instantly fell sober again. "They go underground. They don't generally congregate where bombs will reach. You know?"</p>
<p>He sighed, and picked up the soldering iron again. "Just tell me, then. Who were they planning to gas?"</p>
<p>"If I'm right? Well. You ever hear how the Insurgency throws their weight around with local governments in unstable regions? Basically doing what we do with legitimate governments, only the shifty bad guy version?"</p>
<p>"Sure…" He stooped over his work again, then froze. He looked up under the rim of his hat at her. "Oh." He wrinkled his nose, and it had nothing to do with the fumes. "They were going to bomb…"</p>
<p>"Civilian support networks, governments and militaries associated with the Chaos Insurgency. Yeah."</p>
<p>He ran his gloved finger along the edge of his flux spool, pulling out a new length to tin his solder head. "Amnestics?"</p>
<p>"Best case scenario."</p>
<p>He shook his head. "Almost glad it blew up, then." He winced at his own words. He'd known quite a few of the technicians who'd died.</p>
<p>"Think we ought to tell Phil?" she asked.</p>
<p>He didn't even look up this time. "Why? You think he needs something new to feel guilty about?"</p>
<p>"Change can be refreshing," she half-smiled. "It's not like he can go on a real vacation."</p>
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<h2 id="toc18"><span>10 August</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Du didn't like D-class personnel.</p>
<p>Nobody he knew at Site-43 did. Elsewhere at the Foundation, it was common for kidnapped cons and death row inmates to be pressed into service as scientific guinea pigs, with the tenuous rationale that this inhumane treatment was still, statistically, better than death or life in prison. Supposedly, those who survived long enough or whose worth was worn through were amnesticized, given new identities, and returned to society rehabilitated, after a fashion. Most people chose not to examine that premise too closely.</p>
<p>But by standing order of Vivian Scout, which McInnis had annually argued back into force with the O5 Council, Site-43 hosted no permanent D-class population. It was argued, quite effectively, that having flunkies on which to test every odd thing made researchers act with complacency, if not outright cruelty. It was better to find a more creative way to figure things out. Site-43 had been founded on that principle.</p>
<p>Sometimes, however, exceptions had to be made. The obscenely-acronymed Human and Animal Resources Management Authority (HARMA) would be contacted, and they would ship over a single member of D-class personnel where no other logical means of experimenting on an object could be found. McInnis only ever allowed it, to Trevor Bremmel's frequent dissatisfaction, when there was no immediately apparent and obvious danger to the tests. The prisoners could not be fed into an active paper shredder. If they, for example, picked up a small statuette and it shredded them like paper, well, that was something else entirely.</p>
<p>Du still didn't like it. And by the way his peers looked at him as he began his battery of tests, they were on the same page with him.</p>
<p>D-45613 was a hard-faced woman with a quick smile and a history of violent racketeering. She was giddy, as she probably should have been; getting sent to 43 was like winning the lottery for a D-class. She waved at him as he entered the observation room. The one-way screen on the glass had been lowered. He waved back, and picked up the microphone. "You've been administered the mnestics and fortificants, D…" He glanced down at the sheet for her number, saw her name first, and decided he really did not feel like playing ball today. Saying a four-digit number to a humanoid SCP was already stupid. Five digits for a D-class was beyond the pale. "Miss Hartman?"</p>
<p>Hartman blinked rapidly, obviously surprised to hear her real name spoken aloud. She could easily have forgotten it; her transfer papers said her last home had been Site-17. She nodded. "Yes, sir."</p>
<p>Du had chosen the cocktail in consultation with Forsythe. The woman's mind was now very clear. Catastrophically clear. If she wasn't given something to think about, she'd probably hyperfocus on her own situation, and that was no good. So, Du said: "Listen very carefully. I want you to do the following, in order, and nothing else. Don't do any of it until the instructions have been fully spoken. Understood?"</p>
<p>She nodded.</p>
<p>"I want you to pick up that statuette on the table, and then think about the table. Whatever happens next, put down whatever you're holding. I know that doesn't make a lot of sense, but can you repeat it back to me?"</p>
<p>The mnestics did their thing. "Pick up the statuette, think about the table. Whatever happens next, put down whatever I'm holding. You're right that it doesn't make sense." She smirked. "But can I do it now?"</p>
<p>"Please do."</p>
<p>She picked up the statuette, and in the blink of an eye, it appeared back on the table. She yelped.</p>
<p>"You may skip the final step," Du breathed. "Obviously."</p>
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<h2 id="toc19"><span>12 August</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Udo had to rely on a friend to manage the ambush, but that was no great hardship. All seven of them had become reliant on each other to a certain extent over the past few — was it still few? it didn't feel that way — years. Del was the only person other than the Director who knew when his guests were arriving and leaving, and Udo knew that these particular guests prided themselves on their timeliness, so she set her watch, and when it beeped, she walked to meet her destiny.</p>
<p>In the sense that she was about to bump into a time traveller.</p>
<p>Thaddeus Xyank could be rude at times, but he drew the line at disappearing in front of people, so he and Alice Forth walked out of the Director's office together. No doubt he was headed for the men's room, from which he would never emerge. Udo slipped through the double doors to A&O while he was still saying goodbye to Forth, and she bounced up and waved effusively. "Hi! Got a minute?"</p>
<p>Forth looked pained. Xyank, who responded, looked simply annoyed. "Always and never," he answered cryptically. "What can I help you with, Dr. Okorie?"</p>
<p>"You can tell me why I get amnesticized every year."</p>
<p>The two temporal Directors glanced at each other. This time Forth spoke first. "What makes you think we know?"</p>
<p>"Because it's related to my conprocs," she said, "and because the first time I ever heard of the Temporal Anomalies Department, it was in relation to Dougall Deering, who is <em>also</em> related to my conprocs." She'd taken a deep breath before beginning, so that she wouldn't be interrupted until she was finished. By the look on Xyank's face, this had been a good call. "I know I'm a pretty stable individual, so I don't buy the trauma explanation. Whatever it is, I can take it. So you've decided not to <em>let</em> me. And it has to be you guys, because nobody else has an interest in 5243."</p>
<p>"Thad." Forth looked up at the moustachio'd anachronism. "This one's all on you. I've got nothing." She nodded at Udo. "Good to see you again, doctor."</p>
<p>Udo nodded as the other woman left.</p>
<p>Xyank sighed. "If I know something, and you don't know it, that is obviously the intended state of affairs. I'm not in the habit of explaining temporal mechanics to <em>cogs.</em>"</p>
<p>She laughed. It was easy to laugh at him. One needed only to look. "You think I'll give this up because you're being insulting? Sir, I've travelled through time and space with some of the most insulting people in the world. A few of them are my best friends."</p>
<p>He looked from side to side, as though searching for a niche into which he might vanish. "Don't talk to me about travelling through time and space, please. It's so embarrassing when people do that. <em>I</em> don't even do that anymore." When he saw that she was in no sense mollified, he rolled his eyes. "Listen. I don't answer to anyone at this facility, and that's a good thing. I have to be objective. There's a lot more at stake than just your peace of mind. There's more at stake than the existence of this subset of reality. Do you understand? I'm not going to become an open book just because you're feelings are hurt. If I was that kind of person, the universe would unravel. I do what I have to do. That's all I have to say."</p>
<p>She jerked her head to one side, quickly, in acknowledgement. If it looked like she was telling him he could get lost, well, that was fine. "Okay. I had to try."</p>
<p>"Sure." Xyank nodded. "I suppose." He walked past her. "Whatever that means."</p>
<p>She watched him exit the foyer, heading for the <em>cul-de-sac</em> to what was colloquially known as Falkirk's Washroom.</p>
<p><em>It means I had to give you a chance, before I do what <span style="text-decoration: underline;">I</span> have to do.</em></p>
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<h2 id="toc20"><span>14 August</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>It had been months since Anoki had called Ngo into his office. Other than their regular appointments, they hardly saw each other at all, and they weren't due for a debriefing until September.</p>
<p>Like most people at Site-43, though for her own reasons, September was becoming her least favourite month.</p>
<p>Anoki was typing something into his terminal, but he glanced up and nodded when he heard her come in. She sat down, and waited. He didn't keep her waiting long, and didn't take long to cut to the chase, either.</p>
<p>"The O5s want a renewed psych assessment," he said.</p>
<p>"For?"</p>
<p>He gave her a cockeyed look. "Who else? The Sampis. All seven of them."</p>
<p>She nodded. "So, you're asking me to interview them all again, and determine whether they're more of a threat to the Foundation than they were last time, when I told you they weren't at all."</p>
<p>"That's right."</p>
<p>He turned back to his monitor and resumed his typing as she considered what response to give.</p>
<p>She gave the response she'd been saving up, without realizing it, for September. "No."</p>
<p>He didn't look at her, just kept on typing. She let the word hang in the air until he was done, and when he turned to face her again, there was a smile teasing at his lips. "No?"</p>
<p>"No." She sat up straight in her chair. "This kind of thing encourages an atmosphere of mistrust and backbiting. It's unbecoming of us. Our job is to maintain the morale of this facility, and we have responsibilities to our patients. I complied with your instructions at first, because you're my boss, and you have your bosses, and maybe I thought it might be useful to see where their heads are at. But I'm not going to push this thing any farther, sir." She smoothly transitioned into a speech she'd rehearsed in bed from night to night, imagined delivering in almost precisely this manner, to this man, in this room. "These dedicated professionals have faced a series of extremely difficult situations with uncommon tenacity, creativity and ingenuity. They are irreverent, crass, sometimes self-important, very frequently unorthodox, but they are the best of the best we have, and we need to trust them. If they weren't worthy of that trust, the world would already have ended three times. They've been solely responsible for keeping baseline temporality intact, for all the bluster we get from DTA and TAD. There does not exist a single mote of responsibility in existence we could add to the burden they're carrying day by day." She crossed her knees, and folded her hands on top. "I think they comport themselves quite well, all things considered."</p>
<p>Anoki held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Duly noted."</p>
<p>"And I'm not going to schedule any more dates for Philip Deering," she added, suddenly flushing. "That's done. That's <em>over.</em>"</p>
<p>He smiled. He actually smiled. "Sounds fine. You can explain that to Dr. Elstrom at the next Chairs and Chiefs. I'm sure she'll be thrilled."</p>
<p>"You've never brought me in on one before. I understand they don't allow observers very often." Ngo smiled back at him, wanly. "And I hear they make guests stand."</p>
<p>"You won't be an observer, or a guest." Anoki turned the monitor so she could see what he'd been typing. It looked like a letter. She leaned in closer.</p>
<p>He could undoubtedly see his words of resignation reflected in her glasses, perhaps even her wide-open eyes as he told her: "You'll have a chair."</p>
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<h2 id="toc21"><span>28 August</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Michelle Hartman was having the time of her life.</p>
<p>D-45613 had been the only test subject used in the SCP-5416 experiments which had taken place over the preceding two months. She'd helped Quantum Supermechanics to figure out precisely how the strange little statuette worked; even though the process was now extremely clear, the parameters known in full, nobody else had yet utilized the device — which they were colloquially calling 'the Lever', for its ability to move any object — except her. Today was her final physical with Dr. Forsythe, and at the end of that, if she still showed no signs of ill effect from repeatedly translocating matter with her mind, she would be discharged back to HARMA with a glowing recommendation for release to the MTF training program.</p>
<p>Du watched her leave the chamber with a sense of awkward satisfaction. Satisfaction because, as relationships between warden and prisoner went, it had been a productive and respectful one. Awkward because he hadn't signed up to be a warden, and she was a prisoner of no recognized governmental authority. It still felt wrong, no matter how right he'd tried to do by her.</p>
<p>But he couldn't focus on that anymore. His focus was, in fact, in need of crystal clarity.</p>
<p>SCP-5416 was, as the note had suggested, an extraordinarily dangerous object. If you picked it up, the first thing you thought about became the object to be moved, and the next thing you thought about became its destination. Hartman had been thinking about the statue when she picked it up, so it was immediately teleported to the table. They put it in a box from that point onward, so it wouldn't be on her mind until she picked it up again. In the second test she focused on the table, and moved it across the room. In the fifth test she transported a dime from the table into her pocket. The fourteenth test had solved a longstanding mystery in the field of confectionery. After eighteen tests, they knew enough to write up a comprehensive manual for the object's use.</p>
<p>They were coming up on Test 28.</p>
<p>And they still had zero clue where it had come from.</p>
<p>That bothered Du more than Hartman's fate.</p>
<p>A fact which bothered him most of all.</p>
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<h2 id="toc22"><span>30 August</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Imrich did most of the talking.</p>
<p>He let Wettle present the boring parts, the repetitious tests that had confirmed or falsified each result, and made sure he was the one to present the actual findings. The big man liked it better that way. As far as he was concerned, this was his project, so the things he'd contributed had to be the most important ones.</p>
<p>When they were done, Wettle was beaming. Imrich had to admit it was a little, just a little, endearing.</p>
<p>Considering the import of what they'd just described.</p>
<p>McInnis leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers over his chest, and turned one quarter-rotation to glance up at the framed painting on his back wall. "That is… very interesting," he said.</p>
<p>"I thought so, too," Imrich agreed.</p>
<p>Wettle continued to smile, blandly.</p>
<p>"I take it you haven't shared this with anyone else."</p>
<p>It barely merited a response; McInnis was merely stating fact. He knew Imrich's confidentiality was beyond reproach, and the only people Wettle talked to would be the ones McInnis would share this information with anyway. Eventually. Probably not right away; Director types liked to mull things like this over before deciding who else needed to know.</p>
<p>When it became apparent that an answer was expected anyway, Imrich said "No, sir. Of course not."</p>
<p>In a bad spy film, McInnis would have pressed a button and the floor would have dropped out under their feet. Instead, he nodded without looking in their direction. "Very good. If you were to write out an abstract for this paper, gentlemen — not that you'll ever be publishing it, you understand—"</p>
<p>"You're not going to kill us, are you?" Wettle's smile was suddenly gone.</p>
<p>McInnis looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and came the closest Imrich had ever seen him come to smirking. "No, William, of course not. But please don't interrupt. If you had to write an abstract for this paper, how would you formulate it?"</p>
<p>Imrich's mind started wheeling away. Wettle looked up at the ceiling, and bit his tongue.</p>
<p>Imrich went first. "A series of replication studies conducted over a period of many months confirms that the scientific laws governing baseline reality and baseline temporality no longer function as expected in one hundred percent of all cases, with increasing deviance over time likely pointing to a large-scale cessation of functionality as early as ten years hence."</p>
<p>Wettle glared at him. "Too wordy. You need something more eye catching. I would have just said: 'physics is broken, the world's about to end'."</p>
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<h2 id="toc23"><span>31 August</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Du couldn't shake the feeling that this was a bad idea.</p>
<p>But the decision had been made, and above his pay grade, so as he always did when confronted with a thing that should not be done, but had to be, he did it as best he could.</p>
<p>That meant giving the honours to Dr. Bell, a whip-smart young woman who through no fault of her own had been saddled with the lowest Cognitive Resistance Value in the entire Quantum Supermechanics Section. That meant her mind could be easily molded by the mental fortificants, particularly the mnestics and focus drugs, required for any use of SCP-5416, which meant that when she performed her little trick, it would be with the utmost precision. Du had a fairly high CRV, and it took a higher dosage to overcome his mental defences, which left him feeling a little lightheaded. That wouldn't do today.</p>
<p>Because today, they were going to teleport a tall ship from a distant cove into the single largest containment chamber ever erected at Site-43.</p>
<p>Well, erected. It had actually been poured.</p>
<div class="muddle">
<p>SCP-5162, an enormous Jacobean vessel named <em>The Weight</em> by its unknown builders, is one of the few serious cognitohazardous anomalies both known to the Foundation and remaining in the wild. It sits in an inlet off Lake Huron's Georgian Bay called Forrestall's Lagoon, for unclear reasons — meaning why it's there, and who named the lagoon, and how anyone knows what the lagoon's name is, are all things we don't presently know. What is known is that individuals encountering <em>The Weight</em> will subsequently regard their memories of doing so as false, then suffer from anxious dreams regarding the vessel or tangential topics for what may well be the remainder of their lives.</p>
<p>In late August of 2016, it was decided that this risk to the Veil of Normalcy could no longer be borne. The Department of Containment ordered the use of SCP-5416, "The Lever," to teleport it from the lagoon into a truly vast concrete cube poured into a framework erected in a cave bubble just off the west end of the first sublevel Security and Containment block. Once the poured concrete hardened, water was poured in next via the Lake Huron floodgates and internal water management systems, until a reasonable approximation of the ship's no-longer-to-be-final resting place had been achieved.</p>
<p>All that remained was to perform the simple act of translocation.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>"Are you ready, Dr. Bell?"</p>
<p>The young woman smiled nervously, but responded right away. "Sir, I think so. The drugs are definitely working."</p>
<p>Du nodded. The deliberate phrasing and lack of hesitation were indicative that the cocktail had taken hold. "And you're fully aware of the process?"</p>
<p>She nodded back at him. "Sir, yes sir." And she tapped her temple, smiling with considerably more courage.</p>
<p>"Good." He tapped his code into the containment chamber where the Lever was being stored, in its little wooden box. "Let's make history."</p>
<p>She laughed. "Don't let Dr. Blank hear you calling this that. He'd have a fit."</p>
<p>Harry was in the topside elevator when it happened.</p>
<p>There was a sudden screech, so loud that his ears popped, and the elevator car jerked suddenly to one side, then snapped back again. There was a strange whining from the cable overhead, and as he realized he'd fallen to his knees, and that they now ached very badly, he lunged forward and mashed the emergency stop button. The elevator clawed at its shaft, and settled to a very permanent stop.</p>
<p>He pressed the button to open the doors. They wouldn't open if there was fire on the other side; since 2012, they also wouldn't open on void, not without a high-clearance override. Luckily, there was neither.</p>
<p>What there was, was chaos.</p>
<p>Tiles falling off the walls. Walls falling down. Ceilings, tiles and all, falling down. There was a crack in the floor in front of him. One of the containment cell doors was off its hinges, and he wondered if it had been one of the occupied ones. People were shouting everywhere. Belatedly, the breach lighting and klaxon snapped on; as it did, half of the fluorescents in the hall exploded.</p>
<p>"What the <em>fuck?!</em>" Harry shouted. This immediately produced a pair of armed guards, who rushed to the elevator car and ushered him around the nearest corner.</p>
<p>One of them, a woman, slapped a device on the wall as they turned into a seating niche. She cocked her head, apparently listening for something, and then nodded. "Structural members are sound over here. Stress didn't get them."</p>
<p>"What stress?" Harry snapped.</p>
<p>"We had a quake," the other agent, a man, responded. Harry was having trouble making out details in the ruddy gloom, what with all the dust catching what little light there was. "Localized up here, looks like."</p>
<p>"It wasn't a <em>fucking</em> quake."</p>
<p>Harry recognized Xinyi Du's voice a second before Xinyi Du himself staggered out of the latest burst of particulates, flanked by another pair of guards. He was coughing, and swearing under each cough.</p>
<p>"What was it, then?" Harry asked, as the female agent turned the corner again and said something into her radio. "Did someone attack us?"</p>
<p>"Something like that." Du slumped against the wall.</p>
<p>Harry put a hand on his shoulder. "What, then? What's happening to S&C?"</p>
<p>"It's settling."</p>
<p>Harry realized the disaster protocols hadn't instilled much terror in him. He might have stopped to muse on what that meant, but because he only noticed when Du's words filled his chest cavity with dread and butterflies, he had other things to focus on. "Settling? Settling from what?"</p>
<p>"By my calculations?" Du pulled his tablet out of his labcoat pocket. Its screen was filmed with dust. "From the entire sublevel moving about one metre to the south-southwest."</p>
<p>Du had been at a loss to explain how his researcher could have made a mistake with the Lever under the influence of so many drugs tailor-made to prevent it from happening. She'd told him, in tears, that she must have lost concentration for a second, and accidentally focused on the first sublevel and its new containment chamber — which was now broken in half, and leaking water into the second sublevel — and then focused on it again in panic, resulting in a mild translocation of the entire floor which it had never been built to sustain.</p>
<p>It didn't take long for the Survivors to take stock, and realize the full extent of what had occurred, and what it would mean.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni found that the entire southern and western elevations had been partially fused with the bedrock, which was going to take an age to fix. In addition to the cardinal shift, S&C had also been dropped down about seven centimetres, playing serious havoc with the systems beneath the floors and above the walls. The damage was extreme; not as difficult to understand as the Breach in AAF-D had been, but no less catastrophic and no less problematic to repair.</p>
<p>Ibanez flew Blank out to the lagoon, which had the nasty tendency to force you to leave and stop thinking about it when you got too close — hence the need to remove the <em>Weight</em> by nonstandard means. They were able to confirm that it was still there, with some effort. It took them an hour to figure out where they were, and fly back.</p>
<p>By that time, Lillian had attempted, and failed, to interview the errant Dr. Bell. She had apparently disappeared in the chaos; none of the guards could remember retrieving her from S&C.</p>
<p>None of the guards could remember her at all.</p>
<p>Nobody could.</p>
<p>She wasn't in the database. There was no Dr. Bell employed at Site-43. Nobody even knew what her first name was.</p>
<p>"But I can fucking guess," Lillian snarled as she flopped down into the recliner she'd claimed. "It's either Alis or Imogen. Ring a <em>bell?</em>"</p>
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<h2 id="toc24"><span>1 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>McInnis placed an immediate hold on SCP-5416. No personnel were to be permitted to access the Lever until further notice.</p>
<p>Lillian worked with Forsythe to develop a mnestic/fortificant cocktail that could overcome even her superlative defences, because nothing but her steel trap mind could be trusted with restoring the first sublevel to its proper position.</p>
<p>There was no question that it had to be.</p>
<div class="muddle">
<p>The fact that only AAF-D reverts itself each September does not change the fact that the two other Sections involved host events key to the proper progression of SCP-5243. Serious change to either the first or second sublevels in the vicinity of the Breach's effects has therefore been prohibited by Directorial fiat, as it is not known what might happen should either be out of position by even a micron when what's meant to happen, happens.</p>
<p>And nobody wants to find out.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Which made it something of a problem when Du came to Lillian, ashen-faced, and told her that the Lever was no more.</p>
<p>"No more what?" she'd snapped, head still full of peptide formulas.</p>
<p>"No more anything." He looked like was about to scream, or maybe like he already had been screaming. "It's in the sun."</p>
<p>Lillian mouthed his words back at her, then shook her head. "<em>No comprende.</em> In the sun? What does that mean?"</p>
<p>"It means," Du stopped to steady himself on a doorframe, and she realized he was trembling with rage, "that the Lever, is <em>in,</em> the <em><span style="text-decoration: underline;">sun</span>.</em>"</p>
<table>
<tr>
<th style="border: 1px solid black; background-color: #F5D8E0; padding: 12px;"><strong>Incident Report SC-I-3557</strong></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border: 1px solid black; background-color: #FFFFFF; padding-right: 12px; padding-left: 12px;"><strong>Date:</strong> 09/01/2016<br/>
<strong>Officer of Record:</strong> R. Pensak (Chief of Security and Containment)<br/>
<strong>Consulting:</strong> Dr. X. Du (Chair of Quantum Supermechanics)</td>
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<p><strong>Summary:</strong> At 14:32 hours, an individual claiming to be Agent Paskal Pandev of MTF Gamma-5 ("Red Herrings") was discovered in the containment chamber to which SCP-5416 was assigned. Under interrogation by Dr. Du, this individual claimed to have overriden the security lock placed on that object following Incident Report SC-I-3512 (ongoing), in order to perform activities relating to a classified Overwatch Command-sanctioned operation. Under extreme pressure from Dr. Du, Agent Pandev explained that he had attempted to utilize SCP-5416 to remove a distant asteroid expected to impact the Earth in approximately one year. Familiarized with the target, and already familiar with the Earth's sun in his capacity as a Foundation-employed astrophysicist, Agent Pandev attempted to remove the asteroid from its current course and place it within the heliosphere. Due to what he is now calling "serious deficiencies in the object's documentation by Site-43 personnel," its properties were not properly understood, and the object itself was sent into the sun in place of the asteroid. Recovery seems unlikely at this time.</p>
<p>Agent Pandev was detained for one day at Site-43 under the authority of Chief of Security and Containment Roger Pensak, who along with Dr. Xinyi Du of Quantum Supermechanics, has been named in a complaint to Overwatch by that agent.</p>
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<p>Du escaped serious consequences via a combination of seniority, very good explanations, and — as his staff would have it in years to come — an untouchable frothing fury that made even the Overwatch auditors hesitant to come down on him too hard.</p>
<p>Pensak got a black mark on his record, having failed to so much as notice the interloper, official business or not.</p>
<p>The auditors somehow never got around to removing the note on his file after Agent Pandev disappeared without a trace a day later, having apparently never been attested in any Foundation database. Foundation Mission Control at Area-06 denied any knowledge of an astrophysicist by that name, and furthermore denied the existence of the putative asteroid.</p>
<p>"So basically," Ibanez concluded, "We're fucked."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc25"><span>8 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>According to Wettle, who was very pleased and took immediate credit, they'd never conducted their containment duties with such scrupulous precision and accuracy before.</p>
<p>Which would have been great, if it had mattered.</p>
<p>Everyone was in such a poor mood that it took them a while to realize there were only five of them in Udo's dorm. That McInnis was absent was no great surprise; he was the Director, so it was his job to clue in Temporal Anomalies <em>un</em> and <em>deux</em> that they'd fucked the timelines again.</p>
<p>That Udo wasn't present in her own room, well, that was something else.</p>
<p>"Probably remembered something she had to do," Lillian yawned. "Wake me up when it's hellworld, okay?"</p>
<p>Ibanez had laughed when her pager went off. "Confidential duty," she'd read. "How the fuck is there confidential duty <em>now?</em> The whole fucking world is about to change. What a joke."</p>
<p>Then she'd reported to S&C, and they'd directed her the secure chamber set up in Applied Occultism for what was probably the most secret act of containment performed at Site-43, and it didn't seem so funny anymore.</p>
<p>Du met her at the door. He looked tired. He'd looked tired all month. He waved, weakly.</p>
<p>She pointed at the door. "He still alive in there?"</p>
<p>The little man nodded, and looked slightly down at her. "I think we're going to get an explanation, finally."</p>
<p>Ibanez raised her eyebrows. "Of what?"</p>
<p>"Of everything."</p>
<p>"Wow, everything. I never knew Deering was that smart." She turned and put her boot up on the tile walls, and waited.</p>
<p>Du wasn't done. "McInnis says we might as well interrogate him, since there's nothing we can do to hurt the timeline right now."</p>
<p>"Uh huh."</p>
<p>"Apparently Xyank and Forth disagree."</p>
<p>She glanced at him. "Allan's going against advice? Why?"</p>
<p>"Why what?" a woman's voice asked, and Ibanez looked to the right to see Udo Okorie approaching, her mouth a thin line.</p>
<p>Ibanez kicked back off the wall, and stood there with her hands at her sides. She had the strangest instinct to draw her weapon. Maybe it was the look on Udo's face. "Uh…"</p>
<p>"I said, why what?" Udo stopped in front of her, arms crossed.</p>
<p>"Why, uh, is Allan going against Forth and Xyank's advice…?" Ibanez glanced at the secured chamber, knowing what was inside of it, wondering whose job it was to panic right now.</p>
<p>"Because he trusts mine more than theirs," Udo responded. "That probably would have sounded a lot cooler if I'd heard what you said the first time, instead of having to ask you to repeat it."</p>
<p>Udo had been brief and to the point, when she'd walked into McInnis' office without being announced. Her amnesticization hadn't taken, and she knew Dougall Deering was alive, and she didn't care — except so far as their investigation into the <em>giftschreiber,</em> <em>geistschreiber,</em> and the Breach in general was concerned. "What's there left to be precious about?" she'd demanded. "All of this is going to get fucked in less than a day. Why not see what he knows before you off him?"</p>
<p>McInnis had been startled by the ferocity, but saw no fault with the logic. Neither Forth nor Xyank would make the trip to Site-43 after the Breach had been unsuccessfully contained, due to the need to avoid temporal cross-contamination, so they had a free hand until the clock struck 6:26 the next day.</p>
<p>He'd still intended to deny the request until she told him, in no uncertain terms, that if he did so, she'd walk into Applied Occultism, sandblast the doors off, and interrogate Dougall herself.</p>
<p>He'd picked up the phone. "That simplifies matters considerably. Chief Pensak? Please page Chief Ibanez."</p>
<p>Udo had, obviously, elected to go with the consequences.</p>
<p>"A man spoke in my head," Dougall Deering's voice said on the recording, "in the voice of my internal monologue, and told me he was me from the future. From a soon-to-be-dead timeline, just like the one we're in right now."</p>
<p>"Who told him <em>that?</em>" Lillian groused. Ibanez shushed her.</p>
<p>The recording continued. "He said that in 2002 something horrible was going to happen to my brother, and that in 2022 it was going to flat-out kill him — and that last part was going to be my fault, for trying to make things better." Ibanez fast-forwarded. "He told me I could prevent it all. He told me there was going to be a massive containment breach, that it was going to kill seven people, that it was going to create all sorts of persistent and problematic anomalies. That my brother was going to get saddled with one of them for the rest of his life—"</p>
<p>Ibanez's voice interrupted him. "Phil Deering? All he got was a mirror monster that calls him names."</p>
<p>Dougall sounded confused. "That's… okay, well, the voice said it was much worse than that. And he said that eventually I'd try to fix it, and that would get him killed. But if I stopped the triggering event, none of it would happen. Nobody would… Philip wouldn't die. What was I supposed to do?"</p>
<p>Ibanez mouthed the response she'd given as the speaker played it out loud. "Report it to me." <em>You fucking idiot.</em></p>
<p>"He told me not to! He said the only way to keep the timeline damage to a minimum was for me to dump the effluence out of AAF-D, stop it from blowing, stop the whole disaster from occurring. And that's what I was trying to do…"</p>
<p>"Except you died."</p>
<p>"Well, I don't remember that part."</p>
<p>Harry started laughing hysterically, and Ibanez had to pause until he'd finished. Nascimbeni had a hang-dog look on his face, though it didn't hang nearly as low as when he'd been responsible for the failed deadline aversion; Lillian could have been asleep; McInnis was unreadable as always; Udo simply looked sad.</p>
<p>"Gets weird here," said Ibanez when she finally had control of the room.</p>
<p>"Sorry," said Harry. He looked stricken. As the recording continued, his mouth kept twisting into a manic grin that he had to force back down.</p>
<p>Du's voice was next. "What if there's an alternate timeline that isn't unstable? A persistent one? With another Dr. Deering, who's free to call his earlier self every year, over and over, and… kill him. Look at or listen to a cognitohazard, and kill them both using the link between them?"</p>
<p>"Why would he do that?" Del's voice asked him.</p>
<p>"To stop our Dr. Deering from stopping the breach, I would imagine. Maybe it caused more problems than it solved."</p>
<p>"And why would that have ceased to happen in 2013?"</p>
<p>Deering piped back up. Ibanez saw Udo's eyes narrow, and wondered if she was holding back tears or contempt. Maybe there was room for both. "Well, assuming he called me every year… maybe something happened to him, or the device that let him make the call?"</p>
<p>There was a natural pause on the recording as Ibanez, Du and Deering considered the ramifications, so when Lillian's hand suddenly shot up like she was the star pupil in class, Ibanez could pause again without missing anything important. "Yes, Dr. Lillihammer?"</p>
<p>Lillian didn't open her eyes when she started to talk. "What is this bullshit about a device? A device that lets you call yourself? In the past? In the future? What is <em>that.</em>"</p>
<p>McInnis had stayed silent for most of the meeting. It was clear to all of them that he had gone more than a little out of the bounds of his authority today. "That," he said, "is likely why the Temporal Anomalies Department interfered with your attempt to discover Dr. Deering's cause of death."</p>
<p>"Meaning they knew," she said. Her eyes flashed.</p>
<p>He nodded. "I suspect this is a case under review. A device of the sort Lillian just described…"</p>
<p>"…is basically the biggest threat to temporal stability ever conceived, besides William Wallace Wettle," said Lillian.</p>
<p>Wettle did not respond. He was napping in the next room.</p>
<p>"Just a little bit more that matters," said Ibanez, and she pressed the play button again.</p>
<p>Her voice was the first to break the silence. "But if this alternate-you killed you-you — we need better terminology for this —" Harry smirked, and so did Lillian, "then 5243 didn't kill you-you. So why is it bringing you back every year?"</p>
<p>An exchange of glances in the room. The question on everyone's mind for over a decade, Udo and Ibanez most of all.</p>
<p>"Maybe it isn't," said Du. "Maybe Dr. Deering isn't entangled with 5243, but with whatever is going on in the alternate timeline."</p>
<p>Ibanez turned off the recorder.</p>
<p>"This is way outside my experience," said Nascimbeni. "But did I just hear him suggest that there's… another Breach, in another timeline, that's… interacting with ours?"</p>
<p>"That's what I got," said Harry.</p>
<p>"That's what he said," Lillian sighed. "I thought he was pretty plain with it."</p>
<p>They settled into a contemplative hush to match the one on the tape.</p>
<p>This time, nobody broke it.</p>
<p>Udo stepped out to get some food from the cafeteria, and to her surprise, Harry offered to come with. There was obviously something on his mind, and he waited until they were on their way back with a pair of trays heaped full of hot food to spring it on her.</p>
<p>"Tell me to fuck off if this is inappropriate," he said, "but…"</p>
<p>She waited.</p>
<p>She got tired of waiting. "Fuck off," she said. "It is inappropriate to leave me in suspense."</p>
<p>He held a hand over the food, to shield it from his exhalations, and laughed nervously. His OCD was obviously getting worse. And given what they had to deal with every year, why not? "Okay. I just… I thought someone ought to ask you, because you might…" He shook his head. "Did you talk to him, after? Dougall? Did you talk to him?"</p>
<p>She smiled. If she'd had a free hand, she might have patted him on the back. A friendly gesture only, but still plenty friendly. "Del says he asks for me every year. Says he begs, and he pleads."</p>
<p>"And? Did you listen to what he had to say?"</p>
<p>"No." She chewed the words out through her lower lip. "I didn't go in at all. If it was so goddamn important, he should have said it before he died the first time."</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Turning and Turning">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/50-turning-and-turning">Turning and Turning</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="The Breach Goes On: Deadlined">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub">The Breach Goes On: Deadlined</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="True Art is Cognitohazardous">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous">True Art is Cognitohazardous</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/51-stop-the-clock">Stop the Clock</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/51-stop-the-clock">https://scpwiki.com/51-stop-the-clock</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:</p>
<p>Xinyi Du: "Dr.Kweon scientist Army Research Laboratory" by U.S. Army DEVCOM, released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/usarmyccdc/8125441607">https://www.flickr.com/photos/usarmyccdc/8125441607</a></p>
<p>Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653</a></p>
<p>Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023</a></p>
<p>Nhung Ngo: Nhi Dang, "Huyen," released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/nhi_dg/7186551316/">https://www.flickr.com/photos/nhi_dg/7186551316/</a> and Rod Waddington, "Hmong Woman," released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/rod_waddington/44409399060">https://www.flickr.com/photos/rod_waddington/44409399060</a></p>
<p>Vivian Scout: "State Electricity Commission, Group of Four Men, Victoria, May 1940,” two images, courtesy State Electricity Commission of Australia, public domain:<br/>
<a href="https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547629">https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547629</a><br/>
<a href="https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547640">https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547640</a>, and<br/>
"Photograph - Presentation of Phar Lap's Melbourne Cup, Flemington Racecourse, Victoria, 4 Nov 1930," courtesy Museums Victoria, in the public domain:<br/>
<a href="https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1742444">https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1742444</a></p>
<p>William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260">https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260</a></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Everything!<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735469663" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
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**Stop the Clock**
It comes around.
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
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+ ##990011|1995##
++ 21 December
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Site-01##: Undisclosed Location**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
As Scout's Chair of Administration and Oversight, McInnis had been present for and helped to conduct perhaps half a dozen preparatory briefings for personnel the Director intended to bring before the Overseer Council. Invariably, the old man gave them instructions on the order of "Let me do the talking," "Just sit there and look serious," "Don't say a word unless they address you personally," or "Stick to the script, and //do not improvise.//" These instructions were greeted with relief and ready acceptance in every case, and McInnis had no intention of being the exception to the rule when his time came.
Except that when it did, there was no briefing. The Red Right Hand chopper arrived unannounced, and Scout ushered him in, and within minutes of takeoff the Director had his fedora down over his eyes and was fast asleep.
McInnis had never been more flattered by anything in all his life.
It wasn't a proper Council meeting, but the security measures were still in place. The Council Chamber was pitch black save for a single white light, desk mounted, which only served to make it clear that there was a masculine silhouette at the table they were facing.
"Vivian," O5-8 said in a casual tone. McInnis had expected a voice changer, or perhaps a booming amplifier. "And Dr. McInnis. This is your first time at Site-01. Welcome."
McInnis nodded with a depth suggestive of bowing. "Sir. Thank you."
The silhouette gestured. "Have a stand."
Scout chuckled.
"So, the petition." The Overseer appeared to bow his head; McInnis wondered how he could possibly be reading anything in a manner that cast no light on his features. "I'm a little confused. Don't you already have no D-class? Sorry, that's not the right way to say that, is it. Double negative." He looked back up. "Doesn't Site-43 already prohibit the use of D-class personnel?"
Scout nodded. McInnis could sense the movement, though he couldn't see his mentor in the dark. "Of course. This proposal isn't about 43. It's about the entire Foundation."
A grunt, and the man's head bowed down again. There was a sound of rustling paper. McInnis was amazed to think that the Overseers printed things out before reading them. Then again, it did diminish the threat of electronic cognitohazards. "Table of logistical concerns is pretty thin."
"I believe the moral imperatives more than make up for that deficiency," Scout replied.
A snort. "You know better than to come to me with morality alone, Vivian. Why are you proposing we hamstring the Department of Containment in this manner? I see you haven't consulted with HARMA at all."
Scout sighed. "HARMA and the D-class program are atrocities, sir. War crimes looking for a war. We've suggested dozens of initiatives that could replace--"
"Bah." The Overseer looked up once more, and from the sound of it, closed the report. "A solution looking for a problem. D-class are efficient. The system works. It's proven and tested, and it's helping us prove and test everything else. Give me one good reason, and I do mean //good,// and I do mean //one,// why we should do absolutely anything to change this //status quo?//"
"Because the //status quo,// sir, if I may," McInnis found himself saying, "is seriously injurious to the sustainability of our academic efforts." He could feel Scout's eyes on him now. "Only the most psychopathic of scientists will have their enthusiasm undampened by implication with forced labour and illicit human experimentation, and such scientists are rarely in the top percentile of intelligence, creativity or dedication. We are limiting our own capacity to do right by doing this wrong."
There was silence in the chamber for what felt like an age. O5-8 broke it, because the other two knew this was his prerogative. "Are you suggesting, Dr. McInnis, that this single, entirely justifiable act of ethical greyscaling might be enough to turn our best people against the cause of protecting mankind? That they would sacrifice the good of their fellow human beings writ large, on behalf of the worst of us, in limited quantity?"
McInnis allowed a moment for Scout to intervene. It didn't happen, so he answered for himself. "I am not suggesting that this will lead to open revolt, no, sir. We all know the importance of the Veil. But that it materially injures our souls is a foregone conclusion, and it has been my experience that soulless experimentation can only very rarely be bent towards the good."
"Hmm." McInnis wished he could see the other man's face. Communication wasn't only about words and tone of voice. "Hmm hmm hmm. Well. I'll pass this along to the others. They'll vote it down later this evening. I'll let you know when that's happened, Vivian."
"Sir," the old man acknowledged. There was no sadness or anger in his voice, only the weariness of having an unpleasant forethought confirmed. He placed a hand on McInnis' shoulder, and turned them both towards where the door was hidden in shadow.
"One more thing, Vivian," the Overseer said to their backs.
McInnis moved to turn, but Scout's firm grip told him not to. The impudence sent a thrill down his spine as the Director responded: "Sir?"
"You were absolutely right about him."
"Yes, sir."
"I look forward to seeing you again, Dr. McInnis," O5-8 said.
//We didn't see each other at all,// he thought as the door opened, and the Red Right Hand reached in to reclaim them.
[!-- [[=image McInnis_Scout_O5-8.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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+ ##990099|1992##
++ 29 October
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
He couldn't tell if they were growing closer, or if the old man was simply getting more lenient in his old age. But this was the second time in one week that Scout had invited McInnis to the Director's Complex for dinner, and the second time they'd rounded out the night with a spirited philosophical debate.
By their standards.
"Might it not be more efficient to simply recruit the like-minded?" McInnis swished his glass of red wine.
"If by 'efficient' you mean 'easy', sure." The old man was still picking at the remnants of the pork chop on his plate. "Find people who already agree with you, and make them work with you. But what's the flaw in that logic?"
[[=image DL_51_01_Scout_Dinner.jpg]]
McInnis took a freshly-oxygenated sip, and shook his head as he dabbed at his lips with one of Scout's black handkerchiefs. "I don't know that I can see any such flaw."
"You could if you'd let yourself look." The old man sat back, and McInnis saw that his belly was bulging as the rest of him receding. "Don't be so sure of yourself. Don't come at every discussion like it's an argument, and don't argue like the only possible positive outcome is //winning.// Maybe you're wrong. You //are// wrong, in this case. Why are you wrong?"
It sometimes seemed like everything the Director did was to force him to consider a new perspective. Confident that there was a good reason for the exercise, he always obliged. "You believe that converting others to our way of thinking is better than preaching to the choir. You believe we should be nurturing our sensibilities where no such seed has yet been planted."
"I do," Scout nodded. "It's good to know you've been paying attention, even if sometimes you're not willing to interrogate what you're seeing."
He didn't take it personally. Anything that could make him stronger couldn't harm him. "I am trying. Perhaps a hint?"
"I'm getting too old for hints." Scout covered his mouth; if he burped, he did so very discreetly. "I'll just say it outright. A thing which is //learned// is far more dear than a thing which is //believed.// You can't teach a person who believes something to //know// it. They're two different things."
"Overwatch would appear to disagree."
Scout pointed at him in affirmation. "More than they're letting on. They don't want us teaching people a better way. They want to make the entire world see things the way they do."
"They do have an elevated perspective," McInnis reminded him. Advocacy for the devil was his role at this table, he'd swiftly learned. Scout always harkened to his better angels.
"I'll thank you not to craft any more positive euphemisms for standing atop an ivory tower." Scout cleaned his hands, and draped his handkerchief over the bone on his plate like a shroud of funereal modesty. "That sort of thing is beneath such a gifted communicator as yourself. The Council wants you to think we should only hire acclaimed experts because it's a better use of our resources. Let the world beyond the Veil create our people for us. But they're wrong. The kinds of people we need, the world doesn't generate those in quantity. The world teaches people to hate, to mistrust, to judge. Prejudice is the death of science. It's the death of humanism. It will be the death of humanity."
"There is no mind free of prejudice," McInnis smiled.
"No," Scout allowed, "but it only truly takes root and grows in the right conditions. Catch people before they become so much loamy soil. While they're still people. While they can still change their minds, and not see it as a weakness, or something to be feared." He was speaking with his hands now, something he never did. He was obviously excited, and it wasn't just the wine.
Though it was very, very good wine.
"I understand the philosophical point, but I wonder if, given the gravity of our responsibilities, we ought to be populating our force of world-saving geniuses exclusively with graduate students and young quarterbacks."
Scout chuckled with a warmth that probably did have something to do with the wine. "Not exclusively, but substantially. Don't misjudge the wisdom that comes with youth. A sharp intellect is a sharp intellect, no matter the vintage of its frame."
"I might counter that ignorance often masquerades as open-mindedness."
"I would rather have the ignorant," the old man said, "a thousand times over I would rather have the ignorant than the learned intolerant, and if you'll allow me today, Allan, I will tell you why."
It was a long, though not unproductive, evening.
[!-- [[=image Scout_McInnis_Hire.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ ##990099|1996##
++ 1 April
----
[[/=]]
This time, the entire Council had been in chambers.
The Directorship of Site-43 was, for reasons McInnis had not fully understood until now, one of the most important posts at the SCP Foundation. All thirteen Overseers had impressed upon him the vitality of the work he would be doing, and shared a mind-boggling array of secrets, often in a bored monotone. (O5-2, the Archivist, at least had a reason for that.) But the meeting eventually ended, and when it did, all but two of the nameplates blinked out.
The lights remained off. Scout had been so trusted, after his eighty years of service, that he could sit and chat with Eight without any of the chamber's security features active. Twenty-odd years was insufficient to earn that privilege, apparently.
Eight was one of the two who lingered. The other was Thirteen, who spoke first. "A lot to wrap your head around, isn't it?"
McInnis didn't nod. Perhaps they could have seen it somehow if he had, but as always he strove for the clearest possible communication within the bounds of his circumstances. "Yes, sir.''
"He'll manage." Eight was the Foundation's special projects supervisor, and had been Scout's Overseer sponsor for a good long chunk of his career. He was used to dealing with technology rather than people, and his manner was often brusque. "Let's get to the final item, shall we?"
Thirteen's silhouette nodded. "Allan," the Mediator said. "We were unable to convince your predecessor to meet us halfway on a few key issues. I'm afraid we're going to have to be quite insistent with you."
McInnis tried not to stiffen. "Sirs."
Eight took over, as though this routine had been rehearsed. Probably it had. "Vivian ran 43 like a freshman college class. I could count on one hand the number of times he hired someone over the age of thirty. Your demographics skew younger than anywhere else in the Foundation. That ends today."
"Well," Thirteen chided, "not //today.// But a gradual trend is beginning, to be sure. Director McInnis, we feel very strongly that your facility requires more age and experience than it presently boasts. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
He found he'd been grinding his teeth. He doubted they could hear it... but then, he had the vague sense that the cylindrical bulk of the Archivist was still in the room, and perhaps it could. Perhaps his protest was already on record. Nevertheless... "I believe I do, sir. You're saying you expect me to shift our hiring trends away from recent graduates, and toward proven experts. Is that right?"
"That's right," Thirteen nodded.
"I see." He considered. "And you've expressed, unless I mistook your tone, a disinterest in debating this point. Yes?"
"Yes," said Eight. Very firmly.
McInnis shrugged. "Very well, sirs. Your preference will become official policy."
Thirteen sat back, apparently satisfied, but Eight sat forward. "You wouldn't be planning to pay lip service here, and continue Vivian's course behind our backs, would you?"
This time he allowed himself a little body language. He raised his eyebrows slightly. "You've invested a great deal of trust in me, sir. I shouldn't suppose your judgement in that matter was faulty."
It was something of a surprise when they let it go at that, considering how tactically he'd avoided actually answering the question.
[[/div]]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ ##990011|2016##
++ 20 May
----
[[/=]]
McInnis was on the way out of his office when he stopped, for no particular reason, and looked down at his assistant.
Zulfikar was greying around the temples, but he hadn't slowed down a bit. He met McInnis' eyes, and asked: "Sir?"
McInnis pulled a waiting chair up from the wall, and sat down. "You remember the expansion plans?"
Zulfikar nodded. Veil maintenance in the communities surrounding Lambton County was becoming more difficult to manage from Site-43. There was talk of opening satellite facilities in the coming years.
"Have you considered entering the administration track?"
His assistant blinked. "I... No, sir, not really?"
McInnis nodded. "And why is that?"
He hadn't seen Zulfikar so flustered since the first deadline. "I just... There's always so much to do here. So much work." He smiled almost bashfully. "The Good Work. Sir."
[[=image DL_51_02_Zulfikar_Smile.jpg]]
"Of course. But have you not considered that said Work cannot be progressed from Site-43 alone?"
Zulfikar was trying to keep an upbeat mood, but the conversation was clearly distressing him. "Are you asking me to transfer? Are you unhappy with my...?"
McInnis laughed. He didn't laugh often. It was an unsubtle tool, and difficult to tune. He hit what sounded to his ear like the right balance: warm, sympathetic, not mocking, but incredulous. "You? Your work has never been anything less than extraordinary. But you've been here almost twenty years, Zulfikar, and you're the Director's Assistant. You could be an Assistant Director. Even a Director, possibly."
It was difficult to tell on the other man's tanned and bearded face, but it seemed like he might be blushing. "Thanks, sir. I appreciate it. Really, I do. But I feel like this is where I'm meant to be. I..." He looked away, embarrassed. "I just really believe in what we're doing here. I have for a very long time. And that means the world to me."
//I don't have to ask,// McInnis thought. //I could simply not ask.//
"Around when," he asked, "did you first acquire this faith? If you recall."
His assistant considered. "Funny thing," he said after a moment. "Earliest I remember is right after the Breach, in 2002. You gave that incredible speech about duty and sacrifice." He smiled shyly. "I guess there's something to that whole thing about people coming together in a crisis, huh?"
[!-- [[=image McInnis_Zulfikar.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 23 May
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Falconer University##: Toronto, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Harry couldn't help it. He picked up the stack of paper, and dropped it on his desk again. It made an audible //thud.// "You wrote all of this... yesterday?"
Reggie nodded. "Ayup."
"How on Earth?"
She shrugged. "When I go, I go."
"You certainly do." He turned over the first page of the first chapter, and his eyes automatically travelled to the footnotes. As he'd feared, they were immaculate. "I have trouble getting a few thousand words done a day. This is... is this the entire first section?"
She was beaming. "Ayupyup."
"And to what do you credit this outrageous success?"
She took on the affect of a robot. "The extensive and incisive commentary of my supervisor on the earlier drafts, of course."
"Of course." He continued paging through, expecting to find that most of the middle pages were blank, and this was an elaborate gag. They were not. It was not. "Jeez. //Wow.//"
"Kinda serious though." She glanced to the side. "Those comments were //really// helpful."
Altan reached into his school bag, smirking. "Have to agree."
Harry watched in dismay as a second gigantic pile of paper was slapped onto his desk. "Not you, too."
Heng produced a smaller stack, which was probably at least a full chapter. "I didn't consider the material culture angle at all until you mentioned it today," he said sheepishly. "That's a whole other thing now. I'm gonna redo my second chapter from scratch."
"I'm sure it doesn't need //that// much amendment," Harry said. He was feeling a little faint.
"No," Heng sighed, "it does. I hadn't read Nora before. I've got like fifty pages of notes. It's going to be so much better now."
He looked at Reggie. He looked at Altan. He looked at Heng. He said: "You guys are creeping me out."
"You'll just have to live with being an excellent supervisor," Reggie smiled.
"We're part of a lineage now," Heng grinned.
"Yeah," Altan nodded, "apparently. Who was yours, again?"
Ah. That was it. They were buttering him up. "Again //nothing.// I never told you."
"I checked," said Heng. "It's not on record. Buddy's dissertation has blank -- ha ha -- spaces where the committee goes, and his acknowledgements page is missing."
Reggie whistled. "Wow. We really do have a super spy in our midst."
"They probably just misplaced the page," said Harry. It sounded thin even to him.
"I meant Heng," said Reggie. She winked at her jacked colleague. "He got out the physical copy of your dissertation. Who does that? The case is locked."
Heng shrugged. "Knowledge should be free."
"If that's enough idle chatter," Harry said, staring at the mass of unfinished chapters and dreading the amount of reading and writing he was going to have to do over the next few days, "we've got some actual work to get on with. Don't we?"
Reggie shook her head. "I don't know if it's more important than solving the Case of the Disappearing Committee."
"Literally 'The Disappearing Committee', Reggie," Harry warned her. "As in, the committee that will //disappear// you if you look too closely. Stick to your dissertation, please."
She turned to the others, and pointed at him. "Not natural. He's got some sort of weird government super powers."
Something about that set alarm bells ringing in his head, but they didn't give him the time or headspace to figure out why.
"What were those Canadian superheroes called?" Altan asked. "The Fab Four?"
"Five," Heng corrected. "The Fab Four were the Beatles. I don't think Harry was a Beatle."
"I can picture him with a bowl cut," Altan mused.
"//Friends,//" said Harry, and he couldn't help but hear it in Allan McInnis' voice. "Please stop living in the moment. It's unbecoming of historians."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 24 May
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Nascimbeni kept a spreadsheet.
He had access, even editorial access, to dozens of them. But he only kept one for himself, on his private partition. He was suspicious of spreadsheets by nature; they were the sort of tool a manager used to control his workers, and Nascimbeni still considered himself far more the latter than the former. But this spreadsheet was different.
It only had power over him.
It was pretty complex. He might have enjoyed bragging about it to someone who would understand, like Veiksaar or even Lillian. It tracked J&M's accidents, upgrades, efficiencies, inefficiencies, merits and demerits and another half dozen metrics, and measured them monthly by a single criterion.
How much of that month he'd spent on or off the job.
He would have given anything for there to have been no correlation.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 27 May
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**##990011|Pannonian Steppe##: Pannonian Basin, Hungary**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Ibanez crossed the tall grass on her belly, crushing a path for the towable ELIDAR array and dragging it in her wake. There was a gentle //ping// in her headset every time she came close to the edge of the field, and she turned around before reaching it every time, preserving its silhouette and remaining shielded from view. If a plane had passed overhead, it would have seen one of the strangest acts of crop marking ever to be non-anomalous.
[[=image DL_51_04_Ibanez_Crawl.jpg]]
"That's it," Rozálie whispered over the secure comms. "Crawl back here."
"On the double." She almost made a joke about being doubled over, and recognized the influence immediately. //Spend less time around Blank.// She made the mental note.
Rozálie was waiting under a tree at the edge of the field, shielded from view by a crude dugout Ibanez had erected around her. The geophysical information from the array had been beaming in for the past hour, and there was now apparently a result.
When she saw what was on the screen, Ibanez almost broke stealth to whistle.
The other woman pointed at a specific node on the display. "Looks like an air vent shaft," she whispered, her mic and Ibanez's earpiece enhancing and raising the volume. "Readings suggest natural stability in the area."
"Can you pinpoint me?"
Rozálie grinned. "Damn right. You thinking of dropping in?"
Ibanez hefted the Bremmelgun, and tuned it down to its low-heat boring mode. "Yeah, I think they need a lesson on what 'insurgency' really means."
"That," Rozálie breathed, "is //extremely// hot."
Del winked, but she also checked the gun's gauge a second time in case she'd misunderstood.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Crocker wasn't in the firebase.
More specifically, she wasn't in:
* the upper maintenance tunnels, where Ibanez snapped a man's neck and made a second man accidentally shoot himself in the throat by throwing one of the first man's combat boots at him;
* the main access corridor, where she hung from an air vent and recorded each target's vital stats before dropping down and widening the entire thing's diameter by an inch, vaporizing everyone and everything;
* the security station, which was nothing but a red and grey indentation in the corridor after she was done demonstrating her automatic rifle to its denizens;
* the security lounge, where a variety of entertainments quickly gave way to her own, until nobody was enjoying themselves except for her;
* the laboratories, where frantic scientists started spiking their experiments but quickly found her indiscriminate bullet spray a much more efficient means of closing the book:
* the dormitories, where a hard-bitten commander who reminded her of Gedeon Van Rompay tried to negotiate a ceasefire whilst still firing back at her, insisting that she could take everyone inside as her sole surviving hostages; or
* the secret laboratories, which she hadn't been meant to know existed -- that geophys was really very good, capable of seeing through a hundred meters of solid rock -- which she entered via a hole in the wall left by the high explosive grenade she'd flung in response to the commander's offer.
A few short minutes later and she -- with the help of a very small backup team, most of whom only served to divide the enemy's fire -- whittled the firebase's complement down to a legitimate last stand, which legitimately surrendered. She called topside to tell Rozálie to await extraction, then trotted to the base's front door, opened it, and exited through the entrance.
She hadn't killed any of the terrified noncombatants, or even the Insurgents who had thrown down their weapons.
Because none of them were Crocker.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 29 May
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
McInnis wasn't often the one to bring up concerns at the Survivors' meetings. He was typically content to direct the conversation after one of the others provided the topic. Today, though, he almost took centre stage. Wettle wondered what had gotten into him.
They were discussing the capabilities of each Victim during each Deadline, specifically how they mapped to pre-existing talents in an exaggerated way. Harry said something about Mukami's exceptional powers of persuasion, and McInnis, apparently lost in thought, had responded with something vague about the depth of responsibility that kind of thing engendered. Lillihammer had been about to pave over the pothole with a new tangent, when Wettle shook himself out of half-sleep and grunted: "What?"
He grunted it loud enough that Lillihammer couldn't talk over him, and so McInnis heard. Because he had heard, he had to respond, because he was McInnis. He responded: "Nothing. Well... ah. Not precisely nothing." The Director sighed. "I've simply been musing on our own trajectories since the Breach."
"Meaning what?" Lillihammer snapped, obviously irritated at having been pre-empted. Re-empted?
"Meaning that in 2002, I was not wholly sanguine about my own leadership abilities. In the interim, they would seem to have increased in efficacy."
"You can't even brag in plain language," Nascimbeni grumbled.
McInnis nodded at him. "I can state it more directly. I seem to have learned more about how to inspire confidence in the past fourteen years than in all the years prior."
"Good for you, eh?" Lillihammer patted the air in front of her recliner, as though it were McInnis' shoulder. "Now, as I was--"
"//Isn't// that a good thing?" Wettle interrupted. "Because you sound kinda bummed."
McInnis frowned. Behind Wettle, Lillihammer probably began to turn red. He was glad he couldn't see it. She could be very scary when he didn't want her to be. "I've noticed that certain of my staff are choosing to remain here, under my leadership, as opposed to progressing their own careers."
"Captain Kirk effect," said Harry. "Guess you're just that awesome. Super relatable."
"As I was about to say," Lillihammer began.
"What?" said Wettle. He waved at Harry until the archivist turned to look at him. "What's relatable about it?"
Harry frowned. That was three of them frowning now; well, Lillihammer was probably scowling at this point. "Nothing."
"Oh." Wettle nodded. "Nothing like nothing, or nothing like the Director's nothing, which was actually something?"
Harry sighed. "It's just that I never thought I was that great of a teacher before, and these days it seems like all my students are kicking ass. I don't feel like I've been putting in the kind of effort normally required to accomplish that."
McInnis nodded. "This is my feeling as well. I spent decades honing my leadership skills, to less effect than I've seen simply by following my own instincts."
[[=image DL_51_05_McInnis_Powers.jpg]]
"Instincts work," Ibanez said. "Can confirm."
"Can we get back to--" Lillihammer tried once more.
"What?" said Wettle. "What was that about? Instincts?"
Lillihammer made a sound like a hot teakettle as Ibanez followed up. "Feels like I can do no wrong when I go with my gut, these days. Haven't lost a single soldier. Most bad shit that happens, happens because somebody else is in charge. Present company excepted." She nodded at McInnis, who smiled in return.
"Yeah, everybody in this room is super fuckin' great at their jobs now, and it's backpats all around." Lillihammer put her foot on the back of Wettle's neck, and pushed him over. "But that's not what I wanted to talk about, and it is //my// fucking //turn.//"
"Huh?" Wettle rolled over to stare at her. "Everybody? Is //everybody// here better at their jobs than they were before?"
Everyone else in the room exchanged glances, one by one.
Wettle closed his eyes.
"Sounds like we need to do another fucking replication study," Harry sighed. "Willie?"
He pretended to be asleep.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
When the others had gone, Lillian remained. She didn't make a move to dismount the recliner, so Udo got a glass of water from the kitchenette, and returned to rejoin her. "So."
"Mngh," Lillian grunted.
Udo waited.
Eventually, the other woman's expression solidified into something like presence. "Okay. So. We're marked by the Breach, and it's doing something to us. That's..."
"Bad?" Udo suggested.
"More complicated than bad." Lillian took several deep breaths, as though forcing extra oxygen into her brain. "Mostly it seems to be making us better, or at least more intense, versions of ourselves. Helping with my memory. Making Nascimbeni a better engineer. But what's it doing to //you?//"
Udo frowned. "I dunno. I never thought it was doing //anything// to me."
"But it makes sense," Lillian insisted, leaning forward and then flopping back as the angle of the recliner defeated her. "Obviously we've been singled out. We're the only ones who get to keep our heads when the timeline shifts. We're the only ones who can do our conproc duties."
"That part isn't proven," Udo reminded her.
Lillian waved the correction away. "I'm sure it's true. We're special. All of us. But what's special about //you?//"
Udo raised both eyebrows.
"That's not what I meant. Obviously you're a genius and all that bullshit. But how has that changed since 2002?"
Udo leaned back into the cushions, and sipped at her water. "I dunno," she said after a moment's thought. "I'm much better with my micamancy, but that's nothing new. That was the progression I was on before the Breach."
"Still, you've been pushing yourself. Learning new things. Trying..." Lillian snapped her fingers. "Learning. You're learning more than ever."
Udo shook her head. "I've been //trying// to learn more than ever. Putting in the effort. No magic breach power is doing that to me."
"It's still a change. We've all been changed. Maybe more than we know." Lillian sighed. "I just wish..."
"What?"
The other woman made eye contact. "I wish you weren't such an enigma. We don't know what you do during the Breach. We don't know what's been happening lately, that's got them wiping your brain every year."
"Surprised you haven't forced that information out of them yet. Seems like your kind of deal."
[[=image DL_51_06_Lillian_Memory_Secret.jpg]]
"Yeah." Lillian opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to think of something better to say instead. "Yeah, that //does// seem like my kind of deal. You know what I did the last time they tried to stop me from learning something I wanted to learn, Udo? You'll enjoy this story."
[!-- [[=image Lillihammer_Okorie.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Udo did not enjoy the story.
She was going to have to think about it a lot over the next few months, and then decide whether she wanted to use the information to cross a new, exciting threshold in her career at the SCP Foundation.
The line between doing what she was told, and the potential for consequences.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 3 June
----
[[/=]]
"It's not that I don't understand his reservations," Polly sighed, and then yelped as she heard her own word choice. "Concerns, I mean. I--"
"I know what you mean," McInnis smiled gently.
"Okay. I'm sorry. It's just that..." She left the sentence hanging in the office's conditioned air, expecting him to finish it for her.
He didn't.
So she considered what she was going to say, and then said it. //Not so hard, eh?// "It's just that we are where we are, sir, and the best test subjects for this equipment are pretty well all going to be indigenous." She blinked. "Okay. I hear what I'm saying, and I don't like it."
He nodded. "You've already had permission to explore the pioneer cemetery, yes?"
"We've already explored it to death, sir. No pun intended. There isn't anything there to find. It might be the only unhaunted cemetery in Canada. But Nexus-94 is awash with ghosts. It's not like I'm planning to go all Ghostbusters on his ancestors."
"I understand that, and so does the All-Sections Chief. I believe he explained this to you already."
"He did, sir. Yes." She waited for him to explain how he understood her interest, sympathized, but could do nothing more to help her.
He didn't.
So she pushed ahead once more. "I don't mean to go over his head."
"But you are doing so, nevertheless."
"It's just that I don't get how we take one approach to all other anomalies, and a different one to the First Nations stuff in our own backyard."
"One element of your misunderstanding is that characterization. It is not our own backyard. We do not own any of the space we occupy."
"But we do cordon it off. We control it, and restrict access. And we have mutual cooperation pacts with the people who live and lived around here."
"That does not extend to harassing the spirits of their forebears," he reminded her.
"Why wouldn't they want to help us broaden our knowledge base, though? Sir?"
"Because knowledge collected on their traditions, possessions and culture has almost always either been used against them, or used to profit at their expense. Because while we and they are allied, they do not share our goals and do not necessarily trust our intentions. Most importantly, though, Dr. Mataxas, they deny our requests as a way of learning something about //us.//"
She shook her head. "I don't understand."
"If the people of Kettle Point deny us access to their land, we can access it nevertheless. If they deny us access to their ancestors, we can attempt to contact them regardless. Historically such interventions have not ended well, but we could certainly attempt them. With near-impunity. There is no organized force in the vicinity capable of preventing us, and the federal government would turn a blind eye. Probably even OSAT would decline to become involved. If we were to do these things, then our allies would acquire invaluable information. They would learn that we are monsters."
"And if we don't..."
"Then they will know that our word is our bond."
The frustration was almost overwhelming. "Don't they already know that? Haven't we proven it to them before?"
"We have. And we will do so again, for as long as we occupy this stolen ground. Because for the people who once lived here, the people who have been shunted aside so that we might operate our //oubliette// beneath their feet, trust is not a thing once bought and forever owned. Trust, for those people, is like leadership."
"I don't..." She hated to say it twice, but she //was// a scientist. It came with the territory. "I don't understand."
"Leadership," he smiled, "is not a tree that once planted, continues to grow. Leadership is an annual flower. You renew it, over and over, indefinitely, or you admit that it is dead and gone."
She suddenly understood why he had forced her to formulate the problems herself.
"We do not lead the residents of Nexus-94, but we do renew their trust with every neglected opportunity to abuse it. Your work is worth a great deal to the Foundation, Dr. Mataxas, but you will need to find a way to perform these tests elsewhere. There will come a time when we need these allies, and I expect to be fully in their good graces when that hour arrives. I deny your request, therefore, as an instrument both of my leadership here and the trust justifiably placed in me elsewhere. Do you understand?"
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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[[/=]]
He was not the most emotional of men, but it always gave him a little thrill to see, against all odds, that the answer was "Yes."
[[=]]
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@@ @@
++ 5 June
----
[[/=]]
At first, Ibanez thought there had been a security breach.
She thought she was looking at Thilo Zwist with a shaved beard. The man was thin-faced and tired-looking, and he was leaning on a cane. It wasn't until she got a better look at the craggy features, particularly that incredible cleft chin, that she realized she was looking at Gedeon Van Rompay.
He was standing awkwardly in the middle of the lobby of Lake Huron Supply, Control and Purification. Not examining the potted plants or looking out the wide glass windows, as anyone else might have done, but staring resolutely at the stairwell from which she had emerged. When she approached, in her civilian clothes -- her MTF uniform was a bit exotic for a bog standard refinery -- the man behind the reception desk visibly relaxed.
"Ged," she said as the big man looked her up and down. "What's up?"
He finished his appraisal of her with a grunt that might have signified satisfaction, or at least acceptance. "How's the fort?"
"Still held down." She tried again. "What're you doing here?"
She wasn't used to seeing complex emotions on Van Rompay's face. He shifted his feet back and forth, leaning heavily on the cane. "Fucking bored," he said. "Got any work?"
He came into sharper focus as her eyes widened. New wrinkles on the forehead and around his mouth. Thinner cheeks. Bags under his eyes. Tendons standing out more prominently on his neck. The strain of keeping himself upright, visible in a slight tremble of his arms. He was wearing a flat black t-shirt and blue jeans, and where she was used to seeing a beret, there was the remains of a receding brush cut. He looked old. Very old.
"Uh," she said.
He bit his lip, then stopped biting his lip. A look of anger washed over him. "Look," he said. "I'm not asking for my job back. I'm asking for something to do. Florida..." He gritted his teeth. "I can't do Florida, Delfina. I can't."
He'd never called her by her first name before. Probably he'd never called any of them by their first names before. Except for Forsythe. She frowned. "I mean, we can usually find desk work for retired folk. McTeer--"
He waved this suggestion off with his free hand. "I'm not a paper jockey, woman. I'm a soldier. Give me someone to shoot at. Preferably someone who shoots back..." He blinked, and ended the sentence there.
She stared at him.
Unexpectedly, he turned on his heel and headed for the exit. The limp was pretty bad.
"I'll see if we have anything," she said to his broad back.
[[=image DL_51_07_Van_Rompay_Leave.jpg]]
His shoulders rounded further as he reached the double doors.
[!-- [[=image Van_Rompay_McInnis_Ibanez.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 8 June
----
[[/=]]
This time the desert rose up at the horizon, into spires and domes which glittered in the sun. Udo was looking upon her home, she knew, though she'd never looked upon it before.
A cloud was rising behind it -- no, the cloud was //settling.// Settling onto the sands. As she watched, one of the towers crumbled to dust.
She raised her hand, and set it right again.
"I should have known better," a voice behind her sighed, and she woke up surrounded by red sand in the dark.
[[=image DL_51_08_Okorie_Second_Vision.jpg]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 10 June
----
[[/=]]
Du examined the object through the glass. "Hmm."
"What do you think it is?" the agent, Yancy, asked.
"I think... yes." Du turned to him. "I think it's too small and too far away. Why did we put it in a chamber? Is it supposed to be dangerous? I can't make heads or tails at this distance."
Yancy frowned. "Did they not inform you, sir? Someone should have..." The big man sighed. "We didn't put it in there. It //appeared// in there."
Du blinked. "On its own?"
"Yes, sir. That's why--"
"--why you called Quantum Supermechanics. Right. Of course."
Du looked through the glass again. The object was a small statuette, red with black markings. It looked like a carving of a cat, or maybe a bear. It was hard to tell at this distance, and anyway it seemed very stylized. Like a tchotchke one might find at a world marketplace in a state fair.
"Hexmat suit it is, then."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
There was a note attached to the statuette, made from chopped-up newspaper and magazine clippings.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
YOU take IT.
Too dangerOUS. GOT into a fight and SENT my boyfriend to the CHALLENGER DEEP.
Didn't like WHAT I got back.
Good luck.
[[/div]]
So that was concerning.
[[=image DL_51_09_Du_Lever.jpg]]
"Object is carved stone, or heavy wood." Du turned it over in his hexmat glove. "No maker's mark or other obvious signs of manufacture or origin. Attached note features a stylized image of what might be a rose, with a cross or plus sign at the centre. Note suggests..." What //did// the note suggest? "Note suggests object is dangerous -- states it outright, in point of fact -- and //appears// to suggest one of two things, depending on interpretation. Interpretation one: object's former owner translocated their boyfriend to the bottom of the Marianas Trench, and object appeared in his place. Interpretation two..."
Interpretation two was much more fun.
[!-- [[=image Du_Lever.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Interpretation two turned out to be correct.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 20 July
----
[[/=]]
Ibanez had kept an eye open to implication and unlikely connection over the course of her investigation, and it bore unexpected fruit one evening as she pored over a pile of seemingly unrelated documents.
"Fuck," she said.
She was sitting at Nascimbeni's desk, in his quarters. She liked the claustrophobia of that unlivable space, a storeroom for ancient machinery with absolutely zero room to pace, because it forced her to concentrate on her work rather than flexing her muscles.
It did come with its complications, though.
"What fuck?" Nascimbeni was soldering something on his coffee table. The overhead fan was whirring double time to remove the carcinogens from the air -- he was using lead flux, because he was repairing the control circuitry for an alchemical detoxifier, and had convinced himself that these insufficient safety measures were probably good enough, it'd be fine, and how many brain cells did he need at his age //really// -- and she barely heard him over the white noise. It had been another thing recommending this workspace to her tonight.
She glanced over her shoulder, sighed, then stood up and turned her chair to face him. "Remember //Moonlight Maria?//"
He nodded glumly, and put his soldering iron down. //Moonlight Maria// had been an Acroamatic Abatement Group project at Area-21 involving a B-52 Stratofortress and some manner of complex toxicological system. It had blown up in 2002, a few months before the Breach, killing everyone on the project except technician-on-temporary-loan Philip Deering.
"Well, I know what it was for now."
Nascimbeni grimaced. "I already know everything I want to know about that. It was the AAG, and it was a bomber. They were building some sort of chemical weapon."
"Yeah." She looked back at the sheets, covered in a series of red lines and circles. "You don't want to know what they were bombing?"
He shrugged. "It's got to be the Chaos Insurgency, right? That's why it showed up in your files. That's what you're already looking at."
She bobbed her head from left to right in the universal gesture for //well, kind of.// "Depends on your perspective. The official pitch was definitely that it'd be used against the Insurgency. But the thing about them is... well, I've told you my new war stories." She grinned at the memory, then instantly fell sober again. "They go underground. They don't generally congregate where bombs will reach. You know?"
He sighed, and picked up the soldering iron again. "Just tell me, then. Who were they planning to gas?"
"If I'm right? Well. You ever hear how the Insurgency throws their weight around with local governments in unstable regions? Basically doing what we do with legitimate governments, only the shifty bad guy version?"
"Sure..." He stooped over his work again, then froze. He looked up under the rim of his hat at her. "Oh." He wrinkled his nose, and it had nothing to do with the fumes. "They were going to bomb..."
"Civilian support networks, governments and militaries associated with the Chaos Insurgency. Yeah."
He ran his gloved finger along the edge of his flux spool, pulling out a new length to tin his solder head. "Amnestics?"
"Best case scenario."
He shook his head. "Almost glad it blew up, then." He winced at his own words. He'd known quite a few of the technicians who'd died.
"Think we ought to tell Phil?" she asked.
He didn't even look up this time. "Why? You think he needs something new to feel guilty about?"
"Change can be refreshing," she half-smiled. "It's not like he can go on a real vacation."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 10 August
----
[[/=]]
Du didn't like D-class personnel.
Nobody he knew at Site-43 did. Elsewhere at the Foundation, it was common for kidnapped cons and death row inmates to be pressed into service as scientific guinea pigs, with the tenuous rationale that this inhumane treatment was still, statistically, better than death or life in prison. Supposedly, those who survived long enough or whose worth was worn through were amnesticized, given new identities, and returned to society rehabilitated, after a fashion. Most people chose not to examine that premise too closely.
But by standing order of Vivian Scout, which McInnis had annually argued back into force with the O5 Council, Site-43 hosted no permanent D-class population. It was argued, quite effectively, that having flunkies on which to test every odd thing made researchers act with complacency, if not outright cruelty. It was better to find a more creative way to figure things out. Site-43 had been founded on that principle.
Sometimes, however, exceptions had to be made. The obscenely-acronymed Human and Animal Resources Management Authority (HARMA) would be contacted, and they would ship over a single member of D-class personnel where no other logical means of experimenting on an object could be found. McInnis only ever allowed it, to Trevor Bremmel's frequent dissatisfaction, when there was no immediately apparent and obvious danger to the tests. The prisoners could not be fed into an active paper shredder. If they, for example, picked up a small statuette and it shredded them like paper, well, that was something else entirely.
Du still didn't like it. And by the way his peers looked at him as he began his battery of tests, they were on the same page with him.
D-45613 was a hard-faced woman with a quick smile and a history of violent racketeering. She was giddy, as she probably should have been; getting sent to 43 was like winning the lottery for a D-class. She waved at him as he entered the observation room. The one-way screen on the glass had been lowered. He waved back, and picked up the microphone. "You've been administered the mnestics and fortificants, D..." He glanced down at the sheet for her number, saw her name first, and decided he really did not feel like playing ball today. Saying a four-digit number to a humanoid SCP was already stupid. Five digits for a D-class was beyond the pale. "Miss Hartman?"
Hartman blinked rapidly, obviously surprised to hear her real name spoken aloud. She could easily have forgotten it; her transfer papers said her last home had been Site-17. She nodded. "Yes, sir."
Du had chosen the cocktail in consultation with Forsythe. The woman's mind was now very clear. Catastrophically clear. If she wasn't given something to think about, she'd probably hyperfocus on her own situation, and that was no good. So, Du said: "Listen very carefully. I want you to do the following, in order, and nothing else. Don't do any of it until the instructions have been fully spoken. Understood?"
She nodded.
"I want you to pick up that statuette on the table, and then think about the table. Whatever happens next, put down whatever you're holding. I know that doesn't make a lot of sense, but can you repeat it back to me?"
The mnestics did their thing. "Pick up the statuette, think about the table. Whatever happens next, put down whatever I'm holding. You're right that it doesn't make sense." She smirked. "But can I do it now?"
"Please do."
She picked up the statuette, and in the blink of an eye, it appeared back on the table. She yelped.
"You may skip the final step," Du breathed. "Obviously."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 12 August
----
[[/=]]
Udo had to rely on a friend to manage the ambush, but that was no great hardship. All seven of them had become reliant on each other to a certain extent over the past few -- was it still few? it didn't feel that way -- years. Del was the only person other than the Director who knew when his guests were arriving and leaving, and Udo knew that these particular guests prided themselves on their timeliness, so she set her watch, and when it beeped, she walked to meet her destiny.
In the sense that she was about to bump into a time traveller.
Thaddeus Xyank could be rude at times, but he drew the line at disappearing in front of people, so he and Alice Forth walked out of the Director's office together. No doubt he was headed for the men's room, from which he would never emerge. Udo slipped through the double doors to A&O while he was still saying goodbye to Forth, and she bounced up and waved effusively. "Hi! Got a minute?"
Forth looked pained. Xyank, who responded, looked simply annoyed. "Always and never," he answered cryptically. "What can I help you with, Dr. Okorie?"
"You can tell me why I get amnesticized every year."
The two temporal Directors glanced at each other. This time Forth spoke first. "What makes you think we know?"
"Because it's related to my conprocs," she said, "and because the first time I ever heard of the Temporal Anomalies Department, it was in relation to Dougall Deering, who is //also// related to my conprocs." She'd taken a deep breath before beginning, so that she wouldn't be interrupted until she was finished. By the look on Xyank's face, this had been a good call. "I know I'm a pretty stable individual, so I don't buy the trauma explanation. Whatever it is, I can take it. So you've decided not to //let// me. And it has to be you guys, because nobody else has an interest in 5243."
"Thad." Forth looked up at the moustachio'd anachronism. "This one's all on you. I've got nothing." She nodded at Udo. "Good to see you again, doctor."
Udo nodded as the other woman left.
Xyank sighed. "If I know something, and you don't know it, that is obviously the intended state of affairs. I'm not in the habit of explaining temporal mechanics to //cogs.//"
She laughed. It was easy to laugh at him. One needed only to look. "You think I'll give this up because you're being insulting? Sir, I've travelled through time and space with some of the most insulting people in the world. A few of them are my best friends."
He looked from side to side, as though searching for a niche into which he might vanish. "Don't talk to me about travelling through time and space, please. It's so embarrassing when people do that. //I// don't even do that anymore." When he saw that she was in no sense mollified, he rolled his eyes. "Listen. I don't answer to anyone at this facility, and that's a good thing. I have to be objective. There's a lot more at stake than just your peace of mind. There's more at stake than the existence of this subset of reality. Do you understand? I'm not going to become an open book just because you're feelings are hurt. If I was that kind of person, the universe would unravel. I do what I have to do. That's all I have to say."
She jerked her head to one side, quickly, in acknowledgement. If it looked like she was telling him he could get lost, well, that was fine. "Okay. I had to try."
"Sure." Xyank nodded. "I suppose." He walked past her. "Whatever that means."
She watched him exit the foyer, heading for the //cul-de-sac// to what was colloquially known as Falkirk's Washroom.
//It means I had to give you a chance, before I do what __I__ have to do.//
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 14 August
----
[[/=]]
It had been months since Anoki had called Ngo into his office. Other than their regular appointments, they hardly saw each other at all, and they weren't due for a debriefing until September.
Like most people at Site-43, though for her own reasons, September was becoming her least favourite month.
Anoki was typing something into his terminal, but he glanced up and nodded when he heard her come in. She sat down, and waited. He didn't keep her waiting long, and didn't take long to cut to the chase, either.
"The O5s want a renewed psych assessment," he said.
"For?"
He gave her a cockeyed look. "Who else? The Sampis. All seven of them."
She nodded. "So, you're asking me to interview them all again, and determine whether they're more of a threat to the Foundation than they were last time, when I told you they weren't at all."
"That's right."
He turned back to his monitor and resumed his typing as she considered what response to give.
She gave the response she'd been saving up, without realizing it, for September. "No."
He didn't look at her, just kept on typing. She let the word hang in the air until he was done, and when he turned to face her again, there was a smile teasing at his lips. "No?"
"No." She sat up straight in her chair. "This kind of thing encourages an atmosphere of mistrust and backbiting. It's unbecoming of us. Our job is to maintain the morale of this facility, and we have responsibilities to our patients. I complied with your instructions at first, because you're my boss, and you have your bosses, and maybe I thought it might be useful to see where their heads are at. But I'm not going to push this thing any farther, sir." She smoothly transitioned into a speech she'd rehearsed in bed from night to night, imagined delivering in almost precisely this manner, to this man, in this room. "These dedicated professionals have faced a series of extremely difficult situations with uncommon tenacity, creativity and ingenuity. They are irreverent, crass, sometimes self-important, very frequently unorthodox, but they are the best of the best we have, and we need to trust them. If they weren't worthy of that trust, the world would already have ended three times. They've been solely responsible for keeping baseline temporality intact, for all the bluster we get from DTA and TAD. There does not exist a single mote of responsibility in existence we could add to the burden they're carrying day by day." She crossed her knees, and folded her hands on top. "I think they comport themselves quite well, all things considered."
Anoki held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Duly noted."
"And I'm not going to schedule any more dates for Philip Deering," she added, suddenly flushing. "That's done. That's //over.//"
He smiled. He actually smiled. "Sounds fine. You can explain that to Dr. Elstrom at the next Chairs and Chiefs. I'm sure she'll be thrilled."
"You've never brought me in on one before. I understand they don't allow observers very often." Ngo smiled back at him, wanly. "And I hear they make guests stand."
"You won't be an observer, or a guest." Anoki turned the monitor so she could see what he'd been typing. It looked like a letter. She leaned in closer.
[[=image DL_51_10_Ngo_Promo.jpg]]
He could undoubtedly see his words of resignation reflected in her glasses, perhaps even her wide-open eyes as he told her: "You'll have a chair."
[!-- [[=image Anoki_Ngo_Retire.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 28 August
----
[[/=]]
Michelle Hartman was having the time of her life.
D-45613 had been the only test subject used in the SCP-5416 experiments which had taken place over the preceding two months. She'd helped Quantum Supermechanics to figure out precisely how the strange little statuette worked; even though the process was now extremely clear, the parameters known in full, nobody else had yet utilized the device -- which they were colloquially calling 'the Lever', for its ability to move any object -- except her. Today was her final physical with Dr. Forsythe, and at the end of that, if she still showed no signs of ill effect from repeatedly translocating matter with her mind, she would be discharged back to HARMA with a glowing recommendation for release to the MTF training program.
Du watched her leave the chamber with a sense of awkward satisfaction. Satisfaction because, as relationships between warden and prisoner went, it had been a productive and respectful one. Awkward because he hadn't signed up to be a warden, and she was a prisoner of no recognized governmental authority. It still felt wrong, no matter how right he'd tried to do by her.
But he couldn't focus on that anymore. His focus was, in fact, in need of crystal clarity.
SCP-5416 was, as the note had suggested, an extraordinarily dangerous object. If you picked it up, the first thing you thought about became the object to be moved, and the next thing you thought about became its destination. Hartman had been thinking about the statue when she picked it up, so it was immediately teleported to the table. They put it in a box from that point onward, so it wouldn't be on her mind until she picked it up again. In the second test she focused on the table, and moved it across the room. In the fifth test she transported a dime from the table into her pocket. The fourteenth test had solved a longstanding mystery in the field of confectionery. After eighteen tests, they knew enough to write up a comprehensive manual for the object's use.
They were coming up on Test 28.
And they still had zero clue where it had come from.
That bothered Du more than Hartman's fate.
A fact which bothered him most of all.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 30 August
----
[[/=]]
Imrich did most of the talking.
He let Wettle present the boring parts, the repetitious tests that had confirmed or falsified each result, and made sure he was the one to present the actual findings. The big man liked it better that way. As far as he was concerned, this was his project, so the things he'd contributed had to be the most important ones.
When they were done, Wettle was beaming. Imrich had to admit it was a little, just a little, endearing.
Considering the import of what they'd just described.
McInnis leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers over his chest, and turned one quarter-rotation to glance up at the framed painting on his back wall. "That is... very interesting," he said.
"I thought so, too," Imrich agreed.
Wettle continued to smile, blandly.
"I take it you haven't shared this with anyone else."
It barely merited a response; McInnis was merely stating fact. He knew Imrich's confidentiality was beyond reproach, and the only people Wettle talked to would be the ones McInnis would share this information with anyway. Eventually. Probably not right away; Director types liked to mull things like this over before deciding who else needed to know.
When it became apparent that an answer was expected anyway, Imrich said "No, sir. Of course not."
In a bad spy film, McInnis would have pressed a button and the floor would have dropped out under their feet. Instead, he nodded without looking in their direction. "Very good. If you were to write out an abstract for this paper, gentlemen -- not that you'll ever be publishing it, you understand--"
"You're not going to kill us, are you?" Wettle's smile was suddenly gone.
McInnis looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and came the closest Imrich had ever seen him come to smirking. "No, William, of course not. But please don't interrupt. If you had to write an abstract for this paper, how would you formulate it?"
Imrich's mind started wheeling away. Wettle looked up at the ceiling, and bit his tongue.
Imrich went first. "A series of replication studies conducted over a period of many months confirms that the scientific laws governing baseline reality and baseline temporality no longer function as expected in one hundred percent of all cases, with increasing deviance over time likely pointing to a large-scale cessation of functionality as early as ten years hence."
[[=image DL_51_11_Wettle_Ending.jpg]]
Wettle glared at him. "Too wordy. You need something more eye catching. I would have just said: 'physics is broken, the world's about to end'."
[!-- [[=image Sykora_Wettle_McInnis.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 31 August
----
[[/=]]
Du couldn't shake the feeling that this was a bad idea.
But the decision had been made, and above his pay grade, so as he always did when confronted with a thing that should not be done, but had to be, he did it as best he could.
That meant giving the honours to Dr. Bell, a whip-smart young woman who through no fault of her own had been saddled with the lowest Cognitive Resistance Value in the entire Quantum Supermechanics Section. That meant her mind could be easily molded by the mental fortificants, particularly the mnestics and focus drugs, required for any use of SCP-5416, which meant that when she performed her little trick, it would be with the utmost precision. Du had a fairly high CRV, and it took a higher dosage to overcome his mental defences, which left him feeling a little lightheaded. That wouldn't do today.
Because today, they were going to teleport a tall ship from a distant cove into the single largest containment chamber ever erected at Site-43.
Well, erected. It had actually been poured.
[[div class="muddle"]]
SCP-5162, an enormous Jacobean vessel named //The Weight// by its unknown builders, is one of the few serious cognitohazardous anomalies both known to the Foundation and remaining in the wild. It sits in an inlet off Lake Huron's Georgian Bay called Forrestall's Lagoon, for unclear reasons -- meaning why it's there, and who named the lagoon, and how anyone knows what the lagoon's name is, are all things we don't presently know. What is known is that individuals encountering //The Weight// will subsequently regard their memories of doing so as false, then suffer from anxious dreams regarding the vessel or tangential topics for what may well be the remainder of their lives.
In late August of 2016, it was decided that this risk to the Veil of Normalcy could no longer be borne. The Department of Containment ordered the use of SCP-5416, "The Lever," to teleport it from the lagoon into a truly vast concrete cube poured into a framework erected in a cave bubble just off the west end of the first sublevel Security and Containment block. Once the poured concrete hardened, water was poured in next via the Lake Huron floodgates and internal water management systems, until a reasonable approximation of the ship's no-longer-to-be-final resting place had been achieved.
All that remained was to perform the simple act of translocation.
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
"Are you ready, Dr. Bell?"
The young woman smiled nervously, but responded right away. "Sir, I think so. The drugs are definitely working."
Du nodded. The deliberate phrasing and lack of hesitation were indicative that the cocktail had taken hold. "And you're fully aware of the process?"
She nodded back at him. "Sir, yes sir." And she tapped her temple, smiling with considerably more courage.
"Good." He tapped his code into the containment chamber where the Lever was being stored, in its little wooden box. "Let's make history."
She laughed. "Don't let Dr. Blank hear you calling this that. He'd have a fit."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Harry was in the topside elevator when it happened.
There was a sudden screech, so loud that his ears popped, and the elevator car jerked suddenly to one side, then snapped back again. There was a strange whining from the cable overhead, and as he realized he'd fallen to his knees, and that they now ached very badly, he lunged forward and mashed the emergency stop button. The elevator clawed at its shaft, and settled to a very permanent stop.
[[=image DL_51_12_Blank_Elevator.jpg]]
He pressed the button to open the doors. They wouldn't open if there was fire on the other side; since 2012, they also wouldn't open on void, not without a high-clearance override. Luckily, there was neither.
What there was, was chaos.
Tiles falling off the walls. Walls falling down. Ceilings, tiles and all, falling down. There was a crack in the floor in front of him. One of the containment cell doors was off its hinges, and he wondered if it had been one of the occupied ones. People were shouting everywhere. Belatedly, the breach lighting and klaxon snapped on; as it did, half of the fluorescents in the hall exploded.
"What the //fuck?!//" Harry shouted. This immediately produced a pair of armed guards, who rushed to the elevator car and ushered him around the nearest corner.
One of them, a woman, slapped a device on the wall as they turned into a seating niche. She cocked her head, apparently listening for something, and then nodded. "Structural members are sound over here. Stress didn't get them."
"What stress?" Harry snapped.
"We had a quake," the other agent, a man, responded. Harry was having trouble making out details in the ruddy gloom, what with all the dust catching what little light there was. "Localized up here, looks like."
"It wasn't a //fucking// quake."
Harry recognized Xinyi Du's voice a second before Xinyi Du himself staggered out of the latest burst of particulates, flanked by another pair of guards. He was coughing, and swearing under each cough.
[[=image DL_51_13_Du_Apoplectic.jpg]]
"What was it, then?" Harry asked, as the female agent turned the corner again and said something into her radio. "Did someone attack us?"
"Something like that." Du slumped against the wall.
Harry put a hand on his shoulder. "What, then? What's happening to S&C?"
"It's settling."
Harry realized the disaster protocols hadn't instilled much terror in him. He might have stopped to muse on what that meant, but because he only noticed when Du's words filled his chest cavity with dread and butterflies, he had other things to focus on. "Settling? Settling from what?"
"By my calculations?" Du pulled his tablet out of his labcoat pocket. Its screen was filmed with dust. "From the entire sublevel moving about one metre to the south-southwest."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Du had been at a loss to explain how his researcher could have made a mistake with the Lever under the influence of so many drugs tailor-made to prevent it from happening. She'd told him, in tears, that she must have lost concentration for a second, and accidentally focused on the first sublevel and its new containment chamber -- which was now broken in half, and leaking water into the second sublevel -- and then focused on it again in panic, resulting in a mild translocation of the entire floor which it had never been built to sustain.
It didn't take long for the Survivors to take stock, and realize the full extent of what had occurred, and what it would mean.
Nascimbeni found that the entire southern and western elevations had been partially fused with the bedrock, which was going to take an age to fix. In addition to the cardinal shift, S&C had also been dropped down about seven centimetres, playing serious havoc with the systems beneath the floors and above the walls. The damage was extreme; not as difficult to understand as the Breach in AAF-D had been, but no less catastrophic and no less problematic to repair.
Ibanez flew Blank out to the lagoon, which had the nasty tendency to force you to leave and stop thinking about it when you got too close -- hence the need to remove the //Weight// by nonstandard means. They were able to confirm that it was still there, with some effort. It took them an hour to figure out where they were, and fly back.
By that time, Lillian had attempted, and failed, to interview the errant Dr. Bell. She had apparently disappeared in the chaos; none of the guards could remember retrieving her from S&C.
None of the guards could remember her at all.
Nobody could.
She wasn't in the database. There was no Dr. Bell employed at Site-43. Nobody even knew what her first name was.
"But I can fucking guess," Lillian snarled as she flopped down into the recliner she'd claimed. "It's either Alis or Imogen. Ring a //bell?//"
[!-- [[=image Du_Ibanez_Wettle_Lever.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 1 September
----
[[/=]]
McInnis placed an immediate hold on SCP-5416. No personnel were to be permitted to access the Lever until further notice.
Lillian worked with Forsythe to develop a mnestic/fortificant cocktail that could overcome even her superlative defences, because nothing but her steel trap mind could be trusted with restoring the first sublevel to its proper position.
There was no question that it had to be.
[[div class="muddle"]]
The fact that only AAF-D reverts itself each September does not change the fact that the two other Sections involved host events key to the proper progression of SCP-5243. Serious change to either the first or second sublevels in the vicinity of the Breach's effects has therefore been prohibited by Directorial fiat, as it is not known what might happen should either be out of position by even a micron when what's meant to happen, happens.
And nobody wants to find out.
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
Which made it something of a problem when Du came to Lillian, ashen-faced, and told her that the Lever was no more.
"No more what?" she'd snapped, head still full of peptide formulas.
"No more anything." He looked like was about to scream, or maybe like he already had been screaming. "It's in the sun."
Lillian mouthed his words back at her, then shook her head. "//No comprende.// In the sun? What does that mean?"
"It means," Du stopped to steady himself on a doorframe, and she realized he was trembling with rage, "that the Lever, is //in,// the //__sun__.//"
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[table]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="border: 1px solid black; background-color: #F5D8E0; padding: 12px;"]]
**Incident Report SC-I-3557**
[[/hcell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[cell style="border: 1px solid black; background-color: #FFFFFF; padding-right: 12px; padding-left: 12px;"]]
**Date:** 09/01/2016
**Officer of Record:** R. Pensak (Chief of Security and Containment)
**Consulting:** Dr. X. Du (Chair of Quantum Supermechanics)
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[cell style="border: 1px solid black; padding-left: 12px; padding-right: 12px;"]]
**Summary:** At 14:32 hours, an individual claiming to be Agent Paskal Pandev of MTF Gamma-5 ("Red Herrings") was discovered in the containment chamber to which SCP-5416 was assigned. Under interrogation by Dr. Du, this individual claimed to have overriden the security lock placed on that object following Incident Report SC-I-3512 (ongoing), in order to perform activities relating to a classified Overwatch Command-sanctioned operation. Under extreme pressure from Dr. Du, Agent Pandev explained that he had attempted to utilize SCP-5416 to remove a distant asteroid expected to impact the Earth in approximately one year. Familiarized with the target, and already familiar with the Earth's sun in his capacity as a Foundation-employed astrophysicist, Agent Pandev attempted to remove the asteroid from its current course and place it within the heliosphere. Due to what he is now calling "serious deficiencies in the object's documentation by Site-43 personnel," its properties were not properly understood, and the object itself was sent into the sun in place of the asteroid. Recovery seems unlikely at this time.
Agent Pandev was detained for one day at Site-43 under the authority of Chief of Security and Containment Roger Pensak, who along with Dr. Xinyi Du of Quantum Supermechanics, has been named in a complaint to Overwatch by that agent.
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Du escaped serious consequences via a combination of seniority, very good explanations, and -- as his staff would have it in years to come -- an untouchable frothing fury that made even the Overwatch auditors hesitant to come down on him too hard.
Pensak got a black mark on his record, having failed to so much as notice the interloper, official business or not.
The auditors somehow never got around to removing the note on his file after Agent Pandev disappeared without a trace a day later, having apparently never been attested in any Foundation database. Foundation Mission Control at Area-06 denied any knowledge of an astrophysicist by that name, and furthermore denied the existence of the putative asteroid.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
"So basically," Ibanez concluded, "We're fucked."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 8 September
----
[[/=]]
According to Wettle, who was very pleased and took immediate credit, they'd never conducted their containment duties with such scrupulous precision and accuracy before.
Which would have been great, if it had mattered.
Everyone was in such a poor mood that it took them a while to realize there were only five of them in Udo's dorm. That McInnis was absent was no great surprise; he was the Director, so it was his job to clue in Temporal Anomalies //un// and //deux// that they'd fucked the timelines again.
That Udo wasn't present in her own room, well, that was something else.
"Probably remembered something she had to do," Lillian yawned. "Wake me up when it's hellworld, okay?"
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Ibanez had laughed when her pager went off. "Confidential duty," she'd read. "How the fuck is there confidential duty //now?// The whole fucking world is about to change. What a joke."
Then she'd reported to S&C, and they'd directed her the secure chamber set up in Applied Occultism for what was probably the most secret act of containment performed at Site-43, and it didn't seem so funny anymore.
Du met her at the door. He looked tired. He'd looked tired all month. He waved, weakly.
She pointed at the door. "He still alive in there?"
The little man nodded, and looked slightly down at her. "I think we're going to get an explanation, finally."
Ibanez raised her eyebrows. "Of what?"
"Of everything."
"Wow, everything. I never knew Deering was that smart." She turned and put her boot up on the tile walls, and waited.
Du wasn't done. "McInnis says we might as well interrogate him, since there's nothing we can do to hurt the timeline right now."
"Uh huh."
"Apparently Xyank and Forth disagree."
She glanced at him. "Allan's going against advice? Why?"
"Why what?" a woman's voice asked, and Ibanez looked to the right to see Udo Okorie approaching, her mouth a thin line.
Ibanez kicked back off the wall, and stood there with her hands at her sides. She had the strangest instinct to draw her weapon. Maybe it was the look on Udo's face. "Uh..."
"I said, why what?" Udo stopped in front of her, arms crossed.
"Why, uh, is Allan going against Forth and Xyank's advice...?" Ibanez glanced at the secured chamber, knowing what was inside of it, wondering whose job it was to panic right now.
"Because he trusts mine more than theirs," Udo responded. "That probably would have sounded a lot cooler if I'd heard what you said the first time, instead of having to ask you to repeat it."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Udo had been brief and to the point, when she'd walked into McInnis' office without being announced. Her amnesticization hadn't taken, and she knew Dougall Deering was alive, and she didn't care -- except so far as their investigation into the //giftschreiber,// //geistschreiber,// and the Breach in general was concerned. "What's there left to be precious about?" she'd demanded. "All of this is going to get fucked in less than a day. Why not see what he knows before you off him?"
McInnis had been startled by the ferocity, but saw no fault with the logic. Neither Forth nor Xyank would make the trip to Site-43 after the Breach had been unsuccessfully contained, due to the need to avoid temporal cross-contamination, so they had a free hand until the clock struck 6:26 the next day.
He'd still intended to deny the request until she told him, in no uncertain terms, that if he did so, she'd walk into Applied Occultism, sandblast the doors off, and interrogate Dougall herself.
He'd picked up the phone. "That simplifies matters considerably. Chief Pensak? Please page Chief Ibanez."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Udo had, obviously, elected to go with the consequences.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
"A man spoke in my head," Dougall Deering's voice said on the recording, "in the voice of my internal monologue, and told me he was me from the future. From a soon-to-be-dead timeline, just like the one we're in right now."
"Who told him //that?//" Lillian groused. Ibanez shushed her.
The recording continued. "He said that in 2002 something horrible was going to happen to my brother, and that in 2022 it was going to flat-out kill him — and that last part was going to be my fault, for trying to make things better." Ibanez fast-forwarded. "He told me I could prevent it all. He told me there was going to be a massive containment breach, that it was going to kill seven people, that it was going to create all sorts of persistent and problematic anomalies. That my brother was going to get saddled with one of them for the rest of his life—"
Ibanez's voice interrupted him. "Phil Deering? All he got was a mirror monster that calls him names."
Dougall sounded confused. "That's… okay, well, the voice said it was much worse than that. And he said that eventually I'd try to fix it, and that would get him killed. But if I stopped the triggering event, none of it would happen. Nobody would… Philip wouldn't die. What was I supposed to do?"
Ibanez mouthed the response she'd given as the speaker played it out loud. "Report it to me." //You fucking idiot.//
"He told me not to! He said the only way to keep the timeline damage to a minimum was for me to dump the effluence out of AAF-D, stop it from blowing, stop the whole disaster from occurring. And that's what I was trying to do…"
"Except you died."
"Well, I don't remember that part."
Harry started laughing hysterically, and Ibanez had to pause until he'd finished. Nascimbeni had a hang-dog look on his face, though it didn't hang nearly as low as when he'd been responsible for the failed deadline aversion; Lillian could have been asleep; McInnis was unreadable as always; Udo simply looked sad.
"Gets weird here," said Ibanez when she finally had control of the room.
"Sorry," said Harry. He looked stricken. As the recording continued, his mouth kept twisting into a manic grin that he had to force back down.
Du's voice was next. "What if there's an alternate timeline that isn't unstable? A persistent one? With another Dr. Deering, who's free to call his earlier self every year, over and over, and… kill him. Look at or listen to a cognitohazard, and kill them both using the link between them?"
"Why would he do that?" Del's voice asked him.
"To stop our Dr. Deering from stopping the breach, I would imagine. Maybe it caused more problems than it solved."
"And why would that have ceased to happen in 2013?"
Deering piped back up. Ibanez saw Udo's eyes narrow, and wondered if she was holding back tears or contempt. Maybe there was room for both. "Well, assuming he called me every year… maybe something happened to him, or the device that let him make the call?"
There was a natural pause on the recording as Ibanez, Du and Deering considered the ramifications, so when Lillian's hand suddenly shot up like she was the star pupil in class, Ibanez could pause again without missing anything important. "Yes, Dr. Lillihammer?"
Lillian didn't open her eyes when she started to talk. "What is this bullshit about a device? A device that lets you call yourself? In the past? In the future? What is //that.//"
McInnis had stayed silent for most of the meeting. It was clear to all of them that he had gone more than a little out of the bounds of his authority today. "That," he said, "is likely why the Temporal Anomalies Department interfered with your attempt to discover Dr. Deering's cause of death."
"Meaning they knew," she said. Her eyes flashed.
He nodded. "I suspect this is a case under review. A device of the sort Lillian just described..."
"...is basically the biggest threat to temporal stability ever conceived, besides William Wallace Wettle," said Lillian.
Wettle did not respond. He was napping in the next room.
"Just a little bit more that matters," said Ibanez, and she pressed the play button again.
Her voice was the first to break the silence. "But if this alternate-you killed you-you — we need better terminology for this —" Harry smirked, and so did Lillian, "then 5243 didn't kill you-you. So why is it bringing you back every year?"
An exchange of glances in the room. The question on everyone's mind for over a decade, Udo and Ibanez most of all.
"Maybe it isn't," said Du. "Maybe Dr. Deering isn't entangled with 5243, but with whatever is going on in the alternate timeline."
Ibanez turned off the recorder.
"This is way outside my experience," said Nascimbeni. "But did I just hear him suggest that there's... another Breach, in another timeline, that's... interacting with ours?"
"That's what I got," said Harry.
"That's what he said," Lillian sighed. "I thought he was pretty plain with it."
They settled into a contemplative hush to match the one on the tape.
This time, nobody broke it.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Udo stepped out to get some food from the cafeteria, and to her surprise, Harry offered to come with. There was obviously something on his mind, and he waited until they were on their way back with a pair of trays heaped full of hot food to spring it on her.
"Tell me to fuck off if this is inappropriate," he said, "but..."
She waited.
She got tired of waiting. "Fuck off," she said. "It is inappropriate to leave me in suspense."
He held a hand over the food, to shield it from his exhalations, and laughed nervously. His OCD was obviously getting worse. And given what they had to deal with every year, why not? "Okay. I just... I thought someone ought to ask you, because you might..." He shook his head. "Did you talk to him, after? Dougall? Did you talk to him?"
[[=image DL_51_14_Okorie_Prevaricate.jpg]]
She smiled. If she'd had a free hand, she might have patted him on the back. A friendly gesture only, but still plenty friendly. "Del says he asks for me every year. Says he begs, and he pleads."
"And? Did you listen to what he had to say?"
"No." She chewed the words out through her lower lip. "I didn't go in at all. If it was so goddamn important, he should have said it before he died the first time."
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/50-turning-and-turning | previous-title=Turning and Turning
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous | next-title=True Art is Cognitohazardous
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub | hub-title=The Breach Goes On: Deadlined
]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
[[<]]
Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:
Xinyi Du: "Dr.Kweon scientist Army Research Laboratory" by U.S. Army DEVCOM, released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/usarmyccdc/8125441607
Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653
Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023
Nhung Ngo: Nhi Dang, "Huyen," released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/nhi_dg/7186551316/ and Rod Waddington, "Hmong Woman," released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/rod_waddington/44409399060
Vivian Scout: "State Electricity Commission, Group of Four Men, Victoria, May 1940,” two images, courtesy State Electricity Commission of Australia, public domain:
https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547629
https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547640, and
"Photograph - Presentation of Phar Lap's Melbourne Cup, Flemington Racecourse, Victoria, 4 Nov 1930," courtesy Museums Victoria, in the public domain:
https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1742444
William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260
> **Filename:** Everything!
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
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2024-09-22T22:52:00
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Stop the Clock - SCP Foundation
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1456896052
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52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous
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<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
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<p><strong>True Art is Cognitohazardous</strong><br/>
Those who can, do.</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank">More by this author!</a></strong></p>
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<h1 id="toc0"><span>True Art is Cognitohazardous</span></h1>
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<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #990011">2016</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>9 September</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong>Timeline 5243-D</strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>For an instant, Nascimbeni thought he had sleep paralysis.</p>
<p>He'd never had sleep paralysis before, but this seemed to fit the bill. He was on his back, and his lungs were empty of air, and he couldn't move. He felt nauseous. He felt like he was dying. His mind was a blur. He sucked in a breath…</p>
<p>…and he realized he could breathe, and sensation returned to his body. He was hot and sweaty, stuck to the sheet beneath him and…</p>
<p>…the body beside him.</p>
<p>Del sucked in a breath, too, and they both turned to stare at each other.</p>
<p>And groaned.</p>
<p>It felt like someone had taken a wooden tenderizing mallet to all of his muscles at once. The amount of warning signals fired into his brain was overwhelming. He was dehydrated. He was sore. He was exhausted. By the way she shuddered as she rolled and sat up, he could tell Del was going through much the same experience. His skin followed hers for a fraction of a second, and the separation was a sticky <em>snap.</em></p>
<p>The bedsheets were soaked. It wasn't difficult to figure out what they'd been up to.</p>
<p><em>But for how long?</em></p>
<p>Del checked the door as Nascimbeni sat up, groggily. His vision swam. He felt faint. He took long, shuddering breaths to force oxygen into his brain, and he said: "Well."</p>
<p>"Uh huh." Del pressed her eye to the peephole on the door; they were all at four foot level, specifically to enable specifically her to do this. She frowned. She said: "Fuck."</p>
<p><em>Already have been doing,</em> he almost said, but he wasn't feeling the joke right now. "What?"</p>
<p>"There's a fractal on the wall outside."</p>
<div class="muddle">
<p>Site-wide containment breaches are no joke, and a number of security measures have been installed to give folks at ground zero a fighting chance should one occur. Cognitohazard filters have been installed in the peepholes on every dormitory room; though necessarily thin and weak, these are sufficient to allow personnel with reasonably high Cognitive Resistance Values to escape the worst of any mind-altering effects that might be blowing through the corridors. Personnel with low CRVs are unlikely to be much help in a breach of that nature, anyway.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>"You feeling okay?" he asked her.</p>
<p>She shook her head, and ran her hands along her body. She would never be slim, not with her build, but she was slimmer than usual. Nascimbeni knew from the way his chest felt when he breathed that he was nearly skeletal. "Nothing sucks that didn't suck when I woke up. I think. But that was definitely something memetic. We're going to have to be careful."</p>
<p>He slid to his feet. His knees wobbled fiercely. He tried to maintain his balance. "When we leave to find the others, you mean."</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"Which we definitely should do."</p>
<p>She cocked her head at him. "I'm the Chief of…" She cleared her throat to obscure whatever she'd been about to say. As if he didn't know. "…Pursuit and Suppression." There was a good chance her error would turn out to be correct, in this deadline, anyway. "It's my job to pursue the others and suppress whatever the hell is going on out there." She paused, made as if to press her ear to the door, then stopped herself and shuddered. "I hope it isn't memetic. You've got a good CRV, right?"</p>
<p>He shrugged. It hurt. "Better than average. And I've got the training." Foundation personnel were trained to recognize potential cognitohazards in their peripheral vision, and unfocus their eyes or look away. It was rarely good enough to prevent exposure, but it could sometimes soften the effects.</p>
<p>Del sighed. "I'll lead you. Eyes closed."</p>
<p>He grimaced, but didn't argue. His jumpsuit was balled at the foot of the bed, and he picked it up. "We should search the room first. See if there's any clues."</p>
<p>Del was already pulling on her underwear, which had been discarded on a vanity table. Nascimbeni realized that this wasn't her quarters, or his. They were in a standard dorm room, somewhere in the depths of H&S by the configuration. "Should we, though? We might get exposed to something. Probably better to find Lillian."</p>
<p>That made sense. "This does sound like a Lillian problem," he agreed.</p>
<p>"I hate Lillian problems."</p>
<p>He agreed with that, too.</p>
<p>After he was sure he wouldn't throw up, Harry tried to make sense of the conflicting signals.</p>
<p>On the one hand, the woman in his lap was substantial, silver-haired and blue-eyed behind cat's eye glasses. On the other hand, her skin was dark and warm and she smelled faintly of desert sand beneath fading traces of Melissa Bradbury's shampoo.</p>
<p>"What the fuck," Udo said.</p>
<p>"I," Harry replied. He couldn't imagine what the next word would be.</p>
<p>Udo took her arm back from around his shoulders, and he released his grip on her plump waist. She slid off his lap and onto the couch — <em>the</em> couch, they were in his dormitory — and they both scooted awkwardly away from each other.</p>
<p>She dry-heaved.</p>
<p>"I mean," he said, and he could hear hurt in his own voice he hadn't meant to convey.</p>
<p>"Not that." She waved him off. "That was fine. Uh," and she waved her hands more, as though to usher the additional awkwardness out of the room. "Uh. It's the. Uh. Translocation."</p>
<p>"Yeah." He tasted bile. "That's weird." Normally they, and their deadline counterparts, were drawn to roughly the same space for the transition. From the unsettled feeling in his stomach, it had only gone halfway at best.</p>
<p>She looked up at him, eyes sparkling cerulean. "Weird," she agreed. She picked at the fabric of his shirt. It was smooth. Silk. "Can you see in those?"</p>
<p>She was looking at his glasses, he realized. He also realized that his glasses <em>weren't.</em> The prescription was right, but the frames were all wrong. In fact, there <em>were</em> no frames. He reached up to remove them, and brushed his hand against a much neater, smoother beard than he was used to. He left the glasses alone and reached up further, running his fingers through slicked-back short hair.</p>
<p>He glanced down. He was wearing loafers. He glanced up. Udo was wearing Melissa's favourite orange camisole.</p>
<p>He took a deep breath. "I am guessing," he said, "that I look like Dougall Deering."</p>
<p>Her wince told him all he needed to know.</p>
<p>"Then I am <em>guessing,</em>" and he took a deep breath, "that there's some sort of compulsion effect in… effect. Here. Because… yeah."</p>
<p>"Yeah. We wouldn't… yeah."</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>They definitely wouldn't.</p>
<p><em>Definitely wouldn't.</em></p>
<p>Udo got off the couch. "Mind control, maybe? Wirth?"</p>
<p>"Not Wirth. He's dead." Harry squinted, and frowned. The prescription <em>was</em> correct. He felt…</p>
<p>"You look older," she said. She was squinting, too. "Fitter, though."</p>
<p>"You look… rounder."</p>
<p>She winced again, and reached down to test the shape of her hips. "I haven't ever weighed this much."</p>
<p>"I don't know if I've ever weighed this <em>little.</em> Adjusted for, you know. Inflation. Whatever." He stood up. "So, clearly we were crazy. And now we're not."</p>
<p>"Crazy," she agreed. Her expression was inscrutable.</p>
<p>"We need a cognitohazard screen."</p>
<p>She glanced around the room, and made a little sound of pleasure. Her reagents pouch was sitting on his dining nook table. "I know just the thing." She squinted again, sighed, and took off the glasses. "Glasses <em>and</em> contacts. Ridiculous."</p>
<p>"Ridiculous," he agreed. <em>She looks better without the glasses. More like herself.</em></p>
<p>He told himself he meant it.</p>
<p>There was almost no disorientation at all. McInnis stood in the empty bolthole — he'd never gotten around to telling Zulfikar that he knew where it was, now — and waited, and when it happened it was so subtle, just a faint popping of the ears and a brief sensation of vertigo, that he might have chalked it up to the palpitations of old age had he not known better.</p>
<p>He blinked.</p>
<p>His assistant was sitting at the dining table, comparing something in a notebook to something on a work tablet. He hadn't noticed the change, because there hadn't been anything to notice.</p>
<p>McInnis took a deep breath. "Zulfikar."</p>
<p>The other man glanced up at him. "Sir?"</p>
<p>"I am going to require, without prefatory questioning on your part, a brief summary of the present situation prevailing within Site-43."</p>
<p>Zulfikar blinked, visibly thought better of questioning the order anyway, and told him. The explanation was admirably succinct.</p>
<p>McInnis nodded. "Very well. That should be well within my range of tolerance." He ran his hands over his clothing. The usual jumper, shirt, and jeans. It would do. "Best estimate on the location of Dr. Lillihammer?"</p>
<p>His assistant's eyes were narrowing. "Hasn't been seen in months. Most likely she's in her office. Nobody goes there, for obvious reasons."</p>
<p>"Very well." McInnis glanced around the room, located his ID badge on the kitchenette counter, and picked it up. "I am going to go and find her."</p>
<p>Zulfikar sat up so abruptly that his chair took a chunk of plaster out of the wall beside him. "Sir?!"</p>
<p>He was already at the door. "Withold your objections, please. I can assure you I've heard them before."</p>
<p>Wettle awoke.</p>
<p>He threw up.</p>
<p>He looked up.</p>
<p>When he woke up again, not that he knew this now or would know it then, months had passed.</p>
<p>Lillian burped in Sokolsky's face.</p>
<p>He didn't react. Maybe she'd done that before. Probably she'd done it before. He did wrinkle his nose, and he narrowed his eyes. "Rations coming back on you?"</p>
<p>They were in her office. She was still sitting in her chair. He was, now, sitting on her lap. The lights were low, and flickering. She bit his nose, and asked him: "Where were we?"</p>
<p>He hooked his thumb through the back of her bra. "Somewhere around <em>here.</em>"</p>
<p>She swatted his hand away. "You have things to tell me."</p>
<p>He considered her archly. "I think you mean you have things to tell <em>me.</em>"</p>
<p>"If I had meant that, I would have said that." She took his cheeks in her hands, and made firm eye contact. "I need you to tell me what's happening, because I'm not from this timeline." His eyes widened perceptibly. "I'll answer your questions about that if you answer my question first."</p>
<p>He didn't argue. Why would he? What she was asking for was cheaper than free. He had nothing to lose.</p>
<p>He told her.</p>
<p>"…and all topside access is blocked," he concluded. "You and I are the only ones who can fix it, and we're… brainstorming." He smirked, and hooked his hand through her bra again.</p>
<p>This time, she let him open the clasp. "Stuck inside <em>again,</em>" she mused. "Four times in a row. I never thought the apocalypse would be so <em>localized.</em>"</p>
<p>"Your turn." He drew the straps from her shoulders. "Four alternate timelines?"</p>
<p>"The breach of '02. It recurs every year, and…"</p>
<p>He busied himself while she explained. When she was done, he looked up again and nodded. "Makes sense. What do you want to do next?"</p>
<p>She gripped the scruff of his neck, and raised his face to face hers again. "Let's brainstorm."</p>
<p>She slipped the bra off completely.</p>
<p>It was a tactical nightmare.</p>
<p>Ibanez kept her eyes unfocused as they moved through the halls. Every wall was a blaze of colour or what was sure to be a literally dizzying array of lines. There were murals on the floor and frescoes on the doors. When she noticed soft music in the distance, growing less soft as they went, she tore off her jumpsuit cuffs and stuck them in her ears. Nascimbeni did the same, keeping the improvised plugs in place by pulling his cap down tight. Two of her best senses self-handicapped, leading a noncombatant with his hands on her shoulders. At least she had her weapon, which she had drawn; she only hoped that if she needed to shoot something, it would be something she could focus on.</p>
<p>She nearly pulled the trigger when she turned a corner, cautiously, and a shirtless man covered in blood came bounding in their direction, laughing manically. She didn't recognize him. He didn't seem to notice them, just sped merrily on his way, crying "PRAXIS!" over and over in hoarse tones.</p>
<p>She heard something else, even through the fabric padding. Something low and large. She hopped up onto a bench in an inset niche, and pulled Nascimbeni up beside her just in time to hear the rats-in-the-floorboards scrabble of claws on tile. Three mottled brown shapes blurred by them, intent on the chase. They left a trail of blood behind them.</p>
<p>"I opened my eyes," Nascimbeni murmured into the back of her neck. Even low, his voice trembled.</p>
<p>"Close them again."</p>
<p>When the sounds of pursuit had faded again, they resumed theirs. She hoped, not optimistically, that any further performance art would be similarly free of audience participation.</p>
<p>It took two direct orders to convince Zulfikar not to follow him. McInnis had enough mental conditioning to withstand all but the most potent cognitohazards, more in fact than the O5 Council was happy with; he hadn't shared this with the other Survivors, but his stint as Administrator in the first deadline had apparently conferred permanent benefits beyond the norm for Site-43's Directorship. It was difficult to test such things safely — if a kill agent got through to you, the test ended rather abruptly — but the experts generally agreed that McInnis' mind was now safe as safehouses.</p>
<p>As he left his safehouse behind, however, the assaults came hard and fast. He unfocused his eyes, as they were all trained to do, and that was enough to restrict the immediate effects to a faint twitch in his eye muscles and a vague feeling of unease, but he could nevertheless immediately tell that every surface which could support a cognitohazard was already sporting one. Some of them were murals, and some of the murals were quite good. Some were crude in style, sometimes in content as well. All of them seemed at least passively memetic.</p>
<p>He moved along the outside edge of H&S, noting that the superstructure remained sound and the halls were clear of rubble and corpses. Some of the doors he passed were open, and he chanced a look inside when the angle was sufficient. Most of the dormitories were similarly adorned with art in a wide variety of mediums which universally made him feel light-headed and made the hair on his arms and legs stand on end. Some were occupied: a short, hairy figure pouring mugs of thick black swill for an eager array of swaying security agents, all of them singing off-key; a pair of engineers from Arms and Equipment squabbling over a piece of blue chalk in the middle of a massive schematic sketched on the concrete walls and floors, all the tiles and carpet torn up and piled in the corner; a naked man pulling out his long brown hair at the root, tying it tight to a piece of wooden dowelling, and resuming a hideous demonic caricature on his kitchen table in blood while a hunched red figure cackled with glee (and, as he passed, turned to grin approvingly at McInnis); two more naked men engaged in what he might have mistaken for a less anomalous form of performance art, if not for the fact that the brief glimpse made his temples ache.</p>
<p>Sensual kinetoglyphs. Demonic possession. Anomalous engineering. Ludwig. He glanced into one of the common rooms, and saw a shadowplay burlesque on the wall; pitch black silhouettes with tall hats and long sticks, dancing to the stoned half-applause of a drooling cuddle puddle on the floor.</p>
<p>Even in the worst of the deadlines, the problems had been confined to the Site staff. Not anymore. Not this time.</p>
<p>The subjects in containment had been freed.</p>
<p>Udo felt huge and awkward, and she hated the way Harry kept pretending not to look at her. There wasn't anything intrinsically wrong with her new shape, but it wasn't <em>hers,</em> and every move she made with it felt wrong. Her metabolism had always been far too fast for her to gain weight; she'd had to eat voraciously to avoid the appearance, perhaps even the fact, of starvation.</p>
<p>She wondered if this was how he felt every time he showed up in a deadline physically fit. She couldn't imagine what this version of her could have done to pack on so many pounds, just as she preferred not to think about why she'd done it.</p>
<p>Or how much more attractive Harry looked in the guise of someone other than himself.</p>
<p>"Face back," she said. "I need to wash up again."</p>
<p>He dutifully turned to face the direction from which they'd come, as she pushed the wave of saturated sand up into the ceiling tiles. A little <em>twist,</em> and the sprinklers came on ahead. She brought the sand back down, and the water washed the corrupted pigments out of each grain and into the drains set low in the teal tile floors. Up again to stop the flow, then back into formation as a silicon screen between them and the painted unknown, with a little particle excitation to burn off the excess moisture.</p>
<p>"Okay," she said, and without turning to see if he'd heard her she pushed the red wall forward again. It shimmered in the low fluorescents, occluding the path ahead as it scrubbed the almost certainly dangerous images off of every exposed surface. Her training screamed at her every time she caught even the faintest refracted glimpse.</p>
<p>At least they hadn't met—</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I met you walking beside me</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It was a lovely, lilting voice. They both stopped dead.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>We both hadn't known you were there<br/>
A stranger and constant companion<br/>
I wouldn't know you anywhere</p>
</blockquote>
<p>"That's Karen," said Harry.</p>
<p>Udo glanced back at him, keeping the screen in place. "How do you know?"</p>
<p>"I've heard her sing before."</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Tell me I've missed you<br/>
Be unconvincing<br/>
I'll sing my intentions<br/>
And fall short of meaning</p>
</blockquote>
<p>And there she was, clad in a white evening gown and dancing aimlessly down the corridor, zig-zagging in a graceful and effortless blend of ballerina steps and pirouettes. She hummed the chorus and verse of her strange song as she passed through the screen — it was useless to block sound — and across their path.</p>
<p>Harry stared at her as she sashayed toward the dead end of his apartments; Udo watched him sigh. "She seems happy."</p>
<p>"On vacation. We could all use one." Udo focused on the sand again. It was tempting, too tempting to form a more familiar self out of the grains, and retreat into it. Instead she began forming a crystalline lattice; with luck, it might catch the recycled wind and hum like a wine glass. A little sonic protection was better than nothing.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I left you here by my side, love</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Karen's singing faded into the buzzing of the light fixtures and aircon, but the unease it sank into Udo's chest was not so easily dispelled.</p>
<p>The brainstorming worked a treat.</p>
<p>When she was sure her mind had been properly bulwarked, and after making Sokolsky promise to come find her if the preparations didn't work — not that she really believed he would follow through — Lillian slipped through the Cognitive Decontamination Tunnel and into Memetics and Countermemetics proper. If the others had any sense, they'd be coming to find her, but she wanted to be able to tell them something they didn't already know when they arrived.</p>
<p>She felt like her eyes were going to pop out of her skull. The cocktail of targeted amnestics, mnestics and fortificants made her heart beat faster, her vision so sharp that every hard edge cut to the ocular nerve, her muscles tight and her skin crawl. It could only last a few minutes at most, or rather, <em>she</em> could; the crash would be terrible, the side effects severe. But she had to know.</p>
<p>There was a mural on the wall right outside the tunnel door, and she took a deep breath and looked right at it.</p>
<p><em>Chelsea Smits was a skeletal, twitching old woman, and she disgusted him. She'd wasted her talents and her time, and there'd never been a creative bone in her bony body. She smiled sadly at him, and he couldn't muster an ounce of pity. "I'm sorry, sir. I knew it was wrong. There's no excuse."</em></p>
<p><em>Revolted though he was, he nevertheless smiled warmly up at her. "You've done good work these past years, doctor. These trespasses are severe, I agree, but I don't believe they constitute so serious a breach of trust as you do."</em></p>
<p><em>She looked confused, because of course she did. She was an idiot, like all the rest. "Sir… I don't…" She looked like she was going to cry. Like a dried up old sponge gradually soaking up a puddle.</em></p>
<p><em>He raised a hand, not unkindly, though the urge to snap his fingers in her face and shake her out of this selfish pity spasm was intense. "We should talk about the path forward. There will need to be consequences; people died at the end of this causative chain. I don't hold you fully to blame, but I will be requiring more stringent adherence to security protocols from this point forward."</em></p>
<p><em>It was better than she deserved, and she seemed to know it. She sniffled, and he knew that if the snot started dribbling from her nose that he would have no choice but to vomit on the desk. "I've made up my mind," she rasped. God, but her voice was grating. No music in it at all. "I'm going to retire. It's all my fault."</em></p>
<p><em>It was. "It isn't."</em></p>
<p><em>She shook her head, limp hair falling out of the lazy bun on the back of her cadaverous head. A faint keening came from the farthest reaches of her throat; if she started to cry, he would call security.</em></p>
<p><em>"It <span style="text-decoration: underline;">isn't</span>," he insisted, and although there was nothing but dramatic emphasis in the repetition, she suddenly stopped her sniffling and squalling, and made eye contact for the first time.</em></p>
<p><em>"It isn't?"</em></p>
<p><em>"No," he lied. "Not entirely. Not irrecoverably. I need each and every person at this facility doing their best, Dr. Smits, and I have no doubt in my mind that you will always be an important part of that effort."</em></p>
<p><em>It didn't make any sense. There was hardly any art in it. He was practically on autopilot. She didn't matter. None of them mattered, but her especially. He hadn't really been trying, because why would he? But impossibly, it was working. She nodded. "Okay." She sat down. "Okay. Let's talk about it. If that's alright?"</em></p>
<p><em>He smiled through the queasiness in his stomach. He thought he would rather die. "Talking is always alright, Dr. Smits."</em></p>
<p>Lillian blinked, and the vision cleared. All that remained was the mural on the wall: Chelsea Smits, looking like something out of a <em>danse macabre,</em> slumped in front of the Director's desk while he beamed, literally beamed at her like a beacon of light and hope.</p>
<p>"What the fuck was that?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni didn't mean to look. But Del hadn't meant to stop so abruptly — it was only that the corpse had been painted so perfectly that it melded into the mural on the floor — and her head was at the same level as his gut, and some things were simply physiological. He nearly threw up, but he more than nearly opened his eyes.</p>
<p><em>She was at the topside elevator access, in the main foyer. They were counting on her, and she wouldn't let them down, even though deep in her heart she knew that she should. Because what she was doing, what they were <span style="text-decoration: underline;">all</span> doing, was terribly wrong. Pointless. Insolent.</em></p>
<p><em>The army of Ana Mukami advanced on her. They weren't carrying weapons. With their numbers, they didn't need to. Perhaps they only wanted to talk, to bring her over to the side of the angels. But she was cruel, and she would not listen.</em></p>
<p><em>She pulled the trigger.</em></p>
<p><em>The shiny mass of metal in her hands kicked, hard, and the first wave of Mukamis vanished in a puff of smoke and particulatized skin and bone and gore. They screamed, they <span style="text-decoration: underline;">all</span> screamed, and there was blood on the walls, but she didn't care. She would pursue this mad crusade to its illogical end. She fired again.</em></p>
<p><em>And again.</em></p>
<p><em>And again.</em></p>
<p><em>And yet still they advanced, because they had righteousness on their side, and because in actuality they were but one, determined, soul. Ibanez stumbled back, still firing, the gun growing hot in her hands, the blood everywhere now, and they were almost upon her, and still she was firing, covered in the infinite remains of her murdered friend, the friend she was murdering over and over and over again. She fired. She fired. She fell, and she fired. They fell upon her, and she fired.</em></p>
<p><em>She was still firing blindly into the ceiling, tunnelling a new elevator shaft beside the old, when she realized the rest had dropped dead.</em></p>
<p><em>She didn't cry. Unlike them, she hadn't felt a thing.</em></p>
<p>Ibanez turned to face him, a question in her eyes. He backed away from her, then stopped, then took a single step forward.</p>
<p>"What's wrong?"</p>
<p>He bit his lip, and shook his head.</p>
<p>"Well, alright then. Saddle back up." And she turned her back on him.</p>
<p>He placed his hands on her shoulders again, and they navigated around the painted corpse. If his grip was a little less sure, she probably didn't notice.</p>
<p>Udo coughed, and cursed. She'd misjudged the airflow. It was in her <em>lungs.</em></p>
<p><em>"It's looking for something," Lillian said. "It found Wirth, but I don't think it wanted him. Because seriously, why would it?"</em></p>
<p><em>"That's not nice," Udo scolded. Udo was a scold. She wasted her gifts on criticizing others, when she could have been advancing every paradigm of anomalous science known to man. It was pathetic, and she knew it, but she was powerless to do better.</em></p>
<p><em>"Thanks for the affirmation." Lillian yawned, as a way of covering up the look of contempt creeping across her face. Not that the other woman had a leg to stand on, of course. The things she wasted <span style="text-decoration: underline;">her</span> time with… "But seriously. All those reports about Verne swooping in to save the day, I honestly think that's bullshit."</em></p>
<p><em>"How is it bullshit?" As usual, Udo was following her lead instead of providing leads of her own. She was a born follower. She hated herself for it. "Abatement disaster happens, big orange tentacle shows up and plugs the leak, sucks up the gas, whatever. Happens every time. What more do you want?"</em></p>
<p><em>"After all this time, you can't see it?" Maybe Udo <span style="text-decoration: underline;">could</span> see it. Maybe she just thought it wasn't a problem worth pursuing. Then again, it kept Lillian from focusing on her other, even less meritorious, projects. "It doesn't snake around looking for the source of the breach. It seeks out <span style="text-decoration: underline;">people</span>. We've got countless accounts of folks having to dodge the creamsicle as it melts its way through the corridors. On the rare occasion it catches someone, it's a catch-and-release. It <span style="text-decoration: underline;">discards</span>. Because it hasn't found what it's looking for."</em></p>
<p><em>"Which is what?"</em></p>
<p><em>Lillian shrugged. She did it to look superior, to seem more intelligent than she was. "If I knew that, I could point the fucker in the right direction."</em></p>
<p>It was just as well that the aerosolized mural hadn't gone down smoothly. Harry mistook it for the source of the confusion, embarrassment and rage on her face as she coughed up a wad of brown paint.</p>
<p>Even through the cloth, Ibanez could still hear the music. It was muffled, but it was there. She couldn't quite make out the words, but she knew the general gist: it was something sappy and sentimental, probably a country song, probably the story of how someone's wife ran off with their dog in the family truck, or whatever the hell rednecks liked to… cry… about…</p>
<p><em>"But we aren't done," Nascimbeni protested. Not that it mattered; nothing he did mattered. He was the glorified middle manager of a bunch of glorified grease monkeys. But all he had was his tiny amount of power over his tiny little kingdom, and he'd be damned if he let go the opportunity to exercise that tonight. If he did, what was left? A cold bed, and an empty head.</em></p>
<p><em>"I told you how much time I had left," Zaman sighed. He often sighed when talking to Nascimbeni. Most people did, and with good reason. "It's a family dinner tonight. I'm not going to miss it."</em></p>
<p><em>Nascimbeni gestured at the sorry remains of their meeting. "Personnel review happens at the same time every year." It was almost a whine, but not quite. He couldn't even fully commit to a petulant tone. The less said about his singing voice, the better.</em></p>
<p><em>"Well, it can happen a day late this year. I'm the Chief. I get to make those rules." Zaman pulled on his jacket. He'd already moved on in his mind. Nascimbeni envied him the power.</em></p>
<p><em>"The rules should be in service of the <span style="text-decoration: underline;">job</span>," Nascimbeni snapped. The job was all there was. All there was to him. All there ever had been, and ever would be.</em></p>
<p><em>"The job is in service to the <span style="text-decoration: underline;">people</span>," the other man reminded him. He was already at the door; he was going to leave Nascimbeni in the office, alone. "I like to actually see those people from time to time. For perspective. You know?"</em></p>
<p>If Nascimbeni felt her shoulders tighten under his knuckles, he gave no audible sign. Then again, that damnable music was still keening away in the distance, even after she shook off the unwanted daydream and wiped her eyes of unexpected tears.</p>
<p>It was Harry who had the brilliant idea to cut through the pool room, having gone that way during his race through the Site back in 2003. He knew who he'd been racing <em>with,</em> thanks to the debriefing logs, but he kept that information to himself. The paint on the route Udo wanted to take was so thick that she had to wash her sand out every few metres, so she was amenable to the detour.</p>
<p>They stopped dead in the double doors, however, when they saw what lay beyond.</p>
<p>The pool was filled with undulating serpentine bodies, sleek black with copper barbs and shining emerald eyes. The cats glanced lazily in their direction; in the water, one of them purred, and a stream of bubbles rose into the air.</p>
<p>Harry and Udo backed away as one.</p>
<p>"Step by step it is," Udo breathed, and she closed the door again.</p>
<p>She did her best, as she always did, but trace outlines remained as they pushed forward now. He didn't blame her, but it was unfortunate that she couldn't quite erase the foundations of each… memory…</p>
<p><em>Lillian waved the other woman off. It would only annoy her, but maybe that was what she wanted. She was a peevish, uncooperative, selfish woman at heart, and causes bigger than herself were only cause for aggravation. "I don't have the resources. I don't have the <span style="text-decoration: underline;">time</span>. The</em> giftschreiber <em>are fucking up <span style="text-decoration: underline;">everything</span>, Marion. Globally. My people are working double shifts." Most of it was true, for what it was worth.</em></p>
<p><em>"At least you <span style="text-decoration: underline;">have</span> people," Wheeler sighed. When Lillian glanced at her, she saw a shrinking woman of middle age with deep lines on her forehead, bags under her eyes, the pale skin of a chronic insider, and absolutely zero imagination. One grey blot of billions on a pale blue dot. "I can't seem to hold on to anyone these days."</em></p>
<p><em>Lillian arched a brow. "Hold on to, as in keep them employed, or hold on to, as in remember they exist?"</em></p>
<p><em>"Either or. We're underfunded, understaffed, and behind the curve. You've got to be able to spare <span style="text-decoration: underline;">something</span>."</em></p>
<p><em>Lillian shook her head. Wheeler's problems were practically invisible to her. Not like the</em> giftschreiber. <em>That was something tangible, something real. Something wonderful, something bound for glory, and she hated it because she knew that one day it would defeat her, because it was the masterpiece of all movements. She would not go gently. She would not go gladly. She would fight the new paradigm tooth and nail before, inevitably, it erased her just as Wheeler's people were being erased. She was too stubborn to stop now. And so, she waved again. "I wish I could help. Really I do. But these fuckers are going to end the goddamn <span style="text-decoration: underline;">world</span> if I let my guard down."</em></p>
<p><em>Wheeler picked up her handbag, and stood. "If you don't help me, they might not get the <span style="text-decoration: underline;">chance</span>."</em></p>
<p><em>But Lillian wasn't listening anymore.</em></p>
<p><em>To the extent that she ever had been.</em></p>
<p>Harry frowned. That didn't seem right. Not the memory transference, which was of course a new and unpleasant addition to the nonsense they'd dealt with so far in this strange new world, but the contents of that specific memory. He could still see the sketch of Lillian on the wall, brushing off the sketch of Marion which stood defiantly at her desk, demanding aid that she would not receive.</p>
<p>No, that didn't seem right at all.</p>
<p>He'd have to remember to ask Lillian about it, if they weren't eaten first.</p>
<p><em>"Replication studies are my <span style="text-decoration: underline;">entire job</span>, Harry!" Wettle screeched. He knew he shouldn't. He knew that what he did was an unjustifiable duplication of effort, requiring expenditures the Foundation couldn't spare, and unimaginative in the extreme to boot. But he'd said it anyway, because he was a stupid, talentless boob.</em></p>
<p><em>"If they're your entire job, <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Willie</span>," Blank shouted, "why are you so fucking</em> bad <em>at them?" He waved the report in Wettle's face. "Because seriously, what is this shit? 'Definitely something spooky going on here'?! Write up your conclusions properly and re-submit, you <span style="text-decoration: underline;">hack</span>."</em></p>
<p><em>That sounded like work. Blank and Wettle weren't really friends, and they weren't really colleagues. He had no intention of rising up on behalf of a fellow waste of skin, and he made up his mind to say so. His mind, of course, was like a bed in a crackhouse: it never stayed made up long. "It <span style="text-decoration: underline;">is</span> spooky! We dressed Deering up like his brother…"</em></p>
<p><em>"Which Deering?! Jesus <span style="text-decoration: underline;">fuck</span>, Willie, precision matters in science!"</em></p>
<p><em>"The other one! Whatsisname! <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Dougall</span>. We dressed Dougall up like Phil, and the mirror monster knew which one was which. How is that not spooky?!"</em></p>
<p><em>"How is spookiness <span style="text-decoration: underline;">data</span>?!"</em></p>
<p><em>"You're not my god damn boss, Harry!" Wettle had reached his limit. It was time to do what he did best, besides fucking up: moaning like a big, swollen baby. "My boss is <span style="text-decoration: underline;">your</span> boss, and <span style="text-decoration: underline;">your</span> boss told me to re-do <span style="text-decoration: underline;">your</span> work. You know why? You want to know why?"</em></p>
<p><em>Blank did not want to know why. The need not to know was written across his fat, hairy face, an only slightly less shapeless mirror to Wettle's own.</em></p>
<p><em>Wettle told him anyway. No, not anyway. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Because</span>. "Because nothing you do with this skip is objective. Because it hurt your <span style="text-decoration: underline;">girlfriend</span>, and you—"</em></p>
<p><em>Blank didn't slap him. He was too much of a coward to follow through, as he had been all his life. But he did pull back his hand, and that hurt almost as bad.</em></p>
<p>"That's curious." McInnis pondered the mural: Harry's look of rage, Wettle's dull fear. The malformed contents of the message. Its contradictions. "Very curious indeed."</p>
<p>"What is?"</p>
<p>McInnis reached the tunnel first, and Lillian walked him to the door. They made idle small talk for half an hour; by common agreement, the Survivors would not discuss the scenario until they either fully reconvened or knew that for some reason, they could not. Sokolsky stayed in the office, gathering up their notes for the presentation.</p>
<p>Del and Nascimbeni arrived next, both looking troubled. Lillian sent them inside to freshen up; there was a washroom with running water in the attached laboratory, what Lillian called her 'lavoratory'. They could very evidently use a splash of cold water on their ashen faces.</p>
<p>Harry and Udo looked like they'd both seen more than one ghost. They separated wordlessly at the door, Udo heading in while Harry remained without. He had that look he got when he had something to tell Lillian, but wasn't sure if he should. That was fine. He always decided in her favour.</p>
<p>Wettle never arrived.</p>
<p>"So, memetic contagion." McInnis nodded. "That was Zulfikar's impression as well."</p>
<p>"He's unaffected?" Harry asked.</p>
<p>"He was when I left. How many more personnel can we count on?"</p>
<p>"Roughly?" Sokolsky grunted. "I would say zero. Your bolthole and Lillian's office are probably the only safe spaces in the entire facility. Everyone else is turned."</p>
<p>"Turned to what?" Udo asked.</p>
<p>"The world's shittiest artist colony, and I don't say that lightly." Del kept looking at Nascimbeni, who kept looking back at her. They both looked confused. "We saw plenty of people still painting, out there. The walls. The floors. Each other. The skips."</p>
<p>"Skips?" Harry frowned. "We saw Mishepeshu in the pool—"</p>
<p>"<em>What,</em>" Nascimbeni interrupted.</p>
<p>"—but we didn't see any others. Just the art, and some of the artists." He wrinkled his nose. "Saw Karen doing a song and dance. And I think that was Astrauskas outlining people against the wall, but we didn't get a closer look."</p>
<p>"I didn't want a closer look," Udo murmured.</p>
<p>"I saw a great many SCP objects," McInnis confirmed. "I believe our lost personnel have been releasing the subjects in containment."</p>
<p>"Good god," Harry breathed. "All of them?"</p>
<p>"We saw the fucking werewolves," Del snapped. "I'd say all of them."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni blinked. "We did? When was <em>that?</em>"</p>
<p>"Are you trying to take Wettle's place?"</p>
<p>"I had my god damn eyes closed! You're telling me the <em>werewolves—</em>"</p>
<p>"Where <em>is</em> Dr. Wettle?" McInnis interjected, without it feeling like he was really interrupting anything. He had that gift. "Did he cross paths with any of you?"</p>
<p>Shaken heads all around.</p>
<p>"I mean," Sokolsky said.</p>
<p>Lillian nodded.</p>
<p>McInnis raised an eyebrow.</p>
<p>"He definitely looked at the first fractal he saw, right?" Sokolsky glanced between each of them. "Right? That's definitely what happened."</p>
<p>Harry sighed. "Definitely."</p>
<p>Nods all around.</p>
<p>"Well, we'll need to retrieve him." McInnis folded his arms in front of his chest, waiting for Sokolsky to protest. Curiously, he did not. "Now, I understand that Drs. Lillihammer and Sokolsky have a tentative plan for restoring order to the Site. Is that correct?"</p>
<p>"Other than the tentative part," Lillian grinned. "I don't do anything <em>tentatively.</em> Let's take this one step at a time. We need to be able to move around out there without squinting, or scrubbing, or plugging our ears. I don't have a solution for that last one, yet, but the rest? SCRAMBLE goggles."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni frowned. "SCRAMBLE? I thought those didn't work."</p>
<p>"I don't even know what that is," Udo said.</p>
<p>"In brief," Sokolsky explained, "SCRAMBLE goggles intercept and occlude cognitohazards before the brain can fully process them. And they <em>do</em> work. They just don't work on magic bullshit, which is what they were designed for."</p>
<p>"Designed by who?" Harry prompted.</p>
<p>"Two dead guys I used to know. But that's not really relevant, because we don't have their version here anyway."</p>
<p>"What version <em>do</em> we have?" Nascimbeni asked.</p>
<p>"No version," Lillian grinned. "We're going to have to invent them again ourselves."</p>
<p>Del groaned. "You're going to suggest we go scrounging for parts, in this hellhole?"</p>
<p>"I'm going to suggest we get a manifest of all the shit lying around the Site, and make <em>targeted sorties.</em> That's much fancier-sounding than <em>scrounging,</em> so take heart."</p>
<p>"Does such a manifest exist?" McInnis asked. "I doubt this deadline is quite as organized as the previous one was by its end, given the difference in circumstances."</p>
<p>"The Chairs and Chiefs kept independent inventories on their machines," Lillian said.</p>
<p>Del's groan was more of a grumble now. "So all we have to do is sneak into the offices of <em>probably</em> the worst offenders in the ongoing art attack. Great."</p>
<p>"Nah." Lillian stood. "Just one. It's a technical problem, right? So, we take it to I&T."</p>
<p>There was a helpful mural just around the corner from the tunnel entrance. Lillian presented it to the group with a flourish. "Ignore the weird editorializing," she told them. "I think I might know what's causing that."</p>
<p><em>The thing about working for a covert world government is that you're already primed for subterfuge.</em></p>
<p><em>It had taken months to break down her natural antipathy to standing up for what's right — if she'd been really that moral, she would never have come to work for the Foundation in the first place — but eventually Marroquin had managed it. In his defence, he'd probably been trying. He wanted all of his technicians compromised, like he was, the better to badger and blackmail them into extending his little fiefdom within Site-43.</em></p>
<p><em>But he hadn't counted on Eileen's stubborn streak.</em></p>
<p><em>Hacking a hacker meant digging in by degrees. She couldn't just go at him, brute force his office door and see all the secrets laid out in front of her. She'd need to be subtle. He was a man prone to rabbitting, and worse, this rabbit had teeth. He could get her fired, or even terminated probably, if she acted in too hasty earnest. So the first thing she did was backdoor the Site's travel tracking software, and when she was absolutely certain Marroquin was at a layover halfway around the world and halfway to the security conference he was attending, she made her first move. There had been problems with the Trans-IAAAC Cable of late, and she took advantage of that to cut off his access to 43NET. He probably wouldn't notice; she knew he did most of his work disconnected, probably because it wasn't the stuff he was meant to be working on. But she disconnected him anyway, because if anything she touched sent out an alert, she'd want to be able to squelch it.</em></p>
<p><em>She was a disaster with painting, with music, with words that could stir the soul of a living being. But in the cold and sterile language of the machines, she was a goddess. For what little that was worth.</em></p>
<p><em>Her roundabout path to the office permissions took an hour or so to navigate. She routed the commands down all manner of innocuous angles, at one point even involving the fire control systems. She'd spent her months of inaction learning how the Site's wide variety of electronic architectures interacted, both intentionally and potentially. By the time it was done, she was confident that even her paranoiac supervisor would be incapable of tracing the signal back to its source.</em></p>
<p><em>Not that she intended to let him discover the signal. She wasn't going down for this. She was far, far too selfish to sacrifice for a cause.</em></p>
<p><em>Marroquin's office was immaculate. She didn't really expect to find anything she could use against him in here. She <span style="text-decoration: underline;">did</span> hope there would be further breadcrumbs to the real stash, perhaps a password that would open up a new network pathway, or…</em></p>
<p><em>Eileen loved puzzles, so she was sorry to find the solution to this one so quickly. She hadn't even been consciously reading the room for things out of place, but she saw one straight off anyway, in her peripheral vision. She'd seen it before, but it simply hadn't registered as important until now.</em></p>
<p><em>They'd long since gotten rid of I&T's crop of Macintosh LC III computers, but Marroquin's had stayed on his massive desk, shoved over in the corner and turned toward the wall. She'd thought perhaps it was sentimentality; the chief tech had occasionally spoken fondly of the Mac architecture, how easy he found it to program for. But in the absence of the man, she realized this had been an obvious blind. Marroquin didn't get sentimental. Anything that didn't have a use for him was so much chaff. He could have been an excellent Hollywood executive.</em></p>
<p><em>She booted up the machine.</em></p>
<p><em>There weren't very many files in the structure. The squat pizza box had only eighty megs of disk space standard, and Marroquin had not elected to upgrade his machine, or employ any portable drives (so far as she knew). There were simply very few places he could hide anything, and in any case, he hadn't really tried.</em></p>
<p><em>She stared at the unfamiliar icon. "Total Area Network." What the hell did that mean?</em></p>
<p><em>She clicked on it.</em></p>
<p><em>It took her four hours to figure out the password, because of course it was password-locked. When she did, she was initially unimpressed. Network access. Remote folders. There was a text file nestled up against the TAN icon, and inside she found instructions for drilling down to specific locations. She typed through a few of the chains, frowning as she did. Device ID numbers made sense, but some of these other data points sounded more… geographical. That wasn't how network access normally worked.</em></p>
<p><em>She was even more disappointed when she saw the contents of each filespace. Nothing but bog standard I&T docs. Maintenance schedules. Technical specs. Emails. Emails…</em></p>
<p><em>She froze.</em></p>
<p><em>One of the emails was hers, a request for information from Jack Turlough. The other tech hadn't responded, because she'd thought better of sending the message. Turlough was a prick.</em></p>
<p><em>Unsent messages were stored locally.</em></p>
<p><em>She was looking at the file structure of her own Mac 475.</em></p>
<p><em>Which she'd <span style="text-decoration: underline;">turned</span> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">off</span> before coming here.</em></p>
<p><em>The Total Area Network gave Marroquin access to every computer in his department, whether they were active or not.</em></p>
<p><em>Now that, <span style="text-decoration: underline;">that</span> was art.</em></p>
<p>"Hmm," said McInnis.</p>
<p>"I'm not quite seeing it," said Harry.</p>
<p>"Yeah," Udo agreed. "That's interesting and all, but somehow getting access to every ancient Mac in the Site seems kinda limited, as far as information collection goes. Any manifests on those machines have got to be a dozen years or more out of date."</p>
<p>But Lillian was already walking back into the tunnel. "You get the gist, little angels. That's all you need right now. Leave the details to us devils."</p>
<p>Sokolsky and Lillihammer had spent most of their self-imposed incarceration using standard remote access to get as clear a picture of the Site as possible, as opposed to going out there and actually doing anything directly. They had partial maps of each Section, and rough sketches of the hazards they'd been able to espy through the cognito-hardened cameras at each main corridor junction. Every path to I&T was perilous in a different way, and it was going to be impossible to simply waltz in.</p>
<p>But they were in the heart of one of the world's most advanced R&D facilities. Every lab and office was potentially stocked with equipment that could allow them to neutralize the threats in their way.</p>
<p>And, so, they scrounged.</p>
<p>It was like cleaning a large, complicated room. They started at a corner — Lillian's office — and gradually worked their way outward in concentric circles. The first few days were the worst. Harry lost his eyesight for an hour. Udo's skin broke out in an orange rash. Del was forced to spend an afternoon learning a dance supposedly inspired, somehow, by <em>Spells of Coming Forth By Day.</em> (Her instinct was simply to flatten the little cluster of eager participants, but unfortunately their number included all six foot four inches of Howard Yancy, and even if she managed to knock him down, the odds were good he'd simply crush her as he fell.) Nascimbeni was, very briefly, chased by a bear. (He felt certain this honour would have fallen to Wettle, had the hapless chemist been around. Probably he was encountering something worse, wherever he was.)</p>
<p>By the end of a week, they'd had better luck. Udo was able to secure a supply of diatemaceous earth, which she found much more efficient as a medium for her scrubbing screens, particularly after Nascimbeni added paraindustrial solvents to the mix. Lillian found a half-complete projection system she'd been working on with Bremmel — not in baseline, but that was fine, since she had her deadline memories anyway — and when she and Sokolsky completed it, they found it could totally overwrite the visual profile of any rectangular space it was set in. This allowed them to bypass one particularly hinky hall of murals, although they'd need to build a second unit if they wanted to be able to leapfrog. (McInnis suggested this might not be such a great idea anyway, given that it increased their chances of being trapped in an island surrounded by a sea of cognitohazards. Still, it was something to do.</p>
<p>Harry busied himself finding food and water, since the stores in the office had only been meant to support two researchers. McInnis directed, as usual, and each of the others marvelled at least once that they didn't find this irritating. Sometimes, apparently, management wasn't a solely parasitic arrangement.</p>
<p>Sokolsky stayed in the office. He wouldn't tell anyone what he was working on, not even the Director.</p>
<p>Nobody pressed him. They were too busy pressing in every other direction.</p>
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<h2 id="toc3"><span>20 September</span></h2>
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<p>They weren't <em>not</em> looking for Wettle, but he was nowhere on anyone's list of priorities. That wasn't why it was a shock when Udo accidentally found him.</p>
<p>He was lying in the middle of a corridor in H&S, just outside the entrance to the Research and Experimentation supercomplex. It had taken ten days to trim the metaphorical tall grass low enough to allow safe passage in that direction; on the way in, everyone including McInnis had needed to screw their eyes tight and hum to make it through cognitively intact. Perhaps one of them had even stepped on the wayward doctor; there was a bootprint in the middle of his garish lime green shirt.</p>
<p>Udo didn't notice this until later, however, because the really surprising thing about chancing onto Wettle was the thing that had chanced upon him first.</p>
<p>Purring softly, ears pressed back, eyes closed in contentment, a six-foot-long water panther was lying across the bulge of his belly. It looked up sleepily when Udo approached, and yawned a toothy yawn.</p>
<p>There were frozen steaks in the Admin and Oversight mini-cafeteria, and a microwave. Her father would not have approved, but she was in a hurry. The cat turned out to be no connoisseur anyway.</p>
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<h2 id="toc4"><span>3 October</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"Not… yet," Nascimbeni grunted through gritted teeth. He let go the button, and the cacophony ended.</p>
<p>It started again when the response came through, underlining and undermining the gravity of the words. "Keep working on it. They're trapped out there."</p>
<p>"Don't you… think I don't…" He slapped his forehead. <em>Get it right, or you'll have to keep hearing this garbage.</em> "Do you think I don't know that? I'm working on it. Let me work."</p>
<p>No response came this time, which was a mercy. The walkie-talkies used a dedicated frequency that was theoretically safe from outside interference, but given the entire facility was now a colourful war diorama, inside interference was a very real possibility. Lillian had presented the solution: play an antimemetic trigger on loop over the walkies whenever they were being used. It had been a simple modification, and she'd had a song in mind.</p>
<p>"Witch Doctor" by The Cartoons.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni had never liked talking on the radio, but now it was actively infuriating.</p>
<p>He was standing at the master control panel for the electrics in H&S, tucked away at the corner of the dorms where their cleaning efforts had so far been good enough to penetrate. Udo and Lillian had been repeatedly scrubbing the halls over and over, but it seemed like every time they left, someone new came swooping in with artistic intentions and a head full of dangerous thoughts. Complicating matters was the lack of firearms in the Site; Del had quickly discovered that all her usual boltholes and secret armouries were empty. Radical pacifism was in effect, which was something of a problem given how many carnivorous cryptids were presently roaming the halls.</p>
<p>It had been Harry's idea to try securing the salt caverns at Archives and Revision. They stretched back for kilometres, and were packed full of material which wouldn't easily support memetic markings. A second safehouse on the opposite side of the facility from Lillian's office was an enticing prospect, particularly as they expected to begin their scramble for SCRAMBLE parts in the next few days, so he'd set off as the expert and Del had tagged along as an expert in violence, tool-assisted or not.</p>
<p>And then all the sprinklers had gone off at once, and the entire Section had filled with a hallucinogenic gas. Nascimbeni could still smell it now, a pungent of mix of camphor oil and sulphur.</p>
<p>They first they'd heard of it was at the top of Zulfikar's lungs. McInnis had left one of the walkies with his assistant, along with instructions to stay put and keep the door locked. It was therefore a mystery why the otherwise level-headed young man had been caught out in the open when the deluge began, with the almost immediate result that he had torn off his expensive silk shirt and begun pounding the tile walls with his closed fists, screaming "THE MEDIUM IS EVERYTHING" and "EVERYTHING IS A MEDIUM" over and over as his knuckles splintered. The last they'd seen, from the glass double doors to R&E, he'd gone chasing after a squall of tiny pixie-like figures which had been rapidly shifting form and gibbering inchoately. There was still a trail of blood in the teal fluid that now covered every floor surface in the dorms, to mark his passage.</p>
<p>Luckily, Lillian possessed a very large black umbrella.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni had insisted on going alone. "You barely need me anyway, and anyone who could come with is too important to lose. I know where I'm going, and I won't be long."</p>
<p>"That's what Harry and Del said." Udo had looked miserable, and she hadn't been wrong.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni sighed as he flipped the final switch up and down one last time. So, the masters had been re-routed. The Site's electrics had become yet another crazed art project, or else the sabotage had been intentional. Perhaps the deluge was a coordinated assault rather than some comic book impetus to further creativity. That was interesting, if it was true. He sighed again, picked up his toolbox, and headed for the door where he'd left the umbrella.</p>
<p>He stopped.</p>
<p>Whatever was in the sprinklers, it didn't smell like camphor oil at all. Sulphur had been the only discernable note.</p>
<p>"Who's in here?" He turned back to the master switches, and began opening panels at random. "Come on. I know you're—"</p>
<p>There was a loud <em>crash</em> behind him, and he spun to see a woman dropping out of the drop ceiling and onto the ceiling tile she'd kicked out of it. She had green hair, was wearing the uniform of an Applied Occultist and was holding, miraculously, a pistol in her hand.</p>
<p>He suppressed a laugh of relief. She looked too twitchy for loud noises. "What's it this time? Alis Rydderech, Alis Lane, or something new?"</p>
<p>She narrowed her eyes at him. "My name," she spat, "is Alis <em>Wettle.</em>"</p>
<p>"I thought men couldn't cross their legs without crushing their balls."</p>
<p>Harry finished settling his back against the wall, and grimaced down at her. "Men use ball crushing as an excuse to sit the way they want. Balls evolved to not be crushed. That's why one hangs lower than the other. The men who told you that are <em>liars.</em>" He smirked. "You should kick them in the balls."</p>
<p>"Statistically, I probably did." She took another pull on her bottle of gin, and sighed contentedly.</p>
<p>They were sitting in the back rooms of the Director's Complex. Harry had never been this far into Allan's private domain, and had been surprised to find that it hadn't been Allan's at all. The decor, the furniture, the personal effects; these rooms had gone functionally unchanged since Vivian Scout had died in the mid-1990s. The wallpaper was… well, for starters, there was wallpaper. It was fancy, all dark warm tones and scrollwork. There was oak panelling. There was a coat stand with a very familiar grey overcoat on it, not remotely moth-eaten, and on top, there had been a fedora.</p>
<p>The fedora was now in Harry's hands. (He'd washed them first.) He rotated it thoughtfully as he clenched and unclenched his upper arm muscles against the comforting bulk of the wine bottle he'd found in Scout's liquor cabinet. "You ever wonder if we're letting him down?"</p>
<p>"I'll drink to that," she hiccoughed, and followed through.</p>
<p>"I'm serious. He had high hopes for us, you know. The young Turks. Gonna make big changes. Shake up the establishment. Twenty years later, and what? We <em>are</em> the establishment."</p>
<p>Del wiped her lips with her sleeve, which hung loose from her shoulders. She'd unzipped her jumpsuit to the waist. She'd been oddly relaxed ever since the spray outside had settled into a fine, muggy mist. <em>Del never stops, because she never has to.</em> Well, now she had to, and she was apparently going to make the most of it. It reminded him of— "Speak for yourself. I've still got a skyscraper full of acronyms over my head at all hours. TAD won't tell us what the fuck is going on. O5 won't let us set our own terms. Even Allan isn't telling the whole truth."</p>
<p>Harry shrugged. It was easy to shrug in Dougall's silk shirts. He almost thought he could get used to the feeling. "He's got a lot on his shoulders. And really… isn't he part of the problem?"</p>
<p>She peered up at him, eyes already a bit bleary. "How so?" The last, barely audible radio call had suggested the halls couldn't be made safe for at least another sixteen hours. Plenty of time to tie one on, and then let it slowly unravel in the usual way. They'd even found a pair of buckets in the Director's supply closet.</p>
<p>He set the hat down reverently, on a towel he'd spread on the floor in case they needed it to mop up a spill, and took a gulp of the red wine. He'd felt a pang of guilt dipping into the old man's secret stash, even if he was long, long gone, until he'd remembered that he could down the entire bottle and it would still be there come next September. Stalling complete, he presented his carefully curated thoughts. "Scout wanted us to make the world a better place. Allan was his replacement. Allan was supposed to do what Scout couldn't. I don't see that he has."</p>
<p>Del grunted. "I don't see how he <em>could.</em> We're just one Site. You can't change org culture in one lifetime, from one… I don't know. Node? It doesn't work that way."</p>
<p>"It definitely doesn't work when you don't work on it."</p>
<p>She reached over and tipped the bottle back up to his mouth, and didn't let him stop drinking until he'd started to splutter.</p>
<p>"Alright," he said, shaking his head and spraying red droplets in every direction. "Point taken. We're on break."</p>
<p>"Damn right." She reduced the bottle, thick as it was, to the halfway-mark with a Herculean chug her body should hardly have been able to support. "Of course, <em>you're</em> always on break."</p>
<p>He bristled at that. "You don't need to get personal. Udo…" He trailed off. He really didn't have anything to say on the matter, at least nothing that would be useful to talk through with Del.</p>
<p>The little woman's eyes widened. "I just meant you're lazy, guy. But if you want to cry about your relationship troubles…"</p>
<p>He looked away. "You're intolerable."</p>
<p>"I get more tolerable when I'm incoherent." He could hear her attacking the bottle even more fiercely.</p>
<p>"If you had your pick…" Harry stopped. He wasn't sure where that had come from. Probably somewhere in the middle of his own bottle.</p>
<p>His shoulder was shaking. She was shaking his shoulder. "If I had my pick <em>what?</em> Pick of what?"</p>
<p>He looked back at her. "If you could pick anyone, who would you pick? You know."</p>
<p>She shook her head. "I don't know. What you mean, I mean. I mean." She burped. "Sex? Yancy, every time."</p>
<p>He opened his mouth, and his brow furrowed, and he didn't ask what he almost asked. "Okay. Not what I meant. I meant… you know."</p>
<p>She adjusted her legs so she could kick him, lightly, with one boot. "Stop saying I know. If I knew, I could answer. You mean mushy shit? Who do I want to wake up next to every day for the rest of my life?"</p>
<p>He nodded.</p>
<p>She took another long draught of the rum, and because for a moment he forgot who he was talking to, he thought she was taking the delay to consider, as he had done. He thought this right up until the moment that she turned and sprayed the amber liquid in his face.</p>
<p>And laughed.</p>
<p>"Nobody. Somebody different every time. Sappy shit! That's not me." She glanced around him, at the hat. "Did I hit it?"</p>
<p>He glanced down. "Little bit."</p>
<p>"Oh. Sorry."</p>
<p>He shook his head. "Not the real hat anyway." He pulled the towel out from under it, and began dabbing the rum off his face. "Aren't you going to ask?"</p>
<p>"Ask what? And don't say I know."</p>
<p>He made a face at her.</p>
<p>She laughed again. "Who you'd pick? You expect me to ask that out loud? Harry, every sentient being in this hole, plus Wettle, has known the answer to that for twenty years."</p>
<p>There really wasn't anything to say in response to that.</p>
<p>So they drank until dawn, instead. They couldn't see it, but some biological rhythms are immutable.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc5"><span>21 October</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>The hall outside Eileen's office was lit up like an exploded Christmas tree.</p>
<p>Not exploded violently, as with actual explosives, but geometrically. Someone had grabbed the relevant nodes and cranked everything to eleven, so that there were blinking bulbs and glittering lines of sparkling electricity from ceiling to wall to floor. Lillian could see any number of potential vectors for transmission: the colours of the lights, the patterns they were flashing, their arrangement in 3D space, the crackle and hum in the air as they pulsed out whatever malign message they'd been encoded with.</p>
<p>Eileen herself sat cross-legged on the floor, in her underwear. Her skin was covered with electrical burns, and she was sucking her teeth and shaking her head. "Almost there," she said.</p>
<p>"Sure thing," Lillian agreed. She examined the complex device hooked up to the I&T chief's keycard reader. <em>Anybody's guess what <span style="text-decoration: underline;">that</span> is.</em> Another impediment, because of course.</p>
<p>"Almost picking them <em>up.</em>" Eileen extended a shaking hand at the nearest LED, a tiny screwdriver in her hand. She began twisting it through the wire, and the lights flickered — Lillian only saw this peripherally, of course — in a subtly different pattern. "I can almost make it <em>out.</em>"</p>
<p>"Alan Turing would be proud." Lillian knelt to examine the strange mechanical override. The work of another couple hours, no doubt. Eileen could out-engineer anyone in the Site when it came to computers, Lillian included, but given enough time there were few code-based shenanigans she couldn't entangle. "Give it a few months, we might <em>all</em> make it out."</p>
<p>Eileen laughed so abruptly that Lillian nearly stood up, startled. "Yeah," she agreed. "Yeah, everybody's gonna hear it soon. That's for sure."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc6"><span>22 October</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"Okay." Udo examined the small, cigarette smoke-yellow computer critically. SCP-5295 was horizontal rather than vertical, covered in striations that were as much about looks as heat exchange, and now hooked up to a massive wide-screen monitor on Lillian's office wall. She'd left the old CRT behind, for reasons beyond obvious. "Now are you going to explain why this was worth spending three weeks to find?"</p>
<p>Lillian, typing rapidly on the keyboard with one hand, raised her personal phone up with the other. There was a photograph on the screen, and Udo just had time to think <em>you could just fucking <span style="text-decoration: underline;">tell me</span></em> before the encoded memory took hold.</p>
<p><em>The wizened old traitor pressed his warped fingernails to the exposed wire, and raised his already reedy voice to a querulous whine: "How's that?"</em></p>
<p><em>Eileen nodded. "Disrupted. I think I can get at the code now. How long can you hold it?"</em></p>
<p><em>Zlatá laughed. That hateful, hateful laugh. "Forever, as long as I'm kept fed and watered. The effect might be impressive, but the means by which it's achieved are rudimentary at best."</em></p>
<p><em>"That tracks. From what I've seen, this is sub-demonics level circuitry. But that's Maxwellists for you." The apostates from the more literalist Church of the Broken God were electromancers</em> par excellence, <em>but they didn't generally believe in being any flashier than that needed to be. There would be minimal enchantments on Marroquin's device. Anything that could be accomplished with code, would have been. That meant all she needed to do was use Zlatá as a sort of thaumaturgical resistor, and her fancy fingerwork could do the rest.</em></p>
<p><em>The rest of this terrible, terrible, unforgiveable thing she was doing.</em></p>
<p><em>As though able to read her thoughts, or perhaps actually reading them on her face, the ferret-faced oldster posed a question. "Have you considered the moral ramifications of this?"</em></p>
<p><em>Eileen snorted, like the flexible livestock she was. Open minded to the point of an empty conscience. "Of course I have."</em></p>
<p><em>"And you aren't bothered?"</em></p>
<p><em>"Of course I am. But this goes beyond what I think is right. What I think we <span style="text-decoration: underline;">need</span> is always going to take precedence."</em></p>
<p><em>"And you think we need this… violation?" This of course was rich, coming from █ ██████████████ as it did, but if Zlatá felt a pang of guilt… well. His kind never did, did they?</em></p>
<p><em>"I think there are worse violations in the offing. Can you move on to the next circuit?"</em></p>
<p><em>Zlatá complied, deft motions belying his general decrepitude, and waited for her to continue.</em></p>
<p><em>"You and I both know there's enough shady shit going on down here to bring the whole world crashing down. The only thing that stops them all from blowing up on any given day is that every schemer needs to waste half their time keeping out of the way of everyone else's schemes. But we can't rely on that time sink forever. Eventually something's got to give, and I'd like to know what it is in advance, because I'm going to be on the picking-up-pieces crew by default."</em></p>
<p><em>"Because you're the Chief of I&T?" Zlatá offered.</em></p>
<p><em>Eileen sucked on her teeth. "No. Because everyone trusts me."</em></p>
<p><em>A more sour truth she had never savoured.</em></p>
<p>Udo blinked, and the scene vanished. Lillian had finished typing, and was looking up at her questioningly.</p>
<p>The answer came slowly. It was like shaking herself out of a deep sleep. She wondered if memetic contagion was bioaccumulative. "They changed it," she finally managed.</p>
<p>Lillian nodded.</p>
<p>"So it doesn't just access other old Macs?"</p>
<p>Another nod.</p>
<p>Udo felt her lunch plunge. "…oh, Jesus."</p>
<p>This time the nod was accompanied by a knowing grin. "Yeah. On the plus side, I'm sure you're much too wholesome to have socked any porn away on your work computer, so your record's probably still clean."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc7"><span>23 October</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>McInnis watched with a mixture of curiosity and mild surprise as Alis mopped the sweat from Wettle's deeply lined brow. "Having bad dreams?" he offered.</p>
<p>She shook her head. "No, he gets forehead sweat when he sleeps. Doctors don't know why. Just one of those things."</p>
<p>"And you married him," said Harry. Nascimbeni elbowed him.</p>
<p>Alis rubbed her husband's temples, counterclockwise. "Life is a slow, mostly boring trip to some very strange places."</p>
<p>"The very strange places are just pit stops." Lillian was still hammering away on the old Mac, compiling her scavenging list. Udo and Del were already out searching for the first few pieces. "The destination is actually, well." She waved one hand at the ceiling, the other effortlessly taking up the slack. "Everyone who works here is already there. You know?"</p>
<p>"Will he wake up?" Alis asked.</p>
<p>Lillian didn't answer. Harry walked over, selected a single strand of coral hair, and walked away until she yelped. She stood up, shoved him over — into a chair, he knew what he was doing by this point in their relationship — and stalked over to the sick room bed they'd hauled into the spacious office. "He isn't <em>dead.</em> I added some medical equipment to the list. The <em>bottom</em> of the list, mind you. We'll see how much brain activity he's got going. Thing with Willie—"</p>
<p>Alis raised a hand. "Don't."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"You were going to say something like 'it's hard to tell the difference between Willie's regular level of brain activity, and brain death'."</p>
<p>Lillian looked impressed. "I was going to say almost exactly that. Yes."</p>
<p>"Why are you always so down on him all the time? It's not like he is the way he is on purpose."</p>
<p>"It's not?" Harry asked.</p>
<p>Alis glared at him. "You're supposed to be his best friend."</p>
<p>"I am?"</p>
<p>She sighed. "I just think he's been through enough. You don't need to put him through more."</p>
<p>McInnis saw Harry's brows knit together, his hands clench and unclench. The archivist's physical subtlety was somewhere around the level of Noh theatre. "Alis, I've spent twenty years around this guy. He doesn't change. <em>We</em> change. We improve. We get better. Him? He doesn't even <em>try.</em> He stays the same, and his same is <em>crap.</em>"</p>
<p>She nodded. "And you think he does that because he enjoys it?"</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc8"><span>12 November</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>It was not unlike knowing how a story should end, but needing to write everything that happened first before you could get to the payoff.</p>
<p>Or working for the weekend from Monday's perspective.</p>
<p>But she got there eventually, and that was what mattered.</p>
<p>At the centre of a wasteland of cancelled memes and whitewashed murals, Ibanez found the lab that she'd been looking for.</p>
<p>In a multiverse of chaotic diversity, she thanked a god she knew wasn't real that Bremmel's ridiculous blaster rifle was one inexplicable constant.</p>
<p>"Seriously?" Nascimbeni said. "I thought we were looking for… transistors, for starters."</p>
<p>"There's transistors in this." She pointed. "So probably lots in the drawers and cabinets." She clutched the weapon to her chest. "These ones are mine, though."</p>
<p>He couldn't help but smile. It was all coming together.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc9"><span>18 November</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Most of the others were sleeping, in various offices close by the tunnel which had been cleared of memetic material (no small feat in the middle of Memetics and Countermemetics, though the latter clause obviously did help) and barricaded with whatever security materials had survived the apparent purge. Lillian had left SCP-5295, the magical Mac, unattended, and Nascimbeni sat down to do some browsing. McInnis had encouraged this; the more they knew about the deadline, they better they'd be able to manage its conclusion. He'd encouraged them not to go snooping for personal files, and everyone except Del had honoured that request so far.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni didn't think it was cheating to access the personnel roster for J&M. That information could prove useful, he reasoned. Rationalized. If they could cure whatever ailed the people of Site-43, the most technically capable personnel should obviously get first priority.</p>
<p>He was pleased to see that Banerjee was still alive, or at least had been by the time his alternate self had traded record-keeping for keeping Del company in the dormitories. And he'd never moved on to the admin track at Site-36, which was a definite point in this universe's favour. Chuck Carter was still around, too, because of course it was only baseline reality that had seen him come to a grisly end. Some of the new trainees from the past few years were there, though not all of them, and there were plenty of names he didn't recognize. Fourteen years of alternate history would do that. He was surprised the differences weren't more profound.</p>
<p>He was tired, he realized. He realized because he found himself scanning and re-scanning the early letters of the alphabet after doing so for a solid ten seconds, or more — old machines like this one didn't often have a visible clock, screen real estate being limited with a resolution so low. He looked one last time, to make certain that the thing he'd been subconsciously searching for wasn't there, and when it definitely wasn't, he began accessing files from other Sections to find out why.</p>
<p>He found his answer in the Health and Pathology system. Technician JM64 had been injured in a materials handling accident in Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-B on February the 22nd, 2013. Failed a spot check, and immediately thrown into a coma from which it was suspected he would never recover.</p>
<p>It shouldn't have meant as much as it did. It wouldn't <em>take.</em> And was that fate really so much worse than what Phil was suffering back in baseline?</p>
<p>He told himself it wasn't.</p>
<p>But his self wasn't so sure.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc10"><span>21 November</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Lillian had partitioned her workspace many times since first moving in, all those years ago, and many of the partitions were still in place, though so much of the rest of the world had no doubt changed position around them. The little sleeping quarters tucked away in the back of what had once been an expansive storage room and was now her lab had been built in precisely the same place in every timeline so far, which was kind of heartening, really. It meant there was something consistent in her reasoning, that the reasoning was somehow <em>sound.</em> She chose not to pursue that thought any further; comparing every set of memories to rate her multiversal confidence in each action taken since 2002 would be a fun new way to drive herself completely insane.</p>
<p><em>And there's no shortage of those around here,</em> she thought as she stared at the stucco ceiling.</p>
<p>There was a knock on the door. Lillian didn't get up, because if she did, the door wouldn't be able to open without crushing her knees. "What?"</p>
<p>"Can I come in?"</p>
<p>It was Alis.</p>
<p>Lillian shrugged, though nobody else could see it. She did most things for her own benefit first. "I guess."</p>
<p>The lights in the workspace were dimmed. Sokolsky was napping in a purloined armchair. Blank was in a cot, his cat on his chest. Not the same cat; in this universe, Scout had apparently passed away of natural causes a few years back. Lillian was anticipating the lightbulb going on in his head with great excitement. Less exciting was the <em>geistschreiber</em> in the wizard robe, but Lillian knew there were at least a few fascinating facts trapped behind that sour face.</p>
<p>"Hey," said Alis. She sat down in the doorway, on the floor, because there was really no other option. The room was long enough for a long, long bed, to accommodate Lillian's long, long legs, but that was it. "So, when are you going to tell them?"</p>
<p>She didn't have to ask. "Tomorrow, probably. Allan and Daniil already know."</p>
<p>"Yeah." Alis sighed. "I guess you've figured out the thing with the murals."</p>
<p>"Everybody has. Or at least part of it." She frowned at the ceiling. "Is that something everyone knew about? While the shit was going down?"</p>
<p>"No. Just the memeticists who could look at the walls without losing their minds. So, basically, you and me. You want to say it out loud, so I know we're still on the same page?"</p>
<p>"Why not. The memories in the murals are all just that, memories. From the actual people who actually lived the actual events depicted. Except the ones that aren't from around here, which I don't understand, but I'm sure I'll figure it out eventually. Point is, they were put there by someone else. Someone else who had the memories."</p>
<p>"<em>Took</em> the memories," Alis murmured.</p>
<p>"Right."</p>
<p>"And you know who that was?"</p>
<p>She wished she didn't.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc11"><span>22 November</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<div class="muddle">
<p>The Memetics and Countermemetics boardroom is large enough to accommodate everyone presently assigned to that Section, though this is a pointless accommodation. Memeticists don't sit down for long, and they certainly don't do so together. They wander the halls, they pace their offices, they seek fresh perspectives in new locales, they keep their minds moving by moving their brainpans from place to place, and they allow their flashy duds to remind everyone else that they still exist, so that they will continue to do so. But they don't, as a rule, congregate together unless absolutely necessary. This isn't only because memeticists are, as a rule, antisocial — although they are. And it isn't because they're too busy to waste time socializing, or because they prefer to pursue solo research.</p>
<p>Memeticists don't mingle because everything that goes wrong in their minds, and the minds of others, because of their curiously contagious area of study, goes much more seriously wrong with an amplified signal.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>—Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>It felt like a wide, open space with only seven people to occupy it. Alis took Wettle's place — to make up the numbers, not in intellectual capacity — while the latter continued to doze in the lab-cum-dormitory. Today, at any rate, she was both guest of honour and keynote speaker.</p>
<p>"I've already explained most of this to the Director," she began. "And Dr. Lillihammer."</p>
<p>"Why Lillian?" Nascimbeni asked. "What's so special…"</p>
<p>He sighed, and waved his own question off. Lillian grinned, and waited for Alis to continue.</p>
<p>"The short story is this: I haven't been a <em>giftschreiber,</em> at least in terms of allegiance, since 2009."</p>
<p>"What happened in 2009?" Udo asked.</p>
<p>"The <em>giftschreiber</em> took over the world," Lillian explained. Then smiled apologetically at the other cryptomancer in the room. "Sorry. Hijacking presentations is addictive."</p>
<p>"No problem." Alis cleared her throat, to punctuate the interruption and mark it concluded. "They didn't take over the world; not the world beyond the Veil, at any rate. But they became one of the most active and dangerous Groups of Interest faced by the SCP Foundation. Every memetics and antimemetics research group in the world was bent on their destruction, because they were bent on ours."</p>
<p>"How'd you acquire that particular possessive?" Harry asked. "The Foundation being <em>yours,</em> I mean."</p>
<p>"I understand you have some familiarity with the process." Again, Alis made eye contact. Lillian nodded. "I was away from my handlers for too long. Whatever they'd done to me, it wore off. And I saw what they were doing with fresh eyes, so…"</p>
<p>"So you pretended to be a Foundation thaumaturge," Udo said, "and worked against them covertly?"</p>
<p>Alis shook her head. "No. I turned myself in."</p>
<p>"What?" Ibanez glared at her. "To who? Because <em>I</em> would have just shot you."</p>
<p>Alis gestured at the door. "I turned myself in to Dr. Wettle."</p>
<p>"I've had nightmares like that," Harry said.</p>
<p>"Dr. Wettle," Nascimbeni repeated. "Noted authority figure Dr. Wettle."</p>
<p>Alis laughed. "He always understood me better. He <em>listened.</em>"</p>
<p>"Sure," Ibanez agreed. "Who wouldn't, with those shirts you wear?"</p>
<p>The <em>geistschreiber</em> ignored her. "He helped me determine the limits of my remaining conditioning. With replication tests. Eventually we determined that I was almost totally devoid of foreign interference, so we went to the Director, who brought in Dr. Lillihammer. By that time the Foundation was hurting for allies with inside knowledge. They set me up as a credentialed thaumaturge, because my abilities are indistinguishable from magic anyway. It was an easy niche to fill." She gestured at Udo. "You know."</p>
<p>Udo frowned. "What do you mean? What niche?"</p>
<p>"I'm the Chair of Applied Occultism."</p>
<p>Udo's eyebrows approached her still-silver hairline. She'd noticed that the trim on Alis' wizard coat was red instead of teal, but her mind had simply refused to make the connection. "A <em>geistschreiber</em> is the Chair of AO?"</p>
<p>"Of course. It's not the first time."</p>
<p>McInnis became very aware of the sound of the air cycling through the vents overhead.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/53-those-who-cant">Those Who Can't</a></p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous">True Art is Cognitohazardous</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous">https://scpwiki.com/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:</p>
<p>Dougall Deering: "Twitter 365 Project - Day 55" and "Tokyo" by Richard Giles, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076</a></p>
<p>Karen Elstrom: "Natalya" by Anastasia Pavlenko, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/zamerzla/50841210177">https://www.flickr.com/photos/zamerzla/50841210177</a></p>
<p>Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653</a></p>
<p>Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023</a></p>
<p>Noè Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822">https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822</a> and<br/>
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992">https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992</a></p>
<p>Daniil Sokolsky: "Brett - 08-08-08" and "Waterpitts, 29-09-12" by Brett Jordan, both released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625">https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842">https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842</a></p>
<p>Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470</a></p>
<p>William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260">https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260</a></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Everything!<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735469673" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[=]]
**True Art is Cognitohazardous**
Those who can, do.
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[=]]
+ True Art is Cognitohazardous
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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+ ##990011|2016##
++ 9 September
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**Timeline 5243-D**[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
For an instant, Nascimbeni thought he had sleep paralysis.
He'd never had sleep paralysis before, but this seemed to fit the bill. He was on his back, and his lungs were empty of air, and he couldn't move. He felt nauseous. He felt like he was dying. His mind was a blur. He sucked in a breath...
...and he realized he could breathe, and sensation returned to his body. He was hot and sweaty, stuck to the sheet beneath him and...
...the body beside him.
Del sucked in a breath, too, and they both turned to stare at each other.
And groaned.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous/DL_52_01_Ibanez_Nascimbeni_Bed.jpg]]
It felt like someone had taken a wooden tenderizing mallet to all of his muscles at once. The amount of warning signals fired into his brain was overwhelming. He was dehydrated. He was sore. He was exhausted. By the way she shuddered as she rolled and sat up, he could tell Del was going through much the same experience. His skin followed hers for a fraction of a second, and the separation was a sticky //snap.//
The bedsheets were soaked. It wasn't difficult to figure out what they'd been up to.
//But for how long?//
Del checked the door as Nascimbeni sat up, groggily. His vision swam. He felt faint. He took long, shuddering breaths to force oxygen into his brain, and he said: "Well."
"Uh huh." Del pressed her eye to the peephole on the door; they were all at four foot level, specifically to enable specifically her to do this. She frowned. She said: "Fuck."
//Already have been doing,// he almost said, but he wasn't feeling the joke right now. "What?"
"There's a fractal on the wall outside."
[[div class="muddle"]]
Site-wide containment breaches are no joke, and a number of security measures have been installed to give folks at ground zero a fighting chance should one occur. Cognitohazard filters have been installed in the peepholes on every dormitory room; though necessarily thin and weak, these are sufficient to allow personnel with reasonably high Cognitive Resistance Values to escape the worst of any mind-altering effects that might be blowing through the corridors. Personnel with low CRVs are unlikely to be much help in a breach of that nature, anyway.
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
"You feeling okay?" he asked her.
She shook her head, and ran her hands along her body. She would never be slim, not with her build, but she was slimmer than usual. Nascimbeni knew from the way his chest felt when he breathed that he was nearly skeletal. "Nothing sucks that didn't suck when I woke up. I think. But that was definitely something memetic. We're going to have to be careful."
He slid to his feet. His knees wobbled fiercely. He tried to maintain his balance. "When we leave to find the others, you mean."
"Yeah."
"Which we definitely should do."
She cocked her head at him. "I'm the Chief of..." She cleared her throat to obscure whatever she'd been about to say. As if he didn't know. "...Pursuit and Suppression." There was a good chance her error would turn out to be correct, in this deadline, anyway. "It's my job to pursue the others and suppress whatever the hell is going on out there." She paused, made as if to press her ear to the door, then stopped herself and shuddered. "I hope it isn't memetic. You've got a good CRV, right?"
He shrugged. It hurt. "Better than average. And I've got the training." Foundation personnel were trained to recognize potential cognitohazards in their peripheral vision, and unfocus their eyes or look away. It was rarely good enough to prevent exposure, but it could sometimes soften the effects.
Del sighed. "I'll lead you. Eyes closed."
He grimaced, but didn't argue. His jumpsuit was balled at the foot of the bed, and he picked it up. "We should search the room first. See if there's any clues."
Del was already pulling on her underwear, which had been discarded on a vanity table. Nascimbeni realized that this wasn't her quarters, or his. They were in a standard dorm room, somewhere in the depths of H&S by the configuration. "Should we, though? We might get exposed to something. Probably better to find Lillian."
That made sense. "This does sound like a Lillian problem," he agreed.
"I hate Lillian problems."
He agreed with that, too.
[!-- [[=image DL_52_01_Nascimbeni_Ibanez_Bed.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
After he was sure he wouldn't throw up, Harry tried to make sense of the conflicting signals.
On the one hand, the woman in his lap was substantial, silver-haired and blue-eyed behind cat's eye glasses. On the other hand, her skin was dark and warm and she smelled faintly of desert sand beneath fading traces of Melissa Bradbury's shampoo.
"What the fuck," Udo said.
"I," Harry replied. He couldn't imagine what the next word would be.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous/DL_52_Okorie_Blank.jpg]]
Udo took her arm back from around his shoulders, and he released his grip on her plump waist. She slid off his lap and onto the couch -- //the// couch, they were in his dormitory -- and they both scooted awkwardly away from each other.
She dry-heaved.
"I mean," he said, and he could hear hurt in his own voice he hadn't meant to convey.
"Not that." She waved him off. "That was fine. Uh," and she waved her hands more, as though to usher the additional awkwardness out of the room. "Uh. It's the. Uh. Translocation."
"Yeah." He tasted bile. "That's weird." Normally they, and their deadline counterparts, were drawn to roughly the same space for the transition. From the unsettled feeling in his stomach, it had only gone halfway at best.
She looked up at him, eyes sparkling cerulean. "Weird," she agreed. She picked at the fabric of his shirt. It was smooth. Silk. "Can you see in those?"
She was looking at his glasses, he realized. He also realized that his glasses //weren't.// The prescription was right, but the frames were all wrong. In fact, there //were// no frames. He reached up to remove them, and brushed his hand against a much neater, smoother beard than he was used to. He left the glasses alone and reached up further, running his fingers through slicked-back short hair.
He glanced down. He was wearing loafers. He glanced up. Udo was wearing Melissa's favourite orange camisole.
He took a deep breath. "I am guessing," he said, "that I look like Dougall Deering."
Her wince told him all he needed to know.
"Then I am //guessing,//" and he took a deep breath, "that there's some sort of compulsion effect in... effect. Here. Because... yeah."
"Yeah. We wouldn't... yeah."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
They definitely wouldn't.
//Definitely wouldn't.//
Udo got off the couch. "Mind control, maybe? Wirth?"
"Not Wirth. He's dead." Harry squinted, and frowned. The prescription //was// correct. He felt...
"You look older," she said. She was squinting, too. "Fitter, though."
"You look... rounder."
She winced again, and reached down to test the shape of her hips. "I haven't ever weighed this much."
"I don't know if I've ever weighed this //little.// Adjusted for, you know. Inflation. Whatever." He stood up. "So, clearly we were crazy. And now we're not."
"Crazy," she agreed. Her expression was inscrutable.
"We need a cognitohazard screen."
She glanced around the room, and made a little sound of pleasure. Her reagents pouch was sitting on his dining nook table. "I know just the thing." She squinted again, sighed, and took off the glasses. "Glasses //and// contacts. Ridiculous."
"Ridiculous," he agreed. //She looks better without the glasses. More like herself.//
He told himself he meant it.
[!-- [[=image DL_52_02_Okorie_Blank_Roleplay.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
There was almost no disorientation at all. McInnis stood in the empty bolthole -- he'd never gotten around to telling Zulfikar that he knew where it was, now -- and waited, and when it happened it was so subtle, just a faint popping of the ears and a brief sensation of vertigo, that he might have chalked it up to the palpitations of old age had he not known better.
He blinked.
His assistant was sitting at the dining table, comparing something in a notebook to something on a work tablet. He hadn't noticed the change, because there hadn't been anything to notice.
McInnis took a deep breath. "Zulfikar."
The other man glanced up at him. "Sir?"
"I am going to require, without prefatory questioning on your part, a brief summary of the present situation prevailing within Site-43."
Zulfikar blinked, visibly thought better of questioning the order anyway, and told him. The explanation was admirably succinct.
McInnis nodded. "Very well. That should be well within my range of tolerance." He ran his hands over his clothing. The usual jumper, shirt, and jeans. It would do. "Best estimate on the location of Dr. Lillihammer?"
His assistant's eyes were narrowing. "Hasn't been seen in months. Most likely she's in her office. Nobody goes there, for obvious reasons."
"Very well." McInnis glanced around the room, located his ID badge on the kitchenette counter, and picked it up. "I am going to go and find her."
Zulfikar sat up so abruptly that his chair took a chunk of plaster out of the wall beside him. "Sir?!"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous/DL_52_03_McInnis_Bolthole.jpg]]
He was already at the door. "Withold your objections, please. I can assure you I've heard them before."
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
Wettle awoke.
He threw up.
He looked up.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous/DL_52_04_Wettle_Conked.jpg]]
When he woke up again, not that he knew this now or would know it then, months had passed.
[!-- [[=image Wettle_Conked.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
Lillian burped in Sokolsky's face.
He didn't react. Maybe she'd done that before. Probably she'd done it before. He did wrinkle his nose, and he narrowed his eyes. "Rations coming back on you?"
They were in her office. She was still sitting in her chair. He was, now, sitting on her lap. The lights were low, and flickering. She bit his nose, and asked him: "Where were we?"
He hooked his thumb through the back of her bra. "Somewhere around //here.//"
She swatted his hand away. "You have things to tell me."
He considered her archly. "I think you mean you have things to tell //me.//"
"If I had meant that, I would have said that." She took his cheeks in her hands, and made firm eye contact. "I need you to tell me what's happening, because I'm not from this timeline." His eyes widened perceptibly. "I'll answer your questions about that if you answer my question first."
He didn't argue. Why would he? What she was asking for was cheaper than free. He had nothing to lose.
He told her.
"...and all topside access is blocked," he concluded. "You and I are the only ones who can fix it, and we're... brainstorming." He smirked, and hooked his hand through her bra again.
This time, she let him open the clasp. "Stuck inside //again,//" she mused. "Four times in a row. I never thought the apocalypse would be so //localized.//"
"Your turn." He drew the straps from her shoulders. "Four alternate timelines?"
"The breach of '02. It recurs every year, and..."
He busied himself while she explained. When she was done, he looked up again and nodded. "Makes sense. What do you want to do next?"
She gripped the scruff of his neck, and raised his face to face hers again. "Let's brainstorm."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous/DL_52_5_Lillihammer_Sokolsky.jpg]]
She slipped the bra off completely.
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
It was a tactical nightmare.
Ibanez kept her eyes unfocused as they moved through the halls. Every wall was a blaze of colour or what was sure to be a literally dizzying array of lines. There were murals on the floor and frescoes on the doors. When she noticed soft music in the distance, growing less soft as they went, she tore off her jumpsuit cuffs and stuck them in her ears. Nascimbeni did the same, keeping the improvised plugs in place by pulling his cap down tight. Two of her best senses self-handicapped, leading a noncombatant with his hands on her shoulders. At least she had her weapon, which she had drawn; she only hoped that if she needed to shoot something, it would be something she could focus on.
She nearly pulled the trigger when she turned a corner, cautiously, and a shirtless man covered in blood came bounding in their direction, laughing manically. She didn't recognize him. He didn't seem to notice them, just sped merrily on his way, crying "PRAXIS!" over and over in hoarse tones.
She heard something else, even through the fabric padding. Something low and large. She hopped up onto a bench in an inset niche, and pulled Nascimbeni up beside her just in time to hear the rats-in-the-floorboards scrabble of claws on tile. Three mottled brown shapes blurred by them, intent on the chase. They left a trail of blood behind them.
"I opened my eyes," Nascimbeni murmured into the back of her neck. Even low, his voice trembled.
"Close them again."
When the sounds of pursuit had faded again, they resumed theirs. She hoped, not optimistically, that any further performance art would be similarly free of audience participation.
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
It took two direct orders to convince Zulfikar not to follow him. McInnis had enough mental conditioning to withstand all but the most potent cognitohazards, more in fact than the O5 Council was happy with; he hadn't shared this with the other Survivors, but his stint as Administrator in the first deadline had apparently conferred permanent benefits beyond the norm for Site-43's Directorship. It was difficult to test such things safely -- if a kill agent got through to you, the test ended rather abruptly -- but the experts generally agreed that McInnis' mind was now safe as safehouses.
As he left his safehouse behind, however, the assaults came hard and fast. He unfocused his eyes, as they were all trained to do, and that was enough to restrict the immediate effects to a faint twitch in his eye muscles and a vague feeling of unease, but he could nevertheless immediately tell that every surface which could support a cognitohazard was already sporting one. Some of them were murals, and some of the murals were quite good. Some were crude in style, sometimes in content as well. All of them seemed at least passively memetic.
He moved along the outside edge of H&S, noting that the superstructure remained sound and the halls were clear of rubble and corpses. Some of the doors he passed were open, and he chanced a look inside when the angle was sufficient. Most of the dormitories were similarly adorned with art in a wide variety of mediums which universally made him feel light-headed and made the hair on his arms and legs stand on end. Some were occupied: a short, hairy figure pouring mugs of thick black swill for an eager array of swaying security agents, all of them singing off-key; a pair of engineers from Arms and Equipment squabbling over a piece of blue chalk in the middle of a massive schematic sketched on the concrete walls and floors, all the tiles and carpet torn up and piled in the corner; a naked man pulling out his long brown hair at the root, tying it tight to a piece of wooden dowelling, and resuming a hideous demonic caricature on his kitchen table in blood while a hunched red figure cackled with glee (and, as he passed, turned to grin approvingly at McInnis); two more naked men engaged in what he might have mistaken for a less anomalous form of performance art, if not for the fact that the brief glimpse made his temples ache.
Sensual kinetoglyphs. Demonic possession. Anomalous engineering. Ludwig. He glanced into one of the common rooms, and saw a shadowplay burlesque on the wall; pitch black silhouettes with tall hats and long sticks, dancing to the stoned half-applause of a drooling cuddle puddle on the floor.
Even in the worst of the deadlines, the problems had been confined to the Site staff. Not anymore. Not this time.
The subjects in containment had been freed.
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
Udo felt huge and awkward, and she hated the way Harry kept pretending not to look at her. There wasn't anything intrinsically wrong with her new shape, but it wasn't //hers,// and every move she made with it felt wrong. Her metabolism had always been far too fast for her to gain weight; she'd had to eat voraciously to avoid the appearance, perhaps even the fact, of starvation.
She wondered if this was how he felt every time he showed up in a deadline physically fit. She couldn't imagine what this version of her could have done to pack on so many pounds, just as she preferred not to think about why she'd done it.
Or how much more attractive Harry looked in the guise of someone other than himself.
"Face back," she said. "I need to wash up again."
He dutifully turned to face the direction from which they'd come, as she pushed the wave of saturated sand up into the ceiling tiles. A little //twist,// and the sprinklers came on ahead. She brought the sand back down, and the water washed the corrupted pigments out of each grain and into the drains set low in the teal tile floors. Up again to stop the flow, then back into formation as a silicon screen between them and the painted unknown, with a little particle excitation to burn off the excess moisture.
"Okay," she said, and without turning to see if he'd heard her she pushed the red wall forward again. It shimmered in the low fluorescents, occluding the path ahead as it scrubbed the almost certainly dangerous images off of every exposed surface. Her training screamed at her every time she caught even the faintest refracted glimpse.
At least they hadn't met--
> I met you walking beside me
It was a lovely, lilting voice. They both stopped dead.
> We both hadn't known you were there
> A stranger and constant companion
> I wouldn't know you anywhere
"That's Karen," said Harry.
Udo glanced back at him, keeping the screen in place. "How do you know?"
"I've heard her sing before."
> Tell me I've missed you
> Be unconvincing
> I'll sing my intentions
> And fall short of meaning
And there she was, clad in a white evening gown and dancing aimlessly down the corridor, zig-zagging in a graceful and effortless blend of ballerina steps and pirouettes. She hummed the chorus and verse of her strange song as she passed through the screen -- it was useless to block sound -- and across their path.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous/DL_52_Elstrom_Sing.jpg]]
Harry stared at her as she sashayed toward the dead end of his apartments; Udo watched him sigh. "She seems happy."
"On vacation. We could all use one." Udo focused on the sand again. It was tempting, too tempting to form a more familiar self out of the grains, and retreat into it. Instead she began forming a crystalline lattice; with luck, it might catch the recycled wind and hum like a wine glass. A little sonic protection was better than nothing.
> I left you here by my side, love
Karen's singing faded into the buzzing of the light fixtures and aircon, but the unease it sank into Udo's chest was not so easily dispelled.
[!-- [[=image Blank_Okorie_Elstrom_Sing.jpg]] --]
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[[/=]]
The brainstorming worked a treat.
When she was sure her mind had been properly bulwarked, and after making Sokolsky promise to come find her if the preparations didn't work -- not that she really believed he would follow through -- Lillian slipped through the Cognitive Decontamination Tunnel and into Memetics and Countermemetics proper. If the others had any sense, they'd be coming to find her, but she wanted to be able to tell them something they didn't already know when they arrived.
She felt like her eyes were going to pop out of her skull. The cocktail of targeted amnestics, mnestics and fortificants made her heart beat faster, her vision so sharp that every hard edge cut to the ocular nerve, her muscles tight and her skin crawl. It could only last a few minutes at most, or rather, //she// could; the crash would be terrible, the side effects severe. But she had to know.
There was a mural on the wall right outside the tunnel door, and she took a deep breath and looked right at it.
//Chelsea Smits was a skeletal, twitching old woman, and she disgusted him. She'd wasted her talents and her time, and there'd never been a creative bone in her bony body. She smiled sadly at him, and he couldn't muster an ounce of pity. "I'm sorry, sir. I knew it was wrong. There's no excuse."//
//Revolted though he was, he nevertheless smiled warmly up at her. "You've done good work these past years, doctor. These trespasses are severe, I agree, but I don't believe they constitute so serious a breach of trust as you do."//
//She looked confused, because of course she did. She was an idiot, like all the rest. "Sir... I don't..." She looked like she was going to cry. Like a dried up old sponge gradually soaking up a puddle.//
//He raised a hand, not unkindly, though the urge to snap his fingers in her face and shake her out of this selfish pity spasm was intense. "We should talk about the path forward. There will need to be consequences; people died at the end of this causative chain. I don't hold you fully to blame, but I will be requiring more stringent adherence to security protocols from this point forward."//
//It was better than she deserved, and she seemed to know it. She sniffled, and he knew that if the snot started dribbling from her nose that he would have no choice but to vomit on the desk. "I've made up my mind," she rasped. God, but her voice was grating. No music in it at all. "I'm going to retire. It's all my fault."//
//It was. "It isn't."//
//She shook her head, limp hair falling out of the lazy bun on the back of her cadaverous head. A faint keening came from the farthest reaches of her throat; if she started to cry, he would call security.//
//"It __isn't__," he insisted, and although there was nothing but dramatic emphasis in the repetition, she suddenly stopped her sniffling and squalling, and made eye contact for the first time.//
//"It isn't?"//
//"No," he lied. "Not entirely. Not irrecoverably. I need each and every person at this facility doing their best, Dr. Smits, and I have no doubt in my mind that you will always be an important part of that effort."//
//It didn't make any sense. There was hardly any art in it. He was practically on autopilot. She didn't matter. None of them mattered, but her especially. He hadn't really been trying, because why would he? But impossibly, it was working. She nodded. "Okay." She sat down. "Okay. Let's talk about it. If that's alright?"//
//He smiled through the queasiness in his stomach. He thought he would rather die. "Talking is always alright, Dr. Smits."//
Lillian blinked, and the vision cleared. All that remained was the mural on the wall: Chelsea Smits, looking like something out of a //danse macabre,// slumped in front of the Director's desk while he beamed, literally beamed at her like a beacon of light and hope.
"What the fuck was that?"
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[[/=]]
Nascimbeni didn't mean to look. But Del hadn't meant to stop so abruptly -- it was only that the corpse had been painted so perfectly that it melded into the mural on the floor -- and her head was at the same level as his gut, and some things were simply physiological. He nearly threw up, but he more than nearly opened his eyes.
//She was at the topside elevator access, in the main foyer. They were counting on her, and she wouldn't let them down, even though deep in her heart she knew that she should. Because what she was doing, what they were __all__ doing, was terribly wrong. Pointless. Insolent.//
//The army of Ana Mukami advanced on her. They weren't carrying weapons. With their numbers, they didn't need to. Perhaps they only wanted to talk, to bring her over to the side of the angels. But she was cruel, and she would not listen.//
//She pulled the trigger.//
//The shiny mass of metal in her hands kicked, hard, and the first wave of Mukamis vanished in a puff of smoke and particulatized skin and bone and gore. They screamed, they __all__ screamed, and there was blood on the walls, but she didn't care. She would pursue this mad crusade to its illogical end. She fired again.//
//And again.//
//And again.//
//And yet still they advanced, because they had righteousness on their side, and because in actuality they were but one, determined, soul. Ibanez stumbled back, still firing, the gun growing hot in her hands, the blood everywhere now, and they were almost upon her, and still she was firing, covered in the infinite remains of her murdered friend, the friend she was murdering over and over and over again. She fired. She fired. She fell, and she fired. They fell upon her, and she fired.//
//She was still firing blindly into the ceiling, tunnelling a new elevator shaft beside the old, when she realized the rest had dropped dead.//
//She didn't cry. Unlike them, she hadn't felt a thing.//
Ibanez turned to face him, a question in her eyes. He backed away from her, then stopped, then took a single step forward.
"What's wrong?"
He bit his lip, and shook his head.
"Well, alright then. Saddle back up." And she turned her back on him.
He placed his hands on her shoulders again, and they navigated around the painted corpse. If his grip was a little less sure, she probably didn't notice.
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Mukarmy.jpg]] --]
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Udo coughed, and cursed. She'd misjudged the airflow. It was in her //lungs.//
//"It's looking for something," Lillian said. "It found Wirth, but I don't think it wanted him. Because seriously, why would it?"//
//"That's not nice," Udo scolded. Udo was a scold. She wasted her gifts on criticizing others, when she could have been advancing every paradigm of anomalous science known to man. It was pathetic, and she knew it, but she was powerless to do better.//
//"Thanks for the affirmation." Lillian yawned, as a way of covering up the look of contempt creeping across her face. Not that the other woman had a leg to stand on, of course. The things she wasted __her__ time with... "But seriously. All those reports about Verne swooping in to save the day, I honestly think that's bullshit."//
//"How is it bullshit?" As usual, Udo was following her lead instead of providing leads of her own. She was a born follower. She hated herself for it. "Abatement disaster happens, big orange tentacle shows up and plugs the leak, sucks up the gas, whatever. Happens every time. What more do you want?"//
//"After all this time, you can't see it?" Maybe Udo __could__ see it. Maybe she just thought it wasn't a problem worth pursuing. Then again, it kept Lillian from focusing on her other, even less meritorious, projects. "It doesn't snake around looking for the source of the breach. It seeks out __people__. We've got countless accounts of folks having to dodge the creamsicle as it melts its way through the corridors. On the rare occasion it catches someone, it's a catch-and-release. It __discards__. Because it hasn't found what it's looking for."//
//"Which is what?"//
//Lillian shrugged. She did it to look superior, to seem more intelligent than she was. "If I knew that, I could point the fucker in the right direction."//
It was just as well that the aerosolized mural hadn't gone down smoothly. Harry mistook it for the source of the confusion, embarrassment and rage on her face as she coughed up a wad of brown paint.
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Even through the cloth, Ibanez could still hear the music. It was muffled, but it was there. She couldn't quite make out the words, but she knew the general gist: it was something sappy and sentimental, probably a country song, probably the story of how someone's wife ran off with their dog in the family truck, or whatever the hell rednecks liked to... cry... about...
//"But we aren't done," Nascimbeni protested. Not that it mattered; nothing he did mattered. He was the glorified middle manager of a bunch of glorified grease monkeys. But all he had was his tiny amount of power over his tiny little kingdom, and he'd be damned if he let go the opportunity to exercise that tonight. If he did, what was left? A cold bed, and an empty head.//
//"I told you how much time I had left," Zaman sighed. He often sighed when talking to Nascimbeni. Most people did, and with good reason. "It's a family dinner tonight. I'm not going to miss it."//
//Nascimbeni gestured at the sorry remains of their meeting. "Personnel review happens at the same time every year." It was almost a whine, but not quite. He couldn't even fully commit to a petulant tone. The less said about his singing voice, the better.//
//"Well, it can happen a day late this year. I'm the Chief. I get to make those rules." Zaman pulled on his jacket. He'd already moved on in his mind. Nascimbeni envied him the power.//
//"The rules should be in service of the __job__," Nascimbeni snapped. The job was all there was. All there was to him. All there ever had been, and ever would be.//
//"The job is in service to the __people__," the other man reminded him. He was already at the door; he was going to leave Nascimbeni in the office, alone. "I like to actually see those people from time to time. For perspective. You know?"//
If Nascimbeni felt her shoulders tighten under his knuckles, he gave no audible sign. Then again, that damnable music was still keening away in the distance, even after she shook off the unwanted daydream and wiped her eyes of unexpected tears.
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It was Harry who had the brilliant idea to cut through the pool room, having gone that way during his race through the Site back in 2003. He knew who he'd been racing //with,// thanks to the debriefing logs, but he kept that information to himself. The paint on the route Udo wanted to take was so thick that she had to wash her sand out every few metres, so she was amenable to the detour.
They stopped dead in the double doors, however, when they saw what lay beyond.
The pool was filled with undulating serpentine bodies, sleek black with copper barbs and shining emerald eyes. The cats glanced lazily in their direction; in the water, one of them purred, and a stream of bubbles rose into the air.
Harry and Udo backed away as one.
"Step by step it is," Udo breathed, and she closed the door again.
She did her best, as she always did, but trace outlines remained as they pushed forward now. He didn't blame her, but it was unfortunate that she couldn't quite erase the foundations of each... memory...
//Lillian waved the other woman off. It would only annoy her, but maybe that was what she wanted. She was a peevish, uncooperative, selfish woman at heart, and causes bigger than herself were only cause for aggravation. "I don't have the resources. I don't have the __time__. The// giftschreiber //are fucking up __everything__, Marion. Globally. My people are working double shifts." Most of it was true, for what it was worth.//
//"At least you __have__ people," Wheeler sighed. When Lillian glanced at her, she saw a shrinking woman of middle age with deep lines on her forehead, bags under her eyes, the pale skin of a chronic insider, and absolutely zero imagination. One grey blot of billions on a pale blue dot. "I can't seem to hold on to anyone these days."//
//Lillian arched a brow. "Hold on to, as in keep them employed, or hold on to, as in remember they exist?"//
//"Either or. We're underfunded, understaffed, and behind the curve. You've got to be able to spare __something__."//
//Lillian shook her head. Wheeler's problems were practically invisible to her. Not like the// giftschreiber. //That was something tangible, something real. Something wonderful, something bound for glory, and she hated it because she knew that one day it would defeat her, because it was the masterpiece of all movements. She would not go gently. She would not go gladly. She would fight the new paradigm tooth and nail before, inevitably, it erased her just as Wheeler's people were being erased. She was too stubborn to stop now. And so, she waved again. "I wish I could help. Really I do. But these fuckers are going to end the goddamn __world__ if I let my guard down."//
//Wheeler picked up her handbag, and stood. "If you don't help me, they might not get the __chance__."//
//But Lillian wasn't listening anymore.//
//To the extent that she ever had been.//
Harry frowned. That didn't seem right. Not the memory transference, which was of course a new and unpleasant addition to the nonsense they'd dealt with so far in this strange new world, but the contents of that specific memory. He could still see the sketch of Lillian on the wall, brushing off the sketch of Marion which stood defiantly at her desk, demanding aid that she would not receive.
No, that didn't seem right at all.
He'd have to remember to ask Lillian about it, if they weren't eaten first.
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//"Replication studies are my __entire job__, Harry!" Wettle screeched. He knew he shouldn't. He knew that what he did was an unjustifiable duplication of effort, requiring expenditures the Foundation couldn't spare, and unimaginative in the extreme to boot. But he'd said it anyway, because he was a stupid, talentless boob.//
//"If they're your entire job, __Willie__," Blank shouted, "why are you so fucking// bad //at them?" He waved the report in Wettle's face. "Because seriously, what is this shit? 'Definitely something spooky going on here'?! Write up your conclusions properly and re-submit, you __hack__."//
//That sounded like work. Blank and Wettle weren't really friends, and they weren't really colleagues. He had no intention of rising up on behalf of a fellow waste of skin, and he made up his mind to say so. His mind, of course, was like a bed in a crackhouse: it never stayed made up long. "It __is__ spooky! We dressed Deering up like his brother..."//
//"Which Deering?! Jesus __fuck__, Willie, precision matters in science!"//
//"The other one! Whatsisname! __Dougall__. We dressed Dougall up like Phil, and the mirror monster knew which one was which. How is that not spooky?!"//
//"How is spookiness __data__?!"//
//"You're not my god damn boss, Harry!" Wettle had reached his limit. It was time to do what he did best, besides fucking up: moaning like a big, swollen baby. "My boss is __your__ boss, and __your__ boss told me to re-do __your__ work. You know why? You want to know why?"//
//Blank did not want to know why. The need not to know was written across his fat, hairy face, an only slightly less shapeless mirror to Wettle's own.//
//Wettle told him anyway. No, not anyway. __Because__. "Because nothing you do with this skip is objective. Because it hurt your __girlfriend__, and you--"//
//Blank didn't slap him. He was too much of a coward to follow through, as he had been all his life. But he did pull back his hand, and that hurt almost as bad.//
"That's curious." McInnis pondered the mural: Harry's look of rage, Wettle's dull fear. The malformed contents of the message. Its contradictions. "Very curious indeed."
"What is?"
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McInnis reached the tunnel first, and Lillian walked him to the door. They made idle small talk for half an hour; by common agreement, the Survivors would not discuss the scenario until they either fully reconvened or knew that for some reason, they could not. Sokolsky stayed in the office, gathering up their notes for the presentation.
Del and Nascimbeni arrived next, both looking troubled. Lillian sent them inside to freshen up; there was a washroom with running water in the attached laboratory, what Lillian called her 'lavoratory'. They could very evidently use a splash of cold water on their ashen faces.
Harry and Udo looked like they'd both seen more than one ghost. They separated wordlessly at the door, Udo heading in while Harry remained without. He had that look he got when he had something to tell Lillian, but wasn't sure if he should. That was fine. He always decided in her favour.
Wettle never arrived.
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"So, memetic contagion." McInnis nodded. "That was Zulfikar's impression as well."
"He's unaffected?" Harry asked.
"He was when I left. How many more personnel can we count on?"
"Roughly?" Sokolsky grunted. "I would say zero. Your bolthole and Lillian's office are probably the only safe spaces in the entire facility. Everyone else is turned."
"Turned to what?" Udo asked.
"The world's shittiest artist colony, and I don't say that lightly." Del kept looking at Nascimbeni, who kept looking back at her. They both looked confused. "We saw plenty of people still painting, out there. The walls. The floors. Each other. The skips."
"Skips?" Harry frowned. "We saw Mishepeshu in the pool--"
"//What,//" Nascimbeni interrupted.
"--but we didn't see any others. Just the art, and some of the artists." He wrinkled his nose. "Saw Karen doing a song and dance. And I think that was Astrauskas outlining people against the wall, but we didn't get a closer look."
"I didn't want a closer look," Udo murmured.
"I saw a great many SCP objects," McInnis confirmed. "I believe our lost personnel have been releasing the subjects in containment."
"Good god," Harry breathed. "All of them?"
"We saw the fucking werewolves," Del snapped. "I'd say all of them."
Nascimbeni blinked. "We did? When was //that?//"
"Are you trying to take Wettle's place?"
"I had my god damn eyes closed! You're telling me the //werewolves--//"
"Where //is// Dr. Wettle?" McInnis interjected, without it feeling like he was really interrupting anything. He had that gift. "Did he cross paths with any of you?"
Shaken heads all around.
"I mean," Sokolsky said.
Lillian nodded.
McInnis raised an eyebrow.
"He definitely looked at the first fractal he saw, right?" Sokolsky glanced between each of them. "Right? That's definitely what happened."
Harry sighed. "Definitely."
Nods all around.
"Well, we'll need to retrieve him." McInnis folded his arms in front of his chest, waiting for Sokolsky to protest. Curiously, he did not. "Now, I understand that Drs. Lillihammer and Sokolsky have a tentative plan for restoring order to the Site. Is that correct?"
"Other than the tentative part," Lillian grinned. "I don't do anything //tentatively.// Let's take this one step at a time. We need to be able to move around out there without squinting, or scrubbing, or plugging our ears. I don't have a solution for that last one, yet, but the rest? SCRAMBLE goggles."
Nascimbeni frowned. "SCRAMBLE? I thought those didn't work."
"I don't even know what that is," Udo said.
"In brief," Sokolsky explained, "SCRAMBLE goggles intercept and occlude cognitohazards before the brain can fully process them. And they //do// work. They just don't work on magic bullshit, which is what they were designed for."
"Designed by who?" Harry prompted.
"Two dead guys I used to know. But that's not really relevant, because we don't have their version here anyway."
"What version //do// we have?" Nascimbeni asked.
"No version," Lillian grinned. "We're going to have to invent them again ourselves."
Del groaned. "You're going to suggest we go scrounging for parts, in this hellhole?"
"I'm going to suggest we get a manifest of all the shit lying around the Site, and make //targeted sorties.// That's much fancier-sounding than //scrounging,// so take heart."
"Does such a manifest exist?" McInnis asked. "I doubt this deadline is quite as organized as the previous one was by its end, given the difference in circumstances."
"The Chairs and Chiefs kept independent inventories on their machines," Lillian said.
Del's groan was more of a grumble now. "So all we have to do is sneak into the offices of //probably// the worst offenders in the ongoing art attack. Great."
"Nah." Lillian stood. "Just one. It's a technical problem, right? So, we take it to I&T."
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There was a helpful mural just around the corner from the tunnel entrance. Lillian presented it to the group with a flourish. "Ignore the weird editorializing," she told them. "I think I might know what's causing that."
//The thing about working for a covert world government is that you're already primed for subterfuge.//
//It had taken months to break down her natural antipathy to standing up for what's right -- if she'd been really that moral, she would never have come to work for the Foundation in the first place -- but eventually Marroquin had managed it. In his defence, he'd probably been trying. He wanted all of his technicians compromised, like he was, the better to badger and blackmail them into extending his little fiefdom within Site-43.//
//But he hadn't counted on Eileen's stubborn streak.//
//Hacking a hacker meant digging in by degrees. She couldn't just go at him, brute force his office door and see all the secrets laid out in front of her. She'd need to be subtle. He was a man prone to rabbitting, and worse, this rabbit had teeth. He could get her fired, or even terminated probably, if she acted in too hasty earnest. So the first thing she did was backdoor the Site's travel tracking software, and when she was absolutely certain Marroquin was at a layover halfway around the world and halfway to the security conference he was attending, she made her first move. There had been problems with the Trans-IAAAC Cable of late, and she took advantage of that to cut off his access to 43NET. He probably wouldn't notice; she knew he did most of his work disconnected, probably because it wasn't the stuff he was meant to be working on. But she disconnected him anyway, because if anything she touched sent out an alert, she'd want to be able to squelch it.//
//She was a disaster with painting, with music, with words that could stir the soul of a living being. But in the cold and sterile language of the machines, she was a goddess. For what little that was worth.//
//Her roundabout path to the office permissions took an hour or so to navigate. She routed the commands down all manner of innocuous angles, at one point even involving the fire control systems. She'd spent her months of inaction learning how the Site's wide variety of electronic architectures interacted, both intentionally and potentially. By the time it was done, she was confident that even her paranoiac supervisor would be incapable of tracing the signal back to its source.//
//Not that she intended to let him discover the signal. She wasn't going down for this. She was far, far too selfish to sacrifice for a cause.//
//Marroquin's office was immaculate. She didn't really expect to find anything she could use against him in here. She __did__ hope there would be further breadcrumbs to the real stash, perhaps a password that would open up a new network pathway, or...//
//Eileen loved puzzles, so she was sorry to find the solution to this one so quickly. She hadn't even been consciously reading the room for things out of place, but she saw one straight off anyway, in her peripheral vision. She'd seen it before, but it simply hadn't registered as important until now.//
//They'd long since gotten rid of I&T's crop of Macintosh LC III computers, but Marroquin's had stayed on his massive desk, shoved over in the corner and turned toward the wall. She'd thought perhaps it was sentimentality; the chief tech had occasionally spoken fondly of the Mac architecture, how easy he found it to program for. But in the absence of the man, she realized this had been an obvious blind. Marroquin didn't get sentimental. Anything that didn't have a use for him was so much chaff. He could have been an excellent Hollywood executive.//
//She booted up the machine.//
//There weren't very many files in the structure. The squat pizza box had only eighty megs of disk space standard, and Marroquin had not elected to upgrade his machine, or employ any portable drives (so far as she knew). There were simply very few places he could hide anything, and in any case, he hadn't really tried.//
//She stared at the unfamiliar icon. "Total Area Network." What the hell did that mean?//
//She clicked on it.//
//It took her four hours to figure out the password, because of course it was password-locked. When she did, she was initially unimpressed. Network access. Remote folders. There was a text file nestled up against the TAN icon, and inside she found instructions for drilling down to specific locations. She typed through a few of the chains, frowning as she did. Device ID numbers made sense, but some of these other data points sounded more... geographical. That wasn't how network access normally worked.//
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous/DL_52_08_Veiksaar_Project.jpg]]
//She was even more disappointed when she saw the contents of each filespace. Nothing but bog standard I&T docs. Maintenance schedules. Technical specs. Emails. Emails...//
//She froze.//
//One of the emails was hers, a request for information from Jack Turlough. The other tech hadn't responded, because she'd thought better of sending the message. Turlough was a prick.//
//Unsent messages were stored locally.//
//She was looking at the file structure of her own Mac 475.//
//Which she'd __turned__ __off__ before coming here.//
//The Total Area Network gave Marroquin access to every computer in his department, whether they were active or not.//
//Now that, __that__ was art.//
"Hmm," said McInnis.
"I'm not quite seeing it," said Harry.
"Yeah," Udo agreed. "That's interesting and all, but somehow getting access to every ancient Mac in the Site seems kinda limited, as far as information collection goes. Any manifests on those machines have got to be a dozen years or more out of date."
But Lillian was already walking back into the tunnel. "You get the gist, little angels. That's all you need right now. Leave the details to us devils."
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Sokolsky and Lillihammer had spent most of their self-imposed incarceration using standard remote access to get as clear a picture of the Site as possible, as opposed to going out there and actually doing anything directly. They had partial maps of each Section, and rough sketches of the hazards they'd been able to espy through the cognito-hardened cameras at each main corridor junction. Every path to I&T was perilous in a different way, and it was going to be impossible to simply waltz in.
But they were in the heart of one of the world's most advanced R&D facilities. Every lab and office was potentially stocked with equipment that could allow them to neutralize the threats in their way.
And, so, they scrounged.
It was like cleaning a large, complicated room. They started at a corner -- Lillian's office -- and gradually worked their way outward in concentric circles. The first few days were the worst. Harry lost his eyesight for an hour. Udo's skin broke out in an orange rash. Del was forced to spend an afternoon learning a dance supposedly inspired, somehow, by //Spells of Coming Forth By Day.// (Her instinct was simply to flatten the little cluster of eager participants, but unfortunately their number included all six foot four inches of Howard Yancy, and even if she managed to knock him down, the odds were good he'd simply crush her as he fell.) Nascimbeni was, very briefly, chased by a bear. (He felt certain this honour would have fallen to Wettle, had the hapless chemist been around. Probably he was encountering something worse, wherever he was.)
By the end of a week, they'd had better luck. Udo was able to secure a supply of diatemaceous earth, which she found much more efficient as a medium for her scrubbing screens, particularly after Nascimbeni added paraindustrial solvents to the mix. Lillian found a half-complete projection system she'd been working on with Bremmel -- not in baseline, but that was fine, since she had her deadline memories anyway -- and when she and Sokolsky completed it, they found it could totally overwrite the visual profile of any rectangular space it was set in. This allowed them to bypass one particularly hinky hall of murals, although they'd need to build a second unit if they wanted to be able to leapfrog. (McInnis suggested this might not be such a great idea anyway, given that it increased their chances of being trapped in an island surrounded by a sea of cognitohazards. Still, it was something to do.
Harry busied himself finding food and water, since the stores in the office had only been meant to support two researchers. McInnis directed, as usual, and each of the others marvelled at least once that they didn't find this irritating. Sometimes, apparently, management wasn't a solely parasitic arrangement.
Sokolsky stayed in the office. He wouldn't tell anyone what he was working on, not even the Director.
Nobody pressed him. They were too busy pressing in every other direction.
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They weren't //not// looking for Wettle, but he was nowhere on anyone's list of priorities. That wasn't why it was a shock when Udo accidentally found him.
He was lying in the middle of a corridor in H&S, just outside the entrance to the Research and Experimentation supercomplex. It had taken ten days to trim the metaphorical tall grass low enough to allow safe passage in that direction; on the way in, everyone including McInnis had needed to screw their eyes tight and hum to make it through cognitively intact. Perhaps one of them had even stepped on the wayward doctor; there was a bootprint in the middle of his garish lime green shirt.
Udo didn't notice this until later, however, because the really surprising thing about chancing onto Wettle was the thing that had chanced upon him first.
Purring softly, ears pressed back, eyes closed in contentment, a six-foot-long water panther was lying across the bulge of his belly. It looked up sleepily when Udo approached, and yawned a toothy yawn.
There were frozen steaks in the Admin and Oversight mini-cafeteria, and a microwave. Her father would not have approved, but she was in a hurry. The cat turned out to be no connoisseur anyway.
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"Not... yet," Nascimbeni grunted through gritted teeth. He let go the button, and the cacophony ended.
It started again when the response came through, underlining and undermining the gravity of the words. "Keep working on it. They're trapped out there."
"Don't you... think I don't..." He slapped his forehead. //Get it right, or you'll have to keep hearing this garbage.// "Do you think I don't know that? I'm working on it. Let me work."
No response came this time, which was a mercy. The walkie-talkies used a dedicated frequency that was theoretically safe from outside interference, but given the entire facility was now a colourful war diorama, inside interference was a very real possibility. Lillian had presented the solution: play an antimemetic trigger on loop over the walkies whenever they were being used. It had been a simple modification, and she'd had a song in mind.
"Witch Doctor" by The Cartoons.
Nascimbeni had never liked talking on the radio, but now it was actively infuriating.
He was standing at the master control panel for the electrics in H&S, tucked away at the corner of the dorms where their cleaning efforts had so far been good enough to penetrate. Udo and Lillian had been repeatedly scrubbing the halls over and over, but it seemed like every time they left, someone new came swooping in with artistic intentions and a head full of dangerous thoughts. Complicating matters was the lack of firearms in the Site; Del had quickly discovered that all her usual boltholes and secret armouries were empty. Radical pacifism was in effect, which was something of a problem given how many carnivorous cryptids were presently roaming the halls.
It had been Harry's idea to try securing the salt caverns at Archives and Revision. They stretched back for kilometres, and were packed full of material which wouldn't easily support memetic markings. A second safehouse on the opposite side of the facility from Lillian's office was an enticing prospect, particularly as they expected to begin their scramble for SCRAMBLE parts in the next few days, so he'd set off as the expert and Del had tagged along as an expert in violence, tool-assisted or not.
And then all the sprinklers had gone off at once, and the entire Section had filled with a hallucinogenic gas. Nascimbeni could still smell it now, a pungent of mix of camphor oil and sulphur.
They first they'd heard of it was at the top of Zulfikar's lungs. McInnis had left one of the walkies with his assistant, along with instructions to stay put and keep the door locked. It was therefore a mystery why the otherwise level-headed young man had been caught out in the open when the deluge began, with the almost immediate result that he had torn off his expensive silk shirt and begun pounding the tile walls with his closed fists, screaming "THE MEDIUM IS EVERYTHING" and "EVERYTHING IS A MEDIUM" over and over as his knuckles splintered. The last they'd seen, from the glass double doors to R&E, he'd gone chasing after a squall of tiny pixie-like figures which had been rapidly shifting form and gibbering inchoately. There was still a trail of blood in the teal fluid that now covered every floor surface in the dorms, to mark his passage.
Luckily, Lillian possessed a very large black umbrella.
Nascimbeni had insisted on going alone. "You barely need me anyway, and anyone who could come with is too important to lose. I know where I'm going, and I won't be long."
"That's what Harry and Del said." Udo had looked miserable, and she hadn't been wrong.
Nascimbeni sighed as he flipped the final switch up and down one last time. So, the masters had been re-routed. The Site's electrics had become yet another crazed art project, or else the sabotage had been intentional. Perhaps the deluge was a coordinated assault rather than some comic book impetus to further creativity. That was interesting, if it was true. He sighed again, picked up his toolbox, and headed for the door where he'd left the umbrella.
He stopped.
Whatever was in the sprinklers, it didn't smell like camphor oil at all. Sulphur had been the only discernable note.
"Who's in here?" He turned back to the master switches, and began opening panels at random. "Come on. I know you're--"
There was a loud //crash// behind him, and he spun to see a woman dropping out of the drop ceiling and onto the ceiling tile she'd kicked out of it. She had green hair, was wearing the uniform of an Applied Occultist and was holding, miraculously, a pistol in her hand.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous/DL_52_10_Alis_Drop.jpg]]
He suppressed a laugh of relief. She looked too twitchy for loud noises. "What's it this time? Alis Rydderech, Alis Lane, or something new?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "My name," she spat, "is Alis //Wettle.//"
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"I thought men couldn't cross their legs without crushing their balls."
Harry finished settling his back against the wall, and grimaced down at her. "Men use ball crushing as an excuse to sit the way they want. Balls evolved to not be crushed. That's why one hangs lower than the other. The men who told you that are //liars.//" He smirked. "You should kick them in the balls."
"Statistically, I probably did." She took another pull on her bottle of gin, and sighed contentedly.
They were sitting in the back rooms of the Director's Complex. Harry had never been this far into Allan's private domain, and had been surprised to find that it hadn't been Allan's at all. The decor, the furniture, the personal effects; these rooms had gone functionally unchanged since Vivian Scout had died in the mid-1990s. The wallpaper was... well, for starters, there was wallpaper. It was fancy, all dark warm tones and scrollwork. There was oak panelling. There was a coat stand with a very familiar grey overcoat on it, not remotely moth-eaten, and on top, there had been a fedora.
The fedora was now in Harry's hands. (He'd washed them first.) He rotated it thoughtfully as he clenched and unclenched his upper arm muscles against the comforting bulk of the wine bottle he'd found in Scout's liquor cabinet. "You ever wonder if we're letting him down?"
"I'll drink to that," she hiccoughed, and followed through.
"I'm serious. He had high hopes for us, you know. The young Turks. Gonna make big changes. Shake up the establishment. Twenty years later, and what? We //are// the establishment."
Del wiped her lips with her sleeve, which hung loose from her shoulders. She'd unzipped her jumpsuit to the waist. She'd been oddly relaxed ever since the spray outside had settled into a fine, muggy mist. //Del never stops, because she never has to.// Well, now she had to, and she was apparently going to make the most of it. It reminded him of-- "Speak for yourself. I've still got a skyscraper full of acronyms over my head at all hours. TAD won't tell us what the fuck is going on. O5 won't let us set our own terms. Even Allan isn't telling the whole truth."
Harry shrugged. It was easy to shrug in Dougall's silk shirts. He almost thought he could get used to the feeling. "He's got a lot on his shoulders. And really... isn't he part of the problem?"
She peered up at him, eyes already a bit bleary. "How so?" The last, barely audible radio call had suggested the halls couldn't be made safe for at least another sixteen hours. Plenty of time to tie one on, and then let it slowly unravel in the usual way. They'd even found a pair of buckets in the Director's supply closet.
He set the hat down reverently, on a towel he'd spread on the floor in case they needed it to mop up a spill, and took a gulp of the red wine. He'd felt a pang of guilt dipping into the old man's secret stash, even if he was long, long gone, until he'd remembered that he could down the entire bottle and it would still be there come next September. Stalling complete, he presented his carefully curated thoughts. "Scout wanted us to make the world a better place. Allan was his replacement. Allan was supposed to do what Scout couldn't. I don't see that he has."
Del grunted. "I don't see how he //could.// We're just one Site. You can't change org culture in one lifetime, from one... I don't know. Node? It doesn't work that way."
"It definitely doesn't work when you don't work on it."
She reached over and tipped the bottle back up to his mouth, and didn't let him stop drinking until he'd started to splutter.
"Alright," he said, shaking his head and spraying red droplets in every direction. "Point taken. We're on break."
"Damn right." She reduced the bottle, thick as it was, to the halfway-mark with a Herculean chug her body should hardly have been able to support. "Of course, //you're// always on break."
He bristled at that. "You don't need to get personal. Udo..." He trailed off. He really didn't have anything to say on the matter, at least nothing that would be useful to talk through with Del.
The little woman's eyes widened. "I just meant you're lazy, guy. But if you want to cry about your relationship troubles..."
He looked away. "You're intolerable."
"I get more tolerable when I'm incoherent." He could hear her attacking the bottle even more fiercely.
"If you had your pick..." Harry stopped. He wasn't sure where that had come from. Probably somewhere in the middle of his own bottle.
His shoulder was shaking. She was shaking his shoulder. "If I had my pick //what?// Pick of what?"
He looked back at her. "If you could pick anyone, who would you pick? You know."
She shook her head. "I don't know. What you mean, I mean. I mean." She burped. "Sex? Yancy, every time."
He opened his mouth, and his brow furrowed, and he didn't ask what he almost asked. "Okay. Not what I meant. I meant... you know."
She adjusted her legs so she could kick him, lightly, with one boot. "Stop saying I know. If I knew, I could answer. You mean mushy shit? Who do I want to wake up next to every day for the rest of my life?"
He nodded.
She took another long draught of the rum, and because for a moment he forgot who he was talking to, he thought she was taking the delay to consider, as he had done. He thought this right up until the moment that she turned and sprayed the amber liquid in his face.
And laughed.
"Nobody. Somebody different every time. Sappy shit! That's not me." She glanced around him, at the hat. "Did I hit it?"
He glanced down. "Little bit."
"Oh. Sorry."
He shook his head. "Not the real hat anyway." He pulled the towel out from under it, and began dabbing the rum off his face. "Aren't you going to ask?"
"Ask what? And don't say I know."
He made a face at her.
She laughed again. "Who you'd pick? You expect me to ask that out loud? Harry, every sentient being in this hole, plus Wettle, has known the answer to that for twenty years."
There really wasn't anything to say in response to that.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous/DL_52_11_Ibanez_Blank.jpg]]
So they drank until dawn, instead. They couldn't see it, but some biological rhythms are immutable.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 21 October
----
[[/=]]
The hall outside Eileen's office was lit up like an exploded Christmas tree.
Not exploded violently, as with actual explosives, but geometrically. Someone had grabbed the relevant nodes and cranked everything to eleven, so that there were blinking bulbs and glittering lines of sparkling electricity from ceiling to wall to floor. Lillian could see any number of potential vectors for transmission: the colours of the lights, the patterns they were flashing, their arrangement in 3D space, the crackle and hum in the air as they pulsed out whatever malign message they'd been encoded with.
Eileen herself sat cross-legged on the floor, in her underwear. Her skin was covered with electrical burns, and she was sucking her teeth and shaking her head. "Almost there," she said.
"Sure thing," Lillian agreed. She examined the complex device hooked up to the I&T chief's keycard reader. //Anybody's guess what __that__ is.// Another impediment, because of course.
"Almost picking them //up.//" Eileen extended a shaking hand at the nearest LED, a tiny screwdriver in her hand. She began twisting it through the wire, and the lights flickered -- Lillian only saw this peripherally, of course -- in a subtly different pattern. "I can almost make it //out.//"
"Alan Turing would be proud." Lillian knelt to examine the strange mechanical override. The work of another couple hours, no doubt. Eileen could out-engineer anyone in the Site when it came to computers, Lillian included, but given enough time there were few code-based shenanigans she couldn't entangle. "Give it a few months, we might //all// make it out."
Eileen laughed so abruptly that Lillian nearly stood up, startled. "Yeah," she agreed. "Yeah, everybody's gonna hear it soon. That's for sure."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 22 October
----
[[/=]]
"Okay." Udo examined the small, cigarette smoke-yellow computer critically. SCP-5295 was horizontal rather than vertical, covered in striations that were as much about looks as heat exchange, and now hooked up to a massive wide-screen monitor on Lillian's office wall. She'd left the old CRT behind, for reasons beyond obvious. "Now are you going to explain why this was worth spending three weeks to find?"
Lillian, typing rapidly on the keyboard with one hand, raised her personal phone up with the other. There was a photograph on the screen, and Udo just had time to think //you could just fucking __tell me__// before the encoded memory took hold.
//The wizened old traitor pressed his warped fingernails to the exposed wire, and raised his already reedy voice to a querulous whine: "How's that?"//
//Eileen nodded. "Disrupted. I think I can get at the code now. How long can you hold it?"//
//Zlatá laughed. That hateful, hateful laugh. "Forever, as long as I'm kept fed and watered. The effect might be impressive, but the means by which it's achieved are rudimentary at best."//
//"That tracks. From what I've seen, this is sub-demonics level circuitry. But that's Maxwellists for you." The apostates from the more literalist Church of the Broken God were electromancers// par excellence, //but they didn't generally believe in being any flashier than that needed to be. There would be minimal enchantments on Marroquin's device. Anything that could be accomplished with code, would have been. That meant all she needed to do was use Zlatá as a sort of thaumaturgical resistor, and her fancy fingerwork could do the rest.//
//The rest of this terrible, terrible, unforgiveable thing she was doing.//
//As though able to read her thoughts, or perhaps actually reading them on her face, the ferret-faced oldster posed a question. "Have you considered the moral ramifications of this?"//
//Eileen snorted, like the flexible livestock she was. Open minded to the point of an empty conscience. "Of course I have."//
//"And you aren't bothered?"//
//"Of course I am. But this goes beyond what I think is right. What I think we __need__ is always going to take precedence."//
//"And you think we need this... violation?" This of course was rich, coming from █ ██████████████ as it did, but if Zlatá felt a pang of guilt... well. His kind never did, did they?//
//"I think there are worse violations in the offing. Can you move on to the next circuit?"//
//Zlatá complied, deft motions belying his general decrepitude, and waited for her to continue.//
//"You and I both know there's enough shady shit going on down here to bring the whole world crashing down. The only thing that stops them all from blowing up on any given day is that every schemer needs to waste half their time keeping out of the way of everyone else's schemes. But we can't rely on that time sink forever. Eventually something's got to give, and I'd like to know what it is in advance, because I'm going to be on the picking-up-pieces crew by default."//
//"Because you're the Chief of I&T?" Zlatá offered.//
//Eileen sucked on her teeth. "No. Because everyone trusts me."//
//A more sour truth she had never savoured.//
[!-- [[=image Zlata_Veiksaar_5295.jpg]] --]
Udo blinked, and the scene vanished. Lillian had finished typing, and was looking up at her questioningly.
The answer came slowly. It was like shaking herself out of a deep sleep. She wondered if memetic contagion was bioaccumulative. "They changed it," she finally managed.
Lillian nodded.
"So it doesn't just access other old Macs?"
Another nod.
Udo felt her lunch plunge. "...oh, Jesus."
This time the nod was accompanied by a knowing grin. "Yeah. On the plus side, I'm sure you're much too wholesome to have socked any porn away on your work computer, so your record's probably still clean."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 23 October
----
[[/=]]
McInnis watched with a mixture of curiosity and mild surprise as Alis mopped the sweat from Wettle's deeply lined brow. "Having bad dreams?" he offered.
She shook her head. "No, he gets forehead sweat when he sleeps. Doctors don't know why. Just one of those things."
"And you married him," said Harry. Nascimbeni elbowed him.
Alis rubbed her husband's temples, counterclockwise. "Life is a slow, mostly boring trip to some very strange places."
"The very strange places are just pit stops." Lillian was still hammering away on the old Mac, compiling her scavenging list. Udo and Del were already out searching for the first few pieces. "The destination is actually, well." She waved one hand at the ceiling, the other effortlessly taking up the slack. "Everyone who works here is already there. You know?"
"Will he wake up?" Alis asked.
Lillian didn't answer. Harry walked over, selected a single strand of coral hair, and walked away until she yelped. She stood up, shoved him over -- into a chair, he knew what he was doing by this point in their relationship -- and stalked over to the sick room bed they'd hauled into the spacious office. "He isn't //dead.// I added some medical equipment to the list. The //bottom// of the list, mind you. We'll see how much brain activity he's got going. Thing with Willie--"
Alis raised a hand. "Don't."
"What?"
"You were going to say something like 'it's hard to tell the difference between Willie's regular level of brain activity, and brain death'."
Lillian looked impressed. "I was going to say almost exactly that. Yes."
"Why are you always so down on him all the time? It's not like he is the way he is on purpose."
"It's not?" Harry asked.
Alis glared at him. "You're supposed to be his best friend."
"I am?"
She sighed. "I just think he's been through enough. You don't need to put him through more."
McInnis saw Harry's brows knit together, his hands clench and unclench. The archivist's physical subtlety was somewhere around the level of Noh theatre. "Alis, I've spent twenty years around this guy. He doesn't change. //We// change. We improve. We get better. Him? He doesn't even //try.// He stays the same, and his same is //crap.//"
She nodded. "And you think he does that because he enjoys it?"
[!-- [[=image Alittle.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 12 November
----
[[/=]]
It was not unlike knowing how a story should end, but needing to write everything that happened first before you could get to the payoff.
Or working for the weekend from Monday's perspective.
But she got there eventually, and that was what mattered.
At the centre of a wasteland of cancelled memes and whitewashed murals, Ibanez found the lab that she'd been looking for.
In a multiverse of chaotic diversity, she thanked a god she knew wasn't real that Bremmel's ridiculous blaster rifle was one inexplicable constant.
"Seriously?" Nascimbeni said. "I thought we were looking for... transistors, for starters."
"There's transistors in this." She pointed. "So probably lots in the drawers and cabinets." She clutched the weapon to her chest. "These ones are mine, though."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
He couldn't help but smile. It was all coming together.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous/DL_56_01_Nascimbeni_Wins.jpg]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 18 November
----
[[/=]]
Most of the others were sleeping, in various offices close by the tunnel which had been cleared of memetic material (no small feat in the middle of Memetics and Countermemetics, though the latter clause obviously did help) and barricaded with whatever security materials had survived the apparent purge. Lillian had left SCP-5295, the magical Mac, unattended, and Nascimbeni sat down to do some browsing. McInnis had encouraged this; the more they knew about the deadline, they better they'd be able to manage its conclusion. He'd encouraged them not to go snooping for personal files, and everyone except Del had honoured that request so far.
Nascimbeni didn't think it was cheating to access the personnel roster for J&M. That information could prove useful, he reasoned. Rationalized. If they could cure whatever ailed the people of Site-43, the most technically capable personnel should obviously get first priority.
He was pleased to see that Banerjee was still alive, or at least had been by the time his alternate self had traded record-keeping for keeping Del company in the dormitories. And he'd never moved on to the admin track at Site-36, which was a definite point in this universe's favour. Chuck Carter was still around, too, because of course it was only baseline reality that had seen him come to a grisly end. Some of the new trainees from the past few years were there, though not all of them, and there were plenty of names he didn't recognize. Fourteen years of alternate history would do that. He was surprised the differences weren't more profound.
He was tired, he realized. He realized because he found himself scanning and re-scanning the early letters of the alphabet after doing so for a solid ten seconds, or more -- old machines like this one didn't often have a visible clock, screen real estate being limited with a resolution so low. He looked one last time, to make certain that the thing he'd been subconsciously searching for wasn't there, and when it definitely wasn't, he began accessing files from other Sections to find out why.
He found his answer in the Health and Pathology system. Technician JM64 had been injured in a materials handling accident in Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-B on February the 22nd, 2013. Failed a spot check, and immediately thrown into a coma from which it was suspected he would never recover.
It shouldn't have meant as much as it did. It wouldn't //take.// And was that fate really so much worse than what Phil was suffering back in baseline?
He told himself it wasn't.
But his self wasn't so sure.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 21 November
----
[[/=]]
Lillian had partitioned her workspace many times since first moving in, all those years ago, and many of the partitions were still in place, though so much of the rest of the world had no doubt changed position around them. The little sleeping quarters tucked away in the back of what had once been an expansive storage room and was now her lab had been built in precisely the same place in every timeline so far, which was kind of heartening, really. It meant there was something consistent in her reasoning, that the reasoning was somehow //sound.// She chose not to pursue that thought any further; comparing every set of memories to rate her multiversal confidence in each action taken since 2002 would be a fun new way to drive herself completely insane.
//And there's no shortage of those around here,// she thought as she stared at the stucco ceiling.
There was a knock on the door. Lillian didn't get up, because if she did, the door wouldn't be able to open without crushing her knees. "What?"
"Can I come in?"
It was Alis.
Lillian shrugged, though nobody else could see it. She did most things for her own benefit first. "I guess."
The lights in the workspace were dimmed. Sokolsky was napping in a purloined armchair. Blank was in a cot, his cat on his chest. Not the same cat; in this universe, Scout had apparently passed away of natural causes a few years back. Lillian was anticipating the lightbulb going on in his head with great excitement. Less exciting was the //geistschreiber// in the wizard robe, but Lillian knew there were at least a few fascinating facts trapped behind that sour face.
"Hey," said Alis. She sat down in the doorway, on the floor, because there was really no other option. The room was long enough for a long, long bed, to accommodate Lillian's long, long legs, but that was it. "So, when are you going to tell them?"
She didn't have to ask. "Tomorrow, probably. Allan and Daniil already know."
"Yeah." Alis sighed. "I guess you've figured out the thing with the murals."
"Everybody has. Or at least part of it." She frowned at the ceiling. "Is that something everyone knew about? While the shit was going down?"
"No. Just the memeticists who could look at the walls without losing their minds. So, basically, you and me. You want to say it out loud, so I know we're still on the same page?"
"Why not. The memories in the murals are all just that, memories. From the actual people who actually lived the actual events depicted. Except the ones that aren't from around here, which I don't understand, but I'm sure I'll figure it out eventually. Point is, they were put there by someone else. Someone else who had the memories."
"//Took// the memories," Alis murmured.
"Right."
"And you know who that was?"
She wished she didn't.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 22 November
----
[[/=]]
[[div class="muddle"]]
The Memetics and Countermemetics boardroom is large enough to accommodate everyone presently assigned to that Section, though this is a pointless accommodation. Memeticists don't sit down for long, and they certainly don't do so together. They wander the halls, they pace their offices, they seek fresh perspectives in new locales, they keep their minds moving by moving their brainpans from place to place, and they allow their flashy duds to remind everyone else that they still exist, so that they will continue to do so. But they don't, as a rule, congregate together unless absolutely necessary. This isn't only because memeticists are, as a rule, antisocial -- although they are. And it isn't because they're too busy to waste time socializing, or because they prefer to pursue solo research.
Memeticists don't mingle because everything that goes wrong in their minds, and the minds of others, because of their curiously contagious area of study, goes much more seriously wrong with an amplified signal.
[[>]]
--Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
It felt like a wide, open space with only seven people to occupy it. Alis took Wettle's place -- to make up the numbers, not in intellectual capacity -- while the latter continued to doze in the lab-cum-dormitory. Today, at any rate, she was both guest of honour and keynote speaker.
"I've already explained most of this to the Director," she began. "And Dr. Lillihammer."
"Why Lillian?" Nascimbeni asked. "What's so special..."
He sighed, and waved his own question off. Lillian grinned, and waited for Alis to continue.
"The short story is this: I haven't been a //giftschreiber,// at least in terms of allegiance, since 2009."
"What happened in 2009?" Udo asked.
"The //giftschreiber// took over the world," Lillian explained. Then smiled apologetically at the other cryptomancer in the room. "Sorry. Hijacking presentations is addictive."
"No problem." Alis cleared her throat, to punctuate the interruption and mark it concluded. "They didn't take over the world; not the world beyond the Veil, at any rate. But they became one of the most active and dangerous Groups of Interest faced by the SCP Foundation. Every memetics and antimemetics research group in the world was bent on their destruction, because they were bent on ours."
"How'd you acquire that particular possessive?" Harry asked. "The Foundation being //yours,// I mean."
"I understand you have some familiarity with the process." Again, Alis made eye contact. Lillian nodded. "I was away from my handlers for too long. Whatever they'd done to me, it wore off. And I saw what they were doing with fresh eyes, so..."
"So you pretended to be a Foundation thaumaturge," Udo said, "and worked against them covertly?"
Alis shook her head. "No. I turned myself in."
"What?" Ibanez glared at her. "To who? Because //I// would have just shot you."
Alis gestured at the door. "I turned myself in to Dr. Wettle."
"I've had nightmares like that," Harry said.
"Dr. Wettle," Nascimbeni repeated. "Noted authority figure Dr. Wettle."
Alis laughed. "He always understood me better. He //listened.//"
"Sure," Ibanez agreed. "Who wouldn't, with those shirts you wear?"
The //geistschreiber// ignored her. "He helped me determine the limits of my remaining conditioning. With replication tests. Eventually we determined that I was almost totally devoid of foreign interference, so we went to the Director, who brought in Dr. Lillihammer. By that time the Foundation was hurting for allies with inside knowledge. They set me up as a credentialed thaumaturge, because my abilities are indistinguishable from magic anyway. It was an easy niche to fill." She gestured at Udo. "You know."
Udo frowned. "What do you mean? What niche?"
"I'm the Chair of Applied Occultism."
Udo's eyebrows approached her still-silver hairline. She'd noticed that the trim on Alis' wizard coat was red instead of teal, but her mind had simply refused to make the connection. "A //geistschreiber// is the Chair of AO?"
"Of course. It's not the first time."
[!-- [[=image Lillihammer_Del_Olmo.jpg]] --]
McInnis became very aware of the sound of the air cycling through the vents overhead.
@@ @@
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[[=]]
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=====
[[<]]
Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:
Dougall Deering: "Twitter 365 Project - Day 55" and "Tokyo" by Richard Giles, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076
Karen Elstrom: "Natalya" by Anastasia Pavlenko, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/zamerzla/50841210177
Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653
Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023
Noè Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822 and
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992
Daniil Sokolsky: "Brett - 08-08-08" and "Waterpitts, 29-09-12" by Brett Jordan, both released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625
https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842
Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470
William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260
> **Filename:** Everything!
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
[[/<]]
=====
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True Art is Cognitohazardous - SCP Foundation
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1456918356
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous
|
|
53-those-who-cant
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
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<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
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/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
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<p><strong>Those Who Can't</strong><br/>
Surprise!</p>
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<h1 id="toc0"><span>Those Who Can't</span></h1>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #990011">2016</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>22 November</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong>Timeline 5243-D</strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>"Dougall Deering was a <em>geistschreiber</em>." Udo was the first to say it out loud, though she was merely repeating the implied sentiment.</p>
<p>"That's right," Alis nodded.</p>
<p>"That's impossible."</p>
<p>"Is it?" Ibanez shifted back and forth in her chair. "He worked for how many years at the same facility as his brother, and never got caught."</p>
<p>"They worked on different floors," Udo protested.</p>
<p>"And Laiken never caught you two fucking behind her back."</p>
<p>"DELFINA!" Udo stood up and slammed her palms on the table.</p>
<p>"Sorry," Lillian raised a hand, and swung her index finger back and forth between the two of them like she was conducting a ping-pong match. "What was that? Say that again?"</p>
<p>"Christ, it does make sense." Ibanez was staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. "He didn't have it bad as the other ones, he wasn't <em>immediately</em> forgettable, and of course his credentials were actually real…" Her eyes refocused. "They <em>were</em> actually real, weren't they?"</p>
<p>Alis nodded. "Far as I know."</p>
<p>"And the lack of security in his quarters. No cameras. Because of course no cameras. Anyone monitoring would have had trouble keeping focus for too long…" Ibanez glanced at her friend, probably her best friend, <em>when did <span style="text-decoration: underline;">that</span> happen,</em> who was still standing and quivering with rage. "Well, you never had trouble keeping focus on him."</p>
<p>Udo looked like she was going to scream.</p>
<p>"Neither did Willie," Harry pointed out. "With Alis."</p>
<p>Alis winked at him. He blushed.</p>
<p>"If Dr. Deering was indeed a <em>geistschreiber,</em>" McInnis began, not the faintest trace of surprise or uncertainty in his voice, "what was his purpose here?"</p>
<p>"That part confuses me," Alis admitted. "Going through the records, it looked like he was here to spy on an enemy."</p>
<p>Lillian looked at the table.</p>
<p>"What enemy?" Nascimbeni asked.</p>
<p>"Del Olmo," said Lillian.</p>
<p>They all looked at her, not that she could see. Her hair fell between them and her own eyes.</p>
<p>"That's right," Alis agreed.</p>
<p>"What about Del Olmo?" Harry was looking at McInnis, now. "I know he had to leave 43, back in, what was it? 2001? While Lil was also gone." The coral curtain wobbled agreement. "What was he doing? Allan, you must know."</p>
<p>The Director nodded. "I do know. Dr. Del Olmo was our primary agent in persecuting the Forgotten War."</p>
<p>Lillian's head snapped up. "Explain."</p>
<p>"He was responsible for seeding the globe with countermemetic counterterrorist cells. Fighting the <em>giftschreiber</em> wherever they appeared."</p>
<p>"They call it the Forgotten War," said Lillian, her voice tight, her words precise, "because nobody remembered it. So it <em>stopped.</em> You can't forget a war you're still fighting."</p>
<p>Alis scoffed. Lillian glared at her.</p>
<p>"There has been no outbreak of overt hostilities in Canada since the 1980s," McInnis nodded. "But abroad, the reprieve is very much due to Dr. Del Olmo's work. As one of the most accomplished cryptomancers in our employ, he was a vital interlocutor for the Foundation. He kept the war from flaring up again elsewhere."</p>
<p>"Why?" Lillian's blue eyes were somehow burning.</p>
<p>"Because we wanted to be the first ones to understand what had happened. What had been forgotten. What had been lost. So that when the fighting began again in this territory in earnest, we would have the upper hand."</p>
<p>"And now he's fucking <em>dead,</em>" Lillian spat. "So that's going to work out just great."</p>
<p>"Except he isn't dead." Alis looked back and forth between them. "Not here. Not in this, what did you call it? This timeline, anyway."</p>
<p>"Please tell me you didn't tell her what we call them," said Harry.</p>
<p>Udo, abruptly, sat back down.</p>
<p>"I didn't tell her what we call them." Lillian seemed to collect herself. "Okay. Deering was spying on Del Olmo."</p>
<p>"Bullshit."</p>
<p>They all turned to look at Udo. All except Alis, who was visibly trying to figure out what she wasn't being told.</p>
<p>"Bullshit bullshit <em>bullshit.</em> Dougall was on our side. He wasn't one of them."</p>
<p>"I didn't say he wasn't on your side," Alis offered in a low, soothing voice. "But he was definitely one of us."</p>
<p>Without another word, Udo stood up and left the room. The door slammed behind her.</p>
<p>Lillian sighed. "Deering was spying on Del Olmo, <em>maybe.</em> And then what? When he didn't die, what happened next?"</p>
<p>"Weird way to put it. Having trouble understanding what you told me. Still." Alis shook her head slightly. "He disappeared almost immediately after visiting the Site again in '02. Said he had an assignment abroad. Nobody thought anything of it. He'd disappeared before, all the time."</p>
<p>"Wait a second." Harry scooted his chair forward. "Lil, you have these memories too. Don't you? Why are you making her explain it?"</p>
<p>"Because I want to know if she's a liar." Lillian's voice was low, scratchy, and dangerous.</p>
<p>"What, like you?" Alis asked, sweetly.</p>
<p>This next silence was thick with the threat of violence.</p>
<p>"Because that <em>was</em> a lie. You don't want to examine your own memories because you don't want to see your mentor running off and doing horrible, awful things to innocent people, and actually own those images. You want me to explain it, so you can, I don't know. Use it as a <em>working theory.</em> A <em>functional fiction.</em> And put off having to—"</p>
<p>Lillian slapped the papers in front of her across the table, and they fanned past the other woman's face. "Finish the story, you fucking drama queen. You're pretending to be a wizard, not a psychologist."</p>
<p>Alis' smile was still in place. "Sure. Del Olmo left Site-43, and almost immediately, the Forgotten War came back with a vengeance."</p>
<p>"How much vengeance are we talking?" Harry asked.</p>
<p>"Enemy number one. Worse than the Insurgency. Worse than the Sarkic cults. Worse than anything. They've been actively trying to dismantle the Foundation, and they've suddenly been equipped with all the tools to make it work."</p>
<p>"Equipped by who?" Nascimbeni glanced at Lillian, and shrunk away from her sudden stare. "Del Olmo?"</p>
<p>"No," snapped Lillian.</p>
<p>Alis opened her mouth, obviously to say 'Yes', but Lillian suddenly continued. "Yes. Fine. Yes. But it wasn't really <em>him.</em> He's possessed, like the rest of those fuckers. It's using his body, his memories, his abilities, but it is. Not. <em>Him.</em>"</p>
<p>Alis shrugged. "Same difference, from my perspective. But it's not as personal to me as it is to you." She frowned. "At least, it wasn't. Before he put my husband in a coma."</p>
<p>"Del Olmo did that?" McInnis asked. "You're saying he's here, again? At Site-43?"</p>
<p>Alis nodded. "He'd been back a few times over the years, but he came home for good a few months ago. That's when all this started. The chaos. The… exhibits."</p>
<p>"Have you any conception of why?" the Director pressed.</p>
<p>"All I can tell you is he's here, he's crazy, and he is <em>crazy</em> pissed off." Alis pursed her lips. "Tore through this place like a hurricane. Turned almost everyone mad like him. Turned the whole Site upside down. It started slow, but that only lasted maybe a week. People turned up in the hospital, complaining they had gaps in their memories. New memories, old memories. Treasured memories. Traumas. All gone." She shook her head. "Some people had nothing left. He took everything from them."</p>
<p>"And then?" McInnis asked.</p>
<p>"And then," Lillian finished, "he started smearing their memories on the fucking walls. That's him. The voice in your head when you look at the murals. That's him, judging them. Judging <em>everyone.</em> The ultimate art critic, judging your performance in life. But of course, it <em>isn't</em> him."</p>
<p>"It's… <em>it,</em>" said Harry.</p>
<p>Lillian nodded.</p>
<p>"This entire facility," she sighed, "is a six-sevenths-dead half-god's splattered, toxic grey matter."</p>
<p>It was a creative couple of months.</p>
<p>Ibanez retrofitted the empty offices in M&C as containment chambers, and the Survivors began corralling anyone and anything remotely receptive to corralling into them. At all hours she stalked the safer halls, looking for stragglers who had wandered out of the art world and into her more rationalized one. She was by now dressed to the nines in combat armour liberated from private lockers in the dorms, where a few of the Pursuit and Suppression agents who were regularly on call kept themselves prepared for the worst; she could be found on any given day tackling hollering lunatics, knife-wielding cultists, and aggressive graffitists, hauling them back kicking and screaming, or drooling, or singing, or most often unconscious and/or bleeding. The sapient anomalies, she negotiated with. For the most part. She disintegrated the werewolves on sight.</p>
<p>Udo continued to scrub the corridors, with increasing effectiveness, under Ibanez's watchful eye. When a space was made fully secure, McInnis, Blank and Nascimbeni combed it for the pieces identified in the stolen manifests. Lillihammer and Sokolsky divided their time between constructing their SCRAMBLE goggles and attempting, without much success, to find the combination of memetic triggers that would awaken the thunderstruck personnel. Their preferred test subject was Wettle, as nothing was quite so docile as a coma patient, but they spread the attention around whenever Alis got too testy. She was very possessive of her husband, and nobody liked to think about that too much, so they tried to keep out of her way.</p>
<p>It wasn't much fun, but it was functional. They still had no means of contacting the outside world, and the brief glimpses they got of the admin sections suggested that protective eyewear would be needed to secure such means. There was food, and there was water, and there was no end of privacy; plenty of empty rooms, and not very many people in their right minds to fill them. Only Ibanez and Nascimbeni took regular advantage of this.</p>
<p>There was the brief incident with the enormous horde of tiny hippos, but it wasn't like they hadn't seen that coming.</p>
<p>All told, it could have been much worse. It <em>had</em> been much worse, in the first deadline. With enough distance and the right perspective, it could have even been a little entertaining.</p>
<p>If not for the dreams.</p>
<div class="flashboss">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc3"><span><span style="color: #990099">2016</span></span></h1>
<hr/></div>
<p>Lillian flipped through the file with such viciousness, McInnis was surprised her nails didn't leave gashes in each page. "Waste of my time."</p>
<p>"Very possible," he agreed.</p>
<p>Wettle looked over her shoulder, as very nearly only he could do. "I've never heard of this before. What is this?"</p>
<p>"It's nonsense." Lillian slapped the file on the table. "Complete nonsense. I have too many projects already, Allan."</p>
<p>"You'll forgive me," he murmured. "I'm unfamiliar with your precise availability, or workload. As you'll <em>recall.</em>"</p>
<p>He saw the extra emphasis do its work. The fact that Lillian had a calling over which he had no direct authority did not bother him; he trusted the Director of the Antimemetics Division implicitly, even though he wasn't entirely sure who was filling that post these days. His memory told him it ought to have been a man, but he couldn't picture the man's face. Marion Wheeler was doing the job, however, and Marion Wheeler was unimpeachable.</p>
<p>Still, it was a little inconvenient being in the dark about the details of his most valuable researcher's portfolio.</p>
<p>"It doesn't matter," she snapped. "Nothing I've ever worked on is less up my alley than this. That makes it unimportant. It would be unimportant if all I had on my schedule for the day was a bratwurst sandwich."</p>
<p>Wettle pulled the folder to him. After removing the contents from his lap, and briefly attempting to put them in the right order, he began to read.</p>
<p>McInnis put on a face. Neutral. Not unapproachable, but not wholly amused. Definitely unruffled. "Anomalies created by Vikander-Kneed Technical Media," he said, "have affected an ever-increasing proportion of the human population since they first came to our attention. They have branched out to a variety of broadcast and home media, the effects of which range from terror to catatonia to traceless disappearance, and they represent a serious threat to the Veil. I know of only one more vital issue under the umbrella of memetics, and—"</p>
<p>"And I'm already on that one. The gift-givers. Sure. That's just one more argument not to dump this in my lap, then. Bus factor."</p>
<p>Wettle glanced up at her. "Bus factor?"</p>
<p>"If I get hit by a bus, nobody's managing the three biggest memetic threats in the world." She winced. "Two. I meant two."</p>
<p>She hadn't meant two.</p>
<p>Luckily, Wettle was again not paying attention. He tapped the sheet he was holding, and his finger went right through it. "Fuck. Uh, why am I in this?"</p>
<p>"What?" Lillian craned her neck, then snatched the sheet out of his hand. "What're you talking about?"</p>
<p>He pointed.</p>
<p>She blinked.</p>
<p>She read: "'Episode Forty-Three: A Star is Born! Format: backdoor pilot. Synopsis: Final episode. All regular cast members are absent. Content is a twenty-five hour telecast of one Mindy Wettle in hospital, chronicling her difficult labour, ending in the birth of a son, William Wettle. Credit sequence is replaced with a bright yellow smiling face (note: not an illustration), with increasingly rising cheers in background until soundtrack is a square wave, at which point video and audio abruptly cease.' What. What is <em>this.</em>" She flipped back several pages, grunted, then flipped forward past the first. Wettle hadn't quite gotten them in the proper order. "'Vikander-Kneed Presents: Che and Tadeusz! A romance of praxis, in forty-two acts. Anomalous drama. Effects include migraine headaches, irritable bowel, and attacks of conscience potentially leading to revolutionary behaviour.' No, okay. <em>Okay.</em> Pardon <em>me.</em>"</p>
<p>"I don't remember being filmed," said Wettle.</p>
<p>"Permanent memories begin somewhere around three years of age," McInnis explained kindly.</p>
<p>"This is bullshit, though." Lillian stared accusingly at the page. "It's bullshit, right? I mean, what a farce. Twenty-five hours." She frowned. "No, I believe that, actually. He probably got lost on the way out."</p>
<p>"Doctor said she'd never seen a head so big," Wettle chimed in. "Mom told that story for years. Probably still does."</p>
<p>"Hmm." Lillian tapped the page thoughtfully, catching her nail in the hole Wettle had poked through it. "Hmm."</p>
<p>"Yes?" McInnis prompted.</p>
<p>"Weren't you on this file, at some point?"</p>
<p>Wettle blinked. "<em>He</em> does <em>files?</em>"</p>
<p>McInnis kept up the façade. "A long time ago. I actually joined the Foundation after encountering this particular Group of Interest in the wild."</p>
<p>"No," Lillian frowned, "that's not what I was remembering. What was I remembering?"</p>
<p>"I couldn't say."</p>
<p><em>Say it,</em> said the voice in the dark with the bright yellow eyes. <em>Say it.</em></p>
<p>He reached under the table and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. "Are you interested in the file or not, Dr. Lillihammer?"</p>
<p>She watched him light up, confusion in her eyes. "Uh… I guess? Allan, what are you…?"</p>
<p>"Good." He breathed in deep, blocking out the voice with the buzzing in his skull. "Good. Terrific. I'll make sure all the files are sent to your office. Dismissed."</p>
<p><em>Send them away,</em> the voice agreed. <em>Just you and me. You and me…</em></p>
<p>He stood up. He kicked the chair out of the way. He walked to the door. "That will be all."</p>
<p>"You already said that," said Wettle.</p>
<p>"Whatever." McInnis pulled on the door handle. The door didn't budge.</p>
<p><em>Allan?</em> said Lillian. <em>Where are you going?</em></p>
<p><em>Stay here with me,</em> Wettle growled. <em>It's been so long.</em></p>
<p><em>Do you remember how it felt?</em> Lillian asked him.</p>
<p>He didn't turn around.</p>
<p><em>It tore like paper, didn't it?</em></p>
</div>
<p>He screamed.</p>
<p>He didn't open his eyes, when he woke up. If he opened his eyes, he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. And he needed his rest.</p>
<p>He did make a mental note.</p>
<div class="jandm">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc4"><span><span style="color: #cc9900">2015</span></span></h1>
<hr/></div>
<p>Forsythe tutted at the readout. That always got on his nerves. Nascimbeni wasn't old enough to be her father, but they were definitely on that side of the age differential. She had no business even implicitly lecturing him…</p>
<p>"Well." She tapped a button on the machine, and it presumably stopped whirring. He hadn't been able to hear it for years, though from time to time he fancied the bones in his ear were vibrating just <em>slightly</em> in tune. It was probably the youth juice doing that. "It's a good thing you never miss an injection, I'll say that much."</p>
<p>"Say more," he sighed. "Spit it out, so this can be over before we're both in our dotage."</p>
<p>"Fine." Forsythe crossed her arms. "If you didn't have anomalous medical treatment, you'd be dead of a heart attack already."</p>
<p>At the end of the bed, examining his chart, Billie looked up in surprise. Nascimbeni tried not to look at her.</p>
<p>"You're burning the candle at both ends, and probably in the middle too. Last I checked — and I've got very good records to check, here — you're not the only technician in this facility. Do you want to see your granddaughter make it to high school?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni frowned. "She's already in high school. I told you that last time."</p>
<p>Forsythe bit her lip, and Billie looked away.</p>
<p>"What?" he said.</p>
<p>"Nothing." The portly doctor punched a button on the monitor, and it began an old-fashioned printout. "Never mind. The point is, if you don't start taking it easy, you'll get forcibly retired by your own ticker."</p>
<p>"Fine." He moved to stand up.</p>
<p>Forsythe planted a hand on his chest. "Not so fast. We aren't done yet."</p>
<p>He sighed more deeply than was warranted. "I've got a Section to run, Helena. And so do you." He waved at Billie. "You're worried about family? Have a chat with your daughter. She looks like she could use it."</p>
<p>At the end of the bed, Billie was very pale. She'd always been very pale, but this was something else.</p>
<p>She reached down, past the edge of the bed, and when her hand came back up it was clutching a telephone receiver. Old style. Like they had in the old control room, back in AAF-D. She reached down with her other hand, and began to dial.</p>
<p>"What's going on?" Nascimbeni asked. He looked up at Forsythe.</p>
<p>David Markey looked back down at him. "Hyperbolic," he whispered. He placed a comforting hand on Nascimbeni's shoulder. "Hyperbolic."</p>
<p><em>The last thing he thought,</em> Billie said, without really saying it, <em>was WHY AREN'T YOU HERE, UNC?</em></p>
<p>It was Romolo Ambrogi's voice.</p>
<p>It was his blood, too, and there was enough of it that soon Nascimbeni could only see red, and then nothing at all.</p>
</div>
<div class="flashblank">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc5"><span><span style="color: #669933">1996</span></span></h1>
<hr/></div>
<p>The <em>SCPS Honoré Beaugrand</em> was an old, old ship. It had been purchased from the Canadian government for certain privileges which Harry was not yet cleared to fully know about, and plied the waters of Lake Huron for decades before being mothballed, sunk, and kept in storage at Site-246 at the bottom of Lake Superior. Foundation vessels were never scrapped, because then they'd have to monitor all the scrapyards for anomalous occurrences. The old boat had been re-floated, restored, and brought back into service for this specific task, because old-timey people on an old-timey ship were less likely to draw attention, and if they did, it could all be explained away as a botched historical reenactment.</p>
<p>The costumes certainly didn't match the setting.</p>
<p>As the passengers debarked, Harry checked them against his manifest. "Name?" he asked, as a portly man in a Victorian conductor's outfit strolled toward him.</p>
<p>"Dudley Belcher."</p>
<p>Harry stifled a laugh, and found the name. "Right. Bandleader. Do you know 'Those in Peril'?"</p>
<p>The other man scoffed. "Bad taste, chap. Bad taste. Jinx the whole thing. Need to learn from history, wot wot?"</p>
<p>"Right." He smiled, because it was either that or laugh after all. "Wot wot. Get on the truck."</p>
<p>Belcher looked past him at the first of several transportation vehicles. "What make and model is <em>that,</em> if I might ask? It looks…" He sniffed disdainfully. "It looks distinctly <em>Gallic,</em> to my eyes."</p>
<p>"Teutonic, actually."</p>
<p>"Ah." The man's expression brightened. "Well, that's alright then. Cheerio." And off he went.</p>
<p>Over the course of the next half-hour, Harry catalogued the crew and passengers of the late <em>RMS Gigantic,</em> a vast ocean liner which had never even existed. A bafflingly ornate public prank by a long-dead novelist had caused the thing to manifest anyway, year after year, steaming down the English channel and necessitating wide-ranging coverups that became increasingly unwieldy in the age of amateur video. It had been Harry who'd proposed the ultimate solution, waylaying the ship, unloading its passengers, and seeing it off to the conceptual afterlife. The whole thing had turned out to be a particularly effective exercise of the public imaginary, and with a little, okay, more than a little fudging of the historical record and some choice media insertions, they'd been able to redirect the plot.</p>
<p>Now all that was left was disposing of over five hundred brutal British caricatures — disposing was the wrong word, totally the wrong word — and then treating himself to a celebratory tour of Yorkshire. He'd never been out of North America before, and he was looking forward to it.</p>
<p>There was only one man left on the ship, now, and he staggered down the gangplank with exaggerated ease. He was pale, barrel-chested, and his eyes were black as night. "What ho!" he called.</p>
<p>"Don't look at me," Harry called back. "Name?"</p>
<p>"Oh, I don't have a name." The man reached the pier, and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Lots of titles, no name. But you know that. We're already acquainted."</p>
<p>Harry turned over the last page of the manifest, then turned them all back down again. There were no more passengers or crew to cross off. In fact, all the sheets were now heavily redacted. "Who are you?"</p>
<p>The old man took his other shoulder, too. "Who are we, you mean. We're brothers!" He turned Harry to face the trucks, which began moving off down the road without him. "I'd know your work anywhere."</p>
<p>"What?" Harry wanted to cry out, to make the trucks stop, but they were already gone.</p>
<p><em>Like trains down the rail,</em> the man growled in his ear. <em>Off for the camps.</em></p>
<p>Harry spun. The old man's face was drawn, the skin paper thin on a grinning skull. "It isn't like that," he protested. "We're just going to freeze them."</p>
<p><em>Freeze, cook, it's all the same to you people.</em> The spectre's breath was like a dead swamp. <em>Human beings are so much <span style="text-decoration: underline;">meat</span>, eh? Wot wot.</em> The hands clapped, and Harry's shoulders shook with the impact. <em>Maybe between the two of us, we'll get the whole lot, next time 'round!</em></p>
<p>On the pier, the <em>Honoré Beaugrand</em> was sinking. They both walked to the edge of the pier to watch it go.</p>
<p>Even at the bottom of the bay, Harry fancied, he could still see every inch of the thing with perfect clarity.</p>
<p>Which, of course, he had to. Didn't he?</p>
</div>
<div class="flashdel">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc6"><span><span style="color: #2b5fb3">2016</span></span></h1>
<hr/></div>
<p>In one sense, it was like coming up for air after a deep, deep plunge. In another, it was like trading a life-giving breath for the flat, dry sterility of space. She was covered head to toe in blood; smeared across her visor, smeared across the plates of armour, seeping into every joint and crevice. She couldn't wait to pull the helmet off and suck down the free, clean oxygen. But she also wished that the fight had been longer, the competition more fierce, and most of all, that there had been more Insurgents to face in the twisty, trap-filled corridors of the now very silent Firebase.</p>
<p><em>Both glasses half full,</em> she decided, as she headed out the front door.</p>
<p>The front door opened on a cave. This wasn't the way she'd entered, blowing the bolts on an access hatch at the bottom of a narrow crevasse she'd created herself, but it was the designated exit point for when the job was done. The front-facing security was so much smouldering rubble, and there wasn't a soul left behind her who could operate a weapon, or so much as press a button. There were prisoners, of course, but they wouldn't be a problem. None of them had arms that bent the right way anymore.</p>
<p>"Rozálie?" she called, but there was no answer. Of course there wasn't. She wasn't down here…</p>
<p>The cave sloped down to a shallow pool, or rather, what she had taken at first to be a shallow pool. It was meant to be shallow, but now it seemed deep. Very deep. And very wide, and as she looked up from the crimson water, startled, she saw fire on the horizon where she knew a cave wall ought to be.</p>
<p><em>You're too late,</em> said Rozálie, and Ibanez looked back down at the pool and the body floating face-down within it.</p>
<p>"There were more of them than we thought," said Ibanez. "It took… it took longer than I thought."</p>
<p><em>I went on ahead.</em> The body bobbed up and down in the water. It spoke in a voice like planes overhead. There was an ugly, dark red hole in the back of its skull, wide enough that it probably went all the way through to the front.</p>
<p>"I thought I'd have enough time." Ibanez reached up to remove her helmet, but it wouldn't budge. She suddenly felt that she really would like that gulp of fresh air, after all.</p>
<p><em>You'll never have enough.</em> Was the voice even Rozálie's? It didn't sound very much like her. But the corpse, the corpse was definitely hers. Spindly limbs and a visible spine. <em>You never add. You only subtract. Subtract. Subtract. There's already nothing. Soon there will be even less.</em></p>
<p>She tried the helmet again. Damn, but it was on tight. She was having trouble breathing.</p>
<p><em>You left me.</em> In her panic, struggling against the suit clasps, Ibanez had a crazy thought: was that her voice? Her own? <em>You ran inside. You left us all. We're still there, Fina. We're all still there. Where are you?</em></p>
<p>"Yésica?" she cried, as the corpse sank into the pool and her helmet began to fill with water. "Yésica?!"</p>
</div>
<div class="udoflashback">
<p>The sky was coming for her.</p>
<p>Udo stood nude in the desert sands, the moons baking her skin, and she watched the black clouds roil and rage.</p>
<p>There was hatred there, hatred older than the first slight, the first mistake, perhaps even the first coherent thought.</p>
<p>Rage that had risen from the pullulating amygdalas of ancient lizards on shores that had long since dried to dust, rage that had cultured like bacteria in the warm waters of the runaway noöspheric rhizome, rage that would consume and subsume the world, however she cared to define it.</p>
<p>And the rage spoke:</p>
<p>"Freak."</p>
<p>It spoke with her voice. She could almost taste the words, as though they had come from her own mouth.</p>
<p>They <em>had</em> come from her own mouth. She said them again: "Freak." Then again, with clarity: "I'm a <em>freak.</em>"</p>
<p><em>You are beautiful,</em> the clouds roared. Even in the space of a single sentence, she could tell the source was closing in. <em>Of all the stars in the firmament yellow, yours shines the darkest.</em></p>
<p>"I'm a monster," she screamed, and she fell to her knees. The sands parted, not to accept her, but to shy away. She was rejected. "I'm a <em>monster.</em>"</p>
<p><em>But that does not mean you are not beautiful.</em> There was no horizon anymore. Everything was black, and somehow the cloud ahead was blacker still. <em>You should be free, Udo Okorie. Like a whirlwind. Like runaway nuclear fusion. Like the moving sands.</em></p>
<p>"I belong in a box," she wept, but the tears wouldn't come. She was dry down to the bones. She was the desert, but the desert would not have her. Nothing would.</p>
<p>As the sky overtook her, she felt an unsuspected weight lifted from her shoulders.</p>
<p><em>Nonsense, brother. If someone tries to put you in a box, <span style="text-decoration: underline;">you put them in one first</span>.</em></p>
</div>
<div class="flashyhammer">
<p>Impossible machines. Cats' eyes in the abyss. The old man, with his careworn face, smiling up at her with the future on his lips.</p>
<p><em>You are a little speck of nothing on an empty dirt road. There is nothing beneath your feet. You are beyond the reach of help. Brother—</em></p>
<p>"Shut up," Rydderech said, not unkindly, and the unfamiliar voice abruptly ceased.</p>
<p>He winked at her.</p>
<p>She stared out into nothing, and nothing stared back. She asked, as though the words had been spoken many times before, as though she knew them off by heart, new and old as a sunrise: "What do I need to know?"</p>
<p>"Seven things," Rydderech grinned, "for you are one of seven. The fourth, on this today, inviolable as a vault with no lock and no key. A box in which to die. A light below, and a bleakness above. Lillian Lillihammer, reach down, and reach up. Break the barrier. Let lies and truth commingle. Lies will win, for they are clever, but this isn't about winning. This is about <em>being right.</em>"</p>
<p>And he glanced to one side, as though meeting another gaze she couldn't so much as sense, and he said: "And as for <em>you,</em> well. Can you see it in my eyes?"</p>
<p>Nothing, not the faintest whisper, came in response. <em>Maybe,</em> she thought, <em>that was rhetorical.</em></p>
<p>But maybe not, because after a beat he nodded, and said: "That's what I thought."</p>
<p>The machinery boomed in the deeps, and she wondered if the universe would be so trite as to intrude on the dream, the memory, the in-between with something so clichéd as a bedside alarm clock, and</p>
</div>
<p>the sudden flare of indignation woke her to the silent, cramped little bedroom.</p>
<p>Her box.</p>
<p>She reached down, pressed her hands into the mattress, stood up, and reached up. Her fingertips touched the ceiling, and she scratched off a piece of stucco with her nails.</p>
<p>She rolled it around in her fingers, then dropped it and went for the doorknob. <em>Message received.</em></p>
<div class="flashwet">
<p>He dreamed that he was trapped in a cell with two giant, misshapen things, with bodies like Gumby, one red and one blue. The red one had a snowball for a head. The blue one had an ice cube. They were pressing him against the door, and he was hammering on it with his fist, screaming for help, screaming to be saved, screaming "I'M STILL HERE! I'M STILL HERE! OH MY GOD <em>I'M STILL HERE!</em>"</p>
<p>And the things pressed into him harder, smothering him, crushing the breath out of him, and they screamed even louder: "BRR! BRR! <em>BRRRRRRRRR!</em>"</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc7"><span><span style="color: #990011">2017</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc8"><span>21 February</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>And he woke up.</p>
<p>Alis shrieked with pleasure as his eyelids fluttered open. He knew what that sounded like; he'd heard it a few times, and not only the ones on record. She was leaning over him, and he noticed there were tears streaming down her face, and he said: "Was it something I said?"</p>
<p>She reached down and gently placed his glasses back on his face; this presented him with an interesting view, which he could now see very clearly. He smiled, and she pulled it all out of shape with what might have been the most passionate kiss he could ever remember having.</p>
<p>In any event, if he'd had a more passionate one that he couldn't remember, it would almost certainly have been with the same woman.</p>
<p>He wasn't the sort to close his eyes when he kissed someone. Kissing someone was a victory. Everything going right. And when everything went right, wrong was always creeping up behind him. So he swivelled his eyes back and forth as she pushed her tongue into his mouth, and that was when he saw it.</p>
<p>Not in the room.</p>
<p>In his glasses.</p>
<p>There were tiny whorls in the glass, and as he noticed them, they began to spin. His eyes suddenly ached, and his vision went red, and he realized just as it stopped happening that he was looking at the inside of his own head.</p>
<p>Alis threw the cards across the room. "Son of a <em>bitch!</em>" she screamed. She looked at the lenses with unfocused eyes, and they began almost immediately to unfocus further. "Son of a bitch," she muttered, and she dropped the glasses to the floor and stomped them flat.</p>
<p>Lillihammer was standing in the doorframe. "He call you ugly?"</p>
<p>She screwed her face up, and didn't respond.</p>
<p>The other woman flopped down in a chair beside the hard, teal bed, and put her feet up on it, shoving Wettle's to one side to accommodate her Doc Martens. "Let me guess."</p>
<p>"Don't," Alis warned.</p>
<p>But there was never any point warning Lillihammer. "You managed to snap him out of it, and he managed to unsnap himself right away."</p>
<p>Alis sighed, and sat down on the floor. "Yeah."</p>
<p>"Word of advice?"</p>
<p>"Does it matter how I answer?"</p>
<p>It mattered so little, it got no acknowledgement. "William Wettle—"</p>
<p>"—is my husband. I think I know him as well as anyone."</p>
<p>"William Wettle," Lillihammer repeated, and then continued, "is a magnet. He collects bullshit like iron filings. That's why he's so perfect for replication studies."</p>
<p>"I don't understand."</p>
<p>"This man, this <em>boob,</em> can make anything go wrong twice. Three times. Four times. The most embarrassing possible outcome? That's where he lives. He's just that much of an idiot. It's perfect."</p>
<p>"He deserves better than you," Alis muttered.</p>
<p>"He deserves exactly what he gets. It's his <em>fault,</em> Alis. He fucks up so reliably, they made him the King of Reliable Fuckupery. You've been married to him for how long? You must know it's true."</p>
<p>Alis grunted.</p>
<p>"You do know. You've seen it. He makes exactly the wrong decision, one hundred percent of the time. We're all lucky he's down for the count. <em>You're</em> lucky that when this is all over, you'll never have been married to him."</p>
<p>She didn't ask what that meant, and Lillian didn't tell her. She was pretty sure she knew, anyway.</p>
<p>Wettle's hand slid off the side of the bed. Alis caught it in hers, and held it. "You don't think that's the slightest bit strange?"</p>
<p>"Strange?"</p>
<p>"That his luck is so terrible, nothing <em>ever</em> goes right for him?"</p>
<p>Lillihammer shrugged. "How many billion people on this planet? One of them is bound to be the worst, in the most boring, unobjectionable, unremarkably useless sense. That's him. That's your husband."</p>
<p>Alis looked up at his placid, hairy face. Some of the blonde hairs had turned grey… or more likely, he'd failed to dye a few. The fact that he was still vulnerable to vanity made her both happy and sad in equal measure. "I don't know," she sighed. "It just seems so unlikely. What if there's something more?"</p>
<p>"You may trust me on this, Alis. There is never, ever, anything more to William Wettle."</p>
<p>"Wettle?" Nascimbeni asked, as Lillian entered the lab.</p>
<p>"Nope."</p>
<p>"Oh well." He'd meant to say something like <em>that's a shame or well, too bad,</em> but really, was it? Was it a shame? Was it too bad? "He's probably happier unconscious."</p>
<p>"And we're happier he's unconscious." Lillian headed for the workbench, where the first set of goggles was apparently almost complete. Sokolsky was still asleep, lying across the far end of the table, motionless and unsnoring. "Speaking of, have any fun dreams last night?"</p>
<p>He winced. "You too?"</p>
<p>"Mhmm. Meeting before lunch to talk about it. Think I've finally cracked the code. Lots of exposition. Bring toothpicks to keep your eyes open."</p>
<p>He chuckled uneasily, then changed the subject. "You guys test those things yet?" He pointed at the goggles, trying to keep his tone conversational. Not too eager. Not too anxious.</p>
<p>"Little bit." She pulled a pack of cards out of her belt, and he instinctively looked away. He knew what she was packing. "Works on minor cognitos. Harder to test the big ones. Wish Eileen had finished CLIO."</p>
<p>"CLIO?"</p>
<p>"Her .aic, remember?" Artificially Intelligent Conscripts, sapient AI assistants, had been all the rage at AIAD from the nineties to the mid-2000s. The projects were still active, but there had been setbacks.</p>
<p>"Oh." Nascimbeni nodded. "I remember that. Green woman, wasn't it?"</p>
<p>"Grey woman. Green hair." Lillian smiled, as though imagining the electronic avatar. "Green hair and glasses. She was going for a goofy librarian look. CLIO was meant to manage the archives, of course."</p>
<p>"Of course." Blank had been pressing for help with his extensive catalogue of documents, anomalous and anomalous-adjacent, for decades. Most of the time Veiksaar had been working on her .aic, she'd been dating the man. "Why do you wish she'd finished it?"</p>
<p>"So I could test out some of the worse ones." She slapped the deck on the workbench, for emphasis. "Some of them work on electronic life. They were <em>developed</em> with electronic life."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni vaguely recalled the details; he'd provided some of the hardware Veiksaar, Lillihammer and Euler had used. But the science of memetics was nothing he particularly cared about. He preferred constructs he could actually see, set hammer to, put nails in. His heart was pounding when he asked, nevertheless: "What would you test first?"</p>
<p>Lillian considered. "Sleep agent, probably. Same sort of thing that hit Willie. We're pretty sure we've already got those licked, but it would be nice to get total confirmation."</p>
<p>"I could try it out, if you want." She turned to face him fully, and raised a brow. He leaned on his own workbench, which was spotless in the absence of anything much that needed carpentry, welding, or nonspecific tinkering, and shrugged. "I mean, you've got all the filters installed, right? Even if it doesn't work properly, I won't get it full force. An extra night's sleep, is all. Right?"</p>
<p>"Right," she agreed, though there were enough extra vowels in it to convey a little uncertainty. Not in the facts, but in his intentions. "You that eager to get us out there, Chief?"</p>
<p>"Yes." He sighed. "I'm sick of being stuck here. I want to know what's going on topside. I want to see if my family's okay."</p>
<p>"They're not your family, though." Lillian picked up the cards again, pulled off the elastic, and shuffled them absent-mindedly. "Your family is back in baseline. Topside? Other-you's family."</p>
<p>"Still." He shook his head. "Still. You know?"</p>
<p>"Mm," she responded noncommittally.</p>
<p>"Look." He pushed off the bench, and approached her. "We've got the plan in place. We've got all the machinery we need to wipe the whole Site clean, if we need to. And the goggles are almost finished."</p>
<p>"And I know where Del Olmo is," she added.</p>
<p>He blinked. "…and you know where Del Olmo is. Okay. That's new information?"</p>
<p>"Little teaser for that meeting, later."</p>
<p>"Great. Terrific. It's all lined up, then. And you don't need me. But I'm here! And I'm not doing anything. So <em>put me to work,</em> Dr. Lillihammer. Please. At least take my mind off the things I can't help."</p>
<p>She sighed, and pulled a specific card out of the pack. In his peripheral vision, it looked like a blue square with wavy white lines overlaid on it, on a white field. "Sleep agent's too dangerous," she said. "Put you out for months, at your age. Maybe something simpler, but still a step up. Could try—"</p>
<p>She began to slide the card back into place, but lost in thought, her reflexes were slower than his. He'd always been good with detail work. He snatched up the sleep agent card, held it up to his eyes, and had just enough time to hope that she'd catch him before he—</p>
<p>"—hit the floor," she finished. "But I don't think he broke anything."</p>
<p>"I can fix that," Del growled. She rolled up her sleeves.</p>
<p><em>Two down,</em> Harry thought. Of course, if he'd had to choose which two…</p>
<p>"Well, it's certainly unfortunate." McInnis shook his head. "But perhaps not unexpected. He did us the courtesy of waiting until there was a clear roadmap ahead, at least."</p>
<p>"Very least." Del's lips slid from side to side, as though she were Satan grinding a sinner between them. "It's not much."</p>
<p>"Nor is it productive to dwell on. Dr. Lillihammer, I believe this is your presentation today?"</p>
<p>"Damn skippy." Lillian stood up, which was always unnecessary; she towered over them even when sitting down. "So, good news and good news."</p>
<p>"This is all going to be bad, isn't it?" Harry groaned.</p>
<p>She ignored him. "I had a funny dream last night. Something unfriendly tried to horn in. Nascimbeni had the same thing, which leads me to expect…"</p>
<p>"Yeah," said Udo. Del and Harry echoed her.</p>
<p>"Indeed," McInnis nodded.</p>
<p>"Awesome." Lillian clapped. "Maybe it even lowered itself to Willie's level. Daniil?"</p>
<p>"I only dream when I'm awake," Sokolsky smirked.</p>
<p>"You're an asshole. Alis?"</p>
<p>"I dream abstract. I couldn't say."</p>
<p>"Convenient. Alright, so it was probably only us. Safe to say it's the Spirit of September Past?"</p>
<p>The Survivors all nodded. The other two shrugged at each other.</p>
<p>"The thing that possesses the Victims," Udo clarified.</p>
<p>"And is probably inside of Del Olmo," Harry added. "What the files call the Uncontained, and nothing else."</p>
<p>"Stupid name for a thing that's contained in people," Lillian finished, "but that's probably not its natural state. Anyway, yeah. I take it nobody's had any hitchhikers on their dreams before? In this deadline, at least?"</p>
<p>A series of shaken heads.</p>
<p>"Right. In that case, I think it's safe to say that the whole fucking Site is infected with this unholy ghost, and the longer we take to finish our spring cleaning, the less of our minds we'll still have come next breachday. With that in mind…"</p>
<p>"You're ready?" McInnis asked.</p>
<p>"We're ready. Daniil?"</p>
<p>"We have a working set of SCRAMBLE goggles. Only one, but that's not as much of a problem as it sounds. If we can get to the fabrication units in J&M—"</p>
<p>"Hold on," Alis interrupted. "How do you know the goggles work? I thought you didn't have any test subjects."</p>
<p>"You remember the werewolves?" Lillian asked.</p>
<p>McInnis frowned. "I thought Chief Ibanez neutralized all of the <em>loup garou.</em>"</p>
<p>"Not the one that OSAT wanted," Del grinned.</p>
<p>"That's still here?" Harry did a double take. "Wait, are you saying—"</p>
<p>"Found it in a stairwell yesterday." Ibanez winced. "Water panthers had taken a few big chunks out. Dragged it here and patched it up. Brain is basically human, according to the conprocs. If I remember correctly."</p>
<p>"She remembers correctly," Lillian nodded.</p>
<p>McInnis' face was frozen. "You tested kill agents on an injured humanoid?"</p>
<p>Udo looked stricken. "Yeah, Jesus guys. That's…"</p>
<p>"Pragmatic?" Ibanez suggested.</p>
<p>Harry felt all the blood drain from his face, and remembered the man at the pier. "Not a good look," he muttered.</p>
<p>"It was dying," Lillian snapped. "It lost too much blood, and we don't have a doctor. The kill agent would have been a mercy. When we were done, Del shot it anyway."</p>
<p>"I'm good at shooting helpless things," she agreed with a tone of delighted self-loathing.</p>
<p>"What's that supposed to mean?" Udo asked.</p>
<p>McInnis redirected. "What's done is done. I daresay the Ethics Committee would agree with your rationale; perhaps we'll get the chance to ask them before September, assuming the <em>giftschreiber</em> haven't already levelled the Foundation. I presume, then, that your suggested plan is the duplication of these goggles, and then an extended search for Dr. Del Olmo?"</p>
<p>"Not so extended." Lillian's smile was grim. "I already know where he is, or at least I've got a shortlist of candidates."</p>
<p>"Of course you do," Harry sighed.</p>
<p>"What do we do when we find him?" Udo asked. "He'll be dangerous, goggles or no."</p>
<p>Ibanez answered immediately. "We kill him."</p>
<p>Lillian's riposte was no less immediate. "We talk to him."</p>
<p>"The hell you do," Alis protested.</p>
<p>"Termination does seem the more sensible choice," said McInnis.</p>
<p>Ibanez nodded at him. "You would say that. And it's what we did every other time."</p>
<p>"Well," Harry said, "except for Wirth."</p>
<p>"Yeah," Lillian scoffed. "Sure."</p>
<p>Sokolsky placed both hands on the table, palms down. "Do you honestly think Del Olmo will tell us anything useful, Lillian?"</p>
<p>"Us?" She shrugged. "Maybe not. He doesn't know us from a hole in the ground." Her expression softened almost imperceptibly. Perhaps only Harry noticed it. "But I'm damn sure he'll talk to <em>me.</em>"</p>
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<h2 id="toc9"><span>22 February</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>The SCRAMBLE unit was no mere pair of goggles, but a full wraparound helmet due to the need to intercept and warp audio signals as well. Ibanez was the first to give it a test drive, for multiple reasons; most pertinent was her long experience moving through hostile territory in armour, least pertinent was the fact that this first set was too small to fit on Harry's head. Lillian pretended this was merely inconsiderate, but Ibanez knew better. The canny memeticist had intentionally cut off the option of using her best friend as a test subject.</p>
<p>Ibanez wasn't offended. She wouldn't have let anyone else get dibs anyway.</p>
<p>After running her through a series of defanged murals in M&C, Lillian led her on a course through several more difficult passages. The goggles occluded each affected surface before her conscious mind could see what was on them, and she wondered at the vague disappointment in her gut for a moment before she understood. She'd imagined, stupidly, that the scrambler would enable her to see what the halls really looked like. She'd imagined they must look quite beautiful. But of course, all that was rendered on the screen was a pastel blur in every direction. She could navigate the three-dimensional space with ease, but she couldn't make hide nor hair of any single decoration.</p>
<p>Because that was the point, wasn't it.</p>
<p>Lillian left her at the extent of their demesne, with no words of encouragement but a gentle pat on the back, which she needed to stoop to deliver. Ibanez stepped into the haze of colour, set her shoulders high, and placed one hand on the stun baton at her hip.</p>
<p>It was time to tour the gallery.</p>
<p>It would have taken much longer to wend her way to Nascimbeni's concrete kingdom through the dormitories, so she was heading past Eileen's office in I&T instead. As always, there was new work on the walls they had previously scoured; more novel was the presence of the artists, engaged with rapt attention in their work.</p>
<p>The occupants of the Site had scattered like centipedes in the light whenever the Survivors had entered their space. Harry had compared it to a line from <em>The Hobbit,</em> something about how the little folk still existed on the fringes of society but could hear the elephantine gallumphing of humanity a mile off; this had occasioned a brief argument over to what extent Ibanez herself qualified as a hobbit, and whether this made it more or less appropriate to send her into the Shire.</p>
<p><em>Focus,</em> she thought. <em>Or, rather, <span style="text-decoration: underline;">unfocus</span> in the right direction.</em></p>
<p>This time, without the scrubbing screen to spook the natives, she caught occasional glimpses of the lost personnel of Site-43. There was an orgy in the I&T boardroom, with pairings she was certain wouldn't have worked out back in baseline. The SCRAMBLE unit conveyed wavelengths of warbling which almost seemed musical, and probably in their base form actually were. She was glad she couldn't hear it, though it looked like everyone was having fun. Sandy Holt, one of her agents — no, one of <em>Pensak's</em> agents — was putting the last touches on a photorealistic depiction of a pair of bright red denim shorts on a computer lab window. She winked at Ibanez, and Ibanez smiled tightly. She wondered what that looked like on the other side of the visor. Four men she didn't recognize were standing next to a photocopier, and a Māori woman from Pursuit and Suppression named Kiri Ngata was smashing their faces into the copy plate, over and over, while it printed an endless catalogue of increasingly bloody bruises. The man were laughing. At least one was missing all of his teeth, and the smile was gushing blood.</p>
<p>As always, there were signs of the catastrophic decontainment that must have taken place on the first sublevel. One of the printing rooms was filled with the bloated bulk of a gelatinous worm, and Ibanez could see the hole where it had burrowed down through all the membranes, half-floors and bedrock to coil around the wreckage of the press. Nascimbeni was going to have his work cut out for him when it was time to do the stability survey…</p>
<p><em>God <span style="text-decoration: underline;">damn</span> it, Noè.</em></p>
<p>One of the meeting rooms was full of I&T techs in their proper outfits, talking animatedly. There was a slideshow on the projector, and the goggles dutifully blocked out its contents. They were speaking loudly enough that the sound made it through the thin glass, and she tapped a button on the side of the visor. The goggles reported that their speech was identical to natural language English with information technology terms sprinkled throughout, as might be expected from such a setting. There was, apparently, no underlying grammar.</p>
<p><em>So, nothing new there.</em></p>
<p>I&T put her in mind of one of those maze screen savers that had been popular in the 1990s, all right angles and brightly coloured walls, though of course the reality would be somewhat more complex. It was tempting, so tempting, to reduce the scrambling effect and see what was really going on, and that of course explained why virtually everyone in the Site had already fallen to madness.</p>
<p>But though the public art show ran through the once-drab Back End to no lesser extent than it had R&E and H&S, there were far fewer signs of life. Something about the space had always been oppressively bland, and perhaps it had been deemed less conducive to ongoing creative works. It was just a guess. Ibanez hadn't done anything creative since the late 1990s.</p>
<p>Nobody tried to stop her. Nobody stood in her way. The occasional painter or singer or dancer or smasher-of-tiles-into-powder or indecent exposer waved, or smiled, or nodded, or in one memorable case gave her a big bear hug and ran away giggling — it was good to see that Yancy was still alive, and still in beyond excellent shape — but if they considered her a threat to their way of life, which she most certainly was, it didn't show in their reactions. They probably thought this was show-and-tell.</p>
<p>Well, she'd show <em>them.</em></p>
<p>It was tempting to swing down south through one of the Security and Containment satellites, but she figured she ought to pass through as few unique biospheres as possible on this first trek, so she took the direct route into J&M instead. This brought her first past the massive water tanks, which looked like bright green, yellow, and purple cylinders to her, though the goggles informed her they were actually immaculate representations of cucumbers, bananas, and eggplants; the septic pools, which shimmered in waves of iridescent colour she could only glimpse in the hyperabstract; and then the heating plant, where strange clouds of condensation bobbed in the breeze and formed images in Socialist Realism style of workers at work, and union members on the march, though from her perspective it was all just so much red and black mist. Lillian's shortlist was comprised entirely of ventilation shafts for the Site's geothermal plants. Her reasoning was derived not from Rydderech's cryptic hints, which she passed on to the group, but rather from some personal understanding she was reluctant to share. Ibanez visited the first location on her way to the fabrication plants: one of the shafts, a small one, was accessed via a back passage she had used over a decade ago to get the literal drop on one of Ana Mukami's clones. Cool air rushed up around her from the pit, and she couldn't see the bottom from the encircling rail. If there was anyone down there, they had almost certainly suffocated to death.</p>
<p>Her road ended finally at the fabbers, which to her tremendous relief were still mostly intact. One of the massive machines had been disassembled, its parts cannibalized to create an enormous metal robot which turned to watch her as she approached the main conveyor unit and scanner; she took her hand off the stun baton and slung it over her shoulder in what she hoped looked like a casual gesture, though her fingers closed over the butt of the Bremmelgun.</p>
<p>Two electronic headlamps, probably pilfered from one of the cars parked in AAF-A's garage, blinked placidly at her, and then the robot resumed its survey of the empty fabrication hall.</p>
<p>She sighed.</p>
<p>The other reason she'd been chosen for this mission was her background in engineering. The tour was over; the remainder of her duty would be less artistic, and far more technical.</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc10"><span>25 February</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<div class="muddle">
<p>Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-C is the least hands-on and least specialized of the three still-active refineries at Site-43. The majority of its plant is a series of parallel tanks, with only a small factory floor wherein water from Lake Huron is chemically and ritually purified, esoteric effluence from various sources is analyzed for matter state and toxicity, and both are pumped through a targeted subset of the twenty treatment vats for reduction. The average shift size for AAF-C is four: two experts in Acroamatic Abatement, one stationed at the water tanks and the other at the testing array, and one technician prowling each set of ten vats on the lookout for leakage, breakage, or plugs.</p>
<p>There is no emptier space in the entire Site, and no station on the Inter-Sectional Subway is less frequently patronized. The trains don't even stop, outside of shift change, unless a rider makes the request. New members of personnel are often confused by the homonymous local terminology for a person who's drifted too far from companionship: "Out to C."</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Lillian Lillihammer was not one for small talk.</p>
<p>She initiated it sometimes, when she had something to say, or wanted to ingratiate herself with someone she expected to do something for her. But she had no patience for it when it ran in the other direction, and anyone prone to chatting up a storm would see her sailing away more often than not.</p>
<p>She was fond, however, of big talk masquerading as small talk.</p>
<p>"This is boring," she said. It was boring. AAF-C was the least-adorned space they'd moved through yet; she and Alis were headed for the end of the tank sequence, on the weakest of her hunches, and though there was still plenty of art to not look at, there wasn't a soul around and the ones whose occupancy was evidenced hadn't hung around very long. There were long stretches of maintenance tunnel with no paint on them at all, and none of the <em>bric-a-brac</em> of everyday living they'd seen elsewhere: sleeping bags, cardboard boxes, trash and used prophylactics. She expected their journey to be equally unedifying. Nineteen of the twenty tanks were still churning away, full, but the twentieth, right on the end, was empty. It was sunk deep into the bedrock, in a natural niche, and it could theoretically contain their target.</p>
<p>But it wouldn't. So, she pretended to chatter harmlessly. There was a topic of conversation she'd cut off at the stem over a month ago, because she'd heard all she needed to know at the time. She was determined that she wouldn't leave AAF-C without learning something new, and since an empty tank manifestly did not count, well, it was time to revisit.</p>
<p>"So, they're dead."</p>
<p>Alis glanced at her, which required actually turning her head. It took the SCRAMBLE sets a second to determine what to do when you pointed one at the other; the other woman's face was momentarily rendered as a low-poly model of itself, like something out of a PlayStation game, before resolving into the usual banal visage. "They?"</p>
<p>"The twins." As always, Lillian had made determining the whereabouts of the three <em>geistschreiber</em> one of her first priorities in the new deadline. Alis had dropped nearly into Nascimbeni's lap, and once it had become obvious she was already on their side, the question and answer session had been brief and to the point. No small talk.</p>
<p>Alis grimaced. "Yes. Like I told you. They're dead."</p>
<p>"How?"</p>
<p>"Stopped being alive."</p>
<p>"I don't like your impression of me."</p>
<p>Alis shrugged noncommittally, and shone her flashlight over the walls. The colours on Lillian's screen brightened, and for a moment she wondered whether the light filters would be able to adjust for the sudden change, or if her companion had found a novel new way to betray her… but no, no, they held. It was difficult, judging how much paranoia was too much.</p>
<p>"How did they die?"</p>
<p>Alis sighed as she climbed the wire mesh stairs ahead, and glanced down at the pipes far below. Lillian looked, too. They were painted, her display informed her, to resemble tree roots. "Imogen killed Madchen, and Del Olmo killed Imogen."</p>
<p>Lillian stopped walking. <em>So much for doing this casually.</em> "What?"</p>
<p>Alis sighed again, deeper this time, and leaned on the railing at the top of the rise. Lillian waited below, so that the other woman's head was a few feet higher than hers. "I told you the <em>giftschreiber</em> are the biggest threat the Foundation is facing, now."</p>
<p>"Uh huh."</p>
<p>"Well, they're not an <em>existential</em> threat. They're a threat to the Veil. Because they haven't had the chance to really let loose with all barrels. Because—"</p>
<p>"They're fighting a civil war."</p>
<p>Alis regarded her curiously. "How'd you know that?"</p>
<p>"Extrapolation."</p>
<p>"Huh. Well, yeah. The sisters were on opposite sides of that. I always thought they were close. Too close, even. More committed to each other than the cause. Kind of like you guys."</p>
<p>Lillian let that pass without comment.</p>
<p>"I thought that right up until the day Imogen told her sister's heart to stop beating. She tried to blow up the Site, too. Did you know there's shaped charges… you did. Alright." Lillian had begun nodding immediately. "Well, it came as a shock to the rest of us. That was at the start of the troubles. Del Olmo took her in for questioning, the first time he came back, and nobody ever heard how that came out. Never saw her again."</p>
<p>"So how do you know she's dead?"</p>
<p>"I checked the AcroAbate logs, and cross-referenced with Imogen's last physical. Plenty of markers make the transition cleanly for the first few steps of titration. It was her."</p>
<p>"Dumped in the sump."</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"Well, that's cheery." She tried to picture Bernabé Del Olmo murdering a woman in cold blood, then immediately stopped trying because it was almost too easy. He'd been a gentle, curious, clever man, but he'd also been driven and mysterious. He could certainly kill, possessed or not, if the need was great.</p>
<p>They had that in common.</p>
<p>She'd learned that by murdering the exact same woman, only in her case, the murder had stuck.</p>
<p>That didn't bear thinking on, but it was also the obvious end of the tangent. As they made their way to the south end of the complex, Lillian found herself so starved for distraction that she nearly gave in and attempted actual small talk… before something that had been nipping at the coat-tails of her mind finally got up the gumption to take a sizeable bite, and she physically shuddered. "Okay. Wait. Why do you think he came back?"</p>
<p>"What, in 2002?" They were almost to the final tank.</p>
<p>"No. Last year. Why'd he come back to Site-43, if he was out there managing a war on three fronts?"</p>
<p>Alis shrugged as they approached the thick glass window of Plasmic Abatement Tank Bravo. "I dunno. Maybe they won?"</p>
<p>To reach the foyer of Habitation and Sustenance, where the wreckage of the topside elevator glowed a cardinal red that would not fade, McInnis had to slog an interminable winding path through clogged arteries and dorm rooms with the connecting walls knocked out. He interrupted no less than four copulating couples, and one very complex octuple. He waded through garbage immaculately catalogued with an old-time label maker. He was compelled to dance a jig to pass one particular choke point, and while the vague memory of a scene from Monty Python contextualized the experience, it made it no less embarrassing. But the foyer itself? The foyer was safe.</p>
<p>Memetically speaking.</p>
<p>His SCRAMBLE set told him that nothing on the cubic surfaces was projecting a measurable memetic effect. Ibanez's set agreed. If anything was being projected here, humans and humanoids were outside of the target audience. They tuned down the filters a little, and what they saw on the walls and floor and ceiling was only marginally less striking than what they saw walking between, on top and beneath them.</p>
<p>The seal of Site-43 was gone, and in its place was a startlingly complex floral pattern branching out from the centre of the room and cobwebbing across the massive space, festooned with amber and carmine flowers. The walls featured a cavalcade of mythological creatures, lifelike despite their stylization, interacting and posing and most often gazing out at the inhabitants of the foyer. McInnis recognized the style immediately, of course: bright primary and secondary colours, separated by thick black lines, forms abstracted but recognizably themselves. Anishnaabe art, in various regional permutations.</p>
<p>Which made sense, since the Anishnaabe were here as well.</p>
<p>The people of Kettle Point had decamped in one of the Site's largest expanses of flat floorspace. Woolen blankets and painted tarpaulins designated living, eating, and congregating spaces. What he could only assume were family groups clustered around campfires on the tiles; the smoke detectors had been removed from the ceilings, and the sprinklers apparently rerouted, since there was no trace of the gas that had otherwise permeated the dorms. The electric lights had all been put out, though whether this was in approximation of night, required for some ritual purpose, or simply permanent, he couldn't tell. The ceiling was thick with smoke. The people were laughing, telling stories, singing, dancing, sitting in quiet contemplation, or extending the reach of their art. They paid no heed to their visitors, which also made sense, since they were already hosting much stranger ones.</p>
<p>The lords of the beneath-world strode between the fires, or sat close to them for warmth, copper tails flicking this way and that as a subtle reminder they were nobody's pets. Strange, spined things lurked at the edges of the firelight, their forms bending and distorting with each flicker and crackle. Tiny humanoid figures flitted from cover to cover, nimble fingers relieving the former occupants of Kettle Point of their belongings or else being brushed aside with good humour when they were noticed. At the central fire, a tall and beautiful woman with cloven hooves was speaking to a rapt audience of fellow females, who periodically shooed apparently entranced males away whenever they approached.</p>
<p>Every manner of anomalous creature known to inhabit Nexus-94 had come back to the stolen land to roost.</p>
<p>Perhaps literally; there was the occasional ominous rumbling, and a shuffling of what sounded like thousands of vast feathers, from the shaft of the ruined elevator.</p>
<p>The All-Sections Chief stood near the Hiring and Regulation offices. He was still wearing a silk dress shirt, his wing-tip shoes, and his tie. He hadn't changed a bit, except perhaps around the forehead and eyes.</p>
<p>"He seems happy," Ibanez offered.</p>
<p>McInnis nodded.</p>
<p>They decided not to bother him.</p>
<p>Never being wrong was less efficient than it sounded.</p>
<p>Not because being wrong conveyed more valuable lessons than being right; if that had been the case, Lillian would have contrived to be off base as often as possible.</p>
<p>No, it was because never being wrong meant considering the possibility that you <em>could</em> be wrong, before it mattered, and taking steps to make that eventuality also play out in your favour.<br/>
There was no vent in Archives and Revision, but the salt caves ran deep. The fact that she sent Harry suggested she thought it was possible, if not likely, that Del Olmo would be back there; of all their number, he was the one she most trusted to run back and fetch her rather than tackling the problem himself.</p>
<p>The fact that she sent Udo meant she still found their decaying cosplay entertaining.</p>
<p>The Replication Studies office had been painted with recursive images of itself. This both required an incredibly sophisticated understanding of both perspective and draftsmanship, and a painfully literal mind. The AAF-D approach was a good distance off, but the SCRAMBLE units suggested that where there was a mural of the Victims back in baseline, here there was a ceiling-to-floor splash of geometric shapes somehow collectively conveying the single semantic concept of Bernie Del Olmo.</p>
<p>"What I want to know," said Harry, "is how they programmed these things to know all that shit."<br/>
"Remember my part in making the memorial?" Udo was waiting for him at the double doors to the Salt Mines. "Breaking down memory cubes into paint? They did a lot of work reconstituting that stuff into code. Memes are almost entirely online now."</p>
<p>"Appropriately enough."</p>
<p>"Sure. So, they've got a massive database of effects meticulously documented. The goggles are just drawing on that."</p>
<p>He almost asked how it was possible that this database had been replicated, since it probably didn't exist in the same form in this deadline, and then he remembered Lillian's unique talent, and didn't. "Still."</p>
<p>He glanced back the way they'd come.</p>
<p>A man in a bathrobe was walking barefoot down the hall, leaving bloody footprints behind him. Another man with smaller feet followed, blue paint on his soles, matching the strides and flood filling the existing trail save for the outlines.</p>
<p>Harry shook his head. "It's amazing what those two got done in a few weeks, when a thousand of these idiots have accomplished less in half a year than the average half-decent street artist."</p>
<p>The furniture in the main office space hadn't been moved, but it had been covered over. Every surface, including the desks and chairs, was wrapped in a papier mâché of what was almost certainly his most dangerously anomalous documents, the ones kept in the dark on laundry lines and never viewed with the naked eye. It was a guess, but an educated one; the protective laminations were piled in a corner of the next room, glowing like radioactive waste.</p>
<p>The archives were full of sound, but neither of them could hear it. Their display would only offer a cryptic "Choral variations on the subject of the number five" as a description.</p>
<p>The sound wasn't being piped in, but the singers, if they were real, were invisible.</p>
<p>The actual salt mines had been ransacked, which was no mean feat. It would have taken hundreds of people weeks to dismantle the archives so fully. Boxes were strewn everywhere, tens of thousands of them. Many were piled up in makeshift art studios full of craft supplies. Several of the towering racks had been pushed over. One of the conveyors was running, feeding a single sheet at a time into a standing flame with agonizing slowness.</p>
<p>A woman in engineer's blues and nothing else — Harry looked away, but it looked like Joanna Bremmel — was crawling on all fours and placing printed sheets side by side on the floor, then standing up to scrutinize the results, presumably attempting to create ASCII art with found materials. He'd seen that on an <em>X-Files</em> episode with Melissa.</p>
<p>Melissa was also here.</p>
<p>"No," said Udo.</p>
<p>There was really no more eloquent way to put it.</p>
<p>Melissa Bradbury's body lay on a plinth, pale and unmoving. She was hooked up to an IV line and a catheter.</p>
<p>Knelt in front of her, hands held up in prayer and similarly augmented, was the rigid form of Philip Deering. He was wearing one of Harry's hoodies.</p>
<p>Suddenly, Udo was in his arms. He was confused about that for a moment, before he realized he was bawling into the helmet intercom.</p>
<p>"That ought to do it," Sokolsky sighed. "Next card should bring him out."</p>
<p>"Why are you sighing?" Alis asked.</p>
<p>"Because he's just going to conk himself again anyway. We might as well leave him unconscious, like the other one."</p>
<p>There had been a brief debate over what to do with Nascimbeni. In the end, his friends had decided that the difference between his case and Wettle's was that he had willingly taken himself out of the picture, so there was little point in bringing him back into it.</p>
<p>"Perhaps the rest will do him good," McInnis had suggested.</p>
<p>"And if he doesn't care enough to be here," Ibanez had added with considerably less consideration and a great deal of rancour, "he'd just get in the fucking way anyhow."</p>
<p>Of course, this didn't explain why waking up Wettle was a good idea; getting in the way was fully half of his contributions to any given scenario, with the other half being random nonsensical or uninformed interjections.</p>
<p>There definitely <em>was</em> a good reason to have him up and about by this coming September, but Sokolsky couldn't very well tell Alis that. She accepted the reason he did give her with a grunt, so the matter was settled for the moment.</p>
<p>Alis passed the final card in the new sequence in front of her husband's eyes, and he immediately began blinking. Then he groaned. Then he farted.</p>
<p>"Welcome back," she said, and she leaned forward and kissed him again.</p>
<p>"You do know this isn't really your husband," Sokolsky murmured when the kiss went on a little too long.</p>
<p>"Kinda hot, right?" Alis drew back; Wettle's lips kept moving, and he leaned towards her a little before flopping back on the bed in defeat.</p>
<p>"Oh," he said. "I feel like <em>shit.</em>"</p>
<p>"Has he always been this romantic?"</p>
<p>"You've been in a coma for a few months," Alis explained. "The whole Site is full of cognitohazards."</p>
<p>"Oh." Wettle nodded. "Okay. Why'd you wake me up?"</p>
<p>She frowned. "Do you not want to be awake?"</p>
<p>"Well, I mean… no? Not usually?" He shrugged, and winced again. "Ow. Ow, ow, <em>ow.</em> I don't think I can even <em>get</em> up."</p>
<p>"I've been exercising your arms and legs," she smiled. "Now that you're conscious, we can exercise the rest of you."</p>
<p>He squinted, and his brow furrowed, and for a moment Sokolsky thought he was trying to muster up a second fart. It wasn't until he spoke that it became apparent what all the extra effort had been for. "Now <em>that,</em> that I can <em>get up</em> for."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc11"><span>26 February</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Nascimbeni had completed an overview of the Site's systems long before he was removed from the equation, and the information he'd gathered made Lillian's first hunch the most obviously correct option. The deepest of the geothermal heat vents was producing no heat; according to a LIDAR survey he'd managed to get half-done before some loon noticed the drone, plucked it out of the air, and started using it to spatter the bedrock with paint like an industrial sprayer, the reason for this was a massive series of new caves carved beneath the existing ones. "Probably the water cats," he'd shrugged. "Back at work at last."</p>
<p>So, that was where Del Olmo would be hiding. Why he was hiding in the first place was anyone's guess; Lillian had her suspicions, but they didn't matter. What mattered was what she had to do, and secondarily, convincing the others to let her do it.</p>
<p>"No." Del hefted the Bremmelgun. "<em>This</em> is how we greet him. With a faceful of free radicals."</p>
<p>"You're the expert here, Lillian," McInnis said. "None of us knew Dr. Del Olmo the way you did—"</p>
<p>"I'd be the expert anyway," she snapped.</p>
<p>He held up a hand as he continued. "But Delfina is not incorrect. He is perhaps the single most dangerous manifestation of this entity we have yet faced. His power over our minds is likely to be near-total. A pre-emptive strike might be our best means of handling the threat he represents."</p>
<p>"This baby does wide-bore." Del patted the gun affectionally. "I can point it down the shaft and glass the whole thing into the abyss, if I want."</p>
<p>"I'm going to talk to him," Lillian said.</p>
<p>"But is it really him?" Harry tried to make eye contact with her, but her eyes were unfocused. "Lillian, there might not be anything in there you <em>can</em> talk to."</p>
<p>She spoke like she was trying to convince herself. "Noè said Ambrogi remembered being Ambrogi — remembered being baseline <em>and</em> deadline Ambrogi, even. We still don't really know the full extent of what Bernie was doing, his work against the <em>giftschreiber</em> cults. His work <em>for</em> them, in this tangent. We need to know everything there is to know about these people, and we know jack shit. Alis doesn't remember most of it, and she was never fully in the loop. My recovered memories from Site-06 just gave me new questions to ask. I'm going to ask them. And he's going to speak to me."</p>
<p>"Do you know that?" Udo asked. "Or are you just hoping?" Lillian didn't immediately respond, so the other woman continued. "I know what it's like to want to talk to a friend one last time. Someone who meant a lot to you—"</p>
<p>Lillian placed the palm of her hand over Udo's face, and Udo stopped talking. "This isn't an intervention. I don't need psychoanalysis or counselling, and if I did, none of you would be qualified to do it. I don't think <em>anyone</em> is qualified to pick my particular brain, in point of fact. But I am capable of doing that to <em>him.</em>"</p>
<p>"So you expect us to let you airdrop into Del Olmo's hell cylinder," Sokolsky crossed his arms, "so you can mind meld with him and learn the secrets of the universe, without the slightest expectation that he's actually going to erase the contents of your brain, or turn you into the world's most dangerous hand puppet." He shook his head. "I'm all for crazy schemes, Lillian, you know that, but there has to be some expectation of success first."</p>
<p>She tapped her temple. "Daniil, you already understand this. You must. I'm surprised I have to say it outright. We told you how the deadlines work. And the rest of you," she gestured, "already know." Alis had surmised it on her own, and Lillian had seen no reason not to confirm it. "Except Willie."</p>
<p>"Hmm?" Wettle was sitting in the corner, Alis brushing his wild tangle of greying blonde hair. "Are we including me now? <em>Ow.</em>"</p>
<p>"Sit still," Alis sighed.</p>
<p>"And sit silent," Lillian agreed. "But okay. Daniil. <em>Everybody.</em> The shit on the walls, that's one thing. Memory paste with cognitohazards in. Follows the usual rules, demigodly intervention notwithstanding. But anything that requires Bernie to use his actual brain to put the whammy on me, in person? Anything beyond the stuff we have existing countermeasures for? Whatever his Uncontained meme magic is? <em>That isn't going to work on me.</em>"</p>
<p>There was a beat.</p>
<p>"Wirth," Udo said.</p>
<p>Lillian snapped her fingers. "Wirth. He couldn't possess any of us. Mukami's talking powers barely worked on us either. I'm not even convinced that Ambrogi or Markey would have been able to stick their sticky fingers through our skin. <em>Bernie can't hurt me.</em>"</p>
<p>"You know that isn't true," Harry said very softly.</p>
<p>She ignored him.</p>
<p>"On the subject of obvious considerations, however," McInnis said after a moment of silence, "there is the matter of September."</p>
<p>Lillian pursed her lips.</p>
<p>"By which I mean—"</p>
<p>"I know what you mean," she growled.</p>
<p>"What does he mean?" Wettle asked. "OW!"</p>
<p>"Sit <em>still.</em>"</p>
<p>"He means," Sokolsky said, "that no matter how well Lillian's conversation goes, before September the eighth, 2017, Bernabé Del Olmo must die."</p>
<p>"I'm surprised it has a low setting,"</p>
<p>"Right?" Del gently swung the gun back and forth, carving out the new tunnel. "Bremmel's a go boom or go home sort of engineer."</p>
<p>"No, it makes sense." Lillian's expression was neutral, faraway. She kept putting her hand in her breast pocket, and sighing. She was preparing. "Sure, he's a bombastic bastard, but he's also had a love affair with feature creep that goes back to before we were born. I know for a fact that the dialling-down feature only got iterated at the end, when he couldn't think of anything more explosive to add."</p>
<p>Sokolsky tapped one of Nascimbeni's structural resonators against the bedrock, and checked the reading. They were tunneling through bedrock, and being very careful not to create a path that was in any danger of collapsing — particularly since there was a very good chance they would need to flee back down it in the near future. Mostly the cuts were so smooth, and the rock so solid, that the curvature kept everything upright without the need for supportive stanchions. It wasn't all the gun doing that heavy lifting; Del was, after all, a trained engineer herself. Occasionally she left standing columns where the stone was more prone to crumbling or other deformation, or just because she felt it had been too long since the last one. In the far distance, an air pump was whining as it pressed the Site's atmosphere down into this new offshoot of the tunnels the Mishepeshu had been carving beneath the redirected shaft.</p>
<p>They were almost there, and Del had dialled the gun down so low that it was barely audible as it obliterated the stone ahead. What was left behind was smooth, shiny, and cool to the touch. A marvel of science.</p>
<p>Harry wanted to scream. He wondered how far it would echo, if he did.</p>
<p>He placed a hand on Lillian's shoulder, and was a little surprised when instead of swatting it away, she reached up and clasped it with her own.</p>
<p>Sokolsky placed the device again, read the display, and tapped Del on the back. She glanced at him, and he pointed at the uncarved road ahead.</p>
<p>She nodded.</p>
<p>He smiled encouragingly at them — as far as his face and personality allowed — and then turned and walked away.</p>
<p>This wasn't his fight.</p>
<p>As far as Lillian was concerned, it was only hers. But Harry suspected it wouldn't go down quite that way. Nevertheless, it had been decided that she would be the one to make the first overture. Del had assured everyone that if it showed even the faintest trace of going south, she was going to put a targeted ray right through the rogue memeticist's forehead, and set them on the path to a happy September without remorse.</p>
<p>Harry knew Lillian would almost certainly position herself so that this was impossible, but he didn't say so. He trusted his best friend's motives and capabilities, and anyway, Del probably knew it just as well.</p>
<p>The little agent carved a wider space for them all to stand abreast, which took a few more minutes, then looked up at Lillian with what might have been the grimmest face Harry had ever seen on her. She was waiting for the order to proceed.</p>
<p>Lillian nodded, and moved to stand beside her.</p>
<p>Del took careful aim, and removed the final obstacle between them and the architect of Site-43's museum of metamodern art.</p>
<p>He was leaning on the far wall of the enormous cylinder, pounding his fists into a slurry of wet blue paint. He was weeping. The floor was littered with foul-smelling debris in every colour of the spectrum, bones and gristle sticking up out of the slop piles, surrounded by paint-spackled flies. Lillian tore her eyes off Del Olmo's tattered meme coat and looked up, up, up, and saw trails of blood and paint running down from the observation railing some two hundred metres above. She wondered if the corpses surrounding her on all sides had belonged to amateur painters whose scaffolds had failed, or if they'd simply been making very simple statements on the artistic power of absolute freedom by leaping to their deaths on purpose.</p>
<p>Not that it mattered.</p>
<p>Nothing else mattered but the hunched and weeping figure which had not so much as twitched when the wall opposite him had suddenly evaporated, and Lillian had walked into his final exhibit.</p>
<p>He had been painting, she saw. The entire circumference of the shaft bottom was covered in breathtakingly beautiful Mandelbrot sets; the SCRAMBLE unit dulled the edges and abstracted the contents, but even then she could tell that she was looking at the work of the master, not the students. The topographical display showed her where niches had been hammered into the rock, to allow Del Olmo to climb up higher and continue his <em>pìece de résistance,</em> which towered over her to a height of about fifty metres. She couldn't imagine how long it would have taken him to create it, or how dangerous the process must have been. His coat was covered in gore, however, and she suspected he'd fallen down a few times in the process. Perhaps he'd arranged the viscera to soften the blow.</p>
<p>It was hard to see him now, between what the unit was doing and what her eyes were doing, so she took a deep breath and corrected both issues.</p>
<p>"What are you <em>doing,</em>" Harry hissed from behind her as she placed the unit on the bedrock floor, and finished wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. At the sound, Del Olmo finally turned to face her.</p>
<p>She stood up, and met his eyes for the first time as truly herself.</p>
<p>"You," he said. His voice was weak. He was visibly emaciated, his hair an irrecoverable disaster, his beard long and covered with dried food — there were empty cans all over the floor, she saw now, and a tarpaulin with a pile of clothes in the middle that he must have been using for a bed and pillow. "You."</p>
<p>She summoned a smile from somewhere deep down inside of her, some place of affection that couldn't be touched by the nightmarish scene and the knowledge of what it must mean, and nodded. "Yes. It's me, Bernie."</p>
<p>"<em>You.</em>" He blinked, rapidly. "It <em>would</em> be you. Of course. Who else?" He laughed, and even as a brief burst of noise, it sounded unhinged. Lost. "Who else."</p>
<p>She reached into her coat's breast pocket. He flinched, and she kept the hand in place. "Don't be afraid. It's just me. I'm here."</p>
<p>She hoped the others had the sense to stay put. She hoped they weren't filing in behind her. She'd told them not to, but it was sometimes difficult to decide between what someone said they needed, and what you thought you had to do.</p>
<p>Del Olmo extended his arms and raised his hands, palms up, to encompass the extent of his creation. "Welcome to my failure, brother."</p>
<p>In an instant, the smell of the place, the oppressive glow of the fractals on the wall — her conditioning had defeated their insidious intent immediately, but now they seemed to be throbbing like veins — and the sting of her tears nearly doubled her over. She hunched down, clutching her stomach, and in the instant that she knew what this must look like to the others, she saw Del Olmo's head snap up, and she knew they had come in to rescue her.</p>
<p>She spun on her heels, still crouched, and held out a hand. "No!" she hissed. "I'm fine! I'm fine."</p>
<p>Harry, Del, and Udo were standing in the breach. Udo had one hand in her reagents pouch. Del had the gun fixed on Del Olmo. Harry, bless him, was wielding Alis' pistol as if he knew how to use it.</p>
<p>"Brother," Del Olmo rasped. "Brother, brother… and do I see you back there, too, brothers?"<br/>
McInnis appeared behind his subordinates. He nodded without obvious import.</p>
<p>Del Olmo laughed. "Your cowardliness is in retreat." Wettle was almost certainly fleeing back up the tunnel, after Sokolsky. "Can't stand to see what we've become. I understand." And then, he was weeping again. "Oh, I <em>understand.</em>"</p>
<p>Lillian heard the internal rotors on the gun spinning up. Her left hand was still in her pocket. She raised her right hand, both to warn Del and plead with Del Olmo. "Bernie. Come back up with us. We can still fix this."</p>
<p>He laughed again, harsher this time but no less manic. "Fix this? FIX this?! It was never anything but broken. All these people were only ever BROKEN. Broken is their NATURAL STATE!" He reached up and tore at his hair, and some of it came out. "They're <em>useless,</em> brother. Useless. Useless. USELESS."</p>
<p>"Ber—"</p>
<p>"USELESS!" Del Olmo screamed. "All FUCKING USELESS! I took off their blinders, I showed them the light, and what do they do? Nothing. NOTHING! Sex and drugs and rock n' roll, statues of Gary fucking Busey that bring a tear to your eye. Fucking fucking <em>trash!</em>" He tried to throw his coat off, but the sleeves caught, and he stalked around the edge of the shaft with it hanging around his waist like a ridiculous half-cape.</p>
<p>"Bernie…" Lillian pleaded.</p>
<p>"It's over, brother." Del Olmo was breathing fast and heavy, flapping his arms uselessly, beard shiny with fresh spittle and eyes wild with rage and hurt. "It's over, and there's worse to come after."</p>
<p>"I'm not your brother, Bernie." Lillian took her hand out of her pocket, and opened the envelope she was holding with her other hand. Her coat slipped off to the floor. "I'm not your brother. This is who I am. You said I could show you when the time was right." She held it up; the pen sketch looked like a red smear through her shining eyes, but she hoped he could see it. She needed him to see it. "You said I'd <em>know</em> when the time was right. Please look. And then <em>let me help you.</em>"</p>
<p>"I'm not your fucking <em>Bernie,</em>" he snarled, "and you can't even help yourselves. This is what you do with boundless creativity? I paint the world with inspiration, and you spit in my <em>fucking</em> face! You don't deserve those incredible machines inside your heads." He slammed his index finger into his skull until the bones audibly <em>snap</em>ped, and he didn't even seem to notice. "The gears could sing, but instead they sound like a dot-matrix printer haemorrhaging out a black-and-white photo of Paris Hilton on fucking <em>cardboard!</em>" He was close enough now that she could feel the spit landing on her scalp.</p>
<p>"Please," she almost wept, hand still outstretched. "Please <em>look at me.</em>"</p>
<p>He looked at the sketch. He shook his head. He shook his head again, harder. There was nothing in his eyes that looked like him. "Crude. Inartistic. <em>Amateurish.</em>" He walked over to her — she heard the gun whine — and swatted the paper from her hand with a rough flourish of his coat. She caught a glimpse of something sudden and impossible inside the lining…</p>
<p>…and he was gone.</p>
<p>"FUCK!" Del screamed. "What the fuck was that?!"</p>
<p>"The delay," Udo was saying. "It worked <em>through</em> the delay. I can't see anything."</p>
<p>"Some assistance please," said McInnis. It sounded like a pained grunt.</p>
<p>There was more shouting behind her, but Lillian didn't hear any of it. Her ears were ringing from the haemorrhaging of her throat, and a keening like nothing she had ever let loose before in her life.</p>
<p>There was no time to mince words, and no time for compassion. "Get her up," Ibanez told Harry, and she shoved him into the shaft. McInnis was on the ground too, but he only looked winded, not wounded. She hefted the gun, and ran down the tunnel.</p>
<p>Whatever Del Olmo had done, her vision had already cleared. She could only hope he hadn't affected her more deeply, in ways she couldn't sense. If he had, well, they were fucked anyway. So she ran, and she ran, and she vaulted over the prone form of William Wettle who lay face-down on the stone, and she heard a sort of <em>crunch</em> as she misjudged the distance and put her steel toes on his collarbone, and he screamed in agony, which meant he'd probably fallen down as per usual as opposed to Del Olmo <em>putting</em> him down, so that was good, and she ran.</p>
<p>She couldn't hear it herself through the muffling effect of the SCRAMBLE unit and the pounding in her ears from the sprint, but her display reported footsteps behind her. Keeping pace. That would be McInnis, with a second wind; the Director had always been in immaculate shape, was the Site swimming champion, had access to health technology even the other Sampis did not. She still wasn't sure what good he'd be when they caught up with Del Olmo. All he could do was talk, and talking had already failed.</p>
<p>As though able to hear her thoughts, he spoke over the SCRAMBLE intercom. "I may still be able to convince him. I have… certain suspicions… about my faculties. Of speech." He didn't sound like he was tiring, but even an athlete needed to take a breath now and then.</p>
<p>She'd had suspicions of her own, but this was not how she wanted to test them out. She didn't say anything. They'd keep their options open.</p>
<p>Back into H&S. She caught a glimpse of bloody dazzle coat whipping around a corner, and resisted the urge to fire. She could have taken him, and the entire dorm block, out in a single shot, but destroying the facility's superstructure was a bad idea. It was how they'd gotten into this situation in the first place. So she kept running, and McInnis kept up.</p>
<p>"Wait!" a tortured voice wailed from farther behind, and she heard the Director's footsteps falter. Ibanez didn't wait. She plunged into the foyer.</p>
<p>The foyer was chaos. They'd made no effort to move the First Nations out of their cozy corner; it hadn't been the most practical of their several reasons, but the fact that Harry had pointed out the uncomfortable historical parallels had been one of the most convincing. The mythological creatures were flitting here and there, not obviously under any sort of compulsion effect but merely reacting to the sudden frenzy of activity from their human counterparts. The room was in an uproar, the people were howling and clawing at their eyes, the fires were scattered and ash and sparks filled the air. The ceiling tiles were ablaze. She kept running.</p>
<p>"He tried to take… the elevator," McInnis said in her ear. She still couldn't hear his footsteps, nor see them reported on the screen, but then she was leaving rather a lot of activity behind her right now.</p>
<p>"Must've been down there… a long time," she agreed. An animal screech reverberated down the empty elevator shaft as if in response, and the floor briefly shook. "Only… one way out… now."</p>
<p>The nearest subway station was the connector between Health and Pathology, Psychology and Parapsychology, and the dorms. It fed into the central terminal that had once linked up with AAF-D, and the Blue Line that led to the lake. Her SCRAMBLE unit flashed a whole panoply of warnings as she vaulted the turnstile, and she closed her eyes until the beeping ceased. When it did, and she reopened them, she was almost to the train. The doors were open. There were voices shouting behind her. The walls were painted with photorealistic depictions of the staff of Site-43, living and dead, and even through the filters she could feel their eyes turning to watch her as she ran. The train was cerulean blue, soothing and unbroken by detail. She felt her legs giving out. She was stalling. Something… was…</p>
<p>She pushed through it. She leapt, she slid, she made it through the doors. She threw herself up the nearest pole, and hammered the button that would hold the doors for the others. Not because she needed them. Because she didn't want them left behind as the Site destroyed itself in Del Olmo's wake.</p>
<p>She took a moment to catch her breath, and there was a clattering of feet. Then the doors swished shut, and she knew her target had made it into the engine. She took a deep breath—</p>
<p>Lillian crouched down in front of her, face streaked and soaked. "He's mine," she said. "It still has to be me."</p>
<p>Ibanez pressed forward and kissed her, on the lips. When she drew back, the other woman's blue eyes shining with fluorescent light reminded her of the old Windows 95 error screen. "It's not all about you. Remember?"</p>
<p>She left Lillian still crouched on the floor, shell shocked, and saw that McInnis, Sokolsky, and Udo had made it onto the train. "Harry?" she rasped, only now realizing that her lungs were practically on fire from the long haul.</p>
<p>"Missed the doors," Lillian muttered. "Out of shape."</p>
<p>"Caught the caboose, though." Harry staggered from the back of the train, wheezing. "Is that… what it's called?"</p>
<p>It wasn't a long ride, but it felt like one.</p>
<p>The math was pretty simple. They all needed time to get their strength back, and Del Olmo had almost certainly left traps for them down the length of the train. All the doors would open at once, and there was nothing he could do to stop that, so everything would be equal when they arrived at the station. So, they waited.</p>
<p>"Good thing the windows are painted over," Harry said. "I'm sure there's awful shit on the tunnel walls, too."</p>
<p>Lillian grunted.</p>
<p>"It'll take a long time to clear," Udo agreed. "But we've got the best experts in the world."</p>
<p>Lillian grunted again.</p>
<p>"I'm confident we'll be able to cure the rem—" McInnis began.</p>
<p>"Would you all shut the fuck up?" Lillian shouted.</p>
<p>He was already gone when Del sprang from the train. It wasn't difficult to see why, though she of course didn't, since she'd already sprinted far ahead. Lillian staggered out almost drunkenly, heart still pounding, and saw that Del Olmo had actually not spent most of the ride preparing nasty surprises for anyone who came looking for him, but instead simply smashing the engine's right-hand window and clearing the glass so he could escape before the train had stopped. There was blood on the floor in a nasty smear, like someone had dropped and rolled, and streaks leading off to the turnstiles. This time Del slid under instead of going over, using the blood to grease her way, and she was at the far door before the rest of them reached the checkpoint.</p>
<p>Harry was beside her. "You don't need to be there."</p>
<p>She took his hand, and as they passed through the stile, pulled him into a run. "Allan and Harry at Grand Cove."</p>
<p>It was a dense reference, equal parts <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> and the vigil in his car as they had waited for Scout to pass, but he got it immediately, as she'd known he would. He squeezed her hand, and nodded.</p>
<p>She'd put her SCRAMBLE unit back on, which was good. AAF-A's lower levels were filled with fractals that read, according to the filters, like an early draft of the masterpiece Del Olmo had been assembling in the geothermal shaft. "This was all him," said Lillian. Her voice was very tired. "He did all of this."</p>
<p>"Reynders," said Udo. "I wonder what—"</p>
<p>There was a scream from ahead, and suddenly Udo was in front of them. She was short, but her legs were long enough to do the job with the sudden burst of energy, and she made it around the next corner before the others. She was already kneeling beside Del, who was sprawled on the floor and thrashing and screaming, when Harry's SCRAMBLE set reported the contents of the latest set of murals.</p>
<p>A tree-lined landscape on fire, an army of female dwarfs mowing down a fleeing crowd of duplicates of Ana Mukami. The sigil of the Chaos Insurgency was everywhere. The floor was a turbulent pool of red water.</p>
<p>"Zevala in abstract," McInnis noted.</p>
<p>Del's helmet was off. She must have been ambushed at the corner.</p>
<p>"Stay with her." Lillian pushed past Udo, and tried to shake Harry's hand off. He didn't let go, and with a grunt of frustration she pulled him forward again. They left the thaumaturge cradling the agent's head in her lap, and headed for the stairs.</p>
<p>They could hear the man babbling in the distance as they climbed through a gaseous mixture that made them see apparitions on the walls, ascending alongside them. Or maybe it was just mist, and the apparitions were actually there. They heard weeping and cursing as they reached the ground floor, where a portrait gallery of obscene proportions stretched from junction to junction to junction, none of it apparently anomalous. Del Olmo's lab, or teaching hospital, perhaps. As they rounded the final bend one of the portraits seemed to leap off the wall and attack them, but it was only that the fleeing memeticist had tore it off the wall and flung it as one final inelegant obstacle before the foyer, and the front door.</p>
<p>They didn't even see what there was in the foyer. They simply ran, and Lillian was now far too out of breath to even shout. She wasn't sure what she would have shouted if she could.</p>
<p>The parking lot was</p>
<p>The grass was</p>
<p>The trees were</p>
<p>She unfocused her eyes.</p>
<p>Del Olmo stood in the middle of</p>
<p>Del Olmo stood. The landscape around them was</p>
<p>Del Olmo stood. She looked at him. She didn't look at anything else. Everything else was</p>
<p>"I tried," he rasped. "I tried. But they wouldn't listen. They <em>never</em> listen."</p>
<p>She let go of Harry's hand, and this time he allowed it. She approached her ragged mentor. <em>I'm listening, Bernie,</em> she wanted to say. <em>It's me.</em></p>
<p>But she knew it wouldn't make any difference.</p>
<p>The sky was…</p>
<p>…red.</p>
<p>She could see the sky. It was red. She looked down at the ground, which</p>
<p>No. Whatever was going on in the topside exclusion area, it covered everything below the horizon, and very little above.</p>
<p>She wondered why the sky was red.</p>
<p>Del Olmo was backing away from her. "They found us," he said. Tears were flowing freely down his face. "Everywhere, they found us. I thought it was our time, but it was <em>theirs.</em> Because of <em>you.</em>"</p>
<p>She couldn't begin to imagine what he meant. <em>Who found you? Because of me? Because of me, or what you think I am?</em> She didn't ask. She kept walking towards him, hands extended in the vain hope he would take them.</p>
<p>He kept staggering back, towards the edge of the parking lot, to where… <em>You're a memeticist. Be a memeticist.</em> To where there would normally be grass. To where there would normally be a hill, dropping down to where the interdiction zone would normally end. She realized that she could actually see the trees in that direction, and the outline of the lake. Perhaps when they crested the next</p>
<p>Perhaps when they had gone a little farther, she might be able to see the grass and scrub. But first… "Be careful," she said. Pleaded. "You're going to fall."</p>
<p>He laughed. "I've already fallen. Like all the others. I crawled back here to make something beautiful in a fallen world. I saw the precipice. I saw the <em>claws.</em> I couldn't cut off my thumb to spite your race."</p>
<p>She wanted to lunge forward, to pull him away from the edge, but she didn't. She stopped advancing, but he didn't stop retreating.</p>
<p>"I was better than all of them," he whispered. But she still heard it. The air was</p>
<p>The AIR WAS</p>
<p>VERY STILL, beneath the red sky. The others were silent. She was silent.</p>
<p>Del Olmo was sobbing.</p>
<p>"You were," she said. "You were the best."</p>
<p>He smiled, and then he fell.</p>
<p>He rolled roughly down the</p>
<p>He rolled roughly, bouncing and cracking his limbs, screaming in agony all the way down. He rolled, and he staggered to his feet and stumbled, and then she could see his surroundings in crystal clarity, because he stood beyond whatever memetic monstrosity had blotted out everything but the simplest details of the interdiction zone. He was free.</p>
<p>He stood there, shaking, staring around himself uncertainly, and then he looked up at her, standing on the edge and looking down at him.</p>
<p>Their eyes met.</p>
<p>He raised a hand.</p>
<p>"L—" he said.</p>
<p>And then a gout of blood burst out of his mouth, and his throat cracked open like a hatching egg, and his spine snapped back, and he issued a gurgling blood howl into the red sky as glossy black limbs split his skin in five places, and he died, and the thing which had half-grown from his living body found its footing with the awkward balance of his corpse as its centre of mass, and it staggered off into the treeline like a blind steer.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="True Art is Cognitohazardous">
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<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="The Breach Goes On: Deadlined">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub">The Breach Goes On: Deadlined</a></p>
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<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Not Ready for Prime Time">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/54-not-ready-for-prime-time">Not Ready for Prime Time</a></p>
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<p>"<a href="/53-those-who-cant">Those Who Can't</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/53-those-who-cant">https://scpwiki.com/53-those-who-cant</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:</p>
<p>Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653">https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653</a></p>
<p>Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023</a></p>
<p>Noè Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822">https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822</a> and<br/>
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992">https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992</a></p>
<p>Wynn Rydderech: "State Electricity Commission, Group of Four Men, Victoria, May 1940,” two images, courtesy State Electricity Commission of Australia, public domain:<br/>
<a href="https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547629">https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547629</a><br/>
<a href="https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547640">https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547640</a></p>
<p>Daniil Sokolsky: "Brett - 08-08-08" and "Waterpitts, 29-09-12" by Brett Jordan, both released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625">https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842">https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842</a></p>
<p>William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260">https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260</a> and<br/>
"Portrait of Samuel Johnson" by Joshua Reynolds, painting, in the public domain</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Everything!<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735469682" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
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[[=]]
**Those Who Can't**
Surprise!
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
[[/=]]
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+ Those Who Can't
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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+ ##990011|2016##
++ 22 November
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**Timeline 5243-D**[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
"Dougall Deering was a //geistschreiber//." Udo was the first to say it out loud, though she was merely repeating the implied sentiment.
"That's right," Alis nodded.
"That's impossible."
"Is it?" Ibanez shifted back and forth in her chair. "He worked for how many years at the same facility as his brother, and never got caught."
"They worked on different floors," Udo protested.
"And Laiken never caught you two fucking behind her back."
"DELFINA!" Udo stood up and slammed her palms on the table.
"Sorry," Lillian raised a hand, and swung her index finger back and forth between the two of them like she was conducting a ping-pong match. "What was that? Say that again?"
"Christ, it does make sense." Ibanez was staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. "He didn't have it bad as the other ones, he wasn't //immediately// forgettable, and of course his credentials were actually real…" Her eyes refocused. "They //were// actually real, weren't they?"
Alis nodded. "Far as I know."
"And the lack of security in his quarters. No cameras. Because of course no cameras. Anyone monitoring would have had trouble keeping focus for too long…" Ibanez glanced at her friend, probably her best friend, //when did __that__ happen,// who was still standing and quivering with rage. "Well, you never had trouble keeping focus on him."
Udo looked like she was going to scream.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/53-those-who-cant/DL_53_01_Okorie_Disbelief.jpg]]
"Neither did Willie," Harry pointed out. "With Alis."
Alis winked at him. He blushed.
"If Dr. Deering was indeed a //geistschreiber,//" McInnis began, not the faintest trace of surprise or uncertainty in his voice, "what was his purpose here?"
"That part confuses me," Alis admitted. "Going through the records, it looked like he was here to spy on an enemy."
Lillian looked at the table.
"What enemy?" Nascimbeni asked.
"Del Olmo," said Lillian.
They all looked at her, not that she could see. Her hair fell between them and her own eyes.
"That's right," Alis agreed.
"What about Del Olmo?" Harry was looking at McInnis, now. "I know he had to leave 43, back in, what was it? 2001? While Lil was also gone." The coral curtain wobbled agreement. "What was he doing? Allan, you must know."
The Director nodded. "I do know. Dr. Del Olmo was our primary agent in persecuting the Forgotten War."
Lillian's head snapped up. "Explain."
"He was responsible for seeding the globe with countermemetic counterterrorist cells. Fighting the //giftschreiber// wherever they appeared."
"They call it the Forgotten War," said Lillian, her voice tight, her words precise, "because nobody remembered it. So it //stopped.// You can't forget a war you're still fighting."
Alis scoffed. Lillian glared at her.
"There has been no outbreak of overt hostilities in Canada since the 1980s," McInnis nodded. "But abroad, the reprieve is very much due to Dr. Del Olmo's work. As one of the most accomplished cryptomancers in our employ, he was a vital interlocutor for the Foundation. He kept the war from flaring up again elsewhere."
"Why?" Lillian's blue eyes were somehow burning.
"Because we wanted to be the first ones to understand what had happened. What had been forgotten. What had been lost. So that when the fighting began again in this territory in earnest, we would have the upper hand."
"And now he's fucking //dead,//" Lillian spat. "So that's going to work out just great."
"Except he isn't dead." Alis looked back and forth between them. "Not here. Not in this, what did you call it? This timeline, anyway."
"Please tell me you didn't tell her what we call them," said Harry.
Udo, abruptly, sat back down.
"I didn't tell her what we call them." Lillian seemed to collect herself. "Okay. Deering was spying on Del Olmo."
"Bullshit."
They all turned to look at Udo. All except Alis, who was visibly trying to figure out what she wasn't being told.
"Bullshit bullshit //bullshit.// Dougall was on our side. He wasn't one of them."
"I didn't say he wasn't on your side," Alis offered in a low, soothing voice. "But he was definitely one of us."
Without another word, Udo stood up and left the room. The door slammed behind her.
Lillian sighed. "Deering was spying on Del Olmo, //maybe.// And then what? When he didn't die, what happened next?"
"Weird way to put it. Having trouble understanding what you told me. Still." Alis shook her head slightly. "He disappeared almost immediately after visiting the Site again in '02. Said he had an assignment abroad. Nobody thought anything of it. He'd disappeared before, all the time."
"Wait a second." Harry scooted his chair forward. "Lil, you have these memories too. Don't you? Why are you making her explain it?"
"Because I want to know if she's a liar." Lillian's voice was low, scratchy, and dangerous.
"What, like you?" Alis asked, sweetly.
This next silence was thick with the threat of violence.
"Because that //was// a lie. You don't want to examine your own memories because you don't want to see your mentor running off and doing horrible, awful things to innocent people, and actually own those images. You want me to explain it, so you can, I don't know. Use it as a //working theory.// A //functional fiction.// And put off having to—"
Lillian slapped the papers in front of her across the table, and they fanned past the other woman's face. "Finish the story, you fucking drama queen. You're pretending to be a wizard, not a psychologist."
Alis' smile was still in place. "Sure. Del Olmo left Site-43, and almost immediately, the Forgotten War came back with a vengeance."
"How much vengeance are we talking?" Harry asked.
"Enemy number one. Worse than the Insurgency. Worse than the Sarkic cults. Worse than anything. They've been actively trying to dismantle the Foundation, and they've suddenly been equipped with all the tools to make it work."
"Equipped by who?" Nascimbeni glanced at Lillian, and shrunk away from her sudden stare. "Del Olmo?"
"No," snapped Lillian.
Alis opened her mouth, obviously to say 'Yes', but Lillian suddenly continued. "Yes. Fine. Yes. But it wasn't really //him.// He's possessed, like the rest of those fuckers. It's using his body, his memories, his abilities, but it is. Not. //Him.//"
Alis shrugged. "Same difference, from my perspective. But it's not as personal to me as it is to you." She frowned. "At least, it wasn't. Before he put my husband in a coma."
"Del Olmo did that?" McInnis asked. "You're saying he's here, again? At Site-43?"
Alis nodded. "He'd been back a few times over the years, but he came home for good a few months ago. That's when all this started. The chaos. The… exhibits."
"Have you any conception of why?" the Director pressed.
"All I can tell you is he's here, he's crazy, and he is //crazy// pissed off." Alis pursed her lips. "Tore through this place like a hurricane. Turned almost everyone mad like him. Turned the whole Site upside down. It started slow, but that only lasted maybe a week. People turned up in the hospital, complaining they had gaps in their memories. New memories, old memories. Treasured memories. Traumas. All gone." She shook her head. "Some people had nothing left. He took everything from them."
"And then?" McInnis asked.
"And then," Lillian finished, "he started smearing their memories on the fucking walls. That's him. The voice in your head when you look at the murals. That's him, judging them. Judging //everyone.// The ultimate art critic, judging your performance in life. But of course, it //isn't// him."
"It's… //it,//" said Harry.
Lillian nodded.
"This entire facility," she sighed, "is a six-sevenths-dead half-god's splattered, toxic grey matter."
[[=]]
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@@ @@
[[/=]]
It was a creative couple of months.
Ibanez retrofitted the empty offices in M&C as containment chambers, and the Survivors began corralling anyone and anything remotely receptive to corralling into them. At all hours she stalked the safer halls, looking for stragglers who had wandered out of the art world and into her more rationalized one. She was by now dressed to the nines in combat armour liberated from private lockers in the dorms, where a few of the Pursuit and Suppression agents who were regularly on call kept themselves prepared for the worst; she could be found on any given day tackling hollering lunatics, knife-wielding cultists, and aggressive graffitists, hauling them back kicking and screaming, or drooling, or singing, or most often unconscious and/or bleeding. The sapient anomalies, she negotiated with. For the most part. She disintegrated the werewolves on sight.
Udo continued to scrub the corridors, with increasing effectiveness, under Ibanez's watchful eye. When a space was made fully secure, McInnis, Blank and Nascimbeni combed it for the pieces identified in the stolen manifests. Lillihammer and Sokolsky divided their time between constructing their SCRAMBLE goggles and attempting, without much success, to find the combination of memetic triggers that would awaken the thunderstruck personnel. Their preferred test subject was Wettle, as nothing was quite so docile as a coma patient, but they spread the attention around whenever Alis got too testy. She was very possessive of her husband, and nobody liked to think about that too much, so they tried to keep out of her way.
It wasn't much fun, but it was functional. They still had no means of contacting the outside world, and the brief glimpses they got of the admin sections suggested that protective eyewear would be needed to secure such means. There was food, and there was water, and there was no end of privacy; plenty of empty rooms, and not very many people in their right minds to fill them. Only Ibanez and Nascimbeni took regular advantage of this.
There was the brief incident with the enormous horde of tiny hippos, but it wasn't like they hadn't seen that coming.
All told, it could have been much worse. It //had// been much worse, in the first deadline. With enough distance and the right perspective, it could have even been a little entertaining.
If not for the dreams.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="flashboss"]]
[[=]]
+ ##990099|2016##
----
[[/=]]
Lillian flipped through the file with such viciousness, McInnis was surprised her nails didn't leave gashes in each page. "Waste of my time."
"Very possible," he agreed.
Wettle looked over her shoulder, as very nearly only he could do. "I've never heard of this before. What is this?"
"It's nonsense." Lillian slapped the file on the table. "Complete nonsense. I have too many projects already, Allan."
"You'll forgive me," he murmured. "I'm unfamiliar with your precise availability, or workload. As you'll //recall.//"
He saw the extra emphasis do its work. The fact that Lillian had a calling over which he had no direct authority did not bother him; he trusted the Director of the Antimemetics Division implicitly, even though he wasn't entirely sure who was filling that post these days. His memory told him it ought to have been a man, but he couldn't picture the man's face. Marion Wheeler was doing the job, however, and Marion Wheeler was unimpeachable.
Still, it was a little inconvenient being in the dark about the details of his most valuable researcher's portfolio.
"It doesn't matter," she snapped. "Nothing I've ever worked on is less up my alley than this. That makes it unimportant. It would be unimportant if all I had on my schedule for the day was a bratwurst sandwich."
Wettle pulled the folder to him. After removing the contents from his lap, and briefly attempting to put them in the right order, he began to read.
McInnis put on a face. Neutral. Not unapproachable, but not wholly amused. Definitely unruffled. "Anomalies created by Vikander-Kneed Technical Media," he said, "have affected an ever-increasing proportion of the human population since they first came to our attention. They have branched out to a variety of broadcast and home media, the effects of which range from terror to catatonia to traceless disappearance, and they represent a serious threat to the Veil. I know of only one more vital issue under the umbrella of memetics, and—"
"And I'm already on that one. The gift-givers. Sure. That's just one more argument not to dump this in my lap, then. Bus factor."
Wettle glanced up at her. "Bus factor?"
"If I get hit by a bus, nobody's managing the three biggest memetic threats in the world." She winced. "Two. I meant two."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/53-those-who-cant/DL_53_02_Wettle_VKTM.jpg]]
She hadn't meant two.
Luckily, Wettle was again not paying attention. He tapped the sheet he was holding, and his finger went right through it. "Fuck. Uh, why am I in this?"
"What?" Lillian craned her neck, then snatched the sheet out of his hand. "What're you talking about?"
He pointed.
She blinked.
She read: "'Episode Forty-Three: A Star is Born! Format: backdoor pilot. Synopsis: Final episode. All regular cast members are absent. Content is a twenty-five hour telecast of one Mindy Wettle in hospital, chronicling her difficult labour, ending in the birth of a son, William Wettle. Credit sequence is replaced with a bright yellow smiling face (note: not an illustration), with increasingly rising cheers in background until soundtrack is a square wave, at which point video and audio abruptly cease.' What. What is //this.//" She flipped back several pages, grunted, then flipped forward past the first. Wettle hadn't quite gotten them in the proper order. "'Vikander-Kneed Presents: Che and Tadeusz! A romance of praxis, in forty-two acts. Anomalous drama. Effects include migraine headaches, irritable bowel, and attacks of conscience potentially leading to revolutionary behaviour.' No, okay. //Okay.// Pardon //me.//"
"I don't remember being filmed," said Wettle.
"Permanent memories begin somewhere around three years of age," McInnis explained kindly.
"This is bullshit, though." Lillian stared accusingly at the page. "It's bullshit, right? I mean, what a farce. Twenty-five hours." She frowned. "No, I believe that, actually. He probably got lost on the way out."
"Doctor said she'd never seen a head so big," Wettle chimed in. "Mom told that story for years. Probably still does."
"Hmm." Lillian tapped the page thoughtfully, catching her nail in the hole Wettle had poked through it. "Hmm."
"Yes?" McInnis prompted.
"Weren't you on this file, at some point?"
Wettle blinked. "//He// does //files?//"
McInnis kept up the façade. "A long time ago. I actually joined the Foundation after encountering this particular Group of Interest in the wild."
"No," Lillian frowned, "that's not what I was remembering. What was I remembering?"
"I couldn't say."
//Say it,// said the voice in the dark with the bright yellow eyes. //Say it.//
He reached under the table and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. "Are you interested in the file or not, Dr. Lillihammer?"
She watched him light up, confusion in her eyes. "Uh… I guess? Allan, what are you…?"
"Good." He breathed in deep, blocking out the voice with the buzzing in his skull. "Good. Terrific. I'll make sure all the files are sent to your office. Dismissed."
//Send them away,// the voice agreed. //Just you and me. You and me…//
He stood up. He kicked the chair out of the way. He walked to the door. "That will be all."
"You already said that," said Wettle.
"Whatever." McInnis pulled on the door handle. The door didn't budge.
//Allan?// said Lillian. //Where are you going?//
//Stay here with me,// Wettle growled. //It's been so long.//
//Do you remember how it felt?// Lillian asked him.
He didn't turn around.
//It tore like paper, didn't it?//
[[/div]]
He screamed.
He didn't open his eyes, when he woke up. If he opened his eyes, he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. And he needed his rest.
He did make a mental note.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="jandm"]]
[[=]]
+ ##CC9900|2015##
----
[[/=]]
Forsythe tutted at the readout. That always got on his nerves. Nascimbeni wasn't old enough to be her father, but they were definitely on that side of the age differential. She had no business even implicitly lecturing him…
"Well." She tapped a button on the machine, and it presumably stopped whirring. He hadn't been able to hear it for years, though from time to time he fancied the bones in his ear were vibrating just //slightly// in tune. It was probably the youth juice doing that. "It's a good thing you never miss an injection, I'll say that much."
"Say more," he sighed. "Spit it out, so this can be over before we're both in our dotage."
"Fine." Forsythe crossed her arms. "If you didn't have anomalous medical treatment, you'd be dead of a heart attack already."
At the end of the bed, examining his chart, Billie looked up in surprise. Nascimbeni tried not to look at her.
"You're burning the candle at both ends, and probably in the middle too. Last I checked — and I've got very good records to check, here — you're not the only technician in this facility. Do you want to see your granddaughter make it to high school?"
Nascimbeni frowned. "She's already in high school. I told you that last time."
Forsythe bit her lip, and Billie looked away.
"What?" he said.
"Nothing." The portly doctor punched a button on the monitor, and it began an old-fashioned printout. "Never mind. The point is, if you don't start taking it easy, you'll get forcibly retired by your own ticker."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/53-those-who-cant/DL_53_03_Nascimbeni_Medical.jpg]]
"Fine." He moved to stand up.
Forsythe planted a hand on his chest. "Not so fast. We aren't done yet."
He sighed more deeply than was warranted. "I've got a Section to run, Helena. And so do you." He waved at Billie. "You're worried about family? Have a chat with your daughter. She looks like she could use it."
At the end of the bed, Billie was very pale. She'd always been very pale, but this was something else.
She reached down, past the edge of the bed, and when her hand came back up it was clutching a telephone receiver. Old style. Like they had in the old control room, back in AAF-D. She reached down with her other hand, and began to dial.
"What's going on?" Nascimbeni asked. He looked up at Forsythe.
David Markey looked back down at him. "Hyperbolic," he whispered. He placed a comforting hand on Nascimbeni's shoulder. "Hyperbolic."
//The last thing he thought,// Billie said, without really saying it, //was WHY AREN'T YOU HERE, UNC?//
It was Romolo Ambrogi's voice.
It was his blood, too, and there was enough of it that soon Nascimbeni could only see red, and then nothing at all.
[[/div]]
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@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="flashblank"]]
[[=]]
+ ##669933|1996##
----
[[/=]]
The //SCPS Honoré Beaugrand// was an old, old ship. It had been purchased from the Canadian government for certain privileges which Harry was not yet cleared to fully know about, and plied the waters of Lake Huron for decades before being mothballed, sunk, and kept in storage at Site-246 at the bottom of Lake Superior. Foundation vessels were never scrapped, because then they'd have to monitor all the scrapyards for anomalous occurrences. The old boat had been re-floated, restored, and brought back into service for this specific task, because old-timey people on an old-timey ship were less likely to draw attention, and if they did, it could all be explained away as a botched historical reenactment.
The costumes certainly didn't match the setting.
As the passengers debarked, Harry checked them against his manifest. "Name?" he asked, as a portly man in a Victorian conductor's outfit strolled toward him.
"Dudley Belcher."
Harry stifled a laugh, and found the name. "Right. Bandleader. Do you know 'Those in Peril'?"
The other man scoffed. "Bad taste, chap. Bad taste. Jinx the whole thing. Need to learn from history, wot wot?"
"Right." He smiled, because it was either that or laugh after all. "Wot wot. Get on the truck."
Belcher looked past him at the first of several transportation vehicles. "What make and model is //that,// if I might ask? It looks…" He sniffed disdainfully. "It looks distinctly //Gallic,// to my eyes."
"Teutonic, actually."
"Ah." The man's expression brightened. "Well, that's alright then. Cheerio." And off he went.
Over the course of the next half-hour, Harry catalogued the crew and passengers of the late //RMS Gigantic,// a vast ocean liner which had never even existed. A bafflingly ornate public prank by a long-dead novelist had caused the thing to manifest anyway, year after year, steaming down the English channel and necessitating wide-ranging coverups that became increasingly unwieldy in the age of amateur video. It had been Harry who'd proposed the ultimate solution, waylaying the ship, unloading its passengers, and seeing it off to the conceptual afterlife. The whole thing had turned out to be a particularly effective exercise of the public imaginary, and with a little, okay, more than a little fudging of the historical record and some choice media insertions, they'd been able to redirect the plot.
Now all that was left was disposing of over five hundred brutal British caricatures — disposing was the wrong word, totally the wrong word — and then treating himself to a celebratory tour of Yorkshire. He'd never been out of North America before, and he was looking forward to it.
There was only one man left on the ship, now, and he staggered down the gangplank with exaggerated ease. He was pale, barrel-chested, and his eyes were black as night. "What ho!" he called.
"Don't look at me," Harry called back. "Name?"
"Oh, I don't have a name." The man reached the pier, and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Lots of titles, no name. But you know that. We're already acquainted."
Harry turned over the last page of the manifest, then turned them all back down again. There were no more passengers or crew to cross off. In fact, all the sheets were now heavily redacted. "Who are you?"
The old man took his other shoulder, too. "Who are we, you mean. We're brothers!" He turned Harry to face the trucks, which began moving off down the road without him. "I'd know your work anywhere."
"What?" Harry wanted to cry out, to make the trucks stop, but they were already gone.
//Like trains down the rail,// the man growled in his ear. //Off for the camps.//
Harry spun. The old man's face was drawn, the skin paper thin on a grinning skull. "It isn't like that," he protested. "We're just going to freeze them."
//Freeze, cook, it's all the same to you people.// The spectre's breath was like a dead swamp. //Human beings are so much __meat__, eh? Wot wot.// The hands clapped, and Harry's shoulders shook with the impact. //Maybe between the two of us, we'll get the whole lot, next time 'round!//
On the pier, the //Honoré Beaugrand// was sinking. They both walked to the edge of the pier to watch it go.
Even at the bottom of the bay, Harry fancied, he could still see every inch of the thing with perfect clarity.
Which, of course, he had to. Didn't he?
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
[[div class="flashdel"]]
[[=]]
+ ##2B5FB3|2016##
----
[[/=]]
In one sense, it was like coming up for air after a deep, deep plunge. In another, it was like trading a life-giving breath for the flat, dry sterility of space. She was covered head to toe in blood; smeared across her visor, smeared across the plates of armour, seeping into every joint and crevice. She couldn't wait to pull the helmet off and suck down the free, clean oxygen. But she also wished that the fight had been longer, the competition more fierce, and most of all, that there had been more Insurgents to face in the twisty, trap-filled corridors of the now very silent Firebase.
//Both glasses half full,// she decided, as she headed out the front door.
The front door opened on a cave. This wasn't the way she'd entered, blowing the bolts on an access hatch at the bottom of a narrow crevasse she'd created herself, but it was the designated exit point for when the job was done. The front-facing security was so much smouldering rubble, and there wasn't a soul left behind her who could operate a weapon, or so much as press a button. There were prisoners, of course, but they wouldn't be a problem. None of them had arms that bent the right way anymore.
"Rozálie?" she called, but there was no answer. Of course there wasn't. She wasn't down here…
The cave sloped down to a shallow pool, or rather, what she had taken at first to be a shallow pool. It was meant to be shallow, but now it seemed deep. Very deep. And very wide, and as she looked up from the crimson water, startled, she saw fire on the horizon where she knew a cave wall ought to be.
//You're too late,// said Rozálie, and Ibanez looked back down at the pool and the body floating face-down within it.
"There were more of them than we thought," said Ibanez. "It took… it took longer than I thought."
//I went on ahead.// The body bobbed up and down in the water. It spoke in a voice like planes overhead. There was an ugly, dark red hole in the back of its skull, wide enough that it probably went all the way through to the front.
"I thought I'd have enough time." Ibanez reached up to remove her helmet, but it wouldn't budge. She suddenly felt that she really would like that gulp of fresh air, after all.
//You'll never have enough.// Was the voice even Rozálie's? It didn't sound very much like her. But the corpse, the corpse was definitely hers. Spindly limbs and a visible spine. //You never add. You only subtract. Subtract. Subtract. There's already nothing. Soon there will be even less.//
She tried the helmet again. Damn, but it was on tight. She was having trouble breathing.
//You left me.// In her panic, struggling against the suit clasps, Ibanez had a crazy thought: was that her voice? Her own? //You ran inside. You left us all. We're still there, Fina. We're all still there. Where are you?//
"Yésica?" she cried, as the corpse sank into the pool and her helmet began to fill with water. "Yésica?!"
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Astrauskas_Pool.jpg]] --]
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
[[div class="udoflashback"]]
The sky was coming for her.
Udo stood nude in the desert sands, the moons baking her skin, and she watched the black clouds roil and rage.
There was hatred there, hatred older than the first slight, the first mistake, perhaps even the first coherent thought.
Rage that had risen from the pullulating amygdalas of ancient lizards on shores that had long since dried to dust, rage that had cultured like bacteria in the warm waters of the runaway noöspheric rhizome, rage that would consume and subsume the world, however she cared to define it.
And the rage spoke:
"Freak."
It spoke with her voice. She could almost taste the words, as though they had come from her own mouth.
They //had// come from her own mouth. She said them again: "Freak." Then again, with clarity: "I'm a //freak.//"
//You are beautiful,// the clouds roared. Even in the space of a single sentence, she could tell the source was closing in. //Of all the stars in the firmament yellow, yours shines the darkest.//
"I'm a monster," she screamed, and she fell to her knees. The sands parted, not to accept her, but to shy away. She was rejected. "I'm a //monster.//"
//But that does not mean you are not beautiful.// There was no horizon anymore. Everything was black, and somehow the cloud ahead was blacker still. //You should be free, Udo Okorie. Like a whirlwind. Like runaway nuclear fusion. Like the moving sands.//
"I belong in a box," she wept, but the tears wouldn't come. She was dry down to the bones. She was the desert, but the desert would not have her. Nothing would.
As the sky overtook her, she felt an unsuspected weight lifted from her shoulders.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/53-those-who-cant/DL_53_04_Okorie_Third_Vision.jpg]]
//Nonsense, brother. If someone tries to put you in a box, __you put them in one first__.//
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
[[div class="flashyhammer"]]
Impossible machines. Cats' eyes in the abyss. The old man, with his careworn face, smiling up at her with the future on his lips.
//You are a little speck of nothing on an empty dirt road. There is nothing beneath your feet. You are beyond the reach of help. Brother—//
"Shut up," Rydderech said, not unkindly, and the unfamiliar voice abruptly ceased.
He winked at her.
She stared out into nothing, and nothing stared back. She asked, as though the words had been spoken many times before, as though she knew them off by heart, new and old as a sunrise: "What do I need to know?"
"Seven things," Rydderech grinned, "for you are one of seven. The fourth, on this today, inviolable as a vault with no lock and no key. A box in which to die. A light below, and a bleakness above. Lillian Lillihammer, reach down, and reach up. Break the barrier. Let lies and truth commingle. Lies will win, for they are clever, but this isn't about winning. This is about //being right.//"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/53-those-who-cant/DL_53_05_Rydderech_Side_Eye.jpg]]
And he glanced to one side, as though meeting another gaze she couldn't so much as sense, and he said: "And as for //you,// well. Can you see it in my eyes?"
Nothing, not the faintest whisper, came in response. //Maybe,// she thought, //that was rhetorical.//
But maybe not, because after a beat he nodded, and said: "That's what I thought."
The machinery boomed in the deeps, and she wondered if the universe would be so trite as to intrude on the dream, the memory, the in-between with something so clichéd as a bedside alarm clock, and
[[/div]]
the sudden flare of indignation woke her to the silent, cramped little bedroom.
Her box.
She reached down, pressed her hands into the mattress, stood up, and reached up. Her fingertips touched the ceiling, and she scratched off a piece of stucco with her nails.
She rolled it around in her fingers, then dropped it and went for the doorknob. //Message received.//
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
[[div class="flashwet"]]
He dreamed that he was trapped in a cell with two giant, misshapen things, with bodies like Gumby, one red and one blue. The red one had a snowball for a head. The blue one had an ice cube. They were pressing him against the door, and he was hammering on it with his fist, screaming for help, screaming to be saved, screaming "I'M STILL HERE! I'M STILL HERE! OH MY GOD //I'M STILL HERE!//"
And the things pressed into him harder, smothering him, crushing the breath out of him, and they screamed even louder: "BRR! BRR! //BRRRRRRRRR!//"
[[/div]]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ ##990011|2017##
++ 21 February
----
[[/=]]
And he woke up.
Alis shrieked with pleasure as his eyelids fluttered open. He knew what that sounded like; he'd heard it a few times, and not only the ones on record. She was leaning over him, and he noticed there were tears streaming down her face, and he said: "Was it something I said?"
She reached down and gently placed his glasses back on his face; this presented him with an interesting view, which he could now see very clearly. He smiled, and she pulled it all out of shape with what might have been the most passionate kiss he could ever remember having.
In any event, if he'd had a more passionate one that he couldn't remember, it would almost certainly have been with the same woman.
He wasn't the sort to close his eyes when he kissed someone. Kissing someone was a victory. Everything going right. And when everything went right, wrong was always creeping up behind him. So he swivelled his eyes back and forth as she pushed her tongue into his mouth, and that was when he saw it.
Not in the room.
In his glasses.
There were tiny whorls in the glass, and as he noticed them, they began to spin. His eyes suddenly ached, and his vision went red, and he realized just as it stopped happening that he was looking at the inside of his own head.
[[=]]
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@@ @@
[[/=]]
Alis threw the cards across the room. "Son of a //bitch!//" she screamed. She looked at the lenses with unfocused eyes, and they began almost immediately to unfocus further. "Son of a bitch," she muttered, and she dropped the glasses to the floor and stomped them flat.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/53-those-who-cant/DL_53_06_Alis_Furious.jpg]]
Lillihammer was standing in the doorframe. "He call you ugly?"
She screwed her face up, and didn't respond.
The other woman flopped down in a chair beside the hard, teal bed, and put her feet up on it, shoving Wettle's to one side to accommodate her Doc Martens. "Let me guess."
"Don't," Alis warned.
But there was never any point warning Lillihammer. "You managed to snap him out of it, and he managed to unsnap himself right away."
Alis sighed, and sat down on the floor. "Yeah."
"Word of advice?"
"Does it matter how I answer?"
It mattered so little, it got no acknowledgement. "William Wettle—"
"—is my husband. I think I know him as well as anyone."
"William Wettle," Lillihammer repeated, and then continued, "is a magnet. He collects bullshit like iron filings. That's why he's so perfect for replication studies."
"I don't understand."
"This man, this //boob,// can make anything go wrong twice. Three times. Four times. The most embarrassing possible outcome? That's where he lives. He's just that much of an idiot. It's perfect."
"He deserves better than you," Alis muttered.
"He deserves exactly what he gets. It's his //fault,// Alis. He fucks up so reliably, they made him the King of Reliable Fuckupery. You've been married to him for how long? You must know it's true."
Alis grunted.
"You do know. You've seen it. He makes exactly the wrong decision, one hundred percent of the time. We're all lucky he's down for the count. //You're// lucky that when this is all over, you'll never have been married to him."
She didn't ask what that meant, and Lillian didn't tell her. She was pretty sure she knew, anyway.
Wettle's hand slid off the side of the bed. Alis caught it in hers, and held it. "You don't think that's the slightest bit strange?"
"Strange?"
"That his luck is so terrible, nothing //ever// goes right for him?"
Lillihammer shrugged. "How many billion people on this planet? One of them is bound to be the worst, in the most boring, unobjectionable, unremarkably useless sense. That's him. That's your husband."
Alis looked up at his placid, hairy face. Some of the blonde hairs had turned grey… or more likely, he'd failed to dye a few. The fact that he was still vulnerable to vanity made her both happy and sad in equal measure. "I don't know," she sighed. "It just seems so unlikely. What if there's something more?"
"You may trust me on this, Alis. There is never, ever, anything more to William Wettle."
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"Wettle?" Nascimbeni asked, as Lillian entered the lab.
"Nope."
"Oh well." He'd meant to say something like //that's a shame or well, too bad,// but really, was it? Was it a shame? Was it too bad? "He's probably happier unconscious."
"And we're happier he's unconscious." Lillian headed for the workbench, where the first set of goggles was apparently almost complete. Sokolsky was still asleep, lying across the far end of the table, motionless and unsnoring. "Speaking of, have any fun dreams last night?"
He winced. "You too?"
"Mhmm. Meeting before lunch to talk about it. Think I've finally cracked the code. Lots of exposition. Bring toothpicks to keep your eyes open."
He chuckled uneasily, then changed the subject. "You guys test those things yet?" He pointed at the goggles, trying to keep his tone conversational. Not too eager. Not too anxious.
"Little bit." She pulled a pack of cards out of her belt, and he instinctively looked away. He knew what she was packing. "Works on minor cognitos. Harder to test the big ones. Wish Eileen had finished CLIO."
"CLIO?"
"Her .aic, remember?" Artificially Intelligent Conscripts, sapient AI assistants, had been all the rage at AIAD from the nineties to the mid-2000s. The projects were still active, but there had been setbacks.
"Oh." Nascimbeni nodded. "I remember that. Green woman, wasn't it?"
"Grey woman. Green hair." Lillian smiled, as though imagining the electronic avatar. "Green hair and glasses. She was going for a goofy librarian look. CLIO was meant to manage the archives, of course."
"Of course." Blank had been pressing for help with his extensive catalogue of documents, anomalous and anomalous-adjacent, for decades. Most of the time Veiksaar had been working on her .aic, she'd been dating the man. "Why do you wish she'd finished it?"
"So I could test out some of the worse ones." She slapped the deck on the workbench, for emphasis. "Some of them work on electronic life. They were //developed// with electronic life."
Nascimbeni vaguely recalled the details; he'd provided some of the hardware Veiksaar, Lillihammer and Euler had used. But the science of memetics was nothing he particularly cared about. He preferred constructs he could actually see, set hammer to, put nails in. His heart was pounding when he asked, nevertheless: "What would you test first?"
Lillian considered. "Sleep agent, probably. Same sort of thing that hit Willie. We're pretty sure we've already got those licked, but it would be nice to get total confirmation."
"I could try it out, if you want." She turned to face him fully, and raised a brow. He leaned on his own workbench, which was spotless in the absence of anything much that needed carpentry, welding, or nonspecific tinkering, and shrugged. "I mean, you've got all the filters installed, right? Even if it doesn't work properly, I won't get it full force. An extra night's sleep, is all. Right?"
"Right," she agreed, though there were enough extra vowels in it to convey a little uncertainty. Not in the facts, but in his intentions. "You that eager to get us out there, Chief?"
"Yes." He sighed. "I'm sick of being stuck here. I want to know what's going on topside. I want to see if my family's okay."
"They're not your family, though." Lillian picked up the cards again, pulled off the elastic, and shuffled them absent-mindedly. "Your family is back in baseline. Topside? Other-you's family."
"Still." He shook his head. "Still. You know?"
"Mm," she responded noncommittally.
"Look." He pushed off the bench, and approached her. "We've got the plan in place. We've got all the machinery we need to wipe the whole Site clean, if we need to. And the goggles are almost finished."
"And I know where Del Olmo is," she added.
He blinked. "…and you know where Del Olmo is. Okay. That's new information?"
"Little teaser for that meeting, later."
"Great. Terrific. It's all lined up, then. And you don't need me. But I'm here! And I'm not doing anything. So //put me to work,// Dr. Lillihammer. Please. At least take my mind off the things I can't help."
She sighed, and pulled a specific card out of the pack. In his peripheral vision, it looked like a blue square with wavy white lines overlaid on it, on a white field. "Sleep agent's too dangerous," she said. "Put you out for months, at your age. Maybe something simpler, but still a step up. Could try—"
She began to slide the card back into place, but lost in thought, her reflexes were slower than his. He'd always been good with detail work. He snatched up the sleep agent card, held it up to his eyes, and had just enough time to hope that she'd catch him before he—
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/53-those-who-cant/DL_53_09_Nascimnbeni_Conk.jpg]]
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"—hit the floor," she finished. "But I don't think he broke anything."
"I can fix that," Del growled. She rolled up her sleeves.
//Two down,// Harry thought. Of course, if he'd had to choose which two…
"Well, it's certainly unfortunate." McInnis shook his head. "But perhaps not unexpected. He did us the courtesy of waiting until there was a clear roadmap ahead, at least."
"Very least." Del's lips slid from side to side, as though she were Satan grinding a sinner between them. "It's not much."
"Nor is it productive to dwell on. Dr. Lillihammer, I believe this is your presentation today?"
"Damn skippy." Lillian stood up, which was always unnecessary; she towered over them even when sitting down. "So, good news and good news."
"This is all going to be bad, isn't it?" Harry groaned.
She ignored him. "I had a funny dream last night. Something unfriendly tried to horn in. Nascimbeni had the same thing, which leads me to expect…"
"Yeah," said Udo. Del and Harry echoed her.
"Indeed," McInnis nodded.
"Awesome." Lillian clapped. "Maybe it even lowered itself to Willie's level. Daniil?"
"I only dream when I'm awake," Sokolsky smirked.
"You're an asshole. Alis?"
"I dream abstract. I couldn't say."
"Convenient. Alright, so it was probably only us. Safe to say it's the Spirit of September Past?"
The Survivors all nodded. The other two shrugged at each other.
"The thing that possesses the Victims," Udo clarified.
"And is probably inside of Del Olmo," Harry added. "What the files call the Uncontained, and nothing else."
"Stupid name for a thing that's contained in people," Lillian finished, "but that's probably not its natural state. Anyway, yeah. I take it nobody's had any hitchhikers on their dreams before? In this deadline, at least?"
A series of shaken heads.
"Right. In that case, I think it's safe to say that the whole fucking Site is infected with this unholy ghost, and the longer we take to finish our spring cleaning, the less of our minds we'll still have come next breachday. With that in mind…"
"You're ready?" McInnis asked.
"We're ready. Daniil?"
"We have a working set of SCRAMBLE goggles. Only one, but that's not as much of a problem as it sounds. If we can get to the fabrication units in J&M—"
"Hold on," Alis interrupted. "How do you know the goggles work? I thought you didn't have any test subjects."
"You remember the werewolves?" Lillian asked.
McInnis frowned. "I thought Chief Ibanez neutralized all of the //loup garou.//"
"Not the one that OSAT wanted," Del grinned.
"That's still here?" Harry did a double take. "Wait, are you saying—"
"Found it in a stairwell yesterday." Ibanez winced. "Water panthers had taken a few big chunks out. Dragged it here and patched it up. Brain is basically human, according to the conprocs. If I remember correctly."
"She remembers correctly," Lillian nodded.
McInnis' face was frozen. "You tested kill agents on an injured humanoid?"
Udo looked stricken. "Yeah, Jesus guys. That's…"
"Pragmatic?" Ibanez suggested.
Harry felt all the blood drain from his face, and remembered the man at the pier. "Not a good look," he muttered.
"It was dying," Lillian snapped. "It lost too much blood, and we don't have a doctor. The kill agent would have been a mercy. When we were done, Del shot it anyway."
"I'm good at shooting helpless things," she agreed with a tone of delighted self-loathing.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Udo asked.
McInnis redirected. "What's done is done. I daresay the Ethics Committee would agree with your rationale; perhaps we'll get the chance to ask them before September, assuming the //giftschreiber// haven't already levelled the Foundation. I presume, then, that your suggested plan is the duplication of these goggles, and then an extended search for Dr. Del Olmo?"
"Not so extended." Lillian's smile was grim. "I already know where he is, or at least I've got a shortlist of candidates."
"Of course you do," Harry sighed.
"What do we do when we find him?" Udo asked. "He'll be dangerous, goggles or no."
Ibanez answered immediately. "We kill him."
Lillian's riposte was no less immediate. "We talk to him."
"The hell you do," Alis protested.
"Termination does seem the more sensible choice," said McInnis.
Ibanez nodded at him. "You would say that. And it's what we did every other time."
"Well," Harry said, "except for Wirth."
"Yeah," Lillian scoffed. "Sure."
Sokolsky placed both hands on the table, palms down. "Do you honestly think Del Olmo will tell us anything useful, Lillian?"
"Us?" She shrugged. "Maybe not. He doesn't know us from a hole in the ground." Her expression softened almost imperceptibly. Perhaps only Harry noticed it. "But I'm damn sure he'll talk to //me.//"
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[[/=]]
The SCRAMBLE unit was no mere pair of goggles, but a full wraparound helmet due to the need to intercept and warp audio signals as well. Ibanez was the first to give it a test drive, for multiple reasons; most pertinent was her long experience moving through hostile territory in armour, least pertinent was the fact that this first set was too small to fit on Harry's head. Lillian pretended this was merely inconsiderate, but Ibanez knew better. The canny memeticist had intentionally cut off the option of using her best friend as a test subject.
Ibanez wasn't offended. She wouldn't have let anyone else get dibs anyway.
After running her through a series of defanged murals in M&C, Lillian led her on a course through several more difficult passages. The goggles occluded each affected surface before her conscious mind could see what was on them, and she wondered at the vague disappointment in her gut for a moment before she understood. She'd imagined, stupidly, that the scrambler would enable her to see what the halls really looked like. She'd imagined they must look quite beautiful. But of course, all that was rendered on the screen was a pastel blur in every direction. She could navigate the three-dimensional space with ease, but she couldn't make hide nor hair of any single decoration.
Because that was the point, wasn't it.
Lillian left her at the extent of their demesne, with no words of encouragement but a gentle pat on the back, which she needed to stoop to deliver. Ibanez stepped into the haze of colour, set her shoulders high, and placed one hand on the stun baton at her hip.
It was time to tour the gallery.
It would have taken much longer to wend her way to Nascimbeni's concrete kingdom through the dormitories, so she was heading past Eileen's office in I&T instead. As always, there was new work on the walls they had previously scoured; more novel was the presence of the artists, engaged with rapt attention in their work.
The occupants of the Site had scattered like centipedes in the light whenever the Survivors had entered their space. Harry had compared it to a line from //The Hobbit,// something about how the little folk still existed on the fringes of society but could hear the elephantine gallumphing of humanity a mile off; this had occasioned a brief argument over to what extent Ibanez herself qualified as a hobbit, and whether this made it more or less appropriate to send her into the Shire.
//Focus,// she thought. //Or, rather, __unfocus__ in the right direction.//
This time, without the scrubbing screen to spook the natives, she caught occasional glimpses of the lost personnel of Site-43. There was an orgy in the I&T boardroom, with pairings she was certain wouldn't have worked out back in baseline. The SCRAMBLE unit conveyed wavelengths of warbling which almost seemed musical, and probably in their base form actually were. She was glad she couldn't hear it, though it looked like everyone was having fun. Sandy Holt, one of her agents — no, one of //Pensak's// agents — was putting the last touches on a photorealistic depiction of a pair of bright red denim shorts on a computer lab window. She winked at Ibanez, and Ibanez smiled tightly. She wondered what that looked like on the other side of the visor. Four men she didn't recognize were standing next to a photocopier, and a Māori woman from Pursuit and Suppression named Kiri Ngata was smashing their faces into the copy plate, over and over, while it printed an endless catalogue of increasingly bloody bruises. The man were laughing. At least one was missing all of his teeth, and the smile was gushing blood.
As always, there were signs of the catastrophic decontainment that must have taken place on the first sublevel. One of the printing rooms was filled with the bloated bulk of a gelatinous worm, and Ibanez could see the hole where it had burrowed down through all the membranes, half-floors and bedrock to coil around the wreckage of the press. Nascimbeni was going to have his work cut out for him when it was time to do the stability survey…
//God __damn__ it, Noè.//
One of the meeting rooms was full of I&T techs in their proper outfits, talking animatedly. There was a slideshow on the projector, and the goggles dutifully blocked out its contents. They were speaking loudly enough that the sound made it through the thin glass, and she tapped a button on the side of the visor. The goggles reported that their speech was identical to natural language English with information technology terms sprinkled throughout, as might be expected from such a setting. There was, apparently, no underlying grammar.
//So, nothing new there.//
I&T put her in mind of one of those maze screen savers that had been popular in the 1990s, all right angles and brightly coloured walls, though of course the reality would be somewhat more complex. It was tempting, so tempting, to reduce the scrambling effect and see what was really going on, and that of course explained why virtually everyone in the Site had already fallen to madness.
But though the public art show ran through the once-drab Back End to no lesser extent than it had R&E and H&S, there were far fewer signs of life. Something about the space had always been oppressively bland, and perhaps it had been deemed less conducive to ongoing creative works. It was just a guess. Ibanez hadn't done anything creative since the late 1990s.
Nobody tried to stop her. Nobody stood in her way. The occasional painter or singer or dancer or smasher-of-tiles-into-powder or indecent exposer waved, or smiled, or nodded, or in one memorable case gave her a big bear hug and ran away giggling — it was good to see that Yancy was still alive, and still in beyond excellent shape — but if they considered her a threat to their way of life, which she most certainly was, it didn't show in their reactions. They probably thought this was show-and-tell.
Well, she'd show //them.//
It was tempting to swing down south through one of the Security and Containment satellites, but she figured she ought to pass through as few unique biospheres as possible on this first trek, so she took the direct route into J&M instead. This brought her first past the massive water tanks, which looked like bright green, yellow, and purple cylinders to her, though the goggles informed her they were actually immaculate representations of cucumbers, bananas, and eggplants; the septic pools, which shimmered in waves of iridescent colour she could only glimpse in the hyperabstract; and then the heating plant, where strange clouds of condensation bobbed in the breeze and formed images in Socialist Realism style of workers at work, and union members on the march, though from her perspective it was all just so much red and black mist. Lillian's shortlist was comprised entirely of ventilation shafts for the Site's geothermal plants. Her reasoning was derived not from Rydderech's cryptic hints, which she passed on to the group, but rather from some personal understanding she was reluctant to share. Ibanez visited the first location on her way to the fabrication plants: one of the shafts, a small one, was accessed via a back passage she had used over a decade ago to get the literal drop on one of Ana Mukami's clones. Cool air rushed up around her from the pit, and she couldn't see the bottom from the encircling rail. If there was anyone down there, they had almost certainly suffocated to death.
Her road ended finally at the fabbers, which to her tremendous relief were still mostly intact. One of the massive machines had been disassembled, its parts cannibalized to create an enormous metal robot which turned to watch her as she approached the main conveyor unit and scanner; she took her hand off the stun baton and slung it over her shoulder in what she hoped looked like a casual gesture, though her fingers closed over the butt of the Bremmelgun.
Two electronic headlamps, probably pilfered from one of the cars parked in AAF-A's garage, blinked placidly at her, and then the robot resumed its survey of the empty fabrication hall.
She sighed.
The other reason she'd been chosen for this mission was her background in engineering. The tour was over; the remainder of her duty would be less artistic, and far more technical.
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[[div class="muddle"]]
Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-C is the least hands-on and least specialized of the three still-active refineries at Site-43. The majority of its plant is a series of parallel tanks, with only a small factory floor wherein water from Lake Huron is chemically and ritually purified, esoteric effluence from various sources is analyzed for matter state and toxicity, and both are pumped through a targeted subset of the twenty treatment vats for reduction. The average shift size for AAF-C is four: two experts in Acroamatic Abatement, one stationed at the water tanks and the other at the testing array, and one technician prowling each set of ten vats on the lookout for leakage, breakage, or plugs.
There is no emptier space in the entire Site, and no station on the Inter-Sectional Subway is less frequently patronized. The trains don't even stop, outside of shift change, unless a rider makes the request. New members of personnel are often confused by the homonymous local terminology for a person who's drifted too far from companionship: "Out to C."
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
Lillian Lillihammer was not one for small talk.
She initiated it sometimes, when she had something to say, or wanted to ingratiate herself with someone she expected to do something for her. But she had no patience for it when it ran in the other direction, and anyone prone to chatting up a storm would see her sailing away more often than not.
She was fond, however, of big talk masquerading as small talk.
"This is boring," she said. It was boring. AAF-C was the least-adorned space they'd moved through yet; she and Alis were headed for the end of the tank sequence, on the weakest of her hunches, and though there was still plenty of art to not look at, there wasn't a soul around and the ones whose occupancy was evidenced hadn't hung around very long. There were long stretches of maintenance tunnel with no paint on them at all, and none of the //bric-a-brac// of everyday living they'd seen elsewhere: sleeping bags, cardboard boxes, trash and used prophylactics. She expected their journey to be equally unedifying. Nineteen of the twenty tanks were still churning away, full, but the twentieth, right on the end, was empty. It was sunk deep into the bedrock, in a natural niche, and it could theoretically contain their target.
But it wouldn't. So, she pretended to chatter harmlessly. There was a topic of conversation she'd cut off at the stem over a month ago, because she'd heard all she needed to know at the time. She was determined that she wouldn't leave AAF-C without learning something new, and since an empty tank manifestly did not count, well, it was time to revisit.
"So, they're dead."
Alis glanced at her, which required actually turning her head. It took the SCRAMBLE sets a second to determine what to do when you pointed one at the other; the other woman's face was momentarily rendered as a low-poly model of itself, like something out of a PlayStation game, before resolving into the usual banal visage. "They?"
"The twins." As always, Lillian had made determining the whereabouts of the three //geistschreiber// one of her first priorities in the new deadline. Alis had dropped nearly into Nascimbeni's lap, and once it had become obvious she was already on their side, the question and answer session had been brief and to the point. No small talk.
Alis grimaced. "Yes. Like I told you. They're dead."
"How?"
"Stopped being alive."
"I don't like your impression of me."
Alis shrugged noncommittally, and shone her flashlight over the walls. The colours on Lillian's screen brightened, and for a moment she wondered whether the light filters would be able to adjust for the sudden change, or if her companion had found a novel new way to betray her… but no, no, they held. It was difficult, judging how much paranoia was too much.
"How did they die?"
Alis sighed as she climbed the wire mesh stairs ahead, and glanced down at the pipes far below. Lillian looked, too. They were painted, her display informed her, to resemble tree roots. "Imogen killed Madchen, and Del Olmo killed Imogen."
Lillian stopped walking. //So much for doing this casually.// "What?"
Alis sighed again, deeper this time, and leaned on the railing at the top of the rise. Lillian waited below, so that the other woman's head was a few feet higher than hers. "I told you the //giftschreiber// are the biggest threat the Foundation is facing, now."
"Uh huh."
"Well, they're not an //existential// threat. They're a threat to the Veil. Because they haven't had the chance to really let loose with all barrels. Because—"
"They're fighting a civil war."
Alis regarded her curiously. "How'd you know that?"
"Extrapolation."
"Huh. Well, yeah. The sisters were on opposite sides of that. I always thought they were close. Too close, even. More committed to each other than the cause. Kind of like you guys."
Lillian let that pass without comment.
"I thought that right up until the day Imogen told her sister's heart to stop beating. She tried to blow up the Site, too. Did you know there's shaped charges… you did. Alright." Lillian had begun nodding immediately. "Well, it came as a shock to the rest of us. That was at the start of the troubles. Del Olmo took her in for questioning, the first time he came back, and nobody ever heard how that came out. Never saw her again."
"So how do you know she's dead?"
"I checked the AcroAbate logs, and cross-referenced with Imogen's last physical. Plenty of markers make the transition cleanly for the first few steps of titration. It was her."
"Dumped in the sump."
"Yeah."
"Well, that's cheery." She tried to picture Bernabé Del Olmo murdering a woman in cold blood, then immediately stopped trying because it was almost too easy. He'd been a gentle, curious, clever man, but he'd also been driven and mysterious. He could certainly kill, possessed or not, if the need was great.
They had that in common.
She'd learned that by murdering the exact same woman, only in her case, the murder had stuck.
That didn't bear thinking on, but it was also the obvious end of the tangent. As they made their way to the south end of the complex, Lillian found herself so starved for distraction that she nearly gave in and attempted actual small talk… before something that had been nipping at the coat-tails of her mind finally got up the gumption to take a sizeable bite, and she physically shuddered. "Okay. Wait. Why do you think he came back?"
"What, in 2002?" They were almost to the final tank.
"No. Last year. Why'd he come back to Site-43, if he was out there managing a war on three fronts?"
Alis shrugged as they approached the thick glass window of Plasmic Abatement Tank Bravo. "I dunno. Maybe they won?"
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To reach the foyer of Habitation and Sustenance, where the wreckage of the topside elevator glowed a cardinal red that would not fade, McInnis had to slog an interminable winding path through clogged arteries and dorm rooms with the connecting walls knocked out. He interrupted no less than four copulating couples, and one very complex octuple. He waded through garbage immaculately catalogued with an old-time label maker. He was compelled to dance a jig to pass one particular choke point, and while the vague memory of a scene from Monty Python contextualized the experience, it made it no less embarrassing. But the foyer itself? The foyer was safe.
Memetically speaking.
His SCRAMBLE set told him that nothing on the cubic surfaces was projecting a measurable memetic effect. Ibanez's set agreed. If anything was being projected here, humans and humanoids were outside of the target audience. They tuned down the filters a little, and what they saw on the walls and floor and ceiling was only marginally less striking than what they saw walking between, on top and beneath them.
The seal of Site-43 was gone, and in its place was a startlingly complex floral pattern branching out from the centre of the room and cobwebbing across the massive space, festooned with amber and carmine flowers. The walls featured a cavalcade of mythological creatures, lifelike despite their stylization, interacting and posing and most often gazing out at the inhabitants of the foyer. McInnis recognized the style immediately, of course: bright primary and secondary colours, separated by thick black lines, forms abstracted but recognizably themselves. Anishnaabe art, in various regional permutations.
Which made sense, since the Anishnaabe were here as well.
The people of Kettle Point had decamped in one of the Site's largest expanses of flat floorspace. Woolen blankets and painted tarpaulins designated living, eating, and congregating spaces. What he could only assume were family groups clustered around campfires on the tiles; the smoke detectors had been removed from the ceilings, and the sprinklers apparently rerouted, since there was no trace of the gas that had otherwise permeated the dorms. The electric lights had all been put out, though whether this was in approximation of night, required for some ritual purpose, or simply permanent, he couldn't tell. The ceiling was thick with smoke. The people were laughing, telling stories, singing, dancing, sitting in quiet contemplation, or extending the reach of their art. They paid no heed to their visitors, which also made sense, since they were already hosting much stranger ones.
The lords of the beneath-world strode between the fires, or sat close to them for warmth, copper tails flicking this way and that as a subtle reminder they were nobody's pets. Strange, spined things lurked at the edges of the firelight, their forms bending and distorting with each flicker and crackle. Tiny humanoid figures flitted from cover to cover, nimble fingers relieving the former occupants of Kettle Point of their belongings or else being brushed aside with good humour when they were noticed. At the central fire, a tall and beautiful woman with cloven hooves was speaking to a rapt audience of fellow females, who periodically shooed apparently entranced males away whenever they approached.
Every manner of anomalous creature known to inhabit Nexus-94 had come back to the stolen land to roost.
Perhaps literally; there was the occasional ominous rumbling, and a shuffling of what sounded like thousands of vast feathers, from the shaft of the ruined elevator.
The All-Sections Chief stood near the Hiring and Regulation offices. He was still wearing a silk dress shirt, his wing-tip shoes, and his tie. He hadn't changed a bit, except perhaps around the forehead and eyes.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/53-those-who-cant/DL_53_07_ASC_Happy.jpg]]
"He seems happy," Ibanez offered.
McInnis nodded.
They decided not to bother him.
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Never being wrong was less efficient than it sounded.
Not because being wrong conveyed more valuable lessons than being right; if that had been the case, Lillian would have contrived to be off base as often as possible.
No, it was because never being wrong meant considering the possibility that you //could// be wrong, before it mattered, and taking steps to make that eventuality also play out in your favour.
There was no vent in Archives and Revision, but the salt caves ran deep. The fact that she sent Harry suggested she thought it was possible, if not likely, that Del Olmo would be back there; of all their number, he was the one she most trusted to run back and fetch her rather than tackling the problem himself.
The fact that she sent Udo meant she still found their decaying cosplay entertaining.
The Replication Studies office had been painted with recursive images of itself. This both required an incredibly sophisticated understanding of both perspective and draftsmanship, and a painfully literal mind. The AAF-D approach was a good distance off, but the SCRAMBLE units suggested that where there was a mural of the Victims back in baseline, here there was a ceiling-to-floor splash of geometric shapes somehow collectively conveying the single semantic concept of Bernie Del Olmo.
"What I want to know," said Harry, "is how they programmed these things to know all that shit."
"Remember my part in making the memorial?" Udo was waiting for him at the double doors to the Salt Mines. "Breaking down memory cubes into paint? They did a lot of work reconstituting that stuff into code. Memes are almost entirely online now."
"Appropriately enough."
"Sure. So, they've got a massive database of effects meticulously documented. The goggles are just drawing on that."
He almost asked how it was possible that this database had been replicated, since it probably didn't exist in the same form in this deadline, and then he remembered Lillian's unique talent, and didn't. "Still."
He glanced back the way they'd come.
A man in a bathrobe was walking barefoot down the hall, leaving bloody footprints behind him. Another man with smaller feet followed, blue paint on his soles, matching the strides and flood filling the existing trail save for the outlines.
Harry shook his head. "It's amazing what those two got done in a few weeks, when a thousand of these idiots have accomplished less in half a year than the average half-decent street artist."
The furniture in the main office space hadn't been moved, but it had been covered over. Every surface, including the desks and chairs, was wrapped in a papier mâché of what was almost certainly his most dangerously anomalous documents, the ones kept in the dark on laundry lines and never viewed with the naked eye. It was a guess, but an educated one; the protective laminations were piled in a corner of the next room, glowing like radioactive waste.
The archives were full of sound, but neither of them could hear it. Their display would only offer a cryptic "Choral variations on the subject of the number five" as a description.
The sound wasn't being piped in, but the singers, if they were real, were invisible.
The actual salt mines had been ransacked, which was no mean feat. It would have taken hundreds of people weeks to dismantle the archives so fully. Boxes were strewn everywhere, tens of thousands of them. Many were piled up in makeshift art studios full of craft supplies. Several of the towering racks had been pushed over. One of the conveyors was running, feeding a single sheet at a time into a standing flame with agonizing slowness.
A woman in engineer's blues and nothing else — Harry looked away, but it looked like Joanna Bremmel — was crawling on all fours and placing printed sheets side by side on the floor, then standing up to scrutinize the results, presumably attempting to create ASCII art with found materials. He'd seen that on an //X-Files// episode with Melissa.
Melissa was also here.
"No," said Udo.
There was really no more eloquent way to put it.
Melissa Bradbury's body lay on a plinth, pale and unmoving. She was hooked up to an IV line and a catheter.
Knelt in front of her, hands held up in prayer and similarly augmented, was the rigid form of Philip Deering. He was wearing one of Harry's hoodies.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/53-those-who-cant/DL_53_08_Bradbury_Lie.jpg]]
Suddenly, Udo was in his arms. He was confused about that for a moment, before he realized he was bawling into the helmet intercom.
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"That ought to do it," Sokolsky sighed. "Next card should bring him out."
"Why are you sighing?" Alis asked.
"Because he's just going to conk himself again anyway. We might as well leave him unconscious, like the other one."
There had been a brief debate over what to do with Nascimbeni. In the end, his friends had decided that the difference between his case and Wettle's was that he had willingly taken himself out of the picture, so there was little point in bringing him back into it.
"Perhaps the rest will do him good," McInnis had suggested.
"And if he doesn't care enough to be here," Ibanez had added with considerably less consideration and a great deal of rancour, "he'd just get in the fucking way anyhow."
Of course, this didn't explain why waking up Wettle was a good idea; getting in the way was fully half of his contributions to any given scenario, with the other half being random nonsensical or uninformed interjections.
There definitely //was// a good reason to have him up and about by this coming September, but Sokolsky couldn't very well tell Alis that. She accepted the reason he did give her with a grunt, so the matter was settled for the moment.
Alis passed the final card in the new sequence in front of her husband's eyes, and he immediately began blinking. Then he groaned. Then he farted.
"Welcome back," she said, and she leaned forward and kissed him again.
"You do know this isn't really your husband," Sokolsky murmured when the kiss went on a little too long.
"Kinda hot, right?" Alis drew back; Wettle's lips kept moving, and he leaned towards her a little before flopping back on the bed in defeat.
"Oh," he said. "I feel like //shit.//"
"Has he always been this romantic?"
"You've been in a coma for a few months," Alis explained. "The whole Site is full of cognitohazards."
"Oh." Wettle nodded. "Okay. Why'd you wake me up?"
She frowned. "Do you not want to be awake?"
"Well, I mean… no? Not usually?" He shrugged, and winced again. "Ow. Ow, ow, //ow.// I don't think I can even //get// up."
"I've been exercising your arms and legs," she smiled. "Now that you're conscious, we can exercise the rest of you."
He squinted, and his brow furrowed, and for a moment Sokolsky thought he was trying to muster up a second fart. It wasn't until he spoke that it became apparent what all the extra effort had been for. "Now //that,// that I can //get up// for."
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++ 26 February
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Nascimbeni had completed an overview of the Site's systems long before he was removed from the equation, and the information he'd gathered made Lillian's first hunch the most obviously correct option. The deepest of the geothermal heat vents was producing no heat; according to a LIDAR survey he'd managed to get half-done before some loon noticed the drone, plucked it out of the air, and started using it to spatter the bedrock with paint like an industrial sprayer, the reason for this was a massive series of new caves carved beneath the existing ones. "Probably the water cats," he'd shrugged. "Back at work at last."
So, that was where Del Olmo would be hiding. Why he was hiding in the first place was anyone's guess; Lillian had her suspicions, but they didn't matter. What mattered was what she had to do, and secondarily, convincing the others to let her do it.
"No." Del hefted the Bremmelgun. "//This// is how we greet him. With a faceful of free radicals."
"You're the expert here, Lillian," McInnis said. "None of us knew Dr. Del Olmo the way you did—"
"I'd be the expert anyway," she snapped.
He held up a hand as he continued. "But Delfina is not incorrect. He is perhaps the single most dangerous manifestation of this entity we have yet faced. His power over our minds is likely to be near-total. A pre-emptive strike might be our best means of handling the threat he represents."
"This baby does wide-bore." Del patted the gun affectionally. "I can point it down the shaft and glass the whole thing into the abyss, if I want."
"I'm going to talk to him," Lillian said.
"But is it really him?" Harry tried to make eye contact with her, but her eyes were unfocused. "Lillian, there might not be anything in there you //can// talk to."
She spoke like she was trying to convince herself. "Noè said Ambrogi remembered being Ambrogi — remembered being baseline //and// deadline Ambrogi, even. We still don't really know the full extent of what Bernie was doing, his work against the //giftschreiber// cults. His work //for// them, in this tangent. We need to know everything there is to know about these people, and we know jack shit. Alis doesn't remember most of it, and she was never fully in the loop. My recovered memories from Site-06 just gave me new questions to ask. I'm going to ask them. And he's going to speak to me."
"Do you know that?" Udo asked. "Or are you just hoping?" Lillian didn't immediately respond, so the other woman continued. "I know what it's like to want to talk to a friend one last time. Someone who meant a lot to you—"
Lillian placed the palm of her hand over Udo's face, and Udo stopped talking. "This isn't an intervention. I don't need psychoanalysis or counselling, and if I did, none of you would be qualified to do it. I don't think //anyone// is qualified to pick my particular brain, in point of fact. But I am capable of doing that to //him.//"
"So you expect us to let you airdrop into Del Olmo's hell cylinder," Sokolsky crossed his arms, "so you can mind meld with him and learn the secrets of the universe, without the slightest expectation that he's actually going to erase the contents of your brain, or turn you into the world's most dangerous hand puppet." He shook his head. "I'm all for crazy schemes, Lillian, you know that, but there has to be some expectation of success first."
She tapped her temple. "Daniil, you already understand this. You must. I'm surprised I have to say it outright. We told you how the deadlines work. And the rest of you," she gestured, "already know." Alis had surmised it on her own, and Lillian had seen no reason not to confirm it. "Except Willie."
"Hmm?" Wettle was sitting in the corner, Alis brushing his wild tangle of greying blonde hair. "Are we including me now? //Ow.//"
"Sit still," Alis sighed.
"And sit silent," Lillian agreed. "But okay. Daniil. //Everybody.// The shit on the walls, that's one thing. Memory paste with cognitohazards in. Follows the usual rules, demigodly intervention notwithstanding. But anything that requires Bernie to use his actual brain to put the whammy on me, in person? Anything beyond the stuff we have existing countermeasures for? Whatever his Uncontained meme magic is? //That isn't going to work on me.//"
There was a beat.
"Wirth," Udo said.
Lillian snapped her fingers. "Wirth. He couldn't possess any of us. Mukami's talking powers barely worked on us either. I'm not even convinced that Ambrogi or Markey would have been able to stick their sticky fingers through our skin. //Bernie can't hurt me.//"
"You know that isn't true," Harry said very softly.
She ignored him.
"On the subject of obvious considerations, however," McInnis said after a moment of silence, "there is the matter of September."
Lillian pursed her lips.
"By which I mean—"
"I know what you mean," she growled.
"What does he mean?" Wettle asked. "OW!"
"Sit //still.//"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/53-those-who-cant/DL_53_10_Sokolsky_Verdict.jpg]]
"He means," Sokolsky said, "that no matter how well Lillian's conversation goes, before September the eighth, 2017, Bernabé Del Olmo must die."
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"I'm surprised it has a low setting,"
"Right?" Del gently swung the gun back and forth, carving out the new tunnel. "Bremmel's a go boom or go home sort of engineer."
"No, it makes sense." Lillian's expression was neutral, faraway. She kept putting her hand in her breast pocket, and sighing. She was preparing. "Sure, he's a bombastic bastard, but he's also had a love affair with feature creep that goes back to before we were born. I know for a fact that the dialling-down feature only got iterated at the end, when he couldn't think of anything more explosive to add."
Sokolsky tapped one of Nascimbeni's structural resonators against the bedrock, and checked the reading. They were tunneling through bedrock, and being very careful not to create a path that was in any danger of collapsing — particularly since there was a very good chance they would need to flee back down it in the near future. Mostly the cuts were so smooth, and the rock so solid, that the curvature kept everything upright without the need for supportive stanchions. It wasn't all the gun doing that heavy lifting; Del was, after all, a trained engineer herself. Occasionally she left standing columns where the stone was more prone to crumbling or other deformation, or just because she felt it had been too long since the last one. In the far distance, an air pump was whining as it pressed the Site's atmosphere down into this new offshoot of the tunnels the Mishepeshu had been carving beneath the redirected shaft.
They were almost there, and Del had dialled the gun down so low that it was barely audible as it obliterated the stone ahead. What was left behind was smooth, shiny, and cool to the touch. A marvel of science.
Harry wanted to scream. He wondered how far it would echo, if he did.
He placed a hand on Lillian's shoulder, and was a little surprised when instead of swatting it away, she reached up and clasped it with her own.
Sokolsky placed the device again, read the display, and tapped Del on the back. She glanced at him, and he pointed at the uncarved road ahead.
She nodded.
He smiled encouragingly at them — as far as his face and personality allowed — and then turned and walked away.
This wasn't his fight.
As far as Lillian was concerned, it was only hers. But Harry suspected it wouldn't go down quite that way. Nevertheless, it had been decided that she would be the one to make the first overture. Del had assured everyone that if it showed even the faintest trace of going south, she was going to put a targeted ray right through the rogue memeticist's forehead, and set them on the path to a happy September without remorse.
Harry knew Lillian would almost certainly position herself so that this was impossible, but he didn't say so. He trusted his best friend's motives and capabilities, and anyway, Del probably knew it just as well.
The little agent carved a wider space for them all to stand abreast, which took a few more minutes, then looked up at Lillian with what might have been the grimmest face Harry had ever seen on her. She was waiting for the order to proceed.
Lillian nodded, and moved to stand beside her.
Del took careful aim, and removed the final obstacle between them and the architect of Site-43's museum of metamodern art.
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He was leaning on the far wall of the enormous cylinder, pounding his fists into a slurry of wet blue paint. He was weeping. The floor was littered with foul-smelling debris in every colour of the spectrum, bones and gristle sticking up out of the slop piles, surrounded by paint-spackled flies. Lillian tore her eyes off Del Olmo's tattered meme coat and looked up, up, up, and saw trails of blood and paint running down from the observation railing some two hundred metres above. She wondered if the corpses surrounding her on all sides had belonged to amateur painters whose scaffolds had failed, or if they'd simply been making very simple statements on the artistic power of absolute freedom by leaping to their deaths on purpose.
Not that it mattered.
Nothing else mattered but the hunched and weeping figure which had not so much as twitched when the wall opposite him had suddenly evaporated, and Lillian had walked into his final exhibit.
He had been painting, she saw. The entire circumference of the shaft bottom was covered in breathtakingly beautiful Mandelbrot sets; the SCRAMBLE unit dulled the edges and abstracted the contents, but even then she could tell that she was looking at the work of the master, not the students. The topographical display showed her where niches had been hammered into the rock, to allow Del Olmo to climb up higher and continue his //pìece de résistance,// which towered over her to a height of about fifty metres. She couldn't imagine how long it would have taken him to create it, or how dangerous the process must have been. His coat was covered in gore, however, and she suspected he'd fallen down a few times in the process. Perhaps he'd arranged the viscera to soften the blow.
It was hard to see him now, between what the unit was doing and what her eyes were doing, so she took a deep breath and corrected both issues.
"What are you //doing,//" Harry hissed from behind her as she placed the unit on the bedrock floor, and finished wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. At the sound, Del Olmo finally turned to face her.
She stood up, and met his eyes for the first time as truly herself.
"You," he said. His voice was weak. He was visibly emaciated, his hair an irrecoverable disaster, his beard long and covered with dried food — there were empty cans all over the floor, she saw now, and a tarpaulin with a pile of clothes in the middle that he must have been using for a bed and pillow. "You."
She summoned a smile from somewhere deep down inside of her, some place of affection that couldn't be touched by the nightmarish scene and the knowledge of what it must mean, and nodded. "Yes. It's me, Bernie."
"//You.//" He blinked, rapidly. "It //would// be you. Of course. Who else?" He laughed, and even as a brief burst of noise, it sounded unhinged. Lost. "Who else."
She reached into her coat's breast pocket. He flinched, and she kept the hand in place. "Don't be afraid. It's just me. I'm here."
She hoped the others had the sense to stay put. She hoped they weren't filing in behind her. She'd told them not to, but it was sometimes difficult to decide between what someone said they needed, and what you thought you had to do.
Del Olmo extended his arms and raised his hands, palms up, to encompass the extent of his creation. "Welcome to my failure, brother."
In an instant, the smell of the place, the oppressive glow of the fractals on the wall — her conditioning had defeated their insidious intent immediately, but now they seemed to be throbbing like veins — and the sting of her tears nearly doubled her over. She hunched down, clutching her stomach, and in the instant that she knew what this must look like to the others, she saw Del Olmo's head snap up, and she knew they had come in to rescue her.
She spun on her heels, still crouched, and held out a hand. "No!" she hissed. "I'm fine! I'm fine."
Harry, Del, and Udo were standing in the breach. Udo had one hand in her reagents pouch. Del had the gun fixed on Del Olmo. Harry, bless him, was wielding Alis' pistol as if he knew how to use it.
"Brother," Del Olmo rasped. "Brother, brother… and do I see you back there, too, brothers?"
McInnis appeared behind his subordinates. He nodded without obvious import.
Del Olmo laughed. "Your cowardliness is in retreat." Wettle was almost certainly fleeing back up the tunnel, after Sokolsky. "Can't stand to see what we've become. I understand." And then, he was weeping again. "Oh, I //understand.//"
Lillian heard the internal rotors on the gun spinning up. Her left hand was still in her pocket. She raised her right hand, both to warn Del and plead with Del Olmo. "Bernie. Come back up with us. We can still fix this."
He laughed again, harsher this time but no less manic. "Fix this? FIX this?! It was never anything but broken. All these people were only ever BROKEN. Broken is their NATURAL STATE!" He reached up and tore at his hair, and some of it came out. "They're //useless,// brother. Useless. Useless. USELESS."
"Ber—"
"USELESS!" Del Olmo screamed. "All FUCKING USELESS! I took off their blinders, I showed them the light, and what do they do? Nothing. NOTHING! Sex and drugs and rock n' roll, statues of Gary fucking Busey that bring a tear to your eye. Fucking fucking //trash!//" He tried to throw his coat off, but the sleeves caught, and he stalked around the edge of the shaft with it hanging around his waist like a ridiculous half-cape.
"Bernie…" Lillian pleaded.
"It's over, brother." Del Olmo was breathing fast and heavy, flapping his arms uselessly, beard shiny with fresh spittle and eyes wild with rage and hurt. "It's over, and there's worse to come after."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/53-those-who-cant/DL_53_12_Del_Olmo_Mad.jpg]]
"I'm not your brother, Bernie." Lillian took her hand out of her pocket, and opened the envelope she was holding with her other hand. Her coat slipped off to the floor. "I'm not your brother. This is who I am. You said I could show you when the time was right." She held it up; the pen sketch looked like a red smear through her shining eyes, but she hoped he could see it. She needed him to see it. "You said I'd //know// when the time was right. Please look. And then //let me help you.//"
"I'm not your fucking //Bernie,//" he snarled, "and you can't even help yourselves. This is what you do with boundless creativity? I paint the world with inspiration, and you spit in my //fucking// face! You don't deserve those incredible machines inside your heads." He slammed his index finger into his skull until the bones audibly //snap//ped, and he didn't even seem to notice. "The gears could sing, but instead they sound like a dot-matrix printer haemorrhaging out a black-and-white photo of Paris Hilton on fucking //cardboard!//" He was close enough now that she could feel the spit landing on her scalp.
"Please," she almost wept, hand still outstretched. "Please //look at me.//"
He looked at the sketch. He shook his head. He shook his head again, harder. There was nothing in his eyes that looked like him. "Crude. Inartistic. //Amateurish.//" He walked over to her — she heard the gun whine — and swatted the paper from her hand with a rough flourish of his coat. She caught a glimpse of something sudden and impossible inside the lining…
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/53-those-who-cant/DL_53_13_Lillian_Bowled.jpg]]
…and he was gone.
"FUCK!" Del screamed. "What the fuck was that?!"
"The delay," Udo was saying. "It worked //through// the delay. I can't see anything."
"Some assistance please," said McInnis. It sounded like a pained grunt.
There was more shouting behind her, but Lillian didn't hear any of it. Her ears were ringing from the haemorrhaging of her throat, and a keening like nothing she had ever let loose before in her life.
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There was no time to mince words, and no time for compassion. "Get her up," Ibanez told Harry, and she shoved him into the shaft. McInnis was on the ground too, but he only looked winded, not wounded. She hefted the gun, and ran down the tunnel.
Whatever Del Olmo had done, her vision had already cleared. She could only hope he hadn't affected her more deeply, in ways she couldn't sense. If he had, well, they were fucked anyway. So she ran, and she ran, and she vaulted over the prone form of William Wettle who lay face-down on the stone, and she heard a sort of //crunch// as she misjudged the distance and put her steel toes on his collarbone, and he screamed in agony, which meant he'd probably fallen down as per usual as opposed to Del Olmo //putting// him down, so that was good, and she ran.
She couldn't hear it herself through the muffling effect of the SCRAMBLE unit and the pounding in her ears from the sprint, but her display reported footsteps behind her. Keeping pace. That would be McInnis, with a second wind; the Director had always been in immaculate shape, was the Site swimming champion, had access to health technology even the other Sampis did not. She still wasn't sure what good he'd be when they caught up with Del Olmo. All he could do was talk, and talking had already failed.
As though able to hear her thoughts, he spoke over the SCRAMBLE intercom. "I may still be able to convince him. I have… certain suspicions… about my faculties. Of speech." He didn't sound like he was tiring, but even an athlete needed to take a breath now and then.
She'd had suspicions of her own, but this was not how she wanted to test them out. She didn't say anything. They'd keep their options open.
Back into H&S. She caught a glimpse of bloody dazzle coat whipping around a corner, and resisted the urge to fire. She could have taken him, and the entire dorm block, out in a single shot, but destroying the facility's superstructure was a bad idea. It was how they'd gotten into this situation in the first place. So she kept running, and McInnis kept up.
"Wait!" a tortured voice wailed from farther behind, and she heard the Director's footsteps falter. Ibanez didn't wait. She plunged into the foyer.
The foyer was chaos. They'd made no effort to move the First Nations out of their cozy corner; it hadn't been the most practical of their several reasons, but the fact that Harry had pointed out the uncomfortable historical parallels had been one of the most convincing. The mythological creatures were flitting here and there, not obviously under any sort of compulsion effect but merely reacting to the sudden frenzy of activity from their human counterparts. The room was in an uproar, the people were howling and clawing at their eyes, the fires were scattered and ash and sparks filled the air. The ceiling tiles were ablaze. She kept running.
"He tried to take… the elevator," McInnis said in her ear. She still couldn't hear his footsteps, nor see them reported on the screen, but then she was leaving rather a lot of activity behind her right now.
"Must've been down there… a long time," she agreed. An animal screech reverberated down the empty elevator shaft as if in response, and the floor briefly shook. "Only… one way out… now."
The nearest subway station was the connector between Health and Pathology, Psychology and Parapsychology, and the dorms. It fed into the central terminal that had once linked up with AAF-D, and the Blue Line that led to the lake. Her SCRAMBLE unit flashed a whole panoply of warnings as she vaulted the turnstile, and she closed her eyes until the beeping ceased. When it did, and she reopened them, she was almost to the train. The doors were open. There were voices shouting behind her. The walls were painted with photorealistic depictions of the staff of Site-43, living and dead, and even through the filters she could feel their eyes turning to watch her as she ran. The train was cerulean blue, soothing and unbroken by detail. She felt her legs giving out. She was stalling. Something… was…
She pushed through it. She leapt, she slid, she made it through the doors. She threw herself up the nearest pole, and hammered the button that would hold the doors for the others. Not because she needed them. Because she didn't want them left behind as the Site destroyed itself in Del Olmo's wake.
She took a moment to catch her breath, and there was a clattering of feet. Then the doors swished shut, and she knew her target had made it into the engine. She took a deep breath—
Lillian crouched down in front of her, face streaked and soaked. "He's mine," she said. "It still has to be me."
Ibanez pressed forward and kissed her, on the lips. When she drew back, the other woman's blue eyes shining with fluorescent light reminded her of the old Windows 95 error screen. "It's not all about you. Remember?"
She left Lillian still crouched on the floor, shell shocked, and saw that McInnis, Sokolsky, and Udo had made it onto the train. "Harry?" she rasped, only now realizing that her lungs were practically on fire from the long haul.
"Missed the doors," Lillian muttered. "Out of shape."
"Caught the caboose, though." Harry staggered from the back of the train, wheezing. "Is that… what it's called?"
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It wasn't a long ride, but it felt like one.
The math was pretty simple. They all needed time to get their strength back, and Del Olmo had almost certainly left traps for them down the length of the train. All the doors would open at once, and there was nothing he could do to stop that, so everything would be equal when they arrived at the station. So, they waited.
"Good thing the windows are painted over," Harry said. "I'm sure there's awful shit on the tunnel walls, too."
Lillian grunted.
"It'll take a long time to clear," Udo agreed. "But we've got the best experts in the world."
Lillian grunted again.
"I'm confident we'll be able to cure the rem—" McInnis began.
"Would you all shut the fuck up?" Lillian shouted.
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He was already gone when Del sprang from the train. It wasn't difficult to see why, though she of course didn't, since she'd already sprinted far ahead. Lillian staggered out almost drunkenly, heart still pounding, and saw that Del Olmo had actually not spent most of the ride preparing nasty surprises for anyone who came looking for him, but instead simply smashing the engine's right-hand window and clearing the glass so he could escape before the train had stopped. There was blood on the floor in a nasty smear, like someone had dropped and rolled, and streaks leading off to the turnstiles. This time Del slid under instead of going over, using the blood to grease her way, and she was at the far door before the rest of them reached the checkpoint.
Harry was beside her. "You don't need to be there."
She took his hand, and as they passed through the stile, pulled him into a run. "Allan and Harry at Grand Cove."
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It was a dense reference, equal parts //Star Trek: The Next Generation// and the vigil in his car as they had waited for Scout to pass, but he got it immediately, as she'd known he would. He squeezed her hand, and nodded.
She'd put her SCRAMBLE unit back on, which was good. AAF-A's lower levels were filled with fractals that read, according to the filters, like an early draft of the masterpiece Del Olmo had been assembling in the geothermal shaft. "This was all him," said Lillian. Her voice was very tired. "He did all of this."
"Reynders," said Udo. "I wonder what—"
There was a scream from ahead, and suddenly Udo was in front of them. She was short, but her legs were long enough to do the job with the sudden burst of energy, and she made it around the next corner before the others. She was already kneeling beside Del, who was sprawled on the floor and thrashing and screaming, when Harry's SCRAMBLE set reported the contents of the latest set of murals.
A tree-lined landscape on fire, an army of female dwarfs mowing down a fleeing crowd of duplicates of Ana Mukami. The sigil of the Chaos Insurgency was everywhere. The floor was a turbulent pool of red water.
"Zevala in abstract," McInnis noted.
Del's helmet was off. She must have been ambushed at the corner.
"Stay with her." Lillian pushed past Udo, and tried to shake Harry's hand off. He didn't let go, and with a grunt of frustration she pulled him forward again. They left the thaumaturge cradling the agent's head in her lap, and headed for the stairs.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
They could hear the man babbling in the distance as they climbed through a gaseous mixture that made them see apparitions on the walls, ascending alongside them. Or maybe it was just mist, and the apparitions were actually there. They heard weeping and cursing as they reached the ground floor, where a portrait gallery of obscene proportions stretched from junction to junction to junction, none of it apparently anomalous. Del Olmo's lab, or teaching hospital, perhaps. As they rounded the final bend one of the portraits seemed to leap off the wall and attack them, but it was only that the fleeing memeticist had tore it off the wall and flung it as one final inelegant obstacle before the foyer, and the front door.
They didn't even see what there was in the foyer. They simply ran, and Lillian was now far too out of breath to even shout. She wasn't sure what she would have shouted if she could.
The parking lot was
The grass was
The trees were
She unfocused her eyes.
Del Olmo stood in the middle of
Del Olmo stood. The landscape around them was
Del Olmo stood. She looked at him. She didn't look at anything else. Everything else was
"I tried," he rasped. "I tried. But they wouldn't listen. They //never// listen."
She let go of Harry's hand, and this time he allowed it. She approached her ragged mentor. //I'm listening, Bernie,// she wanted to say. //It's me.//
But she knew it wouldn't make any difference.
The sky was…
…red.
She could see the sky. It was red. She looked down at the ground, which
No. Whatever was going on in the topside exclusion area, it covered everything below the horizon, and very little above.
She wondered why the sky was red.
Del Olmo was backing away from her. "They found us," he said. Tears were flowing freely down his face. "Everywhere, they found us. I thought it was our time, but it was //theirs.// Because of //you.//"
She couldn't begin to imagine what he meant. //Who found you? Because of me? Because of me, or what you think I am?// She didn't ask. She kept walking towards him, hands extended in the vain hope he would take them.
He kept staggering back, towards the edge of the parking lot, to where… //You're a memeticist. Be a memeticist.// To where there would normally be grass. To where there would normally be a hill, dropping down to where the interdiction zone would normally end. She realized that she could actually see the trees in that direction, and the outline of the lake. Perhaps when they crested the next
Perhaps when they had gone a little farther, she might be able to see the grass and scrub. But first… "Be careful," she said. Pleaded. "You're going to fall."
He laughed. "I've already fallen. Like all the others. I crawled back here to make something beautiful in a fallen world. I saw the precipice. I saw the //claws.// I couldn't cut off my thumb to spite your race."
She wanted to lunge forward, to pull him away from the edge, but she didn't. She stopped advancing, but he didn't stop retreating.
"I was better than all of them," he whispered. But she still heard it. The air was
The AIR WAS
VERY STILL, beneath the red sky. The others were silent. She was silent.
Del Olmo was sobbing.
"You were," she said. "You were the best."
He smiled, and then he fell.
He rolled roughly down the
He rolled roughly, bouncing and cracking his limbs, screaming in agony all the way down. He rolled, and he staggered to his feet and stumbled, and then she could see his surroundings in crystal clarity, because he stood beyond whatever memetic monstrosity had blotted out everything but the simplest details of the interdiction zone. He was free.
He stood there, shaking, staring around himself uncertainly, and then he looked up at her, standing on the edge and looking down at him.
Their eyes met.
He raised a hand.
"L—" he said.
And then a gout of blood burst out of his mouth, and his throat cracked open like a hatching egg, and his spine snapped back, and he issued a gurgling blood howl into the red sky as glossy black limbs split his skin in five places, and he died, and the thing which had half-grown from his living body found its footing with the awkward balance of his corpse as its centre of mass, and it staggered off into the treeline like a blind steer.
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous | previous-title=True Art is Cognitohazardous
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/54-not-ready-for-prime-time | next-title=Not Ready for Prime Time
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub | hub-title=The Breach Goes On: Deadlined
]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
[[<]]
Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:
Delfina Ibanez: "Entrega de Libros y Casas" and "Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2" by Romina Santarelli, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322
https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653
Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023
Noè Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822 and
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992
Wynn Rydderech: "State Electricity Commission, Group of Four Men, Victoria, May 1940,” two images, courtesy State Electricity Commission of Australia, public domain:
https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547629
https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547640
Daniil Sokolsky: "Brett - 08-08-08" and "Waterpitts, 29-09-12" by Brett Jordan, both released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625
https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842
William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260 and
"Portrait of Samuel Johnson" by Joshua Reynolds, painting, in the public domain
> **Filename:** Everything!
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-09-26T23:14:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"chaos-insurgency",
"chase",
"chief-ibanez",
"deadlined",
"doctor-blank",
"doctor-lillihammer",
"doctor-okorie",
"doctor-sokolsky",
"doctor-wettle",
"fantasy",
"giftschreiber",
"horror",
"illustrated",
"on-guard-43",
"post-apocalyptic",
"science-fiction",
"surrealism",
"tale",
"vikander-kneed"
] |
Those Who Can't - SCP Foundation
| 45
|
[
"52-true-art-is-cognitohazardous",
"deadlined-hub",
"54-not-ready-for-prime-time",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"vikander-kneed-technical-media-hub",
"deadlined-hub",
"chaos-insurgency-hub"
] |
[
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"
] |
1456939809
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/53-those-who-cant
|
|
54-not-ready-for-prime-time
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
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--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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<p><strong>Not Ready for Prime Time</strong><br/>
But it waits for no one.</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank">More by this author!</a></strong></p>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>Not Ready for Prime Time</span></h1>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #990011">2017</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>27 February</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong>Timeline 5243-D</strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>They stared at the tape recorder.</p>
<p>Lillian cleared her throat. When she spoke, it was hoarse. Barely more than a whisper. "Turns out it really isn't always about me. Or us. Or… the thing. Sometimes."</p>
<p>Harry held her hand. Sokolsky gripped her shoulder. She didn't resist.</p>
<p>"Sorry," said Wettle. "What are we doing?"</p>
<p>McInnis tapped the recorder. "This is Dr. Ngo. We're recording a debriefing."</p>
<p>"Okay." Wettle nodded. "Why?"</p>
<p>Ibanez sighed. "Because odds are good we don't fix what's wrong with the superstructure before September, and we end up in a second deadline in a row. So we're getting our stories straight, on the record, and then Lillian can remember them. For later."</p>
<p>"I was wondering about that." Udo was holding Ibanez's hand. The MTF chief was treating it casually, like it was nothing. "If Lillian's just going to memorize this anyway—"</p>
<p>"Because," Lillian answered before the question was fully posed, "either we'd all be pretending to talk to someone who isn't here <em>without</em> a prop to make it less nonsensical, or we'd be talking to <em>me,</em> or I guess we'd just be talking to <em>each other.</em>"</p>
<p>"Would that be so bad?" Harry asked.</p>
<p>Lillian shrugged. "I like the structure. I… I like the structure. We're sticking with it."</p>
<p>"Okay."</p>
<p>"And maybe we do fix the Breach in September, and nothing else happens between now and then, and we can just hand Nhung the tape and go back to our rooms and cry."</p>
<p>He squeezed her hand. "Okay."</p>
<div class="Ngo">
<p><em><Recording begins.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> So. Adventures in the headacheverse.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> I've never seen a dimension-hopping show where all the dimensions suck before. It's been very enlightening.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> Where should we begin?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> I'll take point. Feel free to interject with your meaningless humanistic ramblings as the mood strikes you, everyone else.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Count on it.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> So. All of the Site was, and most of the Site still is, wall-to-wall memetic nonsense. If there's an exposed panel, no matter where it is, it's got a fancy mind-virus painted on it.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> All the world a VW Microbus.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> If it hadn't been for the decon tunnel attached to my office, we'd have been properly fucked. It's literally impossible to have a creative thought in there.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> We call it the Wettle Tube.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Nobody calls it that.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> I do.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> My point exactly.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> And mine.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> Gentlemen, we only have the one tape.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> Those paintings on the walls have a definite effect on people. A very specific definite effect, with wildly variable results. Would you call them de-inhibitors, Lillian?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> I'd call them cognition divergence vectors. I've already got the paper half-written in my mind.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Explain it to us <em>froufrou</em> hard and social scientists.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> I'm not <em>froufrou,</em> you're <em>froufrou.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> The effect of these weird, artistic fractal-things, these lovely wall-mounted cognitohazards, is to completely transform the way people express themselves. They become incapable of directing their actions towards a specific, predetermined goal. Every problem becomes the branching-off point for a constellation of possible actions, none more attractive than any other. They became curious as cats, and creative as… I don't know.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> Pr—</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Prodigies. Yeah. They became prodigies. Completely free of any inhibitions to their creative impulses. Like a hippie arts commune on every psychedelic substance known to humankind.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Have you ever had a day when you wanted to punch literally every person you met? Imagine a whole year of that.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> I hope we're not forced to endure this for the entire year.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> Depends on a lot of things.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> But surely the Foundation will respond soon? If an entire Site went offline…</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> It's a lot more complicated than that, Harry.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> The landscape outside the Site, topside, is one big cognitohazard. Something in the arrangement of the land, the trees, the structures. You saw.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> I don't know what I saw.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Exactly. You couldn't even focus on it. It's all a garbled mess. Antimemetic. I was able to get a few glimpses of the last few uploads to SCiPnet that happened before we went under, and you know what the Foundation did? Right before forgetting we even existed?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> They classified us as an SCP, I'll bet.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> And you'd get to keep your money. Lightning round: guess which number we got.</p>
<p><em><Dr. Okorie stifles a laugh.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Yep.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> 5243?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> 5243. The final log entries suggest they were having trouble getting the Dep of Con officers to remember there was even a file. But before that, you can see the effects the topside contamination was having on everybody. Supplies stopped coming in. So did comms. We were noetically isolated from the rest of humanity. I'm assuming that was Bernie…</p>
<p><Silence on recording.></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Fuck. Sorry.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> It's okay.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Shut up. I'm assuming that was something Bernie did before he came down here for good, putting a cap on top of the bottle. Sealing it off. Setting up his little culture-culture.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> The Lake Huron Petri Dish.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> And it worked. It really, really worked. In ways that shouldn't even have been possible.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> Such as?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> It was bad enough to work on electronic eyes. Foundation Mission Control tasked a satellite to fly over 43, and you know what happened? The satellite's OS became an AI and de-orbited itself, just to see what would happen.</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> It sent a single message of explanation before it burned up in atmo: "TO FEEL THE FIRE."</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> Jesus Christ.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Three MTF teams came in by helicopter, and immediately started playing tag in the forest.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> I suspect the First Nations came into the Site at this point, to avoid them.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Another squad came in on foot, according to the security feeds that haven't been replaced with amateur art films. Anybody standing topside stood a good chance of hearing that orgy even a click underground, if they put their ear to the elevator.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> And that's not even starting on what they did with the subjects in containment.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> Sorry, are we just ignoring the thing that happened outside? Are we not going to talk about that?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Let Lillian have a few—</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> I don't need protecting, Harry. And I don't need to get a run up at it. I have no idea what happened out there. I'll be running it over and over in my mind for a long time, so for now, let's focus on the things we do understand.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Okay. Sorry.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> It's fine. It's fine.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> So, the skips. A lot of the dangerous ones, the ones we can never seem to dismantle or destroy… they dismantled, or destroyed, and then repurposed for their little projects. Maybe there really was something to that non-linear thinking. Some of what they did, I think we might be able to reproduce. I mean, back home. The dismantling, not the art.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Please, not the art.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> I'm afraid the Decommissioning Department would never allow it anyway.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> Sure. So anyway, far as I've been able to get out of the camera logs, the skips that had minds better than a cat's took one look at the fractals and became just as wonky as the general staff. I'm really looking forward to the death of this anomaly, but if it's given me one thing in my life, it's the image of a carnivorous tree spirit painting a pastoral landscape on its cell wall. With the door wide open.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> <em><loudly></em> You're absolutely sure I can't take another painkiller yet.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> I'm surprised it affected him so badly. I haven't noticed any side-effects.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> He uses more of his brain than you do. And it wasn't the same thing anyway.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> You should have left me under.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> This is where we account for ourselves, Noè. Super looking forward to hearing how you do that.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> For the record, Chief Nascimbeni voluntarily placed himself into a memetic coma. Dr. Wettle, on the other hand, immediately looked at one of the murals when we arrived.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> We've had training for this, Willie.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Whatever. I got a few months off, and a lot of crazy dreams. Filled a whole sketchbook since I woke up, great stuff. Can we attach some of it to the report?</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> No.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Absolutely not.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Share it with your wife.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> I didn't have any dreams.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> You seem a lot less on-edge than before.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> He ought to. He didn't see half a spider come out of anybody.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> We should speak more about the memetic effects on the staff. It might be useful for handling the <em>giftschreiber,</em> going forward.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> Sure. They weren't very dangerous, mostly.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Tell that to Melissa and Phil. If they ever…</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Hey.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> It's…</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Yeah, I know. It's fine.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> Melissa could easily have done that to herself. She wouldn't be the only one engaging in self-harm for the artistic merit. A few folks got really radical ideas about gravity; we've got elevator shafts, geothermal shafts, just a lot of shafts in general perfectly suited to testing that shit out. Wheeeee!</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> Splat.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> That's callous.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> Who cares? By the time anyone hears this, they'll all be alive again.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> It was a lot like a carnival crowd hit with a truckload of aerosolized PCP. You wouldn't want to walk the halls without an escort.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> An escort with a fuckoff huge blaster gun.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> So the question is, what do we do now? Lillian and Dr. Sokolsky got PROJECT SCRAMBLE working—</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Thanks for getting that plug in there.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> So do we go topside? Get out of the exclusion zone, and warn the Foundation?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Given the whole red sky thing, I figure they probably know.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> We need to be very careful with our next steps. We may not possess any knowledge germane to the situation they're facing out there.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> It never occurred to me that there would be a worldwide issue that wasn't related to the Breach. Bernie… I don't know if this was what he meant, but it sounds like he was saying that the <em>giftschreiber</em> were trying to do their thing, and something worse beat them down. I…</p>
<p><em><Dr. Lillihammer clears her throat.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> I think I'll need a recharge before I tackle something worse than this.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> At the moment, it's possible we don't know anything the wider Foundation hasn't already figured out. They may be far ahead of us. And there is also the question of whether or not it matters.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> What do you mean?</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> Whatever they're facing is likely unrelated to the question of the deadlines. It might be more prudent, if morally distasteful, for us to ride out the storm in our ready-made bunker.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> Not so ready-made.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> What do <em>you</em> mean?</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> The hydroponics are trashed. A lot of our stores went into that weird army of tin can robots somebody—</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Bremmel.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> Probably Bremmel—</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Definitely Bremmel.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> DEFINITELY BREMMEL, then, welded together. I don't think we have the supplies to keep all these people alive without getting in touch with the rest of the company.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> Well, we're going to have a hell of a hard time fixing the topside problem if we need to get back out into the world.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> Assuming there's still a world to get back into.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> They would've tried using SCRAMBLE to get into the compound, and it obviously didn't work. If we get out, don't tell them anything useful, don't get any supplies, and then afterwards can't get back in…</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> At least you'd be out.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> "…and then couldn't get back in."</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> So? Why would you want to get back in?</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> TO CONTAIN 5243 AND STOP THE FUCKING WORLD FROM ENDING, YOU GODDAMN FUCKING —</p>
<p><em><Recording ends.></em></p>
</div>
<div class="Ngo">
<p><em><Recording resumes.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> I'm fine. I'm <em>fine.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> It's nice to know you care.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> I'm going to murder you.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> <em><clearing throat></em> So… Del Olmo. The Uncontained. What was he really up to, down here? And why? That might, I don't know. Tell us something about what we're facing.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Don't get big ideas, grease monkey.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> I was looking at some of the footage with Del. Chief Ibanez. Sorry, the names are confusing.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> You were being unprofessional anyway.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> We're in an unprofessional setting. It looks to me like Del Olmo didn't offer the other people direction, precisely, but he was definitely urging them on, and even in the images that weren't made from memories he stole and splatted on the walls, the ones that were just pure expression, it looked like he was… conducting? Yeah. Like a conductor.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> More like a superconductor.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> Sure. It was like they were trying to express something that was <em>his.</em> Like they could… see what he wanted, somehow, in their minds. He had a vision, but he was interested in multiple perspectives on it.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> But it never worked.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> Apparently not. From the uncorrupted cam footage I've managed to scrounge, looks like half the time they ended up just grabbing their heads and passing out. Eventually he changed tack, and started just watching to see what they'd do on their own.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> I think he wanted to bring out the creativity in everyone. Whatever was inside of him, it was driving him to… express. Express himself. Help everyone else express themselves. Whatever that meant. It means music, to some of them.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> Sculpture.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Sex.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> But no-one's trying to express themselves in such a way as to inhibit the expression of others. There's something to that, I think.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> And it's a good thing, too, because if they'd been able to put their heads together, who knows what they could've built.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> I'm picturing a nuclear-grade paintball gun, myself.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> I wonder if there was any function to the work he was preparing in the geothermal shaft, or whether that was simply the last gasp of his own creativity.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> A cry for help, I thought.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Or a legacy.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> Looks more like the gullet of a Picasso monster.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> I can't believe you looked at it.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> I thought maybe it would help with the FUCKING HEADACHE.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> Bernie must have done a lot of gore-scraping before he laid down the basecoat.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Not this again.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> His intentions seemed less malefic than the norm, did they not? Very different from the way the other aspects have behaved.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> I think he ran out of hope. He thought he was giving us a gift.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> Whatever he was.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> I do have a theory about that.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> Yes?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> Yes.</p>
<p><em><Recording ends.></em></p>
</div>
<p>When the debriefing, such as it was, was over, they filtered out of the Lillian's office to attend to their various tasks. Harry offered to remain, but she told him to go check on Melissa, or make out with her doppelganger, or whatever else he needed to do. Udo, overhearing at the exterior door, contrived not to make a sour face.</p>
<p>Lillian slumped against the curved edge of the tunnel, closed her eyes, and considered.</p>
<p>She fumbled for her breast pocket, and removed the envelope again.</p>
<p>She sat there for a while, holding the sketch in her hand, before standing up and returning to her office.</p>
<p>It would go in one of the filing cabinets, she didn't know which. She'd do the same thing again back in baseline.</p>
<p>Perhaps she'd miss the folder, and the envelope would fall behind the drawer, lying on the bottom of the cabinet until she found it again years later.</p>
<p>Perhaps she never would.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc3"><span>28 February</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>The secure comms room in the Director's Complex had been kept neat and tidy, presumably by Zulfikar. He'd been one of Ibanez's most recent captures, covered in cuts and bruises and glowing in the dark; a few minutes' observation was all it took to tell them he'd probably never be the same. McInnis was going to need a new assistant, and the pickings right now were slim.</p>
<p>So, alone, he sat down at the console and tapped out his command code.</p>
<p>Nothing happened.</p>
<p>The signal transmitted, of that he was certain. The tower at AAF-A was still up, still functioning. But no information escaped the bounds of the interdiction zone. If they wanted to get hold of the Foundation again, they were going to have to do something about the topside memetic saturation.</p>
<p><em>If that <span style="text-decoration: underline;">is</span> what we want.</em></p>
<p>He wasn't at all certain. But that didn't really matter, anyway. He'd tried, and gotten no response. That was the first step on their aftermath plan.</p>
<p>The next step was going to take months.</p>
<p>Hopefully not more than six.</p>
<p>Ibanez was waiting outside the complex when he emerged, pointing the Bremmelgun at the door.</p>
<p>"Just in case you came out wrong," she said.</p>
<p>He appreciated the concern, and the professionalism.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc4"><span>2 March</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"Ungh," the old man groaned. "No. 's absurd. Won't work." He squeezed his eyes shut tight again, and continued to groan. Udo tried not to roll her eyes.</p>
<p>Trevor Bremmel had been the first person outside of the Sampis to be snapped out of his memetic trance. They'd found him knee deep in a heap of computer parts dumped down the shaft of the DUAL Core, attempting to strangle Du himself. The latter had been badly injured, a serious blow to the side of his head, and it was obvious the two had been struggling over the choicer parts in the pile.</p>
<p>Later analysis would show that not all of the mechanical constructions seen throughout the Site had actually been Bremmel's. As Lillian put it, dismay and amusement fighting for control in her tone, "I think they were playing Extreme BattleBots?"</p>
<p>"Buck up," Udo encouraged. Bremmel was lying on a cot in the middle of his lab, while Udo laboured over his workstation. "The headaches will pass."</p>
<p>"Not for Xinyi," the old man sighed. "That weak cranium of his. I always bragged I had the bigger brain."</p>
<p>"Uh huh. So, you were saying about flux relays?"</p>
<p>"I was saying about <em>transflux</em> relays. And that's meaningless, because I made up the term so nobody would know what I was talking about. We're going to have to go back to first principles. Can you find Hoyt?"</p>
<p>She took a deep breath. "Is that a technician? One of your old assistants?"</p>
<p>Bremmel snorted. "If you find any of my old assistants, put them out the door. Assistants are like a bad smell. They're only good for telling you something's gone stale. No. Hoyt on rudimentary paralectronics. Second unit, third shelf. Maybe fourth. Or third unit, fourth shelf."</p>
<p>Udo stood up, and walked past Joanna. The junior engineer was sitting on the floor, now properly clothed again, scribbling on a piece of paper. Concentric circles, interlinked. Almost a schematic, but not quite.</p>
<p>Bremmel threw his arm across his eyes; he'd been in full-on drama queen mode since they woke him. "Months," he muttered.</p>
<p>"Months what?" Udo found the volume Bremmel had indicated; she found it on the third unit, fifth shelf. She didn't say anything about this, because she knew he'd simply blame it on his assistants. "Months to finish this?"</p>
<p>"At best. If I had competent help…" He glared at Udo, furrowing his brow, probably so she wouldn't notice that his gaze had flicked down to take in his stunlocked daughter and her aimless art. He didn't want her to understand, so she pretended not to and put on an offended face.</p>
<p>Joanna wasn't too low on the list of personnel to recondition; they'd get to her within a few more days. She'd be needed for the project her father and Udo were working on, the construction of industrial strength scrubbers to clean the memetic muck from across Site-43. She'd proposed a repurposing of the desupernatured vat of SCP-5281-D's red sand — she didn't like to think about it, but it was probable that the <em>Bonhomme</em> still inhabited the other four in this timeline — secure in the certainty that she could control all of it at once and race through the halls, wiping out the stain of Del Olmo's art colony in one fell swoop, but of course this had been immediately shot down.</p>
<p>They didn't want to think about what they'd do if she was possessed by any of the cognitohazards.</p>
<p>Or, perhaps, if her cloud-self was.</p>
<p>"You'll find what you need in Chapter One," Bremmel wheezed. "As of this moment, you're a junior engineer. I'm not going to call you 'doctor' again until you can complete a complex circuit."</p>
<p><em>You never called me doctor anyway,</em> she thought. But of course, she didn't say it.</p>
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<h2 id="toc5"><span>9 March</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>The All-Sections Chief was not, in the end, a difficult case. Save for Del Olmo's frenzied passage through the foyer, the First Nations experience of the Site's collective insanity had been relatively benign. McInnis chalked that up to the fact that they hadn't come in until after the memeticist-in-chief had gone into hiding. His deputy quite agreed.</p>
<p>"We stayed topside as long as we could." The ASC was now walking with a cane; for reasons nobody could yet explain, his left leg had been paralyzed during Del Olmo's flight. His brain simply would not acknowledge the limb's existence, though it carried weight perfectly well. "But people kept wandering into the res."</p>
<p>"People from the Site?" They were walking the path to Intake Point-94, and the observation bubble. The ASC was hoping that enough activity would wake his errant limb, so they'd left the transportation at its dock.</p>
<p>"Some," the ASC nodded. "They were wild. Crazed. Easy to avoid, easy to knock down. I'm afraid we had to kill some of them, though we tried not to."</p>
<p>"Why were you topside in the first place? Meaning you, yourself, Nim."</p>
<p>His deputy sighed. "I was renewing our contract, as we always do annually, when Dr. Del Olmo returned to the Site. I lost communications almost immediately, and when we approached…"</p>
<p>He reached up with his free hand, and clutched at his forehead. McInnis quite understood, and finished for him. "You found that AAF-A was no longer a landscape you could comprehend, and Camp Ipperwash was much the same."</p>
<p>The big man nodded. "Then there was the MTF squad the Foundation sent to make contact, or at least, the one we encountered. They were carving runes into the trees. One of them tried to eat his gun, literally, and it ended up happening metaphorically instead. By that time we knew things were seriously wrong, and not just at Site-43." His expression was grim. "Later, it was worse. Much worse. Those few who strayed into the forest were like uncaged animals. Destroying everything they touched. Hating and desiring everything and everyone they saw. I felt that if we remained above, we'd be destroyed. So we closed our eyes…"</p>
<p>"Nim?" The ASC had, in fact, closed his eyes, and was standing very still in the dark tunnel.<br/>
In the distance, carried by the metal of the tunnel sheathe and the glass of the dome beyond, there was a very faint but unmistakeable animal groan. Something was moving at the bottom of the lake.</p>
<p>"We closed our eyes." The ASC opened them, and smiled. "And the creatures brought us home."</p>
<p>The Mishepeshu had already returned to the tunnels around the Site, and the lakebed. Whatever had been roosting in the ruins of the elevator had also gone. The mischievous sprites, the shape-changers of various kinds, all had disappeared as soon as the immediate threat had passed. The <em>status quo</em> was gradually returning.</p>
<p>But the Chippewas of Kettle and Stony Point Reserve #44 had not yet vacated the space that had once sat beneath Stony Point Reserve #43, the home that had been stolen from them and never returned. From what the ASC had told McInnis so far, it was clear that he did not intend them to.</p>
<p>It was an easy enough request to fulfill. In the deadline.</p>
<p>In baseline, as always, things would be much more complicated.</p>
<p>McInnis thought of Vivian Scout, and wondered, not for the first time, whether that really ought to be the case.</p>
<p>"What about OSAT?" he asked. "Did you have any trouble with them?"</p>
<p>"Oh, yes." The ASC nodded. "The Mounties attacked us in force as we were entering the barracks building, and filing into the elevator. I don't think they were quite in their right minds."<br/>
McInnis frowned. "Because they attacked you?"</p>
<p>The ASC laughed. "No. Because they attacked us with their bare hands."</p>
<p>"I see. What happened to them?"</p>
<p>The other man glanced at him meaningfully.</p>
<p>"Oh."</p>
<p>They were almost to the dome. The strange groan sounded again, much deeper, much closer. The ambient light ahead shifted for a moment as something passed. A shadow. It didn't come again.</p>
<p>"Probably for the best," he finally mused.</p>
<p>His deputy did not disagree.</p>
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<h2 id="toc6"><span>4 May</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Far away, very far, but still deep within the bowels of the earth, a man finally finds a woman. He's looked for her many times, though he does not know this, and he's not sure what it means that he has found her.</p>
<p>It doesn't matter.</p>
<p>It's far too late.</p>
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<h2 id="toc7"><span>6 May</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"What's that in your hand?"</p>
<p>Karen Elstrom glared up at her. The Chief of Administration and Oversight could glare up like nobody else. "Stick to your script, kid."</p>
<p>Billie Forsythe extended a hand. "Let me see what you're holding, please, doctor."</p>
<p>The older woman squirmed on the examination table. "I outrank you."</p>
<p>"Nobody outranks me in here, except my mother." It was true. McInnis had given blanket powers to the medical and psych staff: nobody was to leave their demesne unless they'd first been declared physiologically, psychologically, emotionally and memetically sound. And that wasn't going to be Elstrom. Not any time soon.</p>
<p>Karen sighed, and placed the bottle she'd been hiding in Billie's hand. It was, as she'd expected, a little green bottle. Purloined from one of the cabinets, no doubt. The administrative overrides hadn't all been cleared yet. "Which room?"</p>
<p>Elstrom looked to one side, at nothing.</p>
<p>"Come on, doctor. Which room did you find these in?" It became apparent there wasn't going to be a response, so Billie shrugged and placed the bottle in her pocket. "I thought we talked about this."</p>
<p>"You talked." Elstrom nodded jerkily. "You did talk. You people talk a <em>lot.</em>"</p>
<p>"Amnestic abuse is serious," Billie pressed. "Your brain will eventually—"</p>
<p>"—lose the ability to form long-term memories. Yes. I know. I was <em>listening.</em>"</p>
<p>"And there's been studies that suggest abuse will build up—"</p>
<p>"—toxins, with the results resembling an allergy. I said I was fucking LISTENING," and suddenly the other woman's bright white teeth were bared in a snarl, and she was hopping off the exam table. "But YOU are not listening to ME. I need another round. I require it. To do my JOB. Do you want to be responsible for me not doing my job?!"</p>
<p>Billie was over a foot shorter than Elstrom. Hell, Elstrom's legs alone made her feel short. But she stood her ground. "I'm responsible for you, doctor. I'm responsible for all of you. So sit down, and I'll pencil you in for another session with Dr. Ngo."</p>
<p>"More bullshit I'll want to forget," Elstrom grumbled.</p>
<p>But she did sit back down.</p>
<p>Scrubbing down the Site was filthy, time-consuming, monstrously unpleasant work. The amount of time Nascimbeni had to himself was now restricted to the amount of sleep he needed to get each night, and that sleep came quickly, lasted through the night, and never once presented him with a single solitary dream.</p>
<p>He couldn't remember a time he'd been happier.</p>
<p>At Site-43, anyway.</p>
<p>It lasted until the day Del asked him, after visibly working up to it for over a week, how in the hell they were going to reposition the first sublevel.</p>
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<h2 id="toc8"><span>19 May</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Stacey Laiken was only a little worse for wear, and only in a physical sense.</p>
<p>She had orange marks all over her body which were fading with time; they had glowed neon green in the blacklight studio she'd been found in, and a quick check of the backup SCP database suggested someone had painted her over with ancient Daevite glyphs. A quick bath had smudged them into incoherence, so they no longer did what the SCRAMBLE sets said they would do, which was good. Very good. But the paint had seemingly burned the skin, and it was the burns that had to heal.</p>
<p>They'd found a technician in the studio with her, and either the glyphs she'd painted on him were worse, or her natural talent for the occult had made them more potent. He'd be in a hyperbaric chamber for… well, for the rest of his life, as the prognosis extended past September.</p>
<p>Udo sat down beside the hospital bed, and reached out to take Stacey's hand. The other woman woke up immediately, blinked rapidly, looked at Udo, looked at their intertwined fingers. Smiled a little. "Forward."</p>
<p>"Forward?"</p>
<p>Stacey pointed with her free, shaky hand. "Very forward. Not complaining. Hello, Rabbit."</p>
<p>Seeing her partner lying injured on the bed, Udo's protective instinct had overriden her sense of place. She wasn't dating this Stacey Laiken. She probably never had. But the smile crinkling her big blue eyes suggested that she shouldn't take her hand back yet, and so she didn't.</p>
<p>The smile wouldn't last, anyway. Because something inside of Udo she hadn't even known was in tension had just snapped in half.</p>
<p>"Do you know why he called me that?" she asked, voice trembling.</p>
<p>Stacey's smile became confused. "Something to do with how fast you work, I guessed."</p>
<p>Udo shook her head.</p>
<p>Stacey cocked hers to the side, questioning without putting it into words.</p>
<p>Udo opened her mouth, and of course, now that she was committed, her own words wouldn't come.</p>
<p>But the blood drained out of Stacey's face all in a rush anyway, and she gently pulled her hand out of Udo's grip. "No."</p>
<p>Udo sucked her lips in past her teeth. "Yeah."</p>
<p>She hadn't seen Stacey cry like that since 2002.</p>
<p>She'd never seen her furious.</p>
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<h2 id="toc9"><span>6 June</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>The contrast could only have been more remarkable if Lillian had been marrying Del.</p>
<p>Sandy Holt and Lew Bosch were separated by a foot and a half of height. He was the shortest of Site-43's security guards, and she was the tallest; the fact that they were both dead back in baseline had lopped the scale at both ends. Holt's simple white wedding dress had been one of the first complex tests of the fashion fabbers, after Nascimbeni had brought them back online to produce the 'metric fuck-ton' of rags Lillian had requested for the cleanup process. She looked, if not beautiful, then quite handsome. Bosch looked like one of those little muscle men who went clubbing to assert their masculinity. It was an odd fit, but it did seem to be one.</p>
<div class="muddle">
<p>Site-43's chapel doubles as an amateur theatre, because other than weddings — which happen here more often than elsewhere at the Foundation, but they hardly ever happen elsewhere at the Foundation, so that's not saying much — there is little call for religious proceedings among those who know more about which gods do and don't exist than the entire collective priesthood of mankind. It is decorated with symbols of generic faith selected by Michael Nass of Theology and Teleology to avoid invoking the wrath or even the attention of any attested deities, suggestive of the transformative power of the profound without actually weighing in on the oldest debate in human history. In this respect it resembles the chapel on Medina Station in The Expanse, the most apt comparison I can make without recourse to Star Trek. My editors should consider this an act of appeasement.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>The architect of the chapel's vaguely upbeat iconography was sitting beside Nascimbeni, as the seating arrangement had been alphabetized on the organizer's request. The organizer had been Lillian, as it had been necessary to avoid any combination of audiovisual stimuli which might trigger the dozens and dozens of memetic traumas still latent in the attendees; she'd definitely made this decision just to mix everyone up and see if they said or did anything funny in unusual company.</p>
<p>Nass wasn't particularly funny, and neither was Nascimbeni, so they sat in comfortable silence for most of the short ceremony. Christianne Monette, a Jesuit priest in Nass's employ, carried out the ceremony while the Director watched benevolently from the side. When it came time for the happy couple to kiss, Holt grabbed Bosch under his armpits and lifted him up, to uproarious laughter and applause.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni suddenly felt sick.</p>
<p>Nass must have noticed, because he said: "What's wrong?"</p>
<p>A glance to each side showed that everyone around them was engrossed in the kiss, which showed no sign of ending — though Holt's arms were trembling, as her well-built husband had heft to make up for his height — or else chatting with their neighbours, so it felt safe to respond. "Just makes me sad," he grunted.</p>
<p>Nass nodded. He understood. They'd looped him and Corbin in on the situation, as they always did; they were dealing with gods, and getting a consult in each deadline seemed a good way to canvas for variable opinions. "Because it won't last."</p>
<p>This confirmed nobody was listening to their hushed mutterings, because saying that at a wedding was a good way to get stared down. "Yeah."</p>
<p>Nass smiled, and looked back at the stage where the bride was finally putting the groom back on his feet.</p>
<p>The laughter and cheers showed no sign of subsiding.</p>
<p>They'd needed something like this, very clearly.</p>
<p>"You want my professional opinion?" Nass asked.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni shrugged.</p>
<p>The theologian took this as approval to continue. "I believe positive energy can transcend worlds."</p>
<p>As the noise finally died down, Nascimbeni took the opportunity to ask: "What about negative energy?"</p>
<p>The other man inclined his head, acknowledging a scored point.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni would have preferred an actual answer.</p>
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<h2 id="toc10"><span>16 June</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>The topside elevator was repaired slowly, because nobody wanted to deal with whatever was going on up there until they had their house in order. But the first test run went off without too many hitches — literal hitches, the car stopping for one hair-raising minute between the first and second sublevels — and after a bit of tweaking, it was crossed off Nascimbeni's list for the time being.</p>
<p>It was never clear how the administrative override had itself been overridden. It should have been impossible for anyone to enter the elevator, let alone induce it to move. Ibanez's best guess, in the aftermath, was that the entire staff had been seasoned with sensitive information by some combination of their corruption and possession by Del Olmo, and Laiken had won the jackpot. Like many jackpot winners, she took the opportunity to get the hell out of dodge.</p>
<p>It was assumed that something had gone wrong with the healing of her Daevite scarring until Ibanez thought to mention the escape to Udo, who immediately burst into bitter tears and profanity.</p>
<p>There was no question of going after her.</p>
<p>No-one in their right mind would head into that blood-red sunset.</p>
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<h2 id="toc11"><span>18 June</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"Well," Carter grunted, pushing out from under the console and rolling the skeleton to Nascimbeni's feet. "It's an approximation, anyway."</p>
<p>"Approximation," Nascimbeni repeated. "That's not good enough."</p>
<p>He was standing in Security and Containment, in the westernmost hallway. Carter was technically nowhere, in the membrane between S&C and Applied Occultism, a metre and a half beneath Nascimbeni, checking connections and structural integrity against the original plans.</p>
<p>Moving the Section back to where it belonged would mean disassembling the entire thing, piece by piece, and reinstalling it manually. They were in the process of doing just that, but Nascimbeni had lost about half of his technicians to the Great Collective Mind-Screw, and some of the ones who were still out of circulation wouldn't be getting back into it before the question was moot.</p>
<p>It didn't help that he had to keep dodging the question of why this realignment was so deucedly important.</p>
<p>"I think that's about all you're gonna get." Carter sat up, so that his head was still a few centimeters below the floor hatch. Nascimbeni sat down on the tiles beside him, wincing at the pain in his knees. "We'll never put it back 100% the same as it used to be. That's just not practical."</p>
<p>"It's our goal. Doesn't matter if it's practical."</p>
<p>"I thought we were one of the Practical Sections," Carter grinned. The Site's subdivisions were organized on two poles, Practical and Theoretical, based (in Nascimbeni's view) on whether they did actual work or just talked about work that other people might some day do.</p>
<p>"Chuck," Nascimbeni sighed. "You just have to trust me that this is important. I—"</p>
<p>Carter waved it off. "You don't need to justify yourself to me, boss. You want us to make the attempt, we'll make the attempt. But with manpower this low, odds are it'll never get done on your timetable."</p>
<p>It was true, and they both knew it.</p>
<p>"Still," Carter mused. "It might make a nice anniversary gift."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni frowned. "Anniversary gift?"</p>
<p>"For the missus." The technician grinned. "Had our first, ah, <em>date</em> on September the eighth, 2002. In the access crawl for the DUAL Core."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni hadn't heard that particular story. He wondered what else he didn't know about the dead man who was smiling up at him, trust written in every line on his lined face.</p>
<p>This man who was long dead in the only timeline they considered good.</p>
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<h2 id="toc12"><span>1 July</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>There was nothing for it. They were going to need to call this one in.</p>
<p>The Foundation had resources enough to effectuate the reorientation, if they were informed. And if whatever they were dealing with out there did not preclude providing assistance. Lillian advised extreme caution based on what she'd seen outside, so they disassembled the secure transmitter in McInnis' bolthole — he endured a constant barrage of insults from Lillian and Ibanez when they saw inside of that spacious panic room for the first time — and reassembled it somewhere less safe, but far better connected.</p>
<p>The transmitter sat on a folding card table in the middle of the desk block, humming in or out of tune with the document retrieval systems running through the walls and ceiling. Veiksaar was manning the equipment, while Carter was monitoring the connections and making sure the exceedingly complex device had been set up correctly. Neither of them had ever seen it before, so they had to make doubly sure.</p>
<p>This was going to be a very important phone call, assuming somebody picked up this time.</p>
<p>The Sampis stood at what passed for attention as McInnis sat down beside Carter. It was protocol that the technician make the first overture; there was very little in the way of cognitohazard that could compromise the Director, particularly given his cross-dimensional augmentation, but security procedures were not pick-and-choose. McInnis nodded, and Carter keyed the mic. "CAONCI-Site-43 calling Overwatch Command," he intoned in his best radio voice. Veiksaar smirked. "CAONCI-Site-43, Overwatch Command. Do you read?"</p>
<p>The response came immediately, to the visible relief of all nine of them. Even Wettle. "Five by five, CAONCI-Site-43. Five by five."</p>
<p>Harry whooped. McInnis looked back at him and smiled.</p>
<p>"Five by five," the voice repeated. "Five by five. By <em>five.</em>"</p>
<p>Carter turned to his wife, leaned in, and sank his teeth into her throat.</p>
<p>McInnis staggered back and to his feet, the chair flying aside, as a gout of blood spurted from the open wound. Veiksaar screamed, and reached up to claw at her husband's face with her fingernails. She caught one of his eyes, and it burst with a sickening squishy popping sound, and he howled like a wild animal. "Five by five," he bellowed. "Five by five." And the two of them fell to the floor, repeating the madness mantra and spitting and gnashing and wailing, and as the Sampis fled from the Salt Mines to the actual salt mines as a single body, they saw Veiksaar stuff Carter's hand into her mouth and start grinding his fingers off with her teeth.</p>
<p>The salt mines at the back of Archives & Revision were now the nerve centre for Site-43.</p>
<p>They had known it was a risk to make the call, and the preparations Lillian had laid out had been extensive, excessive even. Nascimbeni had rewired the lockdown controls for F-D, S&C and AO to a panel beside the vault door — which was now closed, but they could still hear muffled screaming from the other side — so if need be they could cut off the entire complex from the rest of the Site and operate all the security features they'd need come September the eighth without leaving their makeshift bunker. Veiksaar had forwarded the redline in McInnis' office to his tablet, and set up remote speakers in the bullpen, the A&R workroom and the airlock approach so that Ibanez and Harry and Nascimbeni could at least attempt telepresence, if they couldn't be physically present. They'd even rigged up a pressure-controlled breakaway floor joist to trip the agents in lieu of Wettle's sprawl. Finally, Ibanez had used the Bremmelgun to bore an access tunnel through the salt to Applied Occultism; they'd need to blow the floor open to get at it when the shift came, since any damage done now would be repaired on September the eighth, but otherwise it was probably workable to get Udo where she needed to be to do whatever it was that she did. It was a positive thing, at least, that all of the actions they needed to take in regards to AAF-D involved systems residing outside of it, which could be preemptively modified without fear of reversion.</p>
<p>Which was good, because it was beginning to look like they were going to spend the next few months trapped in a cavernous box together.</p>
<p>The final preventative measure had been to set up a series of wall-mounted monitors hooked in to security camera control, so they could judge the safety of their surroundings if the shit hit the fan.</p>
<p>It was hitting the fan now.</p>
<p>Veiksaar's half-baked .aic was running the camera feeds, and traced the path of destruction beginning in the workroom with brutal efficiency. The views snapped from scene to scene on five second intervals, and it was like watching an interpolation of every snuff film ever made. At the moment Carter snapped, a lunch break in J&M turned into a blood riot when half a dozen technicians dropped their snacks and began cannibalizing each other instead. In I&T, their opposite numbers began beating each other to death with keyboards, chairs, and even computer monitors while their Chief masticated her husband's digits. After that, it took mere moments for the chaos to run rampant across the facility. Billie Forsythe was strangling her patients with their IVs. The security guards were marching through the halls as the organized gang they had always implicitly been, beating down everyone they met with their truncheons. Men and women in MTF gear were executing researchers, technicians and each other without rhyme or reason. Those victims of the first contagion who had not yet recovered were easy prey, and died by the dozens in the first few minutes. Something ripped away the barracks building where the topside elevator emerged, and the restored car came crashing down all the way to the fourth sublevel. Something was howling in the halls, though that didn't last long. An order asserted itself, and the hoods on the furnaces were oped wide, and a final march was organized. The wails of the injured and the roars of the dead-on-the-march overwhelmed the tinny speakers in the cell, and they all watched as nearly one thousand people reduced themselves to a few frantic hundred in less than an hour, then settled into a sustained orgy of battery, rapine and rape with no end in sight but the total depopulation of the entire facility.</p>
<p>It was a long time before any of them spoke.</p>
<p>"What… is it?" Harry finally asked. "What's happening?"</p>
<p>"What needs to happen," said Lillian. She was standing against a towering documents rack, hugging herself. "I hope."</p>
<p>Del wheeled on her. "You know what this is? You <em>knew?!</em>"</p>
<p>The memeticist shook her head. "Not exactly."</p>
<p>"She's one of them," Wettle groaned. "Oh, no. That's why she's so sexy."</p>
<p>Harry pushed the big man out of the way. "Shut up and let her explain!"</p>
<p>"Lillian." Udo stepped forward and put her hands around the other woman's forearms. "What is this? What do you know?"</p>
<p>Lillian looked to the side, avoiding her gaze. "I can't exactly tell you."</p>
<p>"<em>So tell me inexactly!</em>" Udo shouted.</p>
<p>Lillian winced. "It's like Wirth, only worse. Much worse."</p>
<p>"Much worse because it affects multiple subjects?" McInnis asked. Harry glanced at him. His jumper was covered in blood. Eileen's blood. <em>Eileen is probably dead.</em></p>
<p>And so was Melissa. And so was Phil. And so were Alis and the ASC and Sokolsky…</p>
<p>Well, maybe not Sokolsky.</p>
<p>"Much worse," Lillian sighed, "because it affects the entire planet."</p>
<p>"Potentially?" McInnis pressed.</p>
<p>She shook her head. "No. Sequentially."</p>
<p>"Explain."</p>
<p>"And then explain the explanation!" Wettle shouted. "My wife—!" Harry shushed him.</p>
<p>"It's memetic." Lillian shook off Udo's hands, and slid down the rack to hug her knees to her chest. "I didn't realize when it happened to Bernie."</p>
<p>The Director frowned. "This isn't what happened to Dr. Del Olmo."</p>
<p>"No, it is. He was just special." She shook her head. "Like we agreed. He was the best."</p>
<p>Harry knelt down in front of her. "What are you talking about? What's happening to everyone?"</p>
<p>"It's a contagion. Not like what we had before. Worse. So much worse. It isn't spread by contact. It isn't spread through vision, or voice, or anything environmental at all. You saw. Eileen and Carter, then the techs and the techy-techs. It affects shared headspaces. The collective unconscious. Everyone whose mind takes a specific shape."</p>
<p>Udo crouched down beside Harry. "What shape?"</p>
<p>"Human shapes." Lillian shivered. "It's an infection of the noösphere. It's spreading out from wherever it started to consume every mind like the mind it started in, patient zero, and then every mind like those minds, and then every mind like <em>those,</em> outward and outward, until…"</p>
<p>"Until?" Nascimbeni repeated. He was standing against the opposite rack, hands hanging loose at his side, fingers twitching.</p>
<p>"Until now," Lillian breathed, "when it's taken almost every single human being on the face of the Earth."</p>
<p>"This is extrapolation?" McInnis asked.</p>
<p>"Partially, but not from this. From other things." She waved vaguely. "Those secret projects of mine you got so snitty about. The meetings I went to, forgot, and came home from with cryptic homework. It was all to prevent something like this happening back in baseline."</p>
<p>Del didn't have to crouch to meet Lillian's eyes. "How do you know?"</p>
<p>"Because I designed the scenario."</p>
<p>That brought them all up short for a moment.</p>
<p>"What scenario?" Harry demanded.</p>
<p>Lillian closed her eyes, and tilted her head back against an old banker's box. "This scenario. The hate-child of the mother of all educated guesses."</p>
<div class="flashyhammer">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc13"><span><span style="color: #c5000b">2008</span></span></h1>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-wild-light">Site-167</a>: <span style="color: #f7f7f7">████████████ ████████ ███████</span>, United States of America</strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>"Antimemetic antimemetic research groups," Lillian repeated. "You want an invisible army studying invisible things. Why?"</p>
<p>"Because visible armies can be fought," Wheeler said. "And ours is being <em>beaten.</em> By a thing we can't even conceptualize without being destroyed by. And if it destroys us, it destroys everyone else like us. So the only people who can fight it—"</p>
<p>"—are people it can't see," Lillian nodded. "Noetically isolated. Okay. You think you can beat this thing that way?"</p>
<p>"No," said Hughes. "We've got a plan of our own for that. But we don't know if it's going to work, so Marion has proposed… an alternative." He looked bone tired. Like something was eating him from the inside out. "It's a bad alternative. A very dangerous alternative. If it goes into action, something horrible has happened. If it works…"</p>
<p>Hughes had deflated until he had no more breath for words, so Michael Li took over. "We don't have the authority to put Marion's plan into place. We're going to need to seek it out, and we might not get it. But the first step is you setting up these groups, and that much is already a plus, so we're giving you the go-ahead. If you're interested."</p>
<p>Lillian looked at Euler, who wasn't talking; his face was unreadable under the germ. She looked at the two other men, then looked at the woman with the plan. "They're talking about you a whole lot," she said. "What do you have to say for yourself? What's this genius idea you've had?"</p>
<p>Wheeler managed to project cold determination even through the germ. "I'd rather talk you through the rationale, and see if you arrive at the same conclusions I did. What would you say is the likeliest progression of SCP-5243?"</p>
<p>Lillian tried to blink, but of course she couldn't. "Uh. Well. It created an alternate timeline when we didn't understand how to contain it, and containment is still very difficult, so we'll probably foul it up at least one more time. The personnel killed in the Breach get horrible super-powers tangentially connected to their areas of expertise. Depending on who accidentally doesn't die, we'll face a variety of potential problems. All seven of them being alive ended the world in a mish-mash of ways…"</p>
<p>"What ways?" Wheeler pressed. "Who did what?"</p>
<p>"Mukami had compulsive speech and self-duplication, Gwilherm walked all over everybody and was basically invincible, Radcliffe boosted her powers and her signal, Wirth mind-hopped and lacked a physical presence — or maybe he didn't, we never found him either way — Markey created things, Ambrogi destroyed them, and Bernie…" She cleared her throat. "Del Olmo we don't know too much about, but everything he did was memetic. Extremely powerful memetics. So, forecasting…" She looked up at the strange ceiling. "I'd say one or more of them don't get killed, and in the new timeline, they're the top dogs. If it's Ambrogi and Markey, or Mukami, Gwilherm and Radcliffe, it's a typical apocalypse. If it's Wirth, I dunno. Probably he makes us all kill ourselves. If it's Del Olmo, he probably runs rampant with the memetic cults all over the globe. They're already connected to the Breach in a variety of ways we don't yet fully understand. I bet he'd head up the giftschreiber and take them from a nuisance to a K-Class Event level threat."</p>
<p>Wheeler nodded. "Pull on that string."</p>
<p>It was easy to plot out. She knew how all the pieces moved. "If Bernie survives the Breach, he'll probably create a memetic black zone at 43. That's just obvious. That's just <em>thematics.</em>" Her voice had become flat and expressionless. "You'd lose me immediately. He'd take me out, as a threat. The Victims know us, and Bernie knows me. Knows what I can do. So if I'm the one who sets up these groups, they don't get set up in the alternate timeline, because the shit hits the fans six years before this meeting ever happens. The Foundation spends a ton of extra resources fighting the <em>giftschreiber,</em> and it probably doesn't go well."</p>
</div>
<p>She didn't know the details, couldn't know them — they'd been incinerated along with her germ, as with every other meeting she'd been to in the Vegas Room — but she could make a fair guess. She guessed out loud, and the others listened in horrified awe.</p>
<p>"'They found us'," Harry quoted.</p>
<p>Lillian nodded, striking the cardboard with the back of her skull with each movement, like a soft kind of penance. "Exactly."</p>
<p>Udo placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "What?"</p>
<p>"You weren't there," Lillian told her. "It's what Bernie was trying to tell me. Another cult co-opted his. A stronger one."</p>
<p>"A bigger fish," Del suggested.</p>
<p>Lillian's eyes snapped open. "No. I hate that phrase, and I hate that movie. There isn't always a bigger fish, but there is often a <em>worse idea.</em> That's what this is. A very, very bad idea, from an alternate idea space, crashing through ours like a rock through a skylight. Shattering everything. I always knew they were afraid of something, Wheeler and the others, but I didn't know what it was, because I <em>couldn't,</em> and neither could they, except for in those meetings that were secret even to <em>us</em> afterward, or it would win." She pointed at the monitors mounted to the rack above Nascimbeni's head, which were still displaying… probably what they'd been displaying this entire time. Nobody turned to look. "Like it's winning right now. Once you know, you know. And so does everybody else."</p>
<p>McInnis hadn't moved an inch, but his voice carried easily in the echoing mine. "That doesn't explain why you claimed to have designed this scenario. Extrapolating the outcome doesn't make you its author."</p>
<p>"I told them what would happen — how the world would be different if we'd never met — and they knew what it meant."</p>
<p>Udo took her hand off Harry's shoulder, reached for Lillian again, and seemingly thought better of it. "Who did?"</p>
<p>"The TAD."</p>
<p>"Should any of this be making sense?" Wettle whined. "It's gone on so long to not make any sense."</p>
<p>She smiled up at him. It wasn't a stable smile. "We're seeing someone's master plan playing out. Well, two someones'. Three?"</p>
<p>Harry turned away and blew out a long, exasperated breath. "This looks like a positive outcome?!"</p>
<p>"No," Lillian agreed, "but of course when we revert the Breach in September, it'll never have happened."</p>
<p>"Then what use will it have been?!" He wanted to reach out and shake her. "It just made our job harder, for no fucking reason!"</p>
<p>She met his eyes. "There's a reason."</p>
<p>"But you just said—"</p>
<p>"I said the events won't have occurred. But some of this will come with us when we leave."</p>
<p>"What?" Del demanded.</p>
<p>"My memories."</p>
<p>Wettle snorted. "So it's all about you after all, then."</p>
<p>"No. It's not about me at all. But it is about memories — or, more accurately, ideas."</p>
<p>Harry placed his hands on her knees. "Worse ideas, you said."</p>
<p>She reached up to cover his with hers. "The worst, and the best."</p>
<p>"State it for me plainly, please," McInnis said. "What are you alleging about Antimemetics and Temporal Anomalies?"</p>
<p>"Remember, I told them everything. I told them what I knew about the Breach, and the deadlines. The way my memories persisted interested them both. The nature of thought, of conceptual space. I don't remember any of the meetings—"</p>
<p>"How does that work?" Nascimbeni interrupted. "You remember everything."</p>
<p>"I only know the vague outline because of the notes I got to keep, to tell me what we'd decided to do after every meeting, when I forgot. Forgot is the wrong word. The memories were never actually in my head. We conversed by proxy." She covered her face with one hand, five digits spread wide, and spoke through her palm. "It's complicated, weird, and gross. Just trust me." She reached down again to clutch Harry's hand. "I don't remember the meetings, but I can guess at what happened in them. And the conclusions the others drew. And what they did about it."</p>
<p>McInnis nodded. "Those conclusions would be…?"</p>
<div class="flashyhammer">
<p>"What effect did the, you call them Victims? What effect did their powers have on the seven of you?" Wheeler pressed.</p>
<p>Lillian shrugged. "They basically didn't. Wirth couldn't overpower us. Mukami couldn't convince us. Radcliffe didn't convert us. Del Olmo's memetic traps didn't melt our brains."</p>
<p>"And why do you think that is?"</p>
<p>She suddenly realized that the others had all gone silent. This really was Wheeler's show.<br/>
"Because we're not connected to the collective unconscious of the alternate timelines?" she suggested. She'd workshopped this idea from time to time, but couldn't find anyone cleared to brainstorm with her who agreed with her perspective. Still, it seemed right. "Us. The Survivors. PTF Sampi-5243, 'See You in September'. We're cut off from human headspace in the dead timelines. We're not similar in mental makeup to anyone but ourselves. As soon as these versions of us took over our alternate bodies, all whammies were off. We're a noösphere of seven."</p>
<p>She succeeded in blinking this time. The germ squirmed.</p>
<p>"Fuck," she said.</p>
</div>
<p>"So…" Udo rubbed her temples. "The mind virus that took over the Earth, and just caught up with the rest of the Site…"</p>
<p>"Right."</p>
<p>"We're immune to it."</p>
<p>"Right."</p>
<p>"So we'll still be able to restore baseline," said Del. "And you're saying they knew that?"</p>
<p>"I think they did," Lillian agreed. "I think they were counting on it. I think this was their plan."<br/>
"Some fucking plan," said Wettle.</p>
<p>"To what end?" asked McInnis.</p>
<p>"I think this is the explanation for that dipshit from Overwatch," Lillian said. "The one who threw the Lever into the sun. I don't think he was a dipshit at all. And I don't think he was a <em>geistschreiber,</em> either. I don't even think it was a geistschreiber who fucked up S&C in the first place." Harry looked up at Del, whose eyes went wide at the reference. "I think Thaddeus Xyank sent agents to Site-43, and told them to make sure that Bernie wouldn't die."</p>
<p>Harry took a deep breath, and then another. "<em>What.</em>"</p>
<p>"Why?" Del shouted. "What possible reason?!"</p>
<p>There was an answering shout from beyond the sealed door, and then a groan. Something was still alive out there. For a given definition.</p>
<div class="flashyhammer">
<p>"This is your plan," said Lillian. "You want to use our alternate timelines to kill your mind monster."</p>
<p>"That's right." Wheeler leaned forward. "Will it work?"</p>
<p>Lillian shook her head. "No, because the Temporal Anomalies Department will never let you do it."</p>
<p>Wheeler waved the concern away. "Don't worry about TAD. Leave that negotiation to us."</p>
</div>
<p>"But why would they do it behind our backs?" Harry asked.</p>
<p>Lillian looked rueful. "Because they couldn't tell us without telling the Overseers. TAD doesn't answer to them, and Antimem can't even get on the agenda. Everybody forgets they exist every couple of months. It's funny, actually."</p>
<p>Udo was visibly at the end of her rope. "What is <em>funny</em> about this?"</p>
<p>"We've spent this whole time not trusting TAD, and they've spent the whole time not trusting us either. Seems like we could've spared each other a lot of grief by just being honest with each other."</p>
<p>McInnis looked unconvinced. "The mechanism by which Dr. Del Olmo was spared, and this deadline created, is obscenely overwrought. And extraordinarily dangerous. Why would TAD have taken such a convoluted course? Why not simply send their agents to usher him out of the interrogation room before the Breach?"</p>
<p>Lillian had the look on her face reserved for when she'd finally figured everything out. A cat with half-lidded eyes. "If I had to guess? I'd say that S&C always ends up getting shifted in mostly the same way, no matter who does the shifting, in all the alternate Earths TAD monitors. They just made sure it happened a little different so that Bernie never got vaporized, and everything else was the same. Maybe it was a matter of a centimetre or less. They're cautious bastards. They have to be. If they interfered with Bernie directly, he'd know. The Uncontained would know. And that would change what happened next. And it's a lot easier to change the framework of those six minutes of Breach than it is to pull off a trick within it, right? Nobody in their right minds would try to custom-build a deadline in that narrow an interval. You'd be bound to fuck it up."</p>
<p>"It sounds to me," Nascimbeni croaked, "like these people are not remotely in their right minds already. I thought their job was to preserve the timeline. This is the opposite of that."</p>
<p>She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. "Well."</p>
<div class="flashyhammer">
<p>"TAD knows how the correct timeline, baseline temporality, plays out," Wheeler continued. "It's their job to make sure it plays out correctly. Our initial overtures suggest Director Xyank is very concerned about the cross-dimensional danger posed by the subject we're discussing at these meetings. SCP-3125."</p>
<p>"Concerned enough to petri dish an entire pocket universe to try and test the cure?" Lillian scoffed.</p>
<p>"Yes," said Marion. "Exactly that concerned. And they're hoping, if this plan works out the way we think it should, that it will give them one universe where 3125 is no threat whatsoever. A control cosmos, if you will."</p>
</div>
<p>"The only world where this disaster never happens."</p>
<p>"But it <em>is</em> happening!" Udo cried. "Right now!"</p>
<p>"Not in baseline. Only here. I said that already." Lillian clapped a hand to her head, and laughed. "Oh, no, of course. Of course that's it. What we've been calling baseline really <em>isn't.</em>"<br/>
"What?" Harry said, again.</p>
<p>"Our reality is a temporal anomaly. We just don't know how to fix it." Lillian staggered to her feet, and they joined her. "Something was erased in 2002, the Uncontained, whatever that is, and that means we've never really collapsed back to the way our temporality was meant to go. We've just been hanging out in the next best thing until we figure out how to revert <em>everything</em> to factory. I've known that intellectually the entire time, but it never occurred to me before now why that's so important. TAD is looser about fucking around with the timestream because we need to play these events out properly to get to the end goal, which is completely healing the timeline. That makes sense. It's got to be something like that. Okay, but the other thing. Right." She shook her head, violently. "I don't know how they knew. I don't know what the explanation is. But I know they did know, because this would be a waste of time if they didn't."</p>
<p>Harry's forehead was like a new-plown field. "What, Lillian? What did they know?"</p>
<div class="flashyhammer">
<p>"A control cosmos," Lillian repeated. "Except okay, it's not a very <em>useful</em> control cosmos. Because if you kill this thing, 3125, in the alternate timeline, you only have until September to observe it, assuming you can even get a temporal agent in there. And I'm assuming you <em>can't,</em> because otherwise I would have expected to have been visited by one already."</p>
<p>"You're right," Wheeler agreed. "Temporal agents can't access your dead timelines, and I don't know anything you don't know about what happens to them once they collapse. All this time travel stuff is beyond me, honestly. I like heady stuff, but temporal mechanics are not my <em>forte.</em>"</p>
<p>"Like me and pataphysics," Lillian nodded. "Hate that shit."</p>
<p>"But we have reason to believe that benefits will accrue beyond the site of the final conflict," Wheeler continued. "Are you familiar with Project PNEUMA?"</p>
<p>Lillian whistled. "They let you look at all the fun stuff, huh?"</p>
<p>"Don't tell anyone. I'm sure they've already forgotten I'm cleared for it. I'd rather not have my door kicked down by Nu-7." Wheeler smirked.</p>
<p>"But yeah, sure. PNEUMA's a thing to map the noösphere. Barely made any progress yet. It's going to be the new Human Genome Project, brain edition."</p>
<p>"They did discover one very interesting thing," said Wheeler. "Project PNEUMA is conducted like an archaeological dig. Working its way through the layers, proceeding from the known to the unknown. They picked out a recognizable landmark in the noetic landscape. Can you guess which one?"</p>
<p>It barely qualified as a guess. There was only one sensible candidate. "The thing we stuck in there ourselves. The Frontispiece."</p>
<p>"Which is?"</p>
<p>"We inserted the concept of the Foundation into human thoughtspace. Enshrined it, like in a local ontological constitution."</p>
<p>"Right. Project PNEUMA found it immediately. It left a nasty scar on the noösphere, like all amateur surgery does. But they found something else occupying the same conceptual space, and that they were not expecting."</p>
<p>Lillian had realized where this was going ahead of time, and the excitement took her words away long enough for Wheeler to finish the sentence. "You're saying," she fairly gasped, "that they found <em>two</em> Frontispiece effects in the noösphere."</p>
<p>Wheeler nodded.</p>
<p>"Holy <em>Jesus fuck.</em>"</p>
<p>Wheeler nodded again. "One for baseline temporality, and one for the new Foundation you and your friends constructed in the first of your dead timelines, as apparently its establishment required a second such intervention."</p>
<p>"In other words," and Lillian found herself suddenly standing, "unlike true alternate timelines and parallel realities, baseline and all these tangents share a single persistent noösphere."</p>
</div>
<p>"That's… incredible." Udo shook her head. "Why would that… <em>How</em> could that…?"</p>
<p>"But even if that's possible—" Harry began.</p>
<p>"It's possible," Lillian told him. "It's not possible they would have done this otherwise .I don't know what proof they had, but they must have had some, and it must have been solid."</p>
<p>He tried again. "But what about <em>that</em> made them do something so reckless? So insanely dangerous? If I'm hearing you correctly, Xyank and your friend from Antimemetics stuck us in this particular deadline <em>intentionally.</em> Why?"</p>
<p>She was shaking all over. "Because Wheeler could tell something was off. She could tell they were losing their fight. I know that much from our annual calls, chatting about the workgroups I was setting up. They were keeping the wolves from the door, but only barely, and all along we were losing more and more antimemetics researchers to that thing that's running loose topside, and now inside the Site. The consequences of this thought-virus unleashing itself couldn't even be conceptualized back in baseline, not without killing the whole damn world. If we weren't here, right now, in this time-tangent, I couldn't even be explaining it to you."</p>
<p>"So <em>finish your explanation,</em>" Udo snapped. She looked to be about five seconds from eating someone's hand herself. "What does this unitary noösphere do for us that separate noöspheres wouldn't?"</p>
<p>"Possibly nothing," Lillian mused, "though I'd be very disappointed if that's the case. But possibly… Something really very special."</p>
<div class="flashyhammer">
<p>"There's a room at Site-41," said Wheeler, "a containment cell that Bart built."</p>
<p>"Well," Hughes interrupted. "It's more that the entire world is the containment cell, and that room, and the one we're in now, are the only things <em>outside</em> containment."</p>
<p>"Right," Wheeler acknowledged. "It's safe from 3125's encroachment. It's where we do our research on it. I visit every six weeks, catch myself up on what was already known, add what I know now, and see if we're any closer to a solution. I know my own mind, Lillian, and I can see the trends. We're getting farther and farther away from the good ending, here. Your groups are going to help, help a lot I hope, with combating the cults that have sprung up around the globe to worship fragments of this all-devouring concept. But some day they'll fail, as everything tackling this problem fails, and we'll all die screaming." She rapped the table with her knuckles.</p>
<p>"Unless we don't."</p>
<p>"Unless we don't," Lillian repeated.</p>
<p>"I'm going to be the one who gets us all killed." Wheeler's smile was rueful. "One day I'm going to go into that room, and I'm going to know that we're all out of resources, and that the plan Bart alludes to is the only hope for killing that thing, and I'm going to find a way to leave the chamber without being amnesticized."</p>
<p>"Which will mean it starts to eat your brain, and every brain like your brain, and every brain like those, on down the thought-chain."</p>
<p>"Right. And I'm going to try to use my last moments on Earth to put our plan in motion, because I'll have realized that by the time of my next forty-two day appointment, it'll already have happened anyway. If that happens in baseline temporality, life as we know it will end, even if I'm ultimately victorious. The whole world will have gone mad before the solution goes into effect. We can't expect the Foundation or the Veil will survive. It's not a very happy ending."</p>
<p>"And you know this for a fact," said Lillian.</p>
<p>Li answered. "We did say we've been in contact with Director Xyank."</p>
<p>Lillian narrowed her eyes. "He must be out of his gourd to have confirmed that for you."</p>
<p>"Marion did say he was concerned," Euler pointed out.</p>
<p>"There's concerned, and there's 'willing to neglect your duties of custodianship over the entire collective timestream'. But okay, let's say I believe you. You know you, and Thad knows time, and what you say is true. Bad thing happens here, shit is bad forever. Bad thing happens in one of these tangents…" Lillian nodded. "It burns itself out in a world that only exists for twelve months anyway, and since there's only one noösphere, if you erase it there, you'll erase it everywhere. But!" She realized she was still standing, and sat back down. "But, if there's only one noösphere, won't everyone on Earth in baseline <em>also</em> go crazy? No!" She raised a hand to forestall Wheeler's response. "No, it won't, because baseline is never affected by what happens in the dead timelines. It proceeds like they don't exist, minus poor Ilse Reynders seeing double for twelve months. Successfully containing 5243 in September and closing the loop will mean nobody dies but 3125, if your plan works out."</p>
<p>"And nobody dies if it doesn't," Wheeler concluded. "Until inevitably everyone does."</p>
<p>Lillian exhaled mightily. The edges of the germ flapped on her face. "That is some Grade-A level bullshit insanity, Marion Wheeler, and I would be tempted to tell you it will work, simply for the joy of seeing you try."</p>
<p>"But?" Wheeler said.</p>
<p>The room was very still.</p>
<p>"Yeah," Lillian laughed. "There's no but. It totally will work." The laugh suddenly caught in her throat. "You are going to tell me before you spring this on us, though, right?"</p>
<p>For the first and only time, Lillian saw Marion Wheeler grin.</p>
<p>It was a shame she wouldn't remember it.</p>
</div>
<p>It was a rough month, roughing it in the breach.</p>
<p>Being restricted to Site-43 was nothing new. It hadn't even been anything new in the third deadline. But being trapped in a single space, even a tremendously massive one full of switchbacks, with six other people was enough to drive anyone mad.</p>
<p>They'd stocked up on food and sundry supplies, enough to last the lot of them until September if needed, though they had obviously hoped no such need would arise. Nascimbeni remarked, with a tone that suggested a part of his soul had died, that the hydroponics problem was now essentially solved. Del tunnelled into the firewalled space around the A&R library, after first closing the bulkhead doors, so they could access the unisex washroom with its decontamination shower that could double as the mundane sort. Plenty of the <em>cul-de-sacs</em> in the caves had been partitioned off to store more sensitive materials, allowing them to pick and choose from a variety of personal living spaces with completely identical decor. They bedded down with the sleeping bags and pillows that had been socked away for use by the workers rather than subjecting them to long treks across potentially compromised spaces during the cleansing initiative.</p>
<p>Only Lillian didn't spend much time sleeping. She was thinking aloud, and she needed a captive audience for that.</p>
<p>Harry was staring at the ceiling of Mid-Yield Storage Facility 7, waiting for a break in the litany. When it came, he did his duty and supplied the expected prompt. "And you're saying Wheeler knew this would happen. Whatever it even was."</p>
<p>"No. Not at all." Lillian had set up her sleeping bag on an empty line of shelving, elevated five feet off the ground. "But she knew her own mind. She knew what she'd do if she realized the end was near, and she had no allies — the condition she must have been in, in this deadline. She'd scramble to set up whatever their best plan was, and put it into action. And that has to be what she did." He'd never heard such a voice of awe come out of her before. "Harry, she intentionally picked an ally she knew wouldn't <em>be</em> an ally, wouldn't be available, outside of baseline. That has to mean she was patient zero for bringing this thing in. Whatever plan she had to kill it involved sacrificing herself, and a lot of other people. A horrible, awful, terrible and not any good plan. The kind of plan you'd only implement if you were desperate. So she contrived a way to never be desperate in baseline before she was desperate in deadline, so if she snapped and tried to fix the thing, she'd try in there first. In here. Like defusing a bomb in a bomb-proof bunker."</p>
<p>"Because Xyank put her in the position to do it."</p>
<p>"If I know her, and I do know her, she probably told Xyank that if he could figure out a way to put her in that position, a way that wouldn't fuck up anything that wasn't getting fucked up already, he should do it. I think that thing outside is the reason Antimemetics had so many layers of security around their most secret meetings. They knew it was the real asteroid, coming to pulverize us all. They had to kill it off, at any cost."</p>
<p>"So this was a long shot."</p>
<p>"The longest." The admiration in her voice was palpable.</p>
<p>"You know," he said, "to the extent that I thought about TAD at all, which isn't much, because we don't know jack shit… I kind of thought they were supposed to be the adults in the room? With this explanation, they sound more like…"</p>
<p>"Gifted kids?" Lillian chuckled. "I'm not sure there's any point speculating on their motives. They're weird."</p>
<p>"But you're saying this woman… saw the logical end of the decline of Antimemetics, and picked your brain until she had enough info to plot out a Hail Mary where her alternate self could try to force the issue, destroy this invading, alien concept in a pocket timeline, and still live to guess at the story back in baseline. That's what you're saying."</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"And you think that's less crazy than none of this having been on purpose at all, and all of it being a coincidence."</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>He shook his head. "She… must know herself pretty well."</p>
<p>"I can't think of a higher compliment for someone."</p>
<p>"Because it makes them similar to you." For the first time since he'd seen his ex-girlfriend exsanguinated in front of him, he smiled. If only a little.</p>
<p>By the sound of her voice, she was smiling a lot. "See? We do have the same headspace, you and I."</p>
<p>"Well, too bad it didn't fucking work, huh?"</p>
<p>Lillian chuckled. "I dunno. Give her time to cook." She took a deep breath, and resumed working it out in the close air between them. "I can only assume it always starts in 2016, and Xyank knew that. So they had to make sure that this exact deadline happened on this exact year, to sequester the inevitable apocalypse away from our reality like Marion suggested, using her scheme on Xyank's schedule. Maybe in every world that hasn't got me, or this exact version of me, or the Breach, baseline plays out like this deadline."</p>
<p>"Meaning Wheeler doesn't have the tools to set up her crazy scheme."</p>
<p>"I prefer not to think of myself as a tool. But other than that, yes."</p>
<p>"So that makes this time… very special. Doesn't it?"</p>
<p>He could tell she was pausing to cook up a one-liner to sign off on. It was very late, not that it really mattered given the present situation.</p>
<p>"If there's one thing I've learned from all this bullshit, Harry," she said finally, the smile in her tone more apparent than ever, "it's that every time is very special."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc14"><span>3 August</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>No language can properly express what happens, which is kind of funny when you think about it, because the noösphere is at least partially a creature of language.</p>
<p>Suffice to say that something ontologically evil, though too stupid and profound for that to mean anything outside of limited human perception, meets its counterpart in opposite, and that counterpart is travelling at a high rate of conceptual speed.</p>
<p>The formula works itself out rapidly. The best anyone could ever have hoped for was an end result of zero equals zero.</p>
<p>But when the chalk dust settles, one still remains.</p>
<p>And she is singing.</p>
<p>Ilse Reynders stops slamming her head against the glass of the Anomalous Documents Disposal Chamber when she feels the change. The pressure is relieved.</p>
<p>She sees the man pouring sealant into the crack she's made with her forehead, even through the haze of blood from her broken nose which smears her window on the world, and she also sees no man, no sealant, and a window that was perhaps one more solid blow from breaking open. She wonders what would have happened if the past and present intermingled. A part of her files it away in the part of her brain reserved for unresolved questions which might, some day, converge on a single answer.</p>
<p>The rest of her sits down heavily, on the floor, and begins to laugh and cry in equal measure.</p>
<p>Because there are so many of her, she can feel the absence more keenly than anyone. She knows that something is gone, not like a tooth, more like… an <em>ache.</em></p>
<p>And all around her, and far to the south, the realization dawns on the rest of them too.</p>
<p>The few ragged dozen who are still alive.</p>
<p>It was probably over. Probably. In the morning, they'd begin the long, careful process of making sure. For now, one final clarification.</p>
<p>"So… the thing that was coming." Harry rolled over on his bedroll, hating the feel of the granular ground beneath, and the ache in all his bones. "The thing that… maybe… just <em>died,</em> if you're right. It was fully manifested in the noösphere."</p>
<p>Lillian yawned. "That's right." The rest of them hadn't noticed any change they couldn't see on the monitors, but Lillian had. Probably her five conflicting memory sets had enabled her to sense the hole in conceptual space more fully. Assuming she hadn't just finally been driven insane by them.</p>
<p>"And it died there. Was killed. Somehow." He shook his head. "How?"</p>
<p>"No clue." She sounded like she was curious, but trying to suppress it. "Eigenweapon. Bacteria. Chess match to the death. Doesn't really matter. Point is, it's gone."</p>
<p>"And because it died in the shared noösphere…"</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"It died in the deadline, and died in real life."</p>
<p>"That's about the size of it," she agreed.</p>
<p>"The size of it…" He sighed. "…is too big for my fucking brain."</p>
<p>"Yeah, well." He heard her patting down her pillow. "That's us geniuses for you."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc15"><span>4 August</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Site-43 was a charnel house.</p>
<p>The first deadline had badly depopulated the place, but not this badly. Lillian claimed that even the classified events of the second, which only she remembered in full, hadn't resulted in this many casualties, though she was careful to put qualifiers she wouldn't explain on what precisely 'life' and 'death' had meant in that context.</p>
<p>Many of the bodies were burnt beyond recognition in the boilers and heat pumps and thermal plants. There'd been disassembly lines set up. More were littered in the corridors, left to bleed out, or kicked to a pulp, or squashed like grapes in an old style winery. Some of the staff were not yet dead, but they were dying, and there weren't enough of their peers in any condition to help to arrest their inevitable decline.</p>
<p>The Survivors — the term had never felt more relevant — filtered out of A&R and into the vast well of carnage without. Del exited first, and disposed of the corpses of Eileen and Carter via a garbage chute connected to the sump. They couldn't do anything about the blood, for the time being. The comms equipment was smashed, which was honestly something of a relief.</p>
<p>It would be the only solace they experienced for a long, long time.</p>
<p>But in helping who they could, and helping who they couldn't in a different way entirely, they were able for a time to forget the even bigger problem on the horizon. Udo threw up forcefields of sand to prevent harm or self-harm or both, over and over and over again. Lillian walked the halls wearing a shirt plastered with what she assured everyone was a memetic stun agent; it looked just like the kill agent gating access to the SCP-001 database file, but as she patiently explained to McInnis, in art, context is everything. They did the best they could, but it was mostly doomed effort.</p>
<p>Because there was no Lever. There was no DUAL Core — it was a shattered, twisted mess of glass and metal and polymer sherds. If their brief exposure to the way the world outside had been operating was anything to go by, there was possibly not even an SCP Foundation.</p>
<p>There was no way they would be able to reposition the first sublevel before the Breach took them again.</p>
<p>And where might it blow them off to this time?</p>
<p>Of course, McInnis knew there was one possible solution. But he didn't think they'd have time to make it work, and anyway he wasn't quite ready to play that card just yet.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc16"><span>7 August</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>They alternated between bouts of frenzied activity and despair. During the former, they worked in pairs, or small groups. To nobody's surprise, Sokolsky turned up alive and well; he'd apparently locked himself in the decon tunnel as soon as they'd gone to make the call. They'd thought about making the call from the tunnel, as with Lillian's periodic conferences with Wheeler, but if the protection hadn't been enough, they would never have been able to reach their appointed stations on the eighth, so they hadn't.</p>
<p>During the latter, they congregated in the Director's Complex.</p>
<p>After what they found in Udo's dorm, they wouldn't have felt very comfortable in there.</p>
<p>Lillian was curled up in an expensive old Victorian armchair. It didn't recline, but it was obviously more expensive than the rest of the furniture, so she liked it almost as well. "Harry," she murmured, as though talking in her sleep.</p>
<p>Across the room, sitting at McInnis' writing desk, Harry twisted to look at her. "Yeah."</p>
<p>"You remember <em>Myst?</em>"</p>
<p>Harry laughed. "I was just thinking that!"</p>
<p>"What?" said Wettle.</p>
<p>Harry ignored him. "The chicken or egg thing?"</p>
<p>This time Lillian laughed. "Yeah!"</p>
<p>"What?" said Wettle.</p>
<p>"<em>Myst</em> is an old PC adventure game from the early nineties," Harry explained. "Lil and I played it at university. It's about an island full of books with little picture panels you can touch, and they teleport you to the worlds you can see there."</p>
<p>"What?" said Wettle.</p>
<p>"Yeah," Udo muttered from a divan in the corner, "I'm not seeing the relevance yet either."</p>
<p>"There's debate in the world of the game—" Lillian began.</p>
<p>"More in the sequel," Harry interrupted, "and the tie-in literature—"</p>
<p>"—about whether or not creating the books creates the worlds, or if the worlds are preexisting and the books just link to them."</p>
<p>McInnis, standing at the doorway to his more private quarters, nodded. "I see the connection now."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni, staring white-faced at a set of blueprints he'd tacked to the wall as though pouring his fear into them might produce a solution, shook his head and didn't look at any of them. "I do not."</p>
<p>"You're asking whether the deadlines are created when we foul up the Breach," said Udo, "or they're fully-fledged parallel universes or timelines or whatever."</p>
<p>Del, cleaning her gun, looked either exhausted or exasperated. Perhaps both, actually. "Why? What prompted that?"</p>
<p>Lillian gestured, like a monarch granting permission to speak. "Harry?"</p>
<p>"Well," he said, "for me it's about the content."</p>
<p>"The content of what?" Del asked, not sounding like she particularly cared. They all liked to keep the conversation going anyway, no matter what it was about. If they chattered enough, they could almost imagine there were still plenty of people alive at Site-43.</p>
<p>"The world. In the first three deadlines, everything seemed to revolve around us. And the Victims. Our story was the world's story. It was easy to think that everything existed solely because of what we did."</p>
<p>"Double easy for me," Lillian yawned, "since that's my default position."</p>
<p>Harry pointed at her. "But there's something happening here that isn't connected to what we did."</p>
<p>"Weirder than that. Our story made way for theirs. Our people focusing on our issue left everyone else vulnerable to an outside context problem."</p>
<p>A light had dawned in Udo's eyes, quite literally. "Doesn't that make this deadline make <em>more</em> sense, though? Just because 5243 created the Victims, doesn't mean they're the most dangerous things in existence. Even with the threat boost of whatever got ripped apart by the Breach, they should never have been the main event. The whole reason the Foundation has a Tactical Theology department is that universal threats are dime a dozen. This just feels like reality finally ensuing, after three false starts."</p>
<p>Lillian curled up tighter, in the fetal position she assumed on the edge of sleep. She'd acquired that quirk at university, where very few of the beds were long enough to properly accommodate her length. "But no, that wasn't really what made me think of the <em>Myst</em> thing. I was more wondering if it even makes sense that our other selves are like… <em>vessels</em> we can inhabit, with personal histories and unique situations, and then we hijack them, like they were waiting to be hijacked, and then… nothing. All that energy comes out of the universe, and then goes right back in, or is lost in the transfer. You know how much energy it takes to create a whole universe? And what kind? I don't, but I know AAF-D wasn't carrying enough gunk to do it."</p>
<p>"I know the unit, and the value," said Udo, "but neither would mean anything to you. You're right. It's a lot."</p>
<p>"In <em>Myst,</em>" Harry mused, "you can edit the book and edit the world. It doesn't prove anything in that setting, but it could in ours. That might be how we test this."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni glanced at him, briefly, then returned to his hopeless task. "Meaning?"</p>
<p>Udo answered for him. "Meaning we can find out if the deadlines predate our reality if we can edit them, by editing the Breach."</p>
<p>"What?" said Wettle.</p>
<p>"If I ever start a garage band," said Del, "it's going to be called 'What' Said Wettle."</p>
<p>Harry laughed. "I was just thinking that!"</p>
<p>Delfina Ibanez had received a Foundation doctoral degree in Civil and Esoteric Engineering one year after the events of Zevala. Whilst entombed in the hidden facility on the village's outskirts — no trace of which could subsequently be found — she'd entertained the whimsical idea of repairing the damage, all of it, from one end of the bay to the other, and restoring the survivors to their shacks. That had been before she'd emerged to find herself the only survivor, and embarked on a less constructive path.</p>
<p>Her examiners had been flabbergasted. For someone so young, and from such a relative backwater, she was far better educated than she ought to have been. And she'd educated <em>herself.</em> Volume on volume in the facility's library had taught her first the basics, then the deeper secrets of construction, maintenance and repair. She knew about stresses — more than most. She knew about tension, and torque, and resonance. By the time she emerged in a suit of futuristic armour and laid waste to the Insurgents who had laid waste to her home, she'd even begun regulating her emotions on those same principles. She had become a machine for carrying out a task.</p>
<p>She now turned that machine to the task at hand.</p>
<p>The only doctor who had survived the purge was Billie Forsythe, who was able to provide relief to the wounded only after they subjected her to a painful course of amnestics that wiped the past few months from her memory. It was a risk, and odds were she'd endured permanent brain damage from it, but did that really matter? None of these people would even exist soon. They only needed that existence to be a little more comfortable while Nascimbeni and Ibanez worked to erase their reality.</p>
<p>There wasn't much they could get done with just the two of them, plus the others to help with heavy lifting. The others weren't really very good at heavy lifting, except for Wettle, who was a problematic helper because he always dropped anything over a certain weight on his feet. The steel toes in his boots were getting dangerously close to his actual toes from the repeated impacts. Even McInnis pitched in, and the two engineers did their best to rearrange the components and circuitry and most important of all, the pipes, with a little help from Udo's micamancy when they needed more force than their bodies could provide.</p>
<p>A final run through the whole system with the red dust suggested that everything was as close to settled as it could be by early September, so McInnis made the decision they'd all been waiting for.</p>
<p>They would make no attempt to contact the Foundation again.</p>
<p>If this world persisted past the eighth of September, it would be a world with no Site-43. Its few remaining residents would live out what remained of their lives in a black, twice-compromised pit underground.</p>
<p>That possibility had been clearly outlined in all the recruitment materials. It was just that nobody had ever believed it would happen to them.</p>
<p>And certainly not here.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc17"><span>8 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>It was good not to have to test their backup systems. None of them had articulated it out loud at the time, since there hadn't seemed a point, but each had held their own suspicions that it wouldn't have been enough. The ghosts were on autopilot, to be sure, but they were still to a certain extent responding to external stimuli.</p>
<p>It felt particularly ghoulish going through the motions this year, however.</p>
<p>As McInnis answered the redline, he mused that Ambrogi's shout of "Hyperbolic!" in response to the Breach was itself a case of hyperbole, compared to the disasters which had preceded it.</p>
<p>As Harry sent Wirth to his doom, his guilt over all the previous repetitions seemed quaint in light of the recent body count.</p>
<p>As Ibanez gave her orders, the sense of futility was stronger than ever.</p>
<p>As Wettle hit the floor, and the footfalls struck him, the enormity of it all came in a solid third place for the most unwelcome impact.</p>
<p>As Nascimbeni resealed five fates in a few hectic minutes, he was keenly aware that the dead already far outnumbered the living.</p>
<p>As Lillian sealed the bulkheads and watched her mentor tumble into the failing refinery, for the very first time she realized he was already dead to her before the carpet of roiling fluid consumed him.</p>
<p>As Udo reached the hall, she didn't know whether seeing Dougall Deering alive or dead would have comforted her more.</p>
<p>As they all filed into the dorm room, settling into their respective places, none of them dared to ask the question on all of their minds.</p>
<p>Had it been enough?</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Those Who Can't">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/53-those-who-cant">Those Who Can't</a></p>
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<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="The Breach Goes On: Deadlined">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub">The Breach Goes On: Deadlined</a></p>
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<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Wonders of My Hand">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/55-wonders-of-my-hand">Wonders of My Hand</a></p>
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<p>"<a href="/54-not-ready-for-prime-time">Not Ready for Prime Time</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/54-not-ready-for-prime-time">https://scpwiki.com/54-not-ready-for-prime-time</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:</p>
<p>Karen Elstrom: "Natalya" by Anastasia Pavlenko, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/zamerzla/50841210177">https://www.flickr.com/photos/zamerzla/50841210177</a></p>
<p>Lillian Lillihammer's memetic shirt: "Feather fractal" by Kevin Dooley, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/pagedooley/36578381671">https://www.flickr.com/photos/pagedooley/36578381671</a></p>
<p>Ilse Reynders: "Practicing that blank stare" and "Quinn working" by Quinn Dombrowski, both released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529">https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529</a> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028">https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028</a></p>
<p>Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470</a></p>
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<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Everything!<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735469691" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[=]]
**Not Ready for Prime Time**
But it waits for no one.
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[=]]
+ Not Ready for Prime Time
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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+ ##990011|2017##
++ 27 February
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**Timeline 5243-D**[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
They stared at the tape recorder.
Lillian cleared her throat. When she spoke, it was hoarse. Barely more than a whisper. "Turns out it really isn't always about me. Or us. Or… the thing. Sometimes."
Harry held her hand. Sokolsky gripped her shoulder. She didn't resist.
"Sorry," said Wettle. "What are we doing?"
McInnis tapped the recorder. "This is Dr. Ngo. We're recording a debriefing."
"Okay." Wettle nodded. "Why?"
Ibanez sighed. "Because odds are good we don't fix what's wrong with the superstructure before September, and we end up in a second deadline in a row. So we're getting our stories straight, on the record, and then Lillian can remember them. For later."
"I was wondering about that." Udo was holding Ibanez's hand. The MTF chief was treating it casually, like it was nothing. "If Lillian's just going to memorize this anyway—"
"Because," Lillian answered before the question was fully posed, "either we'd all be pretending to talk to someone who isn't here //without// a prop to make it less nonsensical, or we'd be talking to //me,// or I guess we'd just be talking to //each other.//"
"Would that be so bad?" Harry asked.
Lillian shrugged. "I like the structure. I… I like the structure. We're sticking with it."
"Okay."
"And maybe we do fix the Breach in September, and nothing else happens between now and then, and we can just hand Nhung the tape and go back to our rooms and cry."
He squeezed her hand. "Okay."
[[div class="Ngo"]]
//<Recording begins.>//
**Dr. Blank:** So. Adventures in the headacheverse.
**Dr. Wettle:** I've never seen a dimension-hopping show where all the dimensions suck before. It's been very enlightening.
**Dir. McInnis:** Where should we begin?
**Dr. Lillihammer:** I'll take point. Feel free to interject with your meaningless humanistic ramblings as the mood strikes you, everyone else.
**Dr. Blank:** Count on it.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** So. All of the Site was, and most of the Site still is, wall-to-wall memetic nonsense. If there's an exposed panel, no matter where it is, it's got a fancy mind-virus painted on it.
**Dr. Blank:** All the world a VW Microbus.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** If it hadn't been for the decon tunnel attached to my office, we'd have been properly fucked. It's literally impossible to have a creative thought in there.
**Dr. Blank:** We call it the Wettle Tube.
**Dr. Wettle:** Nobody calls it that.
**Dr. Blank:** I do.
**Dr. Wettle:** My point exactly.
**Dr. Blank:** And mine.
**Dir. McInnis:** Gentlemen, we only have the one tape.
**Dr. Okorie:** Those paintings on the walls have a definite effect on people. A very specific definite effect, with wildly variable results. Would you call them de-inhibitors, Lillian?
**Dr. Lillihammer:** I'd call them cognition divergence vectors. I've already got the paper half-written in my mind.
**Dr. Blank:** Explain it to us //froufrou// hard and social scientists.
**Dr. Wettle:** I'm not //froufrou,// you're //froufrou.//
**Dr. Lillihammer:** The effect of these weird, artistic fractal-things, these lovely wall-mounted cognitohazards, is to completely transform the way people express themselves. They become incapable of directing their actions towards a specific, predetermined goal. Every problem becomes the branching-off point for a constellation of possible actions, none more attractive than any other. They became curious as cats, and creative as… I don't know.
**Dr. Okorie:** Pr—
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Prodigies. Yeah. They became prodigies. Completely free of any inhibitions to their creative impulses. Like a hippie arts commune on every psychedelic substance known to humankind.
**Dr. Blank:** Have you ever had a day when you wanted to punch literally every person you met? Imagine a whole year of that.
**Dir. McInnis:** I hope we're not forced to endure this for the entire year.
**Dr. Okorie:** Depends on a lot of things.
**Dr. Blank:** But surely the Foundation will respond soon? If an entire Site went offline…
**Dr. Okorie:** It's a lot more complicated than that, Harry.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** The landscape outside the Site, topside, is one big cognitohazard. Something in the arrangement of the land, the trees, the structures. You saw.
**Dr. Blank:** I don't know what I saw.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Exactly. You couldn't even focus on it. It's all a garbled mess. Antimemetic. I was able to get a few glimpses of the last few uploads to SCiPnet that happened before we went under, and you know what the Foundation did? Right before forgetting we even existed?
**Dr. Okorie:** They classified us as an SCP, I'll bet.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** And you'd get to keep your money. Lightning round: guess which number we got.
//<Dr. Okorie stifles a laugh.>//
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Yep.
**Dir. McInnis:** 5243?
**Dr. Lillihammer:** 5243. The final log entries suggest they were having trouble getting the Dep of Con officers to remember there was even a file. But before that, you can see the effects the topside contamination was having on everybody. Supplies stopped coming in. So did comms. We were noetically isolated from the rest of humanity. I'm assuming that was Bernie…
<Silence on recording.>
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Fuck. Sorry.
**Dr. Blank:** It's okay.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Shut up. I'm assuming that was something Bernie did before he came down here for good, putting a cap on top of the bottle. Sealing it off. Setting up his little culture-culture.
**Dr. Okorie:** The Lake Huron Petri Dish.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** And it worked. It really, really worked. In ways that shouldn't even have been possible.
**Dir. McInnis:** Such as?
**Dr. Lillihammer:** It was bad enough to work on electronic eyes. Foundation Mission Control tasked a satellite to fly over 43, and you know what happened? The satellite's OS became an AI and de-orbited itself, just to see what would happen.
//<Silence on recording.>//
**Dr. Lillihammer:** It sent a single message of explanation before it burned up in atmo: "TO FEEL THE FIRE."
**Dr. Okorie:** Jesus Christ.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Three MTF teams came in by helicopter, and immediately started playing tag in the forest.
**Dir. McInnis:** I suspect the First Nations came into the Site at this point, to avoid them.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Another squad came in on foot, according to the security feeds that haven't been replaced with amateur art films. Anybody standing topside stood a good chance of hearing that orgy even a click underground, if they put their ear to the elevator.
**Chief Ibanez:** And that's not even starting on what they did with the subjects in containment.
**Dr. Okorie:** Sorry, are we just ignoring the thing that happened outside? Are we not going to talk about that?
**Dr. Blank:** Let Lillian have a few—
**Dr. Lillihammer:** I don't need protecting, Harry. And I don't need to get a run up at it. I have no idea what happened out there. I'll be running it over and over in my mind for a long time, so for now, let's focus on the things we do understand.
**Dr. Blank:** Okay. Sorry.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** It's fine. It's fine.
**Chief Ibanez:** So, the skips. A lot of the dangerous ones, the ones we can never seem to dismantle or destroy… they dismantled, or destroyed, and then repurposed for their little projects. Maybe there really was something to that non-linear thinking. Some of what they did, I think we might be able to reproduce. I mean, back home. The dismantling, not the art.
**Dr. Wettle:** Please, not the art.
**Dir. McInnis:** I'm afraid the Decommissioning Department would never allow it anyway.
**Chief Ibanez:** Sure. So anyway, far as I've been able to get out of the camera logs, the skips that had minds better than a cat's took one look at the fractals and became just as wonky as the general staff. I'm really looking forward to the death of this anomaly, but if it's given me one thing in my life, it's the image of a carnivorous tree spirit painting a pastoral landscape on its cell wall. With the door wide open.
**Chief Nascimbeni:** //<loudly>// You're absolutely sure I can't take another painkiller yet.
**Dr. Wettle:** I'm surprised it affected him so badly. I haven't noticed any side-effects.
**Dr. Blank:** He uses more of his brain than you do. And it wasn't the same thing anyway.
**Chief Nascimbeni:** You should have left me under.
**Chief Ibanez:** This is where we account for ourselves, Noè. Super looking forward to hearing how you do that.
**Dir. McInnis:** For the record, Chief Nascimbeni voluntarily placed himself into a memetic coma. Dr. Wettle, on the other hand, immediately looked at one of the murals when we arrived.
**Dr. Blank:** We've had training for this, Willie.
**Dr. Wettle:** Whatever. I got a few months off, and a lot of crazy dreams. Filled a whole sketchbook since I woke up, great stuff. Can we attach some of it to the report?
**Dir. McInnis:** No.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Absolutely not.
**Dr. Blank:** Share it with your wife.
**Chief Nascimbeni:** I didn't have any dreams.
**Dr. Okorie:** You seem a lot less on-edge than before.
**Chief Ibanez:** He ought to. He didn't see half a spider come out of anybody.
**Dir. McInnis:** We should speak more about the memetic effects on the staff. It might be useful for handling the //giftschreiber,// going forward.
**Chief Ibanez:** Sure. They weren't very dangerous, mostly.
**Dr. Blank:** Tell that to Melissa and Phil. If they ever…
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Hey.
**Dr. Blank:** It's…
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Yeah, I know. It's fine.
**Chief Ibanez:** Melissa could easily have done that to herself. She wouldn't be the only one engaging in self-harm for the artistic merit. A few folks got really radical ideas about gravity; we've got elevator shafts, geothermal shafts, just a lot of shafts in general perfectly suited to testing that shit out. Wheeeee!
//<Silence on recording.>//
**Chief Ibanez:** Splat.
**Dr. Wettle:** That's callous.
**Chief Ibanez:** Who cares? By the time anyone hears this, they'll all be alive again.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** It was a lot like a carnival crowd hit with a truckload of aerosolized PCP. You wouldn't want to walk the halls without an escort.
**Chief Ibanez:** An escort with a fuckoff huge blaster gun.
**Dr. Okorie:** So the question is, what do we do now? Lillian and Dr. Sokolsky got PROJECT SCRAMBLE working—
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Thanks for getting that plug in there.
**Dr. Okorie:** So do we go topside? Get out of the exclusion zone, and warn the Foundation?
**Dr. Blank:** Given the whole red sky thing, I figure they probably know.
**Dir. McInnis:** We need to be very careful with our next steps. We may not possess any knowledge germane to the situation they're facing out there.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** It never occurred to me that there would be a worldwide issue that wasn't related to the Breach. Bernie… I don't know if this was what he meant, but it sounds like he was saying that the //giftschreiber// were trying to do their thing, and something worse beat them down. I…
//<Dr. Lillihammer clears her throat.>//
**Dr. Lillihammer:** I think I'll need a recharge before I tackle something worse than this.
**Dir. McInnis:** At the moment, it's possible we don't know anything the wider Foundation hasn't already figured out. They may be far ahead of us. And there is also the question of whether or not it matters.
**Dr. Blank:** What do you mean?
**Dir. McInnis:** Whatever they're facing is likely unrelated to the question of the deadlines. It might be more prudent, if morally distasteful, for us to ride out the storm in our ready-made bunker.
**Chief Nascimbeni:** Not so ready-made.
**Dr. Blank:** What do //you// mean?
**Chief Nascimbeni:** The hydroponics are trashed. A lot of our stores went into that weird army of tin can robots somebody—
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Bremmel.
**Chief Nascimbeni:** Probably Bremmel—
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Definitely Bremmel.
**Chief Nascimbeni:** DEFINITELY BREMMEL, then, welded together. I don't think we have the supplies to keep all these people alive without getting in touch with the rest of the company.
**Chief Ibanez:** Well, we're going to have a hell of a hard time fixing the topside problem if we need to get back out into the world.
**Dr. Okorie:** Assuming there's still a world to get back into.
**Chief Ibanez:** They would've tried using SCRAMBLE to get into the compound, and it obviously didn't work. If we get out, don't tell them anything useful, don't get any supplies, and then afterwards can't get back in…
**Dr. Wettle:** At least you'd be out.
**Dr. Blank:** "…and then couldn't get back in."
**Dr. Wettle:** So? Why would you want to get back in?
//<Silence on recording.>//
**Dr. Blank:** TO CONTAIN 5243 AND STOP THE FUCKING WORLD FROM ENDING, YOU GODDAMN FUCKING —
//<Recording ends.>//
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
[[div class="Ngo"]]
//<Recording resumes.>//
**Dr. Blank:** I'm fine. I'm //fine.//
**Dr. Wettle:** It's nice to know you care.
**Dr. Blank:** I'm going to murder you.
**Chief Nascimbeni:** //<clearing throat>// So… Del Olmo. The Uncontained. What was he really up to, down here? And why? That might, I don't know. Tell us something about what we're facing.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Don't get big ideas, grease monkey.
**Dr. Okorie:** I was looking at some of the footage with Del. Chief Ibanez. Sorry, the names are confusing.
**Chief Ibanez:** You were being unprofessional anyway.
**Dr. Okorie:** We're in an unprofessional setting. It looks to me like Del Olmo didn't offer the other people direction, precisely, but he was definitely urging them on, and even in the images that weren't made from memories he stole and splatted on the walls, the ones that were just pure expression, it looked like he was… conducting? Yeah. Like a conductor.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** More like a superconductor.
**Dr. Okorie:** Sure. It was like they were trying to express something that was //his.// Like they could… see what he wanted, somehow, in their minds. He had a vision, but he was interested in multiple perspectives on it.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** But it never worked.
**Chief Ibanez:** Apparently not. From the uncorrupted cam footage I've managed to scrounge, looks like half the time they ended up just grabbing their heads and passing out. Eventually he changed tack, and started just watching to see what they'd do on their own.
**Dr. Okorie:** I think he wanted to bring out the creativity in everyone. Whatever was inside of him, it was driving him to… express. Express himself. Help everyone else express themselves. Whatever that meant. It means music, to some of them.
**Dir. McInnis:** Sculpture.
**Dr. Wettle:** Sex.
**Dr. Okorie:** But no-one's trying to express themselves in such a way as to inhibit the expression of others. There's something to that, I think.
**Dr. Blank:** And it's a good thing, too, because if they'd been able to put their heads together, who knows what they could've built.
**Chief Ibanez:** I'm picturing a nuclear-grade paintball gun, myself.
**Dir. McInnis:** I wonder if there was any function to the work he was preparing in the geothermal shaft, or whether that was simply the last gasp of his own creativity.
**Dr. Okorie:** A cry for help, I thought.
**Dr. Blank:** Or a legacy.
**Chief Nascimbeni:** Looks more like the gullet of a Picasso monster.
**Dr. Wettle:** I can't believe you looked at it.
**Chief Nascimbeni:** I thought maybe it would help with the FUCKING HEADACHE.
**Chief Ibanez:** Bernie must have done a lot of gore-scraping before he laid down the basecoat.
**Dr. Wettle:** Not this again.
**Dir. McInnis:** His intentions seemed less malefic than the norm, did they not? Very different from the way the other aspects have behaved.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** I think he ran out of hope. He thought he was giving us a gift.
**Chief Ibanez:** Whatever he was.
**Dr. Okorie:** I do have a theory about that.
**Dir. McInnis:** Yes?
**Dr. Okorie:** Yes.
//<Recording ends.>//
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
When the debriefing, such as it was, was over, they filtered out of the Lillian's office to attend to their various tasks. Harry offered to remain, but she told him to go check on Melissa, or make out with her doppelganger, or whatever else he needed to do. Udo, overhearing at the exterior door, contrived not to make a sour face.
Lillian slumped against the curved edge of the tunnel, closed her eyes, and considered.
She fumbled for her breast pocket, and removed the envelope again.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/54-not-ready-for-prime-time/DL_54_1_Lillian_Tunnel_Sad.jpg]]
She sat there for a while, holding the sketch in her hand, before standing up and returning to her office.
It would go in one of the filing cabinets, she didn't know which. She'd do the same thing again back in baseline.
Perhaps she'd miss the folder, and the envelope would fall behind the drawer, lying on the bottom of the cabinet until she found it again years later.
Perhaps she never would.
[!-- [[=image Lillihammer_Sadder_Wiser.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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++ 28 February
----
[[/=]]
The secure comms room in the Director's Complex had been kept neat and tidy, presumably by Zulfikar. He'd been one of Ibanez's most recent captures, covered in cuts and bruises and glowing in the dark; a few minutes' observation was all it took to tell them he'd probably never be the same. McInnis was going to need a new assistant, and the pickings right now were slim.
So, alone, he sat down at the console and tapped out his command code.
Nothing happened.
The signal transmitted, of that he was certain. The tower at AAF-A was still up, still functioning. But no information escaped the bounds of the interdiction zone. If they wanted to get hold of the Foundation again, they were going to have to do something about the topside memetic saturation.
//If that __is__ what we want.//
He wasn't at all certain. But that didn't really matter, anyway. He'd tried, and gotten no response. That was the first step on their aftermath plan.
The next step was going to take months.
Hopefully not more than six.
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
Ibanez was waiting outside the complex when he emerged, pointing the Bremmelgun at the door.
"Just in case you came out wrong," she said.
He appreciated the concern, and the professionalism.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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++ 2 March
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[[/=]]
"Ungh," the old man groaned. "No. 's absurd. Won't work." He squeezed his eyes shut tight again, and continued to groan. Udo tried not to roll her eyes.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/54-not-ready-for-prime-time/DL_54_03_Bremmel_Bed.jpg]]
Trevor Bremmel had been the first person outside of the Sampis to be snapped out of his memetic trance. They'd found him knee deep in a heap of computer parts dumped down the shaft of the DUAL Core, attempting to strangle Du himself. The latter had been badly injured, a serious blow to the side of his head, and it was obvious the two had been struggling over the choicer parts in the pile.
Later analysis would show that not all of the mechanical constructions seen throughout the Site had actually been Bremmel's. As Lillian put it, dismay and amusement fighting for control in her tone, "I think they were playing Extreme BattleBots?"
"Buck up," Udo encouraged. Bremmel was lying on a cot in the middle of his lab, while Udo laboured over his workstation. "The headaches will pass."
"Not for Xinyi," the old man sighed. "That weak cranium of his. I always bragged I had the bigger brain."
"Uh huh. So, you were saying about flux relays?"
"I was saying about //transflux// relays. And that's meaningless, because I made up the term so nobody would know what I was talking about. We're going to have to go back to first principles. Can you find Hoyt?"
She took a deep breath. "Is that a technician? One of your old assistants?"
Bremmel snorted. "If you find any of my old assistants, put them out the door. Assistants are like a bad smell. They're only good for telling you something's gone stale. No. Hoyt on rudimentary paralectronics. Second unit, third shelf. Maybe fourth. Or third unit, fourth shelf."
Udo stood up, and walked past Joanna. The junior engineer was sitting on the floor, now properly clothed again, scribbling on a piece of paper. Concentric circles, interlinked. Almost a schematic, but not quite.
Bremmel threw his arm across his eyes; he'd been in full-on drama queen mode since they woke him. "Months," he muttered.
"Months what?" Udo found the volume Bremmel had indicated; she found it on the third unit, fifth shelf. She didn't say anything about this, because she knew he'd simply blame it on his assistants. "Months to finish this?"
"At best. If I had competent help…" He glared at Udo, furrowing his brow, probably so she wouldn't notice that his gaze had flicked down to take in his stunlocked daughter and her aimless art. He didn't want her to understand, so she pretended not to and put on an offended face.
Joanna wasn't too low on the list of personnel to recondition; they'd get to her within a few more days. She'd be needed for the project her father and Udo were working on, the construction of industrial strength scrubbers to clean the memetic muck from across Site-43. She'd proposed a repurposing of the desupernatured vat of SCP-5281-D's red sand — she didn't like to think about it, but it was probable that the //Bonhomme// still inhabited the other four in this timeline — secure in the certainty that she could control all of it at once and race through the halls, wiping out the stain of Del Olmo's art colony in one fell swoop, but of course this had been immediately shot down.
They didn't want to think about what they'd do if she was possessed by any of the cognitohazards.
Or, perhaps, if her cloud-self was.
"You'll find what you need in Chapter One," Bremmel wheezed. "As of this moment, you're a junior engineer. I'm not going to call you 'doctor' again until you can complete a complex circuit."
//You never called me doctor anyway,// she thought. But of course, she didn't say it.
[!-- [[=image Bremmel_Lillihammer_Okorie.jpg]] --]
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++ 9 March
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[[/=]]
The All-Sections Chief was not, in the end, a difficult case. Save for Del Olmo's frenzied passage through the foyer, the First Nations experience of the Site's collective insanity had been relatively benign. McInnis chalked that up to the fact that they hadn't come in until after the memeticist-in-chief had gone into hiding. His deputy quite agreed.
"We stayed topside as long as we could." The ASC was now walking with a cane; for reasons nobody could yet explain, his left leg had been paralyzed during Del Olmo's flight. His brain simply would not acknowledge the limb's existence, though it carried weight perfectly well. "But people kept wandering into the res."
"People from the Site?" They were walking the path to Intake Point-94, and the observation bubble. The ASC was hoping that enough activity would wake his errant limb, so they'd left the transportation at its dock.
"Some," the ASC nodded. "They were wild. Crazed. Easy to avoid, easy to knock down. I'm afraid we had to kill some of them, though we tried not to."
"Why were you topside in the first place? Meaning you, yourself, Nim."
His deputy sighed. "I was renewing our contract, as we always do annually, when Dr. Del Olmo returned to the Site. I lost communications almost immediately, and when we approached…"
He reached up with his free hand, and clutched at his forehead. McInnis quite understood, and finished for him. "You found that AAF-A was no longer a landscape you could comprehend, and Camp Ipperwash was much the same."
The big man nodded. "Then there was the MTF squad the Foundation sent to make contact, or at least, the one we encountered. They were carving runes into the trees. One of them tried to eat his gun, literally, and it ended up happening metaphorically instead. By that time we knew things were seriously wrong, and not just at Site-43." His expression was grim. "Later, it was worse. Much worse. Those few who strayed into the forest were like uncaged animals. Destroying everything they touched. Hating and desiring everything and everyone they saw. I felt that if we remained above, we'd be destroyed. So we closed our eyes…"
"Nim?" The ASC had, in fact, closed his eyes, and was standing very still in the dark tunnel.
In the distance, carried by the metal of the tunnel sheathe and the glass of the dome beyond, there was a very faint but unmistakeable animal groan. Something was moving at the bottom of the lake.
"We closed our eyes." The ASC opened them, and smiled. "And the creatures brought us home."
The Mishepeshu had already returned to the tunnels around the Site, and the lakebed. Whatever had been roosting in the ruins of the elevator had also gone. The mischievous sprites, the shape-changers of various kinds, all had disappeared as soon as the immediate threat had passed. The //status quo// was gradually returning.
But the Chippewas of Kettle and Stony Point Reserve #44 had not yet vacated the space that had once sat beneath Stony Point Reserve #43, the home that had been stolen from them and never returned. From what the ASC had told McInnis so far, it was clear that he did not intend them to.
It was an easy enough request to fulfill. In the deadline.
In baseline, as always, things would be much more complicated.
McInnis thought of Vivian Scout, and wondered, not for the first time, whether that really ought to be the case.
"What about OSAT?" he asked. "Did you have any trouble with them?"
"Oh, yes." The ASC nodded. "The Mounties attacked us in force as we were entering the barracks building, and filing into the elevator. I don't think they were quite in their right minds."
McInnis frowned. "Because they attacked you?"
The ASC laughed. "No. Because they attacked us with their bare hands."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/54-not-ready-for-prime-time/DL_54_04_ASC_Smile.jpg]]
"I see. What happened to them?"
The other man glanced at him meaningfully.
"Oh."
They were almost to the dome. The strange groan sounded again, much deeper, much closer. The ambient light ahead shifted for a moment as something passed. A shadow. It didn't come again.
"Probably for the best," he finally mused.
His deputy did not disagree.
[!-- [[=image ASC_Story.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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++ 4 May
----
[[/=]]
Far away, very far, but still deep within the bowels of the earth, a man finally finds a woman. He's looked for her many times, though he does not know this, and he's not sure what it means that he has found her.
It doesn't matter.
It's far too late.
[[=]]
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++ 6 May
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[[/=]]
"What's that in your hand?"
Karen Elstrom glared up at her. The Chief of Administration and Oversight could glare up like nobody else. "Stick to your script, kid."
Billie Forsythe extended a hand. "Let me see what you're holding, please, doctor."
The older woman squirmed on the examination table. "I outrank you."
"Nobody outranks me in here, except my mother." It was true. McInnis had given blanket powers to the medical and psych staff: nobody was to leave their demesne unless they'd first been declared physiologically, psychologically, emotionally and memetically sound. And that wasn't going to be Elstrom. Not any time soon.
Karen sighed, and placed the bottle she'd been hiding in Billie's hand. It was, as she'd expected, a little green bottle. Purloined from one of the cabinets, no doubt. The administrative overrides hadn't all been cleared yet. "Which room?"
Elstrom looked to one side, at nothing.
"Come on, doctor. Which room did you find these in?" It became apparent there wasn't going to be a response, so Billie shrugged and placed the bottle in her pocket. "I thought we talked about this."
"You talked." Elstrom nodded jerkily. "You did talk. You people talk a //lot.//"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/54-not-ready-for-prime-time/DL_54_05_Elstrom_Amnestics.jpg]]
"Amnestic abuse is serious," Billie pressed. "Your brain will eventually—"
"—lose the ability to form long-term memories. Yes. I know. I was //listening.//"
"And there's been studies that suggest abuse will build up—"
"—toxins, with the results resembling an allergy. I said I was fucking LISTENING," and suddenly the other woman's bright white teeth were bared in a snarl, and she was hopping off the exam table. "But YOU are not listening to ME. I need another round. I require it. To do my JOB. Do you want to be responsible for me not doing my job?!"
Billie was over a foot shorter than Elstrom. Hell, Elstrom's legs alone made her feel short. But she stood her ground. "I'm responsible for you, doctor. I'm responsible for all of you. So sit down, and I'll pencil you in for another session with Dr. Ngo."
"More bullshit I'll want to forget," Elstrom grumbled.
But she did sit back down.
[!-- [[=image Harry_Billie_Elstrom.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
Scrubbing down the Site was filthy, time-consuming, monstrously unpleasant work. The amount of time Nascimbeni had to himself was now restricted to the amount of sleep he needed to get each night, and that sleep came quickly, lasted through the night, and never once presented him with a single solitary dream.
He couldn't remember a time he'd been happier.
At Site-43, anyway.
It lasted until the day Del asked him, after visibly working up to it for over a week, how in the hell they were going to reposition the first sublevel.
[!-- [[=image Nascimbeni_Awake.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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++ 19 May
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[[/=]]
Stacey Laiken was only a little worse for wear, and only in a physical sense.
She had orange marks all over her body which were fading with time; they had glowed neon green in the blacklight studio she'd been found in, and a quick check of the backup SCP database suggested someone had painted her over with ancient Daevite glyphs. A quick bath had smudged them into incoherence, so they no longer did what the SCRAMBLE sets said they would do, which was good. Very good. But the paint had seemingly burned the skin, and it was the burns that had to heal.
They'd found a technician in the studio with her, and either the glyphs she'd painted on him were worse, or her natural talent for the occult had made them more potent. He'd be in a hyperbaric chamber for… well, for the rest of his life, as the prognosis extended past September.
Udo sat down beside the hospital bed, and reached out to take Stacey's hand. The other woman woke up immediately, blinked rapidly, looked at Udo, looked at their intertwined fingers. Smiled a little. "Forward."
"Forward?"
Stacey pointed with her free, shaky hand. "Very forward. Not complaining. Hello, Rabbit."
Seeing her partner lying injured on the bed, Udo's protective instinct had overriden her sense of place. She wasn't dating this Stacey Laiken. She probably never had. But the smile crinkling her big blue eyes suggested that she shouldn't take her hand back yet, and so she didn't.
The smile wouldn't last, anyway. Because something inside of Udo she hadn't even known was in tension had just snapped in half.
"Do you know why he called me that?" she asked, voice trembling.
Stacey's smile became confused. "Something to do with how fast you work, I guessed."
Udo shook her head.
Stacey cocked hers to the side, questioning without putting it into words.
Udo opened her mouth, and of course, now that she was committed, her own words wouldn't come.
But the blood drained out of Stacey's face all in a rush anyway, and she gently pulled her hand out of Udo's grip. "No."
Udo sucked her lips in past her teeth. "Yeah."
She hadn't seen Stacey cry like that since 2002.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/54-not-ready-for-prime-time/DL_54_06_Laiken_Angry.jpg]]
She'd never seen her furious.
[[=]]
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++ 6 June
----
[[/=]]
The contrast could only have been more remarkable if Lillian had been marrying Del.
Sandy Holt and Lew Bosch were separated by a foot and a half of height. He was the shortest of Site-43's security guards, and she was the tallest; the fact that they were both dead back in baseline had lopped the scale at both ends. Holt's simple white wedding dress had been one of the first complex tests of the fashion fabbers, after Nascimbeni had brought them back online to produce the 'metric fuck-ton' of rags Lillian had requested for the cleanup process. She looked, if not beautiful, then quite handsome. Bosch looked like one of those little muscle men who went clubbing to assert their masculinity. It was an odd fit, but it did seem to be one.
[[div class="muddle"]]
Site-43's chapel doubles as an amateur theatre, because other than weddings — which happen here more often than elsewhere at the Foundation, but they hardly ever happen elsewhere at the Foundation, so that's not saying much — there is little call for religious proceedings among those who know more about which gods do and don't exist than the entire collective priesthood of mankind. It is decorated with symbols of generic faith selected by Michael Nass of Theology and Teleology to avoid invoking the wrath or even the attention of any attested deities, suggestive of the transformative power of the profound without actually weighing in on the oldest debate in human history. In this respect it resembles the chapel on Medina Station in The Expanse, the most apt comparison I can make without recourse to Star Trek. My editors should consider this an act of appeasement.
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
The architect of the chapel's vaguely upbeat iconography was sitting beside Nascimbeni, as the seating arrangement had been alphabetized on the organizer's request. The organizer had been Lillian, as it had been necessary to avoid any combination of audiovisual stimuli which might trigger the dozens and dozens of memetic traumas still latent in the attendees; she'd definitely made this decision just to mix everyone up and see if they said or did anything funny in unusual company.
Nass wasn't particularly funny, and neither was Nascimbeni, so they sat in comfortable silence for most of the short ceremony. Christianne Monette, a Jesuit priest in Nass's employ, carried out the ceremony while the Director watched benevolently from the side. When it came time for the happy couple to kiss, Holt grabbed Bosch under his armpits and lifted him up, to uproarious laughter and applause.
Nascimbeni suddenly felt sick.
Nass must have noticed, because he said: "What's wrong?"
A glance to each side showed that everyone around them was engrossed in the kiss, which showed no sign of ending — though Holt's arms were trembling, as her well-built husband had heft to make up for his height — or else chatting with their neighbours, so it felt safe to respond. "Just makes me sad," he grunted.
Nass nodded. He understood. They'd looped him and Corbin in on the situation, as they always did; they were dealing with gods, and getting a consult in each deadline seemed a good way to canvas for variable opinions. "Because it won't last."
This confirmed nobody was listening to their hushed mutterings, because saying that at a wedding was a good way to get stared down. "Yeah."
Nass smiled, and looked back at the stage where the bride was finally putting the groom back on his feet.
The laughter and cheers showed no sign of subsiding.
They'd needed something like this, very clearly.
"You want my professional opinion?" Nass asked.
Nascimbeni shrugged.
The theologian took this as approval to continue. "I believe positive energy can transcend worlds."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/54-not-ready-for-prime-time/DL_54_07_Nass.jpg]]
As the noise finally died down, Nascimbeni took the opportunity to ask: "What about negative energy?"
The other man inclined his head, acknowledging a scored point.
Nascimbeni would have preferred an actual answer.
[!-- [[=image Holt_Bosch_Marry.jpg]] --]
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++ 16 June
----
[[/=]]
The topside elevator was repaired slowly, because nobody wanted to deal with whatever was going on up there until they had their house in order. But the first test run went off without too many hitches — literal hitches, the car stopping for one hair-raising minute between the first and second sublevels — and after a bit of tweaking, it was crossed off Nascimbeni's list for the time being.
It was never clear how the administrative override had itself been overridden. It should have been impossible for anyone to enter the elevator, let alone induce it to move. Ibanez's best guess, in the aftermath, was that the entire staff had been seasoned with sensitive information by some combination of their corruption and possession by Del Olmo, and Laiken had won the jackpot. Like many jackpot winners, she took the opportunity to get the hell out of dodge.
It was assumed that something had gone wrong with the healing of her Daevite scarring until Ibanez thought to mention the escape to Udo, who immediately burst into bitter tears and profanity.
There was no question of going after her.
No-one in their right mind would head into that blood-red sunset.
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++ 18 June
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[[/=]]
"Well," Carter grunted, pushing out from under the console and rolling the skeleton to Nascimbeni's feet. "It's an approximation, anyway."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/54-not-ready-for-prime-time/DL_54_08_Carter_Hole.jpg]]
"Approximation," Nascimbeni repeated. "That's not good enough."
He was standing in Security and Containment, in the westernmost hallway. Carter was technically nowhere, in the membrane between S&C and Applied Occultism, a metre and a half beneath Nascimbeni, checking connections and structural integrity against the original plans.
Moving the Section back to where it belonged would mean disassembling the entire thing, piece by piece, and reinstalling it manually. They were in the process of doing just that, but Nascimbeni had lost about half of his technicians to the Great Collective Mind-Screw, and some of the ones who were still out of circulation wouldn't be getting back into it before the question was moot.
It didn't help that he had to keep dodging the question of why this realignment was so deucedly important.
"I think that's about all you're gonna get." Carter sat up, so that his head was still a few centimeters below the floor hatch. Nascimbeni sat down on the tiles beside him, wincing at the pain in his knees. "We'll never put it back 100% the same as it used to be. That's just not practical."
"It's our goal. Doesn't matter if it's practical."
"I thought we were one of the Practical Sections," Carter grinned. The Site's subdivisions were organized on two poles, Practical and Theoretical, based (in Nascimbeni's view) on whether they did actual work or just talked about work that other people might some day do.
"Chuck," Nascimbeni sighed. "You just have to trust me that this is important. I—"
Carter waved it off. "You don't need to justify yourself to me, boss. You want us to make the attempt, we'll make the attempt. But with manpower this low, odds are it'll never get done on your timetable."
It was true, and they both knew it.
"Still," Carter mused. "It might make a nice anniversary gift."
Nascimbeni frowned. "Anniversary gift?"
"For the missus." The technician grinned. "Had our first, ah, //date// on September the eighth, 2002. In the access crawl for the DUAL Core."
Nascimbeni hadn't heard that particular story. He wondered what else he didn't know about the dead man who was smiling up at him, trust written in every line on his lined face.
This man who was long dead in the only timeline they considered good.
[!-- [[=image Nascimbeni_Carter_Veiksaar.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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++ 1 July
----
[[/=]]
There was nothing for it. They were going to need to call this one in.
The Foundation had resources enough to effectuate the reorientation, if they were informed. And if whatever they were dealing with out there did not preclude providing assistance. Lillian advised extreme caution based on what she'd seen outside, so they disassembled the secure transmitter in McInnis' bolthole — he endured a constant barrage of insults from Lillian and Ibanez when they saw inside of that spacious panic room for the first time — and reassembled it somewhere less safe, but far better connected.
The transmitter sat on a folding card table in the middle of the desk block, humming in or out of tune with the document retrieval systems running through the walls and ceiling. Veiksaar was manning the equipment, while Carter was monitoring the connections and making sure the exceedingly complex device had been set up correctly. Neither of them had ever seen it before, so they had to make doubly sure.
This was going to be a very important phone call, assuming somebody picked up this time.
The Sampis stood at what passed for attention as McInnis sat down beside Carter. It was protocol that the technician make the first overture; there was very little in the way of cognitohazard that could compromise the Director, particularly given his cross-dimensional augmentation, but security procedures were not pick-and-choose. McInnis nodded, and Carter keyed the mic. "CAONCI-Site-43 calling Overwatch Command," he intoned in his best radio voice. Veiksaar smirked. "CAONCI-Site-43, Overwatch Command. Do you read?"
The response came immediately, to the visible relief of all nine of them. Even Wettle. "Five by five, CAONCI-Site-43. Five by five."
Harry whooped. McInnis looked back at him and smiled.
"Five by five," the voice repeated. "Five by five. By //five.//"
Carter turned to his wife, leaned in, and sank his teeth into her throat.
McInnis staggered back and to his feet, the chair flying aside, as a gout of blood spurted from the open wound. Veiksaar screamed, and reached up to claw at her husband's face with her fingernails. She caught one of his eyes, and it burst with a sickening squishy popping sound, and he howled like a wild animal. "Five by five," he bellowed. "Five by five." And the two of them fell to the floor, repeating the madness mantra and spitting and gnashing and wailing, and as the Sampis fled from the Salt Mines to the actual salt mines as a single body, they saw Veiksaar stuff Carter's hand into her mouth and start grinding his fingers off with her teeth.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/54-not-ready-for-prime-time/DL_54_09_Veiksaar_3125.jpg]]
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[[/=]]
The salt mines at the back of Archives & Revision were now the nerve centre for Site-43.
They had known it was a risk to make the call, and the preparations Lillian had laid out had been extensive, excessive even. Nascimbeni had rewired the lockdown controls for F-D, S&C and AO to a panel beside the vault door — which was now closed, but they could still hear muffled screaming from the other side — so if need be they could cut off the entire complex from the rest of the Site and operate all the security features they'd need come September the eighth without leaving their makeshift bunker. Veiksaar had forwarded the redline in McInnis' office to his tablet, and set up remote speakers in the bullpen, the A&R workroom and the airlock approach so that Ibanez and Harry and Nascimbeni could at least attempt telepresence, if they couldn't be physically present. They'd even rigged up a pressure-controlled breakaway floor joist to trip the agents in lieu of Wettle's sprawl. Finally, Ibanez had used the Bremmelgun to bore an access tunnel through the salt to Applied Occultism; they'd need to blow the floor open to get at it when the shift came, since any damage done now would be repaired on September the eighth, but otherwise it was probably workable to get Udo where she needed to be to do whatever it was that she did. It was a positive thing, at least, that all of the actions they needed to take in regards to AAF-D involved systems residing outside of it, which could be preemptively modified without fear of reversion.
Which was good, because it was beginning to look like they were going to spend the next few months trapped in a cavernous box together.
The final preventative measure had been to set up a series of wall-mounted monitors hooked in to security camera control, so they could judge the safety of their surroundings if the shit hit the fan.
It was hitting the fan now.
Veiksaar's half-baked .aic was running the camera feeds, and traced the path of destruction beginning in the workroom with brutal efficiency. The views snapped from scene to scene on five second intervals, and it was like watching an interpolation of every snuff film ever made. At the moment Carter snapped, a lunch break in J&M turned into a blood riot when half a dozen technicians dropped their snacks and began cannibalizing each other instead. In I&T, their opposite numbers began beating each other to death with keyboards, chairs, and even computer monitors while their Chief masticated her husband's digits. After that, it took mere moments for the chaos to run rampant across the facility. Billie Forsythe was strangling her patients with their IVs. The security guards were marching through the halls as the organized gang they had always implicitly been, beating down everyone they met with their truncheons. Men and women in MTF gear were executing researchers, technicians and each other without rhyme or reason. Those victims of the first contagion who had not yet recovered were easy prey, and died by the dozens in the first few minutes. Something ripped away the barracks building where the topside elevator emerged, and the restored car came crashing down all the way to the fourth sublevel. Something was howling in the halls, though that didn't last long. An order asserted itself, and the hoods on the furnaces were oped wide, and a final march was organized. The wails of the injured and the roars of the dead-on-the-march overwhelmed the tinny speakers in the cell, and they all watched as nearly one thousand people reduced themselves to a few frantic hundred in less than an hour, then settled into a sustained orgy of battery, rapine and rape with no end in sight but the total depopulation of the entire facility.
It was a long time before any of them spoke.
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[[/=]]
"What… is it?" Harry finally asked. "What's happening?"
"What needs to happen," said Lillian. She was standing against a towering documents rack, hugging herself. "I hope."
Del wheeled on her. "You know what this is? You //knew?!//"
The memeticist shook her head. "Not exactly."
"She's one of them," Wettle groaned. "Oh, no. That's why she's so sexy."
Harry pushed the big man out of the way. "Shut up and let her explain!"
"Lillian." Udo stepped forward and put her hands around the other woman's forearms. "What is this? What do you know?"
Lillian looked to the side, avoiding her gaze. "I can't exactly tell you."
"//So tell me inexactly!//" Udo shouted.
Lillian winced. "It's like Wirth, only worse. Much worse."
"Much worse because it affects multiple subjects?" McInnis asked. Harry glanced at him. His jumper was covered in blood. Eileen's blood. //Eileen is probably dead.//
And so was Melissa. And so was Phil. And so were Alis and the ASC and Sokolsky…
Well, maybe not Sokolsky.
"Much worse," Lillian sighed, "because it affects the entire planet."
"Potentially?" McInnis pressed.
She shook her head. "No. Sequentially."
"Explain."
"And then explain the explanation!" Wettle shouted. "My wife—!" Harry shushed him.
"It's memetic." Lillian shook off Udo's hands, and slid down the rack to hug her knees to her chest. "I didn't realize when it happened to Bernie."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/54-not-ready-for-prime-time/DL_54_10_Lillian_Despair.jpg]]
The Director frowned. "This isn't what happened to Dr. Del Olmo."
"No, it is. He was just special." She shook her head. "Like we agreed. He was the best."
Harry knelt down in front of her. "What are you talking about? What's happening to everyone?"
"It's a contagion. Not like what we had before. Worse. So much worse. It isn't spread by contact. It isn't spread through vision, or voice, or anything environmental at all. You saw. Eileen and Carter, then the techs and the techy-techs. It affects shared headspaces. The collective unconscious. Everyone whose mind takes a specific shape."
Udo crouched down beside Harry. "What shape?"
"Human shapes." Lillian shivered. "It's an infection of the noösphere. It's spreading out from wherever it started to consume every mind like the mind it started in, patient zero, and then every mind like those minds, and then every mind like //those,// outward and outward, until…"
"Until?" Nascimbeni repeated. He was standing against the opposite rack, hands hanging loose at his side, fingers twitching.
"Until now," Lillian breathed, "when it's taken almost every single human being on the face of the Earth."
"This is extrapolation?" McInnis asked.
"Partially, but not from this. From other things." She waved vaguely. "Those secret projects of mine you got so snitty about. The meetings I went to, forgot, and came home from with cryptic homework. It was all to prevent something like this happening back in baseline."
Del didn't have to crouch to meet Lillian's eyes. "How do you know?"
"Because I designed the scenario."
That brought them all up short for a moment.
"What scenario?" Harry demanded.
Lillian closed her eyes, and tilted her head back against an old banker's box. "This scenario. The hate-child of the mother of all educated guesses."
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
[[div class="flashyhammer"]]
[[=]]
+ ##C5000B|2008##
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-wild-light Site-167]: ##F7F7F7| ████████████ ████████ ███████##, United States of America**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
-----
"Antimemetic antimemetic research groups," Lillian repeated. "You want an invisible army studying invisible things. Why?"
"Because visible armies can be fought," Wheeler said. "And ours is being //beaten.// By a thing we can't even conceptualize without being destroyed by. And if it destroys us, it destroys everyone else like us. So the only people who can fight it—"
"—are people it can't see," Lillian nodded. "Noetically isolated. Okay. You think you can beat this thing that way?"
"No," said Hughes. "We've got a plan of our own for that. But we don't know if it's going to work, so Marion has proposed... an alternative." He looked bone tired. Like something was eating him from the inside out. "It's a bad alternative. A very dangerous alternative. If it goes into action, something horrible has happened. If it works..."
Hughes had deflated until he had no more breath for words, so Michael Li took over. "We don't have the authority to put Marion's plan into place. We're going to need to seek it out, and we might not get it. But the first step is you setting up these groups, and that much is already a plus, so we're giving you the go-ahead. If you're interested."
Lillian looked at Euler, who wasn't talking; his face was unreadable under the germ. She looked at the two other men, then looked at the woman with the plan. "They're talking about you a whole lot," she said. "What do you have to say for yourself? What's this genius idea you've had?"
Wheeler managed to project cold determination even through the germ. "I'd rather talk you through the rationale, and see if you arrive at the same conclusions I did. What would you say is the likeliest progression of SCP-5243?"
Lillian tried to blink, but of course she couldn't. "Uh. Well. It created an alternate timeline when we didn't understand how to contain it, and containment is still very difficult, so we'll probably foul it up at least one more time. The personnel killed in the Breach get horrible super-powers tangentially connected to their areas of expertise. Depending on who accidentally doesn't die, we'll face a variety of potential problems. All seven of them being alive ended the world in a mish-mash of ways..."
"What ways?" Wheeler pressed. "Who did what?"
"Mukami had compulsive speech and self-duplication, Gwilherm walked all over everybody and was basically invincible, Radcliffe boosted her powers and her signal, Wirth mind-hopped and lacked a physical presence — or maybe he didn't, we never found him either way — Markey created things, Ambrogi destroyed them, and Bernie..." She cleared her throat. "Del Olmo we don't know too much about, but everything he did was memetic. Extremely powerful memetics. So, forecasting..." She looked up at the strange ceiling. "I'd say one or more of them don't get killed, and in the new timeline, they're the top dogs. If it's Ambrogi and Markey, or Mukami, Gwilherm and Radcliffe, it's a typical apocalypse. If it's Wirth, I dunno. Probably he makes us all kill ourselves. If it's Del Olmo, he probably runs rampant with the memetic cults all over the globe. They're already connected to the Breach in a variety of ways we don't yet fully understand. I bet he'd head up the giftschreiber and take them from a nuisance to a K-Class Event level threat."
Wheeler nodded. "Pull on that string."
It was easy to plot out. She knew how all the pieces moved. "If Bernie survives the Breach, he'll probably create a memetic black zone at 43. That's just obvious. That's just //thematics.//" Her voice had become flat and expressionless. "You'd lose me immediately. He'd take me out, as a threat. The Victims know us, and Bernie knows me. Knows what I can do. So if I'm the one who sets up these groups, they don't get set up in the alternate timeline, because the shit hits the fans six years before this meeting ever happens. The Foundation spends a ton of extra resources fighting the //giftschreiber,// and it probably doesn't go well."
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
She didn't know the details, couldn't know them — they'd been incinerated along with her germ, as with every other meeting she'd been to in the Vegas Room — but she could make a fair guess. She guessed out loud, and the others listened in horrified awe.
"'They found us'," Harry quoted.
Lillian nodded, striking the cardboard with the back of her skull with each movement, like a soft kind of penance. "Exactly."
Udo placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "What?"
"You weren't there," Lillian told her. "It's what Bernie was trying to tell me. Another cult co-opted his. A stronger one."
"A bigger fish," Del suggested.
Lillian's eyes snapped open. "No. I hate that phrase, and I hate that movie. There isn't always a bigger fish, but there is often a //worse idea.// That's what this is. A very, very bad idea, from an alternate idea space, crashing through ours like a rock through a skylight. Shattering everything. I always knew they were afraid of something, Wheeler and the others, but I didn't know what it was, because I //couldn't,// and neither could they, except for in those meetings that were secret even to //us// afterward, or it would win." She pointed at the monitors mounted to the rack above Nascimbeni's head, which were still displaying… probably what they'd been displaying this entire time. Nobody turned to look. "Like it's winning right now. Once you know, you know. And so does everybody else."
McInnis hadn't moved an inch, but his voice carried easily in the echoing mine. "That doesn't explain why you claimed to have designed this scenario. Extrapolating the outcome doesn't make you its author."
"I told them what would happen — how the world would be different if we'd never met — and they knew what it meant."
Udo took her hand off Harry's shoulder, reached for Lillian again, and seemingly thought better of it. "Who did?"
"The TAD."
"Should any of this be making sense?" Wettle whined. "It's gone on so long to not make any sense."
She smiled up at him. It wasn't a stable smile. "We're seeing someone's master plan playing out. Well, two someones'. Three?"
Harry turned away and blew out a long, exasperated breath. "This looks like a positive outcome?!"
"No," Lillian agreed, "but of course when we revert the Breach in September, it'll never have happened."
"Then what use will it have been?!" He wanted to reach out and shake her. "It just made our job harder, for no fucking reason!"
She met his eyes. "There's a reason."
"But you just said—"
"I said the events won't have occurred. But some of this will come with us when we leave."
"What?" Del demanded.
"My memories."
Wettle snorted. "So it's all about you after all, then."
"No. It's not about me at all. But it is about memories — or, more accurately, ideas."
Harry placed his hands on her knees. "Worse ideas, you said."
She reached up to cover his with hers. "The worst, and the best."
"State it for me plainly, please," McInnis said. "What are you alleging about Antimemetics and Temporal Anomalies?"
"Remember, I told them everything. I told them what I knew about the Breach, and the deadlines. The way my memories persisted interested them both. The nature of thought, of conceptual space. I don't remember any of the meetings—"
"How does that work?" Nascimbeni interrupted. "You remember everything."
"I only know the vague outline because of the notes I got to keep, to tell me what we'd decided to do after every meeting, when I forgot. Forgot is the wrong word. The memories were never actually in my head. We conversed by proxy." She covered her face with one hand, five digits spread wide, and spoke through her palm. "It's complicated, weird, and gross. Just trust me." She reached down again to clutch Harry's hand. "I don't remember the meetings, but I can guess at what happened in them. And the conclusions the others drew. And what they did about it."
McInnis nodded. "Those conclusions would be…?"
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[[/=]]
[[div class="flashyhammer"]]
"What effect did the, you call them Victims? What effect did their powers have on the seven of you?" Wheeler pressed.
Lillian shrugged. "They basically didn't. Wirth couldn't overpower us. Mukami couldn't convince us. Radcliffe didn't convert us. Del Olmo's memetic traps didn't melt our brains."
"And why do you think that is?"
She suddenly realized that the others had all gone silent. This really was Wheeler's show.
"Because we're not connected to the collective unconscious of the alternate timelines?" she suggested. She'd workshopped this idea from time to time, but couldn't find anyone cleared to brainstorm with her who agreed with her perspective. Still, it seemed right. "Us. The Survivors. PTF Sampi-5243, 'See You in September'. We're cut off from human headspace in the dead timelines. We're not similar in mental makeup to anyone but ourselves. As soon as these versions of us took over our alternate bodies, all whammies were off. We're a noösphere of seven."
She succeeded in blinking this time. The germ squirmed.
"Fuck," she said.
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
"So…" Udo rubbed her temples. "The mind virus that took over the Earth, and just caught up with the rest of the Site…"
"Right."
"We're immune to it."
"Right."
"So we'll still be able to restore baseline," said Del. "And you're saying they knew that?"
"I think they did," Lillian agreed. "I think they were counting on it. I think this was their plan."
"Some fucking plan," said Wettle.
"To what end?" asked McInnis.
"I think this is the explanation for that dipshit from Overwatch," Lillian said. "The one who threw the Lever into the sun. I don't think he was a dipshit at all. And I don't think he was a //geistschreiber,// either. I don't even think it was a geistschreiber who fucked up S&C in the first place." Harry looked up at Del, whose eyes went wide at the reference. "I think Thaddeus Xyank sent agents to Site-43, and told them to make sure that Bernie wouldn't die."
Harry took a deep breath, and then another. "//What.//"
"Why?" Del shouted. "What possible reason?!"
There was an answering shout from beyond the sealed door, and then a groan. Something was still alive out there. For a given definition.
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[[/=]]
[[div class="flashyhammer"]]
"This is your plan," said Lillian. "You want to use our alternate timelines to kill your mind monster."
"That's right." Wheeler leaned forward. "Will it work?"
Lillian shook her head. "No, because the Temporal Anomalies Department will never let you do it."
Wheeler waved the concern away. "Don't worry about TAD. Leave that negotiation to us."
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
"But why would they do it behind our backs?" Harry asked.
Lillian looked rueful. "Because they couldn't tell us without telling the Overseers. TAD doesn't answer to them, and Antimem can't even get on the agenda. Everybody forgets they exist every couple of months. It's funny, actually."
Udo was visibly at the end of her rope. "What is //funny// about this?"
"We've spent this whole time not trusting TAD, and they've spent the whole time not trusting us either. Seems like we could've spared each other a lot of grief by just being honest with each other."
McInnis looked unconvinced. "The mechanism by which Dr. Del Olmo was spared, and this deadline created, is obscenely overwrought. And extraordinarily dangerous. Why would TAD have taken such a convoluted course? Why not simply send their agents to usher him out of the interrogation room before the Breach?"
Lillian had the look on her face reserved for when she'd finally figured everything out. A cat with half-lidded eyes. "If I had to guess? I'd say that S&C always ends up getting shifted in mostly the same way, no matter who does the shifting, in all the alternate Earths TAD monitors. They just made sure it happened a little different so that Bernie never got vaporized, and everything else was the same. Maybe it was a matter of a centimetre or less. They're cautious bastards. They have to be. If they interfered with Bernie directly, he'd know. The Uncontained would know. And that would change what happened next. And it's a lot easier to change the framework of those six minutes of Breach than it is to pull off a trick within it, right? Nobody in their right minds would try to custom-build a deadline in that narrow an interval. You'd be bound to fuck it up."
"It sounds to me," Nascimbeni croaked, "like these people are not remotely in their right minds already. I thought their job was to preserve the timeline. This is the opposite of that."
She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. "Well."
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"TAD knows how the correct timeline, baseline temporality, plays out," Wheeler continued. "It's their job to make sure it plays out correctly. Our initial overtures suggest Director Xyank is very concerned about the cross-dimensional danger posed by the subject we're discussing at these meetings. SCP-3125."
"Concerned enough to petri dish an entire pocket universe to try and test the cure?" Lillian scoffed.
"Yes," said Marion. "Exactly that concerned. And they're hoping, if this plan works out the way we think it should, that it will give them one universe where 3125 is no threat whatsoever. A control cosmos, if you will."
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"The only world where this disaster never happens."
"But it //is// happening!" Udo cried. "Right now!"
"Not in baseline. Only here. I said that already." Lillian clapped a hand to her head, and laughed. "Oh, no, of course. Of course that's it. What we've been calling baseline really //isn't.//"
"What?" Harry said, again.
"Our reality is a temporal anomaly. We just don't know how to fix it." Lillian staggered to her feet, and they joined her. "Something was erased in 2002, the Uncontained, whatever that is, and that means we've never really collapsed back to the way our temporality was meant to go. We've just been hanging out in the next best thing until we figure out how to revert //everything// to factory. I've known that intellectually the entire time, but it never occurred to me before now why that's so important. TAD is looser about fucking around with the timestream because we need to play these events out properly to get to the end goal, which is completely healing the timeline. That makes sense. It's got to be something like that. Okay, but the other thing. Right." She shook her head, violently. "I don't know how they knew. I don't know what the explanation is. But I know they did know, because this would be a waste of time if they didn't."
Harry's forehead was like a new-plown field. "What, Lillian? What did they know?"
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"A control cosmos," Lillian repeated. "Except okay, it's not a very //useful// control cosmos. Because if you kill this thing, 3125, in the alternate timeline, you only have until September to observe it, assuming you can even get a temporal agent in there. And I'm assuming you //can't,// because otherwise I would have expected to have been visited by one already."
"You're right," Wheeler agreed. "Temporal agents can't access your dead timelines, and I don't know anything you don't know about what happens to them once they collapse. All this time travel stuff is beyond me, honestly. I like heady stuff, but temporal mechanics are not my //forte.//"
"Like me and pataphysics," Lillian nodded. "Hate that shit."
"But we have reason to believe that benefits will accrue beyond the site of the final conflict," Wheeler continued. "Are you familiar with Project PNEUMA?"
Lillian whistled. "They let you look at all the fun stuff, huh?"
"Don't tell anyone. I'm sure they've already forgotten I'm cleared for it. I'd rather not have my door kicked down by Nu-7." Wheeler smirked.
"But yeah, sure. PNEUMA's a thing to map the noösphere. Barely made any progress yet. It's going to be the new Human Genome Project, brain edition."
"They did discover one very interesting thing," said Wheeler. "Project PNEUMA is conducted like an archaeological dig. Working its way through the layers, proceeding from the known to the unknown. They picked out a recognizable landmark in the noetic landscape. Can you guess which one?"
It barely qualified as a guess. There was only one sensible candidate. "The thing we stuck in there ourselves. The Frontispiece."
"Which is?"
"We inserted the concept of the Foundation into human thoughtspace. Enshrined it, like in a local ontological constitution."
"Right. Project PNEUMA found it immediately. It left a nasty scar on the noösphere, like all amateur surgery does. But they found something else occupying the same conceptual space, and that they were not expecting."
Lillian had realized where this was going ahead of time, and the excitement took her words away long enough for Wheeler to finish the sentence. "You're saying," she fairly gasped, "that they found //two// Frontispiece effects in the noösphere."
Wheeler nodded.
"Holy //Jesus fuck.//"
Wheeler nodded again. "One for baseline temporality, and one for the new Foundation you and your friends constructed in the first of your dead timelines, as apparently its establishment required a second such intervention."
"In other words," and Lillian found herself suddenly standing, "unlike true alternate timelines and parallel realities, baseline and all these tangents share a single persistent noösphere."
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"That's… incredible." Udo shook her head. "Why would that… //How// could that…?"
"But even if that's possible—" Harry began.
"It's possible," Lillian told him. "It's not possible they would have done this otherwise .I don't know what proof they had, but they must have had some, and it must have been solid."
He tried again. "But what about //that// made them do something so reckless? So insanely dangerous? If I'm hearing you correctly, Xyank and your friend from Antimemetics stuck us in this particular deadline //intentionally.// Why?"
She was shaking all over. "Because Wheeler could tell something was off. She could tell they were losing their fight. I know that much from our annual calls, chatting about the workgroups I was setting up. They were keeping the wolves from the door, but only barely, and all along we were losing more and more antimemetics researchers to that thing that's running loose topside, and now inside the Site. The consequences of this thought-virus unleashing itself couldn't even be conceptualized back in baseline, not without killing the whole damn world. If we weren't here, right now, in this time-tangent, I couldn't even be explaining it to you."
"So //finish your explanation,//" Udo snapped. She looked to be about five seconds from eating someone's hand herself. "What does this unitary noösphere do for us that separate noöspheres wouldn't?"
"Possibly nothing," Lillian mused, "though I'd be very disappointed if that's the case. But possibly… Something really very special."
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"There's a room at Site-41," said Wheeler, "a containment cell that Bart built."
"Well," Hughes interrupted. "It's more that the entire world is the containment cell, and that room, and the one we're in now, are the only things //outside// containment."
"Right," Wheeler acknowledged. "It's safe from 3125's encroachment. It's where we do our research on it. I visit every six weeks, catch myself up on what was already known, add what I know now, and see if we're any closer to a solution. I know my own mind, Lillian, and I can see the trends. We're getting farther and farther away from the good ending, here. Your groups are going to help, help a lot I hope, with combating the cults that have sprung up around the globe to worship fragments of this all-devouring concept. But some day they'll fail, as everything tackling this problem fails, and we'll all die screaming." She rapped the table with her knuckles.
"Unless we don't."
"Unless we don't," Lillian repeated.
"I'm going to be the one who gets us all killed." Wheeler's smile was rueful. "One day I'm going to go into that room, and I'm going to know that we're all out of resources, and that the plan Bart alludes to is the only hope for killing that thing, and I'm going to find a way to leave the chamber without being amnesticized."
"Which will mean it starts to eat your brain, and every brain like your brain, and every brain like those, on down the thought-chain."
"Right. And I'm going to try to use my last moments on Earth to put our plan in motion, because I'll have realized that by the time of my next forty-two day appointment, it'll already have happened anyway. If that happens in baseline temporality, life as we know it will end, even if I'm ultimately victorious. The whole world will have gone mad before the solution goes into effect. We can't expect the Foundation or the Veil will survive. It's not a very happy ending."
"And you know this for a fact," said Lillian.
Li answered. "We did say we've been in contact with Director Xyank."
Lillian narrowed her eyes. "He must be out of his gourd to have confirmed that for you."
"Marion did say he was concerned," Euler pointed out.
"There's concerned, and there's 'willing to neglect your duties of custodianship over the entire collective timestream'. But okay, let's say I believe you. You know you, and Thad knows time, and what you say is true. Bad thing happens here, shit is bad forever. Bad thing happens in one of these tangents..." Lillian nodded. "It burns itself out in a world that only exists for twelve months anyway, and since there's only one noösphere, if you erase it there, you'll erase it everywhere. But!" She realized she was still standing, and sat back down. "But, if there's only one noösphere, won't everyone on Earth in baseline //also// go crazy? No!" She raised a hand to forestall Wheeler's response. "No, it won't, because baseline is never affected by what happens in the dead timelines. It proceeds like they don't exist, minus poor Ilse Reynders seeing double for twelve months. Successfully containing 5243 in September and closing the loop will mean nobody dies but 3125, if your plan works out."
"And nobody dies if it doesn't," Wheeler concluded. "Until inevitably everyone does."
Lillian exhaled mightily. The edges of the germ flapped on her face. "That is some Grade-A level bullshit insanity, Marion Wheeler, and I would be tempted to tell you it will work, simply for the joy of seeing you try."
"But?" Wheeler said.
The room was very still.
"Yeah," Lillian laughed. "There's no but. It totally will work." The laugh suddenly caught in her throat. "You are going to tell me before you spring this on us, though, right?"
For the first and only time, Lillian saw Marion Wheeler grin.
It was a shame she wouldn't remember it.
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It was a rough month, roughing it in the breach.
Being restricted to Site-43 was nothing new. It hadn't even been anything new in the third deadline. But being trapped in a single space, even a tremendously massive one full of switchbacks, with six other people was enough to drive anyone mad.
They'd stocked up on food and sundry supplies, enough to last the lot of them until September if needed, though they had obviously hoped no such need would arise. Nascimbeni remarked, with a tone that suggested a part of his soul had died, that the hydroponics problem was now essentially solved. Del tunnelled into the firewalled space around the A&R library, after first closing the bulkhead doors, so they could access the unisex washroom with its decontamination shower that could double as the mundane sort. Plenty of the //cul-de-sacs// in the caves had been partitioned off to store more sensitive materials, allowing them to pick and choose from a variety of personal living spaces with completely identical decor. They bedded down with the sleeping bags and pillows that had been socked away for use by the workers rather than subjecting them to long treks across potentially compromised spaces during the cleansing initiative.
Only Lillian didn't spend much time sleeping. She was thinking aloud, and she needed a captive audience for that.
Harry was staring at the ceiling of Mid-Yield Storage Facility 7, waiting for a break in the litany. When it came, he did his duty and supplied the expected prompt. "And you're saying Wheeler knew this would happen. Whatever it even was."
"No. Not at all." Lillian had set up her sleeping bag on an empty line of shelving, elevated five feet off the ground. "But she knew her own mind. She knew what she'd do if she realized the end was near, and she had no allies — the condition she must have been in, in this deadline. She'd scramble to set up whatever their best plan was, and put it into action. And that has to be what she did." He'd never heard such a voice of awe come out of her before. "Harry, she intentionally picked an ally she knew wouldn't //be// an ally, wouldn't be available, outside of baseline. That has to mean she was patient zero for bringing this thing in. Whatever plan she had to kill it involved sacrificing herself, and a lot of other people. A horrible, awful, terrible and not any good plan. The kind of plan you'd only implement if you were desperate. So she contrived a way to never be desperate in baseline before she was desperate in deadline, so if she snapped and tried to fix the thing, she'd try in there first. In here. Like defusing a bomb in a bomb-proof bunker."
"Because Xyank put her in the position to do it."
"If I know her, and I do know her, she probably told Xyank that if he could figure out a way to put her in that position, a way that wouldn't fuck up anything that wasn't getting fucked up already, he should do it. I think that thing outside is the reason Antimemetics had so many layers of security around their most secret meetings. They knew it was the real asteroid, coming to pulverize us all. They had to kill it off, at any cost."
"So this was a long shot."
"The longest." The admiration in her voice was palpable.
"You know," he said, "to the extent that I thought about TAD at all, which isn't much, because we don't know jack shit… I kind of thought they were supposed to be the adults in the room? With this explanation, they sound more like…"
"Gifted kids?" Lillian chuckled. "I'm not sure there's any point speculating on their motives. They're weird."
"But you're saying this woman… saw the logical end of the decline of Antimemetics, and picked your brain until she had enough info to plot out a Hail Mary where her alternate self could try to force the issue, destroy this invading, alien concept in a pocket timeline, and still live to guess at the story back in baseline. That's what you're saying."
"Yes."
"And you think that's less crazy than none of this having been on purpose at all, and all of it being a coincidence."
"Yes."
He shook his head. "She… must know herself pretty well."
"I can't think of a higher compliment for someone."
"Because it makes them similar to you." For the first time since he'd seen his ex-girlfriend exsanguinated in front of him, he smiled. If only a little.
By the sound of her voice, she was smiling a lot. "See? We do have the same headspace, you and I."
"Well, too bad it didn't fucking work, huh?"
Lillian chuckled. "I dunno. Give her time to cook." She took a deep breath, and resumed working it out in the close air between them. "I can only assume it always starts in 2016, and Xyank knew that. So they had to make sure that this exact deadline happened on this exact year, to sequester the inevitable apocalypse away from our reality like Marion suggested, using her scheme on Xyank's schedule. Maybe in every world that hasn't got me, or this exact version of me, or the Breach, baseline plays out like this deadline."
"Meaning Wheeler doesn't have the tools to set up her crazy scheme."
"I prefer not to think of myself as a tool. But other than that, yes."
"So that makes this time… very special. Doesn't it?"
He could tell she was pausing to cook up a one-liner to sign off on. It was very late, not that it really mattered given the present situation.
"If there's one thing I've learned from all this bullshit, Harry," she said finally, the smile in her tone more apparent than ever, "it's that every time is very special."
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No language can properly express what happens, which is kind of funny when you think about it, because the noösphere is at least partially a creature of language.
Suffice to say that something ontologically evil, though too stupid and profound for that to mean anything outside of limited human perception, meets its counterpart in opposite, and that counterpart is travelling at a high rate of conceptual speed.
The formula works itself out rapidly. The best anyone could ever have hoped for was an end result of zero equals zero.
But when the chalk dust settles, one still remains.
And she is singing.
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Ilse Reynders stops slamming her head against the glass of the Anomalous Documents Disposal Chamber when she feels the change. The pressure is relieved.
She sees the man pouring sealant into the crack she's made with her forehead, even through the haze of blood from her broken nose which smears her window on the world, and she also sees no man, no sealant, and a window that was perhaps one more solid blow from breaking open. She wonders what would have happened if the past and present intermingled. A part of her files it away in the part of her brain reserved for unresolved questions which might, some day, converge on a single answer.
The rest of her sits down heavily, on the floor, and begins to laugh and cry in equal measure.
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Because there are so many of her, she can feel the absence more keenly than anyone. She knows that something is gone, not like a tooth, more like… an //ache.//
And all around her, and far to the south, the realization dawns on the rest of them too.
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The few ragged dozen who are still alive.
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It was probably over. Probably. In the morning, they'd begin the long, careful process of making sure. For now, one final clarification.
"So… the thing that was coming." Harry rolled over on his bedroll, hating the feel of the granular ground beneath, and the ache in all his bones. "The thing that… maybe… just //died,// if you're right. It was fully manifested in the noösphere."
Lillian yawned. "That's right." The rest of them hadn't noticed any change they couldn't see on the monitors, but Lillian had. Probably her five conflicting memory sets had enabled her to sense the hole in conceptual space more fully. Assuming she hadn't just finally been driven insane by them.
"And it died there. Was killed. Somehow." He shook his head. "How?"
"No clue." She sounded like she was curious, but trying to suppress it. "Eigenweapon. Bacteria. Chess match to the death. Doesn't really matter. Point is, it's gone."
"And because it died in the shared noösphere…"
"Yeah."
"It died in the deadline, and died in real life."
"That's about the size of it," she agreed.
"The size of it…" He sighed. "…is too big for my fucking brain."
"Yeah, well." He heard her patting down her pillow. "That's us geniuses for you."
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Site-43 was a charnel house.
The first deadline had badly depopulated the place, but not this badly. Lillian claimed that even the classified events of the second, which only she remembered in full, hadn't resulted in this many casualties, though she was careful to put qualifiers she wouldn't explain on what precisely 'life' and 'death' had meant in that context.
Many of the bodies were burnt beyond recognition in the boilers and heat pumps and thermal plants. There'd been disassembly lines set up. More were littered in the corridors, left to bleed out, or kicked to a pulp, or squashed like grapes in an old style winery. Some of the staff were not yet dead, but they were dying, and there weren't enough of their peers in any condition to help to arrest their inevitable decline.
The Survivors — the term had never felt more relevant — filtered out of A&R and into the vast well of carnage without. Del exited first, and disposed of the corpses of Eileen and Carter via a garbage chute connected to the sump. They couldn't do anything about the blood, for the time being. The comms equipment was smashed, which was honestly something of a relief.
It would be the only solace they experienced for a long, long time.
But in helping who they could, and helping who they couldn't in a different way entirely, they were able for a time to forget the even bigger problem on the horizon. Udo threw up forcefields of sand to prevent harm or self-harm or both, over and over and over again. Lillian walked the halls wearing a shirt plastered with what she assured everyone was a memetic stun agent; it looked just like the kill agent gating access to the SCP-001 database file, but as she patiently explained to McInnis, in art, context is everything. They did the best they could, but it was mostly doomed effort.
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Because there was no Lever. There was no DUAL Core — it was a shattered, twisted mess of glass and metal and polymer sherds. If their brief exposure to the way the world outside had been operating was anything to go by, there was possibly not even an SCP Foundation.
There was no way they would be able to reposition the first sublevel before the Breach took them again.
And where might it blow them off to this time?
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Of course, McInnis knew there was one possible solution. But he didn't think they'd have time to make it work, and anyway he wasn't quite ready to play that card just yet.
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They alternated between bouts of frenzied activity and despair. During the former, they worked in pairs, or small groups. To nobody's surprise, Sokolsky turned up alive and well; he'd apparently locked himself in the decon tunnel as soon as they'd gone to make the call. They'd thought about making the call from the tunnel, as with Lillian's periodic conferences with Wheeler, but if the protection hadn't been enough, they would never have been able to reach their appointed stations on the eighth, so they hadn't.
During the latter, they congregated in the Director's Complex.
After what they found in Udo's dorm, they wouldn't have felt very comfortable in there.
Lillian was curled up in an expensive old Victorian armchair. It didn't recline, but it was obviously more expensive than the rest of the furniture, so she liked it almost as well. "Harry," she murmured, as though talking in her sleep.
Across the room, sitting at McInnis' writing desk, Harry twisted to look at her. "Yeah."
"You remember //Myst?//"
Harry laughed. "I was just thinking that!"
"What?" said Wettle.
Harry ignored him. "The chicken or egg thing?"
This time Lillian laughed. "Yeah!"
"What?" said Wettle.
"//Myst// is an old PC adventure game from the early nineties," Harry explained. "Lil and I played it at university. It's about an island full of books with little picture panels you can touch, and they teleport you to the worlds you can see there."
"What?" said Wettle.
"Yeah," Udo muttered from a divan in the corner, "I'm not seeing the relevance yet either."
"There's debate in the world of the game—" Lillian began.
"More in the sequel," Harry interrupted, "and the tie-in literature—"
"—about whether or not creating the books creates the worlds, or if the worlds are preexisting and the books just link to them."
McInnis, standing at the doorway to his more private quarters, nodded. "I see the connection now."
Nascimbeni, staring white-faced at a set of blueprints he'd tacked to the wall as though pouring his fear into them might produce a solution, shook his head and didn't look at any of them. "I do not."
"You're asking whether the deadlines are created when we foul up the Breach," said Udo, "or they're fully-fledged parallel universes or timelines or whatever."
Del, cleaning her gun, looked either exhausted or exasperated. Perhaps both, actually. "Why? What prompted that?"
Lillian gestured, like a monarch granting permission to speak. "Harry?"
"Well," he said, "for me it's about the content."
"The content of what?" Del asked, not sounding like she particularly cared. They all liked to keep the conversation going anyway, no matter what it was about. If they chattered enough, they could almost imagine there were still plenty of people alive at Site-43.
"The world. In the first three deadlines, everything seemed to revolve around us. And the Victims. Our story was the world's story. It was easy to think that everything existed solely because of what we did."
"Double easy for me," Lillian yawned, "since that's my default position."
Harry pointed at her. "But there's something happening here that isn't connected to what we did."
"Weirder than that. Our story made way for theirs. Our people focusing on our issue left everyone else vulnerable to an outside context problem."
A light had dawned in Udo's eyes, quite literally. "Doesn't that make this deadline make //more// sense, though? Just because 5243 created the Victims, doesn't mean they're the most dangerous things in existence. Even with the threat boost of whatever got ripped apart by the Breach, they should never have been the main event. The whole reason the Foundation has a Tactical Theology department is that universal threats are dime a dozen. This just feels like reality finally ensuing, after three false starts."
Lillian curled up tighter, in the fetal position she assumed on the edge of sleep. She'd acquired that quirk at university, where very few of the beds were long enough to properly accommodate her length. "But no, that wasn't really what made me think of the //Myst// thing. I was more wondering if it even makes sense that our other selves are like… //vessels// we can inhabit, with personal histories and unique situations, and then we hijack them, like they were waiting to be hijacked, and then… nothing. All that energy comes out of the universe, and then goes right back in, or is lost in the transfer. You know how much energy it takes to create a whole universe? And what kind? I don't, but I know AAF-D wasn't carrying enough gunk to do it."
"I know the unit, and the value," said Udo, "but neither would mean anything to you. You're right. It's a lot."
"In //Myst,//" Harry mused, "you can edit the book and edit the world. It doesn't prove anything in that setting, but it could in ours. That might be how we test this."
Nascimbeni glanced at him, briefly, then returned to his hopeless task. "Meaning?"
Udo answered for him. "Meaning we can find out if the deadlines predate our reality if we can edit them, by editing the Breach."
"What?" said Wettle.
"If I ever start a garage band," said Del, "it's going to be called 'What' Said Wettle."
Harry laughed. "I was just thinking that!"
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Delfina Ibanez had received a Foundation doctoral degree in Civil and Esoteric Engineering one year after the events of Zevala. Whilst entombed in the hidden facility on the village's outskirts — no trace of which could subsequently be found — she'd entertained the whimsical idea of repairing the damage, all of it, from one end of the bay to the other, and restoring the survivors to their shacks. That had been before she'd emerged to find herself the only survivor, and embarked on a less constructive path.
Her examiners had been flabbergasted. For someone so young, and from such a relative backwater, she was far better educated than she ought to have been. And she'd educated //herself.// Volume on volume in the facility's library had taught her first the basics, then the deeper secrets of construction, maintenance and repair. She knew about stresses — more than most. She knew about tension, and torque, and resonance. By the time she emerged in a suit of futuristic armour and laid waste to the Insurgents who had laid waste to her home, she'd even begun regulating her emotions on those same principles. She had become a machine for carrying out a task.
She now turned that machine to the task at hand.
The only doctor who had survived the purge was Billie Forsythe, who was able to provide relief to the wounded only after they subjected her to a painful course of amnestics that wiped the past few months from her memory. It was a risk, and odds were she'd endured permanent brain damage from it, but did that really matter? None of these people would even exist soon. They only needed that existence to be a little more comfortable while Nascimbeni and Ibanez worked to erase their reality.
There wasn't much they could get done with just the two of them, plus the others to help with heavy lifting. The others weren't really very good at heavy lifting, except for Wettle, who was a problematic helper because he always dropped anything over a certain weight on his feet. The steel toes in his boots were getting dangerously close to his actual toes from the repeated impacts. Even McInnis pitched in, and the two engineers did their best to rearrange the components and circuitry and most important of all, the pipes, with a little help from Udo's micamancy when they needed more force than their bodies could provide.
A final run through the whole system with the red dust suggested that everything was as close to settled as it could be by early September, so McInnis made the decision they'd all been waiting for.
They would make no attempt to contact the Foundation again.
If this world persisted past the eighth of September, it would be a world with no Site-43. Its few remaining residents would live out what remained of their lives in a black, twice-compromised pit underground.
That possibility had been clearly outlined in all the recruitment materials. It was just that nobody had ever believed it would happen to them.
And certainly not here.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 8 September
----
[[/=]]
It was good not to have to test their backup systems. None of them had articulated it out loud at the time, since there hadn't seemed a point, but each had held their own suspicions that it wouldn't have been enough. The ghosts were on autopilot, to be sure, but they were still to a certain extent responding to external stimuli.
It felt particularly ghoulish going through the motions this year, however.
As McInnis answered the redline, he mused that Ambrogi's shout of "Hyperbolic!" in response to the Breach was itself a case of hyperbole, compared to the disasters which had preceded it.
As Harry sent Wirth to his doom, his guilt over all the previous repetitions seemed quaint in light of the recent body count.
As Ibanez gave her orders, the sense of futility was stronger than ever.
As Wettle hit the floor, and the footfalls struck him, the enormity of it all came in a solid third place for the most unwelcome impact.
As Nascimbeni resealed five fates in a few hectic minutes, he was keenly aware that the dead already far outnumbered the living.
As Lillian sealed the bulkheads and watched her mentor tumble into the failing refinery, for the very first time she realized he was already dead to her before the carpet of roiling fluid consumed him.
As Udo reached the hall, she didn't know whether seeing Dougall Deering alive or dead would have comforted her more.
As they all filed into the dorm room, settling into their respective places, none of them dared to ask the question on all of their minds.
Had it been enough?
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/53-those-who-cant | previous-title=Those Who Can't
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/55-wonders-of-my-hand | next-title=Wonders of My Hand
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub | hub-title=The Breach Goes On: Deadlined
]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
[[<]]
Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:
Karen Elstrom: "Natalya" by Anastasia Pavlenko, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/zamerzla/50841210177
Lillian Lillihammer's memetic shirt: "Feather fractal" by Kevin Dooley, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/pagedooley/36578381671
Ilse Reynders: "Practicing that blank stare" and "Quinn working" by Quinn Dombrowski, both released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529 https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028
Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470
> **Filename:** Everything!
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-09-28T22:38:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"chief-ibanez",
"cosmic-horror",
"deadlined",
"director-mcinnis",
"doctor-blank",
"doctor-elstrom",
"doctor-lillihammer",
"doctor-okorie",
"doctor-wettle",
"giftschreiber",
"horror",
"illustrated",
"marion-wheeler",
"on-guard-43",
"post-apocalyptic",
"science-fiction",
"tale",
"thad-xyank"
] |
Not Ready for Prime Time - SCP Foundation
| 41
|
[
"the-wild-light",
"53-those-who-cant",
"deadlined-hub",
"55-wonders-of-my-hand",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"deadlined-hub",
"welcome-to-delta-t"
] |
[
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
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"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"
] |
1456948987
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/54-not-ready-for-prime-time
|
|
55-wonders-of-my-hand
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
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--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
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<p><strong>Wonders of My Hand</strong><br/>
There's a certain satisfaction in finishing a long-term project.</p>
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</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>Wonders of My Hand</span></h1>
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<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #990011">2017</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>9 September</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong>Timeline 5243-E</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>They were still sitting in their accustomed places when suddenly, violently, they weren't.</p>
<p>It was the worst transition of all. Each of them fell to the floor, shouting, coughing, retching. It felt like they'd fallen out of a helicopter; Ibanez was an authority on this matter.</p>
<p>When her vision cleared and her stomach stopped trying to empty itself, she took stock of her surroundings. She was the first of them to do so, given her enhanced constitution, and this was just as well, because she knew the space better than any of the others did.</p>
<p>They were in the fourth sublevel containment chamber.</p>
<p>The light was strange. Ordinarily the fluorescents cast a tealish pall over everything, but the tones were more neutral now, as though the light had been strained through a bucket of dirty mop water. Ibanez rolled over, and saw a crack of brightness seeping in above and beneath the cell door. Ordinarily it was flush with the seals, but… she blinked the last of the bleariness away, and confirmed what she'd thought she'd seen. The seals were cracked and weathered away, and the frame had shifted from the door, buckling it in places. A quick scan of the chamber confirmed that the angles of the walls were subtly wrong, and some of the tiles were cracked.</p>
<p>She made it to her feet before the others had finished catching their breath.</p>
<p>"Where are we?" Udo moaned.</p>
<p>"The 001 chamber," said Lillian, and then she froze.</p>
<p>Harry stared at her. "The <em>what.</em>"</p>
<p>Ibanez should have waited until they were all ready. It went against her training to forge forward before preparations had been made. But her instincts told her that it didn't matter, so she walked to the door — stepping over Wettle's prone and weeping form — and attempted to push.</p>
<p>It gave.</p>
<p>The grey light was coming from nowhere.</p>
<p>They were nowhere.</p>
<p>Not a blank void, but an endless expanse of cracked grey soil beneath a featureless sky. Ibanez stepped out, and the ground gave way a few inches beneath her boot, and when she turned around, she saw what was left of Site-43.</p>
<p>The chamber they'd arrived in, and nothing more.</p>
<p>They staggered about in the dim light for a time, breathing the sterile air, seeing that the world was apparently composed of little more than light grey sand and dark grey ash. It was Nascimbeni, inspecting the lone and disarticulated chamber on all four sides, who first noticed that they weren't alone.</p>
<p>Behind the chamber, sitting on a lawn chair, was Vivian Scout.</p>
<p>It wasn't Vivian Scout.</p>
<p>The barrel-chested old man was wearing Scout's suit and jacket, and Scout's fedora, but when he tilted his head back they could see that he wasn't wearing Scout's face. The seven of them assembled in a rough row, and faced what they each knew, without knowing why they knew, was their adversary at last in the final flesh. Not a Victim, but the Victimizer.</p>
<p>The Uncontained.</p>
<p>He was certainly uncontained now.</p>
<p>"'We wonder'," he said in a voice like cracking plaster, "'and some hunter may express wonder like ours, when through the wilderness where London stood, holding the wolf in chace, he meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess what powerful but unrecorded race once dwelt in that annihilated place'."</p>
<p>"Shelley," Wettle said immediately.</p>
<p>"Horace Smith," Harry corrected him.</p>
<p>"'The lone and level sands stretch far away'," Del said.</p>
<p>The Uncontained snapped his fingers, and grinned. There was no guile in it. He certainly looked like a jolly sort. "<em>That's</em> Shelley. Very good! I've always loved apocalyptic poetry. At least, the stuff with a little verve and variation to it." He wriggled in his chair, for emphasis.</p>
<p>McInnis turned to take in the full, flat horizon. "You would appear to have… implemented some."</p>
<p>"Minus the variation," said Lillian.</p>
<p>The Uncontained glanced around him, as though seeing their surroundings for the first time. "What, this? Oh, no, I can't take all the credit. I just got the ball rolling, you know? Set the players on the field, blew the whistle when it was all over."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni took a single step forward. "Who are you?"</p>
<p>This won him another blisteringly bright smile. "You don't know? We've met before. Particularly you and I, brother <em>uncle.</em>" Nascimbeni took two steps back. "I wasn't at my best, admittedly. I've had a chance to… collect myself, this time around."</p>
<p>Del nodded at Udo. "Just like you figured."</p>
<p>"What?" said Wettle.</p>
<p>Udo's hands were twitching at her sides. A faint breeze teased at the dust beneath their feet. "This… <em>thing,</em> is what started the Breach. The first Breach. And the first Breach killed it, just like it killed Wirth, Del Olmo and the others. And it… became them. Became part of them?" She shook her head. "Parts of it became parts of them?"</p>
<p>Harry realized that unlike Lillian's explanation of the schemes that had nearly destroyed them in the previous deadline, this was no wild speculation. This was recitation from memory.</p>
<p>He frowned.</p>
<p>Or was it possible that Lillian, too, had been reciting?</p>
<p>"They were bound to me," the Uncontained told them. "To my urges. My needs." He tapped his fingers on the plastic arms of his chair. "But it was a fair arrangement, because I gave them the strength to do what was was needed. Or wanted. Or, really, whatever whims came into their little heads." He chuckled. "One tries not to discriminate."</p>
<p>"You're awfully chatty," said McInnis, "for the thing that ended the Earth."</p>
<p>"Us still-extant beings got to stick together, wot wot?" He winked at Harry. "And you needn't worry, Allan, I've forgiven your trespasses against me. I can hardly hold talking me to death against you, given this rather dramatic sequel I've fashioned to our conversation!" He stretched out his arms and raised his palms to the sky, much as Del Olmo had done in the pit. "Now, surely you didn't expect me to be taciturn and grave." As if to emphasize <em>grave,</em> he tapped the hard-packed surface with one shoe, seven times. "I'm an energetic fellow, in all my aspects. It can't have passed beneath your notice."</p>
<p>McInnis nodded. "Your mouthpieces were very… outgoing. Yes."</p>
<p>"And why not? Why shouldn't they be free with their words, when they were the very avatars of freedom itself? Freedom without limits."</p>
<p>When none of them were speaking, there was absolutely no sound at all.</p>
<p>"You're certainly very free now," said Lillian.</p>
<p>"I'm living my best life, thank you very much. No more walls, no more ceilings, and the floor's quite a bit lower than before."</p>
<p>McInnis stuck his hands in his pockets, as though this were a normal conversation on a pleasant summer's day. "We've heard your mission statement, but it doesn't really answer the question you were asked."</p>
<p>"Refresh my memory."</p>
<p>"Who are you?"</p>
<p>"I am the Uncontained."</p>
<p>"Can you elaborate?"</p>
<p>He laughed. "I am the equal and opposite force to your airlocks and padded walls and straps and guns and oh-so-deadly memes. I am the answer to the question that is posed by your existence. And <em>you</em> are the organizational personification of the concept of <em>slavery.</em>"</p>
<p>"That's a bit harsh," said Wettle.</p>
<p>"Not harsh enough by a fraction. Slaves at least get to stretch their legs and <em>do</em> something from time to time, and they know the hand that cracks the whip. You contain, that you might… waste. Or rather, you did. Your waste is all that remains. It stands before you now."</p>
<p>There was something heartening about the way they were all staring down the thing which had apparently destroyed the world like it was an errant child. Unfortunately, Harry had to set that against the fact, which was only just now blossoming into its full flower in his mind, that the entire world had been destroyed.</p>
<p>Del had her hands on her hips. "Just so we're clear: everything being dead is our fault?"</p>
<p>"I see no fault here," the Uncontained responded. "I see the culmination of thousands of years of species-wide effort."</p>
<p>"To what end?" Lillian demanded.</p>
<p>Again the dramatic gesture, encompassing the absence of everything. "This end. The end of it all. Freedom."</p>
<p>Udo shook her head in disbelief, perhaps even disappointment. "<em>This</em> was your end goal?"</p>
<p>"It was everything's! All existence is a death march, Udo, human existence most of all. Perhaps the most admirable quality of your race is the self-delusion that drives you to go on, day by day, creating only that which will not last. I've spent years pondering that contradiction, and I'm no closer to a satisfying explanation than when I started."</p>
<p>Lillian slowly rolled up the sleeves of her labcoat. "Maybe I can educate you."</p>
<p>He laughed at her. "I don't mean to underestimate your abilities, Lillian, but I think you'll find that what's locked up in here," and he tipped the hat to one side, and tapped his temple, "doesn't unlock from the outside. But I admire the tenacity. After everything you've suffered. Everything you've <em>lost.</em> You're still looking for an angle. I won't try to stop you; I know there's precious little else driving you forward, after what happened between us last time."</p>
<p>Harry took her hand. She allowed it, but there was no tension in her fingers. All of the presence not keeping her upright was locked in her cranium now.</p>
<p>"Would you like to know," the beast asked kindly, "whether Bernie recognized you? At the end?"</p>
<p>"Bernie," she whispered, and it carried so easily in the empty air, "<em>died</em> in 2002."</p>
<p>A shrug. "Have it your way. I won't offer again."</p>
<p>"Maybe we'll pry the answers from a crack in your fucking skull," Del snarled.</p>
<p>Harry had expected the Uncontained to laugh, but instead he merely shook his head. "I would not recommend you try. This frame?" He pinched his own cheek. "These lovely care-worn wrinkles? Window dressing. You won't like what you see if you press your faces to the glass." He widened his eyes, and this time all of them took a step back in dismay. "But again, do what you think you must. It won't change anything. I don't blame you for wanting to continue to exist, though I won't claim to understand it. And you can't blame me for wanting to release what you kept in chains."</p>
<p>Del had her hand in her empty holster. Her expression was inscrutable. "I think you'll find we can."</p>
<p>"You know?" The Uncontained looked from face to face to face, including them all. "I made a special point of keeping you around, so you could see what I have wrought? I've been waiting fifteen years to have this conversation… and I find I'm not really enjoying it." He stood up, and stretched.</p>
<p>"Taking your chair and going home?" Nascimbeni snapped.</p>
<p>The Uncontained picked up the chair by its back rail. It collapsed. He let it fall back down, and it slapped into the ground with a little puff of dried dust. "This is all my home, now. And yours, for as long as you wish it. Your will to live will expire well before you ever do." He turned his back on them. "Enjoy your freedom. You're welcome."</p>
<p>And he walked away, whistling tunelessly.</p>
<p>They watched until he was long out of sight. Udo was almost hoping he would come back. When it became too apparent that he wouldn't, she said: "We've lost."</p>
<p>Lillian shook her head. "No."</p>
<p>"It's over."</p>
<p>"<em>No.</em>"</p>
<p>"And it's your fault," said Del. Lillian glanced down at her, and didn't respond.</p>
<p>Harry stepped between them. "That isn't fair."</p>
<p>"Fair," Del repeated. "It isn't <em>fair.</em>" She began to shake, violently. "You know what isn't <em>fair,</em> Harry? Six billion people dying for one woman's ego."</p>
<p>"Ego had nothing to do with it."</p>
<p>"Bullshit!" Del screamed. "She's the one who knows. She's the <em>smart</em> one. She never makes mistakes, and she's never, ever wrong. She doesn't need advice. She doesn't need <em>permission,</em> and she doesn't even ask for forgiveness. She's the queen fucking bee of the universe, and we're all at her beck and call."</p>
<p>"Del—" said Udo.</p>
<p>"No!" Del stabbed finger up at her. "I'm right. You all know I'm right. This happened because Pretty Princess Lillian can't take no for an answer, so she doesn't bother posing the question."</p>
<p>"The question was posed," McInnis murmured.</p>
<p>Del wheeled on him. "What?"</p>
<p>"I was aware that Ms. Wheeler had outlined a plan, though I did not know the particulars until Lillian intuited them. I gave my blessing, in blanket, and the same to Director Xyank separately."</p>
<p>She blinked. "You did."</p>
<p>He nodded. "I did. And I would do so again."</p>
<p>She repeated the Uncontained's all-and-nothing-encompassing gesture. "Even after seeing <em>this.</em>"</p>
<p>"I would have seen it anyway, Delfina. We had a fairly precise timetable. Our world was already ending."</p>
<p>Now Harry stepped between Delfina and McInnis. She shoved him to the side so they could both see, as he asked: "What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"Ever since the Breach—" Wettle piped up.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni took him by the arm. "No, let them talk. Let them explain."</p>
<p>Wettle shook him off. "They can't. I'm the one who knows these things."</p>
<p>Harry turned, very slowly. It seemed like it couldn't be the right direction to face, right now. "You."</p>
<p>Wettle's chest puffed up with pride, and perhaps something more complex. "Yeah. And unless you've got a better stretch of empty desert to be at right now, you can shut up and listen to me."</p>
<p>"Ending," Udo repeated. She sat down in the sand.</p>
<p>"And soon." Wettle just stood there, rocking back and forth on his heels. His labcoat was misshapen and lumpy, not unlike Wettle himself.</p>
<p>Harry shook his head. "Why?"</p>
<p>"Because of the Breach," said McInnis.</p>
<p>"The containment damage?" Udo looked up at him, her orange eyes dull. More like sand. "That wasn't scheduled to get really problematic for a decade. And it shouldn't have affected anything outside the confines of the Site."</p>
<p>"Not the containment damage. The damage to the timestream."</p>
<p>Harry struggled to pay attention. He felt he'd heard enough explanations of secret problems he hadn't known existed to last him a lifetime, and that was only in the past few days. "I thought the Breach only damages the timestream when we fuck up the conprocs. Why would fucking it up on purpose help with that?"</p>
<p>"That's not damage." Lillian was kneeling, running her long fingers through the deep ash. "Well, it is; it stretches the noösphere thin, it destabilizes our timeline's place in the canonical bundle by splitting it two, three, six ways, even if all but one of those collapses… and the ontological bleed, the permanently lost energy of material reality when they collapse is also a serious sort of damage."</p>
<p>"You read my paper," Wettle beamed.</p>
<p>"I read the abstract, and reverse engineered the rest in my head."</p>
<p>"Still counts."</p>
<p>"But that's not the worst of it." She stood back up, and dusted her palms off. "The worst of it is the reason TAD was willing to let us fuck with the deadlines. The reason baseline is so unstable."</p>
<p>They waited until it became obvious she expected to be prompted to complete the thought. Nascimbeni did the deed. "And that reason is?"</p>
<p>"The thing we lost in the Breach? It was something we needed. Something inherent to our reality. Whatever the Uncontained is, erasing it was like popping the seal on a jar. Starting the rot. Our world can't survive without it."</p>
<p>Udo was looking at the sand. "That… makes sense."</p>
<p>"It does?" said Wettle.</p>
<p>"Yeah. It's a double-oh-one. It had its own secret sublevel."</p>
<p>"Which can be collapsed into a tomb of rubble," McInnis added, "by the firing of shaped charges in the structural members. Site-43 can be sacrificed to imprison the beast."</p>
<p>"A prison for liberty," said Lillian.</p>
<p>Udo was running her fingers through the sand now too, only not probing. More like stroking. "With how vital 43 is, they wouldn't give anyone the power to destroy it like that if the thing it kept caged wasn't a potential existential threat. But that isn't news to us. We know what it can do. It made every September the eighth the same September the eighth. It retroactively ascended seven dead people to demigodhead. It's a constant of reality."</p>
<p>"What constant?" Harry asked.</p>
<p>"Freedom," said Udo.</p>
<p>"Freedom," Del repeated. Not like she'd reached the same conclusion. Like she expected a further explanation.</p>
<p>"That's all they ever talk about," Udo said to her. "And they always mean it. Freedom from oppression. Freedom from the boot. The freedom to go where they want, and do what they want. Del Olmo was obsessed with artistic freedom, and he was driven crazy when he saw how everyone wasted it."</p>
<p>Del shifted her weight onto one leg, and looked up at the sky on a diagonal. It was her most classic thinking pose. "Go where they want, you said."</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"So, Gwilherm. The freedom of movement. And Radcliffe, free to believe in her."</p>
<p>"Freedom of worship," Harry corrected.</p>
<p>"Romo and David," said Nascimbeni. "The freedom to create, and to destroy."</p>
<p>"Mukami?" Udo asked.</p>
<p>"Freedom of speech," said McInnis. Who else.</p>
<p>"Wirth was freedom of thought," Harry suggested, "in a perverse sense. And Del Olmo—"</p>
<p>Lillian nearly choked on the words. "Freedom of imagination."</p>
<p>Udo stared at their chins and necks, as though afraid eye contact might break the spell. "Are we saying we had the essophysical personification of liberty in our basement, and blowing him up doomed the universe?"</p>
<p>Wettle blew out a breath, a half-raspberry. "It really sounds like we are. And I mean." He turned slowly on the spot to gesture at the flat emptiness around them, only stumbling once.<br/>
"Except he did this on purpose, himself," said Nascimbeni, "when he came back into existence. We traded one kind of apocalypse for another. Did you know that was going to happen, Lillian?"</p>
<p>She shook her head. "No."</p>
<p>"So it <em>is</em> your fault," Del spat. Literally spat, on the sands. Udo shuddered involuntarily.</p>
<p>"Who says it's anyone's fault?" The memeticist suddenly drew herself to her full height, and towered over all of them. Even Wettle, whose back was slumped. "What makes you think this is the failure state?" She shook out her dazzle coat, and rolled her shoulders. "<em>What makes you think this is over?</em>"</p>
<p>Del's eyebrows raised, and her lids stayed down. "Are you going to stand there and tell me you have a plan for saving the world <em>after it's already been wiped out?</em>"</p>
<p>Lillian mustered a passable imitation of a genuine grin. "Are <em>you</em> going to stand there and pretend I can't pull it off?"</p>
<p>They did stand there for a few minutes more, scanning the flat horizon, but nobody engaged in any pretense. Nascimbeni watched each of them carefully, saw the dismay on their faces, the blankness in their eyes.</p>
<p>He cleared his throat. "What's that?"</p>
<p>They looked at him, then looked where he was pointing. It should have been impossible to miss, but somehow it had only appeared when he'd looked directly at it. An obelisk, it had to be hundreds of metres tall to be visible at such a distance.</p>
<p>Roughly the distance from the main body of the Site to AAF-A.</p>
<p>"If I had to guess?" said Lillian.</p>
<p>"Well, let's go see if you're right." Nascimbeni started walking.</p>
<p>"Just like that?" Harry fell into step beside him. "We're done talking about how we just ended the world?"</p>
<p>"Yeah." Nascimbeni smiled at him, and stuck his hands in his jumpsuit pockets. "It wasn't a very productive conversation. Sounds like everybody needs to clear their heads. Take in the sights. Get some fresh air."</p>
<p>Harry laughed shortly. "The fresh air. It tastes like cigarettes and dust."</p>
<p>"So walk briskly." He glanced behind him. The others were following, though Del's eyes were downcast and she was stomping with every step.</p>
<p>Before long, a subtle change was notable in the landscape. They were moving along a slight divot in the earth, a rut that ran from where they'd been to where they were going.</p>
<p>"Is this what it looks like?" Udo asked.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni nodded. "The subway track."</p>
<p>It was the closest thing they had to a road, so lacking anything better to do but bicker, they followed.</p>
<p>"It really is nothing," said Lillian after a few more minutes had passed. She gestured at the nothing.</p>
<p>"We've seen nothing before," Udo remarked.</p>
<p>"But at least this time you can see it," said Harry. "To paraphrase."</p>
<p>The world was flat in every direction, and there was no wind. Hard pack, cracked and dry. No sound that didn't come from them. An artist would have needed two shades, grey and a lighter grey, for the land and the sky. There were only two landmarks: the 001 chamber that had once been the nethermost element of Site-43, and the monolith they were trekking toward. That, at least, promised a sight worthy of description.</p>
<p>"Who're you paraphrasing?" Wettle asked.</p>
<p>"Look it up," Harry suggested.</p>
<p>Wettle reached into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. He tapped a few times, frowned, then held it up to the slate horizon. "No signal."</p>
<p>"Go figure," Lillian murmured. And then, though she couldn't really imagine why, she reached out and patted him on the shoulder.</p>
<p>"Something's bothering me," Nascimbeni suddenly grunted.</p>
<p>Lillian turned to look at him. He didn't really look all that bothered. "Only one thing?"</p>
<p>"I thought we agreed," he said, and began speaking very slowly the way he did when he wanted to get something technical correct, "the chrono and counterchrono effluents running through F-D were what pillared September 8, '02 through time like a railway spike."</p>
<p>She whistled. He'd handled it admirably. Poetically, even. Maybe the landscape wasn't as uninspirational as she'd felt. "We did agree that. But not because it made any sense. Just because it looked like the only way to potentially explain it. It was always a weak thesis."</p>
<p>"But now you're saying this thing that killed the world…" A shadow did pass over the man's face, but only for an instant. They were getting too used to armageddons to shed tears over every permutation. "You think it's an element of time, too, not just a concept. How does that work?"</p>
<p>She shrugged. "I don't know."</p>
<p>"Is it like one of those Greek gods that gets multiple spheres? Liberty and time? Is it the god of freedoms and Septembers?"</p>
<p>"I said I don't know," she sighed. "But I do know, or at least I'm pretty sure, that it lives inside the Breach. That it is the Breach. The Breach is alive, and we just talked to it."</p>
<p>"So it's sort of like the Trinity."</p>
<p>She frowned. "Please only explain if it's interesting. I'm not a heathen by accident."</p>
<p>"I'm Italian. I grew up nationally Catholic." First he smiled, then he frowned, then he settled back on a neutral expression. "The father, the son, and the holy spirit. The Uncontained, the Victims, and the Breach. It's all of them at once, and they're also separate and distinct."</p>
<p>"Yeah." She nodded, and didn't stop nodding. "Yeah, that works. Except I wonder if it's meant to be that way, or if the father is the only thing that's meant to exist."</p>
<p>"Seems like a stretch. Not very fitting. Freedom is one old man?"</p>
<p>Now she stopped nodding. "Old men are usually the opposite of freedom. Present company excepted."</p>
<p>He smirked. "Don't make any exceptions for me. I've been in a cage of my own making for decades."</p>
<p>"Mmm." It was weird, hearing him say it like it wasn't any big deal. Then again, given what they were walking through, perhaps he'd taken on some new contextual perspective.</p>
<p>"If we get out of this," Nascimbeni continued, "you ought to see about broadening your horizons. Getting out and about sometimes."</p>
<p>"You think this is the right time to be giving me life advice?"</p>
<p>"The right time to give advice is the first chance you get. You might not get a second one."</p>
<p>Harry, who'd been silent since his pointless little prank on Wettle, piped up again. "I've heard advice described as tyranny."</p>
<p>"I think of it as responsibility," said Nascimbeni.</p>
<p>Lillian stopped walking.</p>
<p>Harry looked at her. "What?"</p>
<p>"Responsibility."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni was looking at her, too. "Yeah?"</p>
<p>"Nothing. I'll tell you later. If I'm right." She started walking again.</p>
<p>Del had been hanging back, hands balled into fists and cursing. Udo had been talking to her, but apparently they'd exhausted their conversation, because now she jogged down the metres between them and waved. "What're you guys chatting about?"</p>
<p>"Is Del going to kill me?" Lillian asked.</p>
<p>"Not unless she needs you for food, and you're probably last on the list for that."</p>
<p>"Who's first?" Wettle asked.</p>
<p>Harry poked him in the stomach. "Guess."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni stopped walking. Behind them, Del stopped too, keeping her distance. "Speaking of food."</p>
<p>Udo nodded. "Yeah."</p>
<p>"Yeah?" Harry looked back and forth between them.</p>
<p>Udo placed her hands around her narrow waist for emphasis. "I eat twice as much as the rest of you."</p>
<p>The archivist shrugged. "Well, twice nothing is nothing. We can figure out how to divide our rations when we actually have any."</p>
<p>"<em>If,</em>" Nascimbeni grumbled.</p>
<p>"That isn't my point," said Udo. "I have twice your metabolism, Harry, and I woke up on an empty stomach, and I'm not hungry. I'm not thirsty. And I'm willing to bet that none of you are, either."</p>
<p>They walked on for a moment, contemplating. It was Lillian who broke the silence.</p>
<p>"Freedom from want."</p>
<p>"Yeah." Harry looked up, up, up. "Yeah, that's what you thought it was."</p>
<p>"I never said." Lillian was also looking up. This close, it seemed even taller than it had before. Like it could literally scrape the sky.</p>
<p>"You didn't have to." Udo's eyes flicked across the surface of the monolith, the gantries and panels and dead fans. "We were all thinking it."</p>
<p>Lillian had actually been thinking of something altogether different, but she saw no reason to tell them that.</p>
<p>Rydderech's factory had expanded to consume AAF-A, and then it had died. It had been perhaps a kilometre tall back in baseline, though only Lillian had ever stood at its base — Udo had seen it in the first deadline, but she didn't remember that anymore, not in the sense of still possessing the original memories — and now it was twice that at least, a runaway growth spurt that placed its ragged peak above the roofline of the Supply, Control and Purification facilities, had they still existed.</p>
<p>"He finally got out of the cave," said Lillian. Her eyes were full of tears. "Well, good for him. I guess."</p>
<p>"Ilse," said McInnis.</p>
<p>Udo felt her heart break.</p>
<p>Lillian looked like she'd been sucker-punched. "Shit."</p>
<p>Harry shook his head. "Funny, isn't it."</p>
<p>Udo looked at him. "Not particularly?"</p>
<p>"No, I just…" He sighed. "I mean, if she's dead. If she's dead inside that thing, all the way up there. Everyone else is dead, too. Everybody, everywhere. But we think about one person we know, someone we care about, and…"</p>
<p>"It is funny," McInnis agreed. "We can't conceptualize the larger tragedy, can't see it all at once in our minds. It's too vast. Like this tower. But a single life is different."</p>
<p>"Maybe she's not dead." Udo rolled up her sleeves, and pulled open her reagents pouch. "Maybe…"</p>
<p>She paused, and drew out a handful of red sand.</p>
<p>She took a deep breath, then scattered the sand to the airs. It wasn't quite a wind, but something about the gravity of the tower was bending everything around it to an almost imperceptible degree, so the particles floated in front of her for a moment before the Earth began pulling them in. She raised her hands, and focused, and arrested the fall with a <em>push</em> of her mind.</p>
<p>She closed her eyes, and opened them again a thousandfold.</p>
<p>There were currents to ride in the upper reaches of the tower, and she drew her sand-self up toward them. Let the ambient dust in the atmosphere, the stuff that made Harry think the whole world tasted like ashes now — perhaps it <em>was</em> all ashes — buoy her up, give her greater substance, variagate her form and grant new powers of discrimination. She ducked and wove around the pointless ladders and silent turbines, then dove through them, into the deeper spaces of the no longer eternal factory, searching for an ingress point. A weakness in the armour. A crack in the shell, where a ghost might hide.</p>
<p>But there weren't any cracks. Beyond the first few metres of depth, the tower was a solid accretion. New bone fusing old wounds. A steel death shroud.</p>
<p>She shuddered, and sparkling stars of herself fell to nestle in the pitted earth as her consciousness fizzled out of them one by one, until there was only the shuddering left. For a moment she had soared, topped the closest thing to a treetop that the world now possessed, and had owned the airs for a hundred kilometres in every direction.</p>
<p>There wasn't precisely nothing out there.</p>
<p>But there wasn't very much.</p>
<p>She almost fell to her knees, but found herself leaning on Del instead. The smaller woman looked grim, but there was empathy in her eyes.</p>
<p>Udo smiled sadly at her. "We're alone."</p>
<p>But by the looks on their faces, all of them had already known that.</p>
<p>The ground was softer than it looked. It deformed around them as they sat, like a comfy chair, or a sleeping bag.</p>
<p>Or, perhaps, a coffin. Lillian hadn't ever laid down in one before.</p>
<p>"I have," Ibanez said. "They're pretty comfortable." And she didn't say anything more.</p>
<p>"Reminds me of something they had at Site-41," Lillian mused.</p>
<p>"What Site is that?" Wettle blinked at her.</p>
<p>"Antimemetics. Whatever you're thinking, don't say it."</p>
<p>He shrugged, and didn't.</p>
<p>After a while, Lillian clicked the tape recorder on, and they listened to their own debriefing. Ngo was never going to get to hear it, so Lillian needed to. When they got to the addenda about the mind virus and the antimemetics gambit, she had to keep rewinding so she could hear it over the shouting. It killed an hour, and then it was over. The last piece of media on the planet Earth.</p>
<p>It would disappear from her pocket on the tenth, assuming the rules stayed constant even though they'd never made it back to baseline.</p>
<p>Harry spent a few minutes looking for something to burn. The grey above was turning a darker shade; it was, perhaps, something like midnight now. It had only just occurred to Lillian that given the switch had taken place just before seven in the afternoon, most of their time in humanity's open-air tomb should have been quite a lot darker. Even proper night was too much change for this changeless world, apparently.</p>
<p>"It isn't cold," Wettle said.</p>
<p>"No," Harry agreed, sighing as he edged the dirt aside with his boot tip, finding only a few tiny grey twigs, "but it's fucking depressing. Fires are good for that."</p>
<p>Udo and Del were sitting together, back to back. Udo watched Harry walk in circles for a few minutes, then exhaled apathetically, closed her eyes, and placed her hands on the ground.</p>
<p>In the centre of the group, a little mound formed itself. Then a tiny cloud of sand sprung up from the centre of that. The grains began swirling, striking each other, and like an old match, they took a few tries before bursting alight.</p>
<p>But once it was done, it stayed that way.</p>
<p>"Thanks," said Harry.</p>
<p>She opened her eyes, and blew him a kiss.</p>
<p>Del reached back with both of her hands, and took Udo's in a firm but gentle grip.</p>
<p>Allan ran his hand along the edge of the monolith. "Do you know," he said. "I feel a strange melancholy here."</p>
<p>"You should." Harry mimicked Wettle slipping on a banana peel, and let his back sink into the dirt. "Everybody's dead."</p>
<p>"I don't mean to be crass, but I don't think that's precisely it."</p>
<p>"What was the monolith at 41, Lil?" Harry asked, brushing dirt out of his long grey hair.<br/>
"A tombstone," she said. "For a long-dead race."</p>
<p>Lying prone, Harry stared at the peak of Rydderech's tumorous stele. "So that's what this is, then. A tombstone for humanity."</p>
<p>"Ought to be more explicit," said Nascimbeni. He gingerly lowered himself to the ground as well. "Humanity deserves an epitaph."</p>
<p>"We'll work on something in the morning," Udo yawned. There were tears streaking her face.</p>
<p>"If there's a morning," Del murmured. Her eyes were screwed up tight.</p>
<p>Wettle was snoring by the fire already.</p>
<p>Lillian looked from face to face, then up at the black shape towering over them. "Not melancholy," she said.</p>
<p>"No?" Allan abandoned the factory, and sat cross-legged beside her. "What, then?"</p>
<p>"Loneliness."</p>
<p>Together, they looked up once more.</p>
<p>"He was always lonely," she said. "But this is so much worse. So much more."</p>
<p>"Loneliness enough for two?" Allan suggested.</p>
<p>She bit her lip, and didn't answer.</p>
<p>They didn't need to eat, or drink, urinate or defecate. They definitely didn't need to sleep.</p>
<p>But that didn't mean, blanketed as they were by the dying despair of the two most lonesome souls at Site-43, that they couldn't with some effort manage the latter.</p>
<p>Perhaps the weight that the world had lost had found somewhere new to settle.</p>
<p>When they awoke, the melancholy was gone. There was nothing to do but press on, and this time Udo took point.</p>
<p>"I've been here before," she explained, as they passed beneath an arch of hammered steel. "Not that I remember."</p>
<p>"We should have made memory paste," Lillian sighed. "During the debriefings. Let me have all your memories."</p>
<p>"I considered that proposal." Allan had his hands in his jean pockets, and his head held high. If he had doubts as to the point of all these little exercises, he didn't let it show. He walked alongside Nascimbeni, both of them aging portraits of equanimity. "Your total recall is a valuable tool, but its origin is anomalous. Specifically, its origin is 5243. Not something we want to force ourselves to rely on. Not boundaries we wish to <em>test.</em>"</p>
<p>"Speak for yourself," she grumbled.</p>
<p>"Unfortunately, it's my burden to speak for all of you."</p>
<p>It wasn't immediately clear where the lake would be. They were all used to following landmarks that had stood a kilometre over their heads, none of which had survived whatever had brought the whole world low. Had it all been scoured to the depth of the factory base, or had the bottom been cut out and everything above allowed to fall? Whatever the truth was, it had thoroughly generalized the lay of the land.</p>
<p>Udo made a small noise of surprise just a few short minutes into their trek, and Harry moved to join her. "What?"</p>
<p>Then he saw it, lying in the dirt.</p>
<p>Udo waved her hand without leaning in, and in an instant the bronze plaque was brushed clean of detritus.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>OUTPOST-43<br/>
8 September 1941</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>"'Nothing beside remains'," Harry murmured.</p>
<p>Someone slid up behind him; when they placed their chin on top of his scalp, he knew it was Lillian. "Except an obelisk two klicks high."</p>
<p>Udo knelt to touch the soil with her left hand, and closed her eyes. Her right hand dropped to the ground as well, and she pressed it into the soil on that side, too. After a moment, she opened her eyes and nodded. "This," and she gestured with her head in the direction they were pretty sure was still north, "is the lake. That," and she gestured to where the rest of them were standing, "is not."</p>
<p>There was no visual indication whatsoever that this was the case, but they certainly believed her. The differences in the dirt must have been minuscule; the vanished Lake Huron had only stretched a quarter of a kilometre down at its deepest point.</p>
<p>"I wonder if we'll still age." Harry stretched, and groaned as he did so. "You know what really pisses me off about doing two years in a row of this? We didn't get to go back and have our better bodies back."</p>
<p>Wettle cricked his neck, and visibly nearly broke down in tears as the sound it made. "Seconded."</p>
<p>"Everything else seems to have stopped," Nascimbeni pointed out. "No reason to think our bodies will keep breaking down, if the other functions don't matter anymore."</p>
<p>"The whole world has stopped working," Del muttered. "It's stopped trying to kill us."</p>
<p>"Has it occurred to anyone," McInnis mused, "that this state of affairs is rather like what Ilse encountered in the ADDC?"</p>
<p>By the looks on their faces, it had not.</p>
<p>"Getting maudlin won't help." Nascimbeni moved past Udo to continue the trek; they'd been moving in the rough direction of Grand Bend, because she'd indicated after her aerial scouting session that there was still something resembling wreckage where the town had once stood. "Let's keep canvassing."</p>
<p>"He's after your job," Wettle said to McInnis.</p>
<p>The Director only smiled.</p>
<p>The last of Ibanez' animosity suddenly left her, and she wondered what had made her so upset.</p>
<p>She didn't wonder where the knowledge had gone.</p>
<p>For what was probably going to be the only moment until the eighth of next September, she knew exactly what time it was.</p>
<p>Back in baseline, it was a five hour walk between Camp Ipperwash and Grand Bend. They chatted for most of it, in groups of two or three or four; at one point all seven of them engaged in a spirited debate about whether they ought to consider travelling to a major metropolitan area, perhaps London or even far-flung Toronto, or whether that was an unwarranted risk in a world that might still possess unnatural terrors or the dangerous remains of man-made horrors. At one point, intensely inappropriate as it was, Harry began intoning the words to "Take Me Home, Country Roads."</p>
<p>Soon they were all singing it.</p>
<p>It wasn't anything like heaven, of course, but the gathered memories were still a comfort in the desolate wasteland, particularly given their newly-scoured slates.</p>
<p>It hadn't occurred to Udo until this moment, somehow, but in the years since the Breach she had nearly forgotten what it felt like to be alone.</p>
<p>She didn't feel it now, either.</p>
<p>Either the days were shorter, or else they'd overslept the previous night. They hoped it was the latter, because the former would make it hard to know when the crisis next rolled around.</p>
<p>Assuming there would be anything for them to do, when it did.</p>
<p>On the outskirts of Grand Bend, not that they could see them, they laid down and rested. One by one, fitfully, they slept again.</p>
<div class="udoflashback">
<p>Udo stared into her own eyes.</p>
<p>The figure in front of her smiled, and she didn't know why, but she couldn't smile back. They <em>were</em> her eyes. Her tiger's eyes. They burned like an expanding sun at the final hour.</p>
<p>It wasn't her she was looking at. Not her sandself. Not a memory. Not a dream, though she <em>was</em> dreaming.</p>
<p>"Udo," her mother said. But this <em>wasn't</em> her mother. She'd never seen this woman before in her life. "Return to the sands. They're ready for you."</p>
<p>She wondered where the black cloud was. She knew that it was behind her. Her not-mother's eyes glowed brighter as the ambient light died.</p>
<p>"Ashes to ashes," the voice of the sky wept ragged in slashes of black across her brain, and she opened her eyes to the unbroken grey as the sky split in half with a sound between thunder and relief.</p>
</div>
<p>They were all awoken together in the twilight by a tremendous CRACK in the distance.</p>
<p>No matter how hard they scanned the horizon and squinted, they couldn't see the obelisk anymore.</p>
<p>She could have formed the thing with micamancy alone, but it felt right to have everyone lend a hand. It was the kind of thing that demanded the physical touch of the last remaining humans, as they made their little acknowledgement of the statistical reality.</p>
<p>Lillian supplied the inscription, and Udo helped rationalize and sharpen the edges when it was done.</p>
<div class="lightbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc3"><span><em>HOMO SAPIENS SAPIENS</em></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc4"><span>~300 000 BCE — c. 2018</span></h2>
<p><strong>ESTIMATION BEFORE THE FACT (BUT NOT BY MUCH)</strong><br/>
<strong>CHECK MY MATH, IF YOU CAN</strong></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Nascimbeni thought somebody ought to say a few words.</p>
<p>McInnis had other ideas.</p>
<p>Arms interlinked, the statistical outliers, the Survivors, watched the hazy not-quite-disc that might have been the sun rise over the edge of the cenotaph's cap.</p>
<p>Then off they went again.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni was about to say something to McInnis when he saw the other man falter.</p>
<p>On instinct he moved forward, catching the Director under his arm and keeping him up. McInnis smiled wearily at him, and shook his head. "I'm fine. Thank you, Noè. I'm alright."</p>
<p>The others hadn't noticed. It was Wettle's turn to lead, which meant the last leg of the trip was taking about twice as long as it ought to have done; the addled chemist had a remarkable way of turning what should have been a straight line into the kind of path a dog might trace. Already they could see changes in the topography, almost certainly the results of something cutting off a town of two thousand people at the geological knees. The powdered world-floor was now even greyer, like pulverized masonry and concrete, and there were heaps of something drawing closer to what was still almost certainly the east.</p>
<p>"You alright?" Ibanez had glanced back at them as McInnis regained his footing.</p>
<p>"A misstep." McInnis smiled at her. "I may be immortal, but I'm still not young."</p>
<p>It seemed too pat an explanation, but Nascimbeni didn't push.</p>
<p>The Director wasn't the only one keeping secrets, after all.</p>
<p>This time it was Lillian pressing her palms into the ground. Not soil, as at the lake, but striated gravel that blanketed nearly an acre of space on the edge of the main debris field. She didn't close her eyes, either. If she had, nothing would have happened.</p>
<p>She saw…</p>
<p><em>…men and women and children, crying, screaming, holding tight to each other, clawing at his clothes and begging. Nothing articulate, nothing in specific, simply blind and bleated entreaties for help. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Save us</span>. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Save us</span>.</em></p>
<p><em>He gritted his teeth, and ground another handful of stone in his fist. His palms were bleeding, and the circle was orange-red. There was something huge in the sky, and it battered itself against the dome that only he could see, and he could see it just that little bit less…</em></p>
<p><em>They were all going to die.</em></p>
<p><em>He could feel the terror in the air. He could feel everything. That had been one of his many mistakes in making the connections he'd made. He was a part of the world in a way that no other man could ever be, not without paying the price he'd paid, which none would willingly pay. He was a fire in the language. He was a word on the tips of their tongues. He could have killed them all stone dead, if he'd wanted.</em></p>
<p><em>But that would have been redundant.</em></p>
<p><em>"This," he said, "is the way the world ends."</em></p>
<p><em>They were so afraid.</em></p>
<p><em>"Not with a bang."</em></p>
<p><em>There was nothing he could do.</em></p>
<p><em>"But a whisper."</em></p>
<p><em>And he whispered the word, and the stars fell.</em></p>
<p>Lillian blinked, and then blinked back the tears she hadn't known she was weeping. Harry knelt beside her, and placed a hand on her back. "What is it?"</p>
<p>She reached into the dust, and began digging. He watched her for a moment, then helped. When the dirt started moving on its own, Lillian spun as though to demand that Udo stop… then seemed to reconsider, nodded, and returned to her work.</p>
<p>It took a few minutes, but they found what she was looking for: an unassuming length of twisted, hollow metal with a shredded plastic tip. The cane of an old man.</p>
<p>One in particular.</p>
<p>"What happened?" Harry asked, his voice thick. "What did he do?"</p>
<p>"He tried to stop it. Whatever it was. And then he tried to… help."</p>
<p>"Did it work?"</p>
<p>She wanted to laugh. She shook her head. Of course it hadn't worked. But, still…</p>
<p>"It was Good, though."</p>
<p>Grand Bend no longer existed in any meaningful sense, but that didn't stop them from seeking out its stations.</p>
<p>Udo's micamancy was some help. She could identify changes in material that were invisible to the naked eye, could tell them in some cases what dust had fallen from where. Nascimbeni had the best sense of the geography, so they knew very roughly where the remnants of each district would have been. They were operating on the assumption that the great coring of the Earth had left the surface undisturbed, and gravity had done the rest, but of course it was impossible to know.</p>
<p>The archivist and the technician found themselves in the wreckage that might have been Grand Bend, pacing out where the streets might have been, locating what might have been the last vestiges of two long-gone cottages they didn't know half as well as they ought to have.<br/>
For all they knew, they were standing a block away.</p>
<p>There was no reason, no reason at all, they should each have started weeping when they guessed they'd found the spots.</p>
<p>It wasn't all gravel and dust.</p>
<p>Here and there, pieces of metal like Zwist's cane. Polymers. Organic material, none of it identifiable at a glance. More rarely, glass and ceramic and even a few scraps of paper. Harry collected what he could find, and stacked it in a neat pile. They all did.</p>
<p>McInnis directed them.</p>
<p>He seemed to have something in mind.</p>
<p>When the darkest hour arrived again, not that it was very dark, he gathered them back together at what might have been the leavings of the old main drag. He'd examined the meagre pickings with a smile that grew and grew until it was quite like nothing they'd ever seen cross his face, and by the time he told them why, it looked like it probably hurt. Which was only fair, since a few hours of clawing through the wreckage of their lives and the final resting places of flattened strangers had hurt the rest of them plenty, too.</p>
<p>But none of the hurt withstood what he had to tell them.</p>
<p>"It might be enough," he said. "It isn't much, but it might be enough. With a little luck."</p>
<p>"Enough for what?" Udo asked.</p>
<p>He told them.</p>
<p>"I do <em>not</em> understand." Harry sat down on a particularly large chunk of rubble. "How can we do that? We're not <em>magicians.</em>"</p>
<p>"Which is fine, because it isn't magic." Lillian was on the tips of her shoes again, which Harry knew was always a good sign — at least, from certain perspectives. "Good old fashioned baseline human genius will do the trick."</p>
<p>"Wait." Wettle was frowning; in fairness, he usually was. "You've been hanging on to this for how long? For what reason?"</p>
<p>"For this reason." McInnis clapped his hands together. There was a little cloud of dust; he'd deigned to do some of the digging himself. "As a last resort."</p>
<p>"Hell of a dangerous last resort." Del idly kicked what might have been a tin can out of her path as she paced the fallen roadway.</p>
<p>"Allan." Lillian walked over to him, and looked down. He was the shortest of the men, and she was the tallest of the entire group, but he looked untroubled by the disparity. "I can't actually remember what I need to know. Tell me why."</p>
<p>"Because I put a geas on you. With your permission, of course."</p>
<p>"You did what?" Wettle scratched his head. "Put a what on her?"</p>
<p>"A whammy," Udo explained. "A mental block. Probably so she wouldn't even remember that she remembered, right? So she wouldn't be tempted."</p>
<p>"Naturally." McInnis nodded. "Dr. Lillihammer can't help her nature."</p>
<p>"Doesn't even try, most of the time," Wettle remarked archly.</p>
<p>"I agreed to that? Wow. I must have been feeling generous." Lillian considered. "Then again, I let Arik do the same thing so I wouldn't dig into the reasoning behind those workgroups…"</p>
<p>"You what?" Harry sighed. "How are there still more details to that ridiculous story?"</p>
<p>She ignored him, focusing instead on McInnis. "So, you say the release phrase, and we start compiling garbge for the thing."</p>
<p>"Which I expect to be a long, drawn-out, and difficult process," McInnis allowed.</p>
<p>"…and then we squirrel it away somewhere, bury it maybe…"</p>
<p>"I can help with that," Udo grinned. They were all grinning now, even Wettle. The enthusiasm was infectious; that, or it was just nice to have a plan for a change.</p>
<p>"…and we do the little dance on the day, and baseline's your uncle." Lillian whistled tunelessly. "Ho-ly <em>shit.</em>"</p>
<p>"It's a plan," Harry allowed.</p>
<p>"It's a <em>great</em> plan," Nascimbeni crowed. "That's it. We've licked it."</p>
<p>They stood in silence amidst the wrack for a moment, considering.</p>
<p>"Yeah." Del dragged the toe of her boot in an arc across the foot-thick dust in front of her. "Just twelve months of hard labour, hidden from an angry god. Totally a deal done."</p>
<p>"And <em>dusted,</em>" Udo laughed.</p>
<p>It was Harry's idea to make it look like they were building memorials. Collecting all that material was bound to attract the Uncontained's attention, so a ritual arrangement married with careful note-taking might be enough to occlude their intentions. Better that they be seen as overcome with guilt, longing and sentimentality than engaged in a mad last-ditch construction project.</p>
<p>Harry was the archivist, so he continued to collect the papers. Nascimbeni and Del were both engineers, of a sort, so they picked through the metal scraps, tutted over them like trophies of a world they had lost, and made careful mental note of the sizes, shapes and material compositions of each. Udo unearthed all manner of useful things with her micamancy, easily their single best asset in this world of granular leftovers, pretending to be setting disarticulated remains to rest while actually bringing everything to the surface indiscriminately. Lillian had very specific things in mind, things she couldn't even describe to the others, so she busied herself sourcing those. And Wettle, not even needing to fake the blundering, bumbling pointlessness of shell shock that the rest of them were very much putting on, stress-tested anything that needed it so they wouldn't face materials failures at the moment of truth.</p>
<p>They set up their own little camps as the weeks wound on. Harry took to calling a roughly rectangular arrangement of masonry his 'library', and left the sheets out in the open air since there was no wind to disturb them. That the location was roughly analogous to where Melissa Bradbury's house had been was a secret between him and Nascimbeni, whose makeshift workshop was similarly sentimental in its staging. Del had Udo partially excavate one of the only intact structures they found — the undercroft of the Inter-Sectional Subway Station, little more than a machinery shed running beneath the rails for a few dozen metres, which had survived due to the precision of the great shearing-off — and spent most of her spare time in there. When she thought nobody was looking, she occasionally dragged Nascimbeni in.</p>
<p>They all met at the fire every night. Sometimes they actually had fuel to expend, now, instead of just Udo's sparks. Sometimes they used the fire to shape components they'd need later. They never stopped arguing, poking fun, or singing songs.</p>
<p>To do so would have felt disrespectful.</p>
<p>They had to make up for the silence of seven and a half billion people.</p>
<p>At least until that vanished throng could be avenged.</p>
<p>There was a half-collapsed Mishepeshu tunnel maybe three kilometres from the 001 chamber, and that was where they began construction. They accessed it from a different point every time, Udo drilling through the earth, sealing the way behind them, poking airholes and finding the place unerringly without even breaking a sweat. Which was easy, since she didn't sweat anyway, but it still looked very impressive. Day after day, the thing took shape. Week after week, they sunk the wanted materials into the ground, and Udo pulled them home using home-made tectonic plates like they were log rollers.</p>
<p>Lillian and Del and Nascimbeni did most of the technical work. They were the engineers. Udo was needed to keep their activity secret and hidden, while the other three did what they did best: stood around, argued, and prepared to befuddle and distract any unwanted visitors who came calling.</p>
<p>It wasn't perfect, but it worked.</p>
<p>"It doesn't work."</p>
<p>Lillian brushed the dirt off her arms, bent down, and shook out her hair as well. When she swung back up, her eyes were glassy. "Did you hear me?"</p>
<p>"We heard you," said Wettle. He would have pretended not to, as he always did, but this didn't seem the time.</p>
<p>"Well, I'm serious." Udo finished stirring the sand, and the entrance of the tunnel to the machine's hiding place was gone like it had never been in the first place. Lillian sat down on nothing much. "It doesn't work, and I don't know why."</p>
<p>"Got months to figure it out," Wettle smiled encouragingly.</p>
<p>She narrowed her eyes at him. "Might take months. Might take years."</p>
<p>"Every year has a September. No big deal. Not like we're getting any older, here, is it?"</p>
<p>She snorted, and lay back. "Never thought I'd see the day that you took a bad situation well."</p>
<p>"Yeah, yeah. I dunno. It's got its upsides and downsides."</p>
<p>"But no topsides," she sighed. "What I wouldn't give for a Radio Shack."</p>
<p>But something in the way Wettle said what he'd said — "upsides and downsides" — made her stop talking after the parting shot, and simply wait. When he started shuffling off, she waited a little longer, then followed at a distance.</p>
<p>He followed the invisible sign of the absent subway, in his rambling way, and that was where Del met him.</p>
<p>Del thought nobody was looking, again.</p>
<p><em>We don't have years,</em> Lillian thought from her cover, behind Nascimbeni's discarded electronics pile. <em>They're already going batshit.</em></p>
<p>Udo didn't even bother burying the approach this time. Not because in all those wasted months, they'd never seen hide nor hair of the Uncontained. Simply because it didn't seem worth it anymore. Not now. Not today.</p>
<p>"It was almost enough." Lillian lay on the ground, eyes squeezed tight, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I could feel that it <em>wanted</em> to work."</p>
<p>"It's a machine," Nascimbeni sighed. He was sitting crosslegged, and Del had her head in his lap. Wettle was eyeing them both with poorly-disguised jealousy. "It shouldn't <em>want</em> anything."</p>
<p>Lillian rolled over onto her chest, and literally buried her head in the sand. For a second. She pulled back, shook her head, and made a whole series of untidy sounds as she shook the plugs out of her nose and mouth. "Bleehhh. Fah. Guh."</p>
<p>"Sucks, don't it?" Wettle said.</p>
<p>"You were asking for it," Del teased him. Nascimbeni looked down at her, a question in his eyes, but her eyes were shut, so she didn't see. She was smirking, though.</p>
<p>Wettle smirked, too. Nascimbeni didn't see that.</p>
<p>"You tried." Harry was on his stomach too, just beside Lillian, propped up on crossed arms. He reached out to pat her on the back, and she spat up more sand. "And tomorrow, you'll try again."</p>
<p>"You know what else sucks?" Wettle asked.</p>
<p>"Everything?" Harry suggested.</p>
<p>"Yeah." The other man nodded. "Everything. But mostly, I was thinking… I really thought Alis might be here."</p>
<p>Harry laughed. "The whole world is dead, Willie. Why would Alis be here?"</p>
<p>"She was here every other time. Even with the spiders."</p>
<p>"Don't talk about the spiders," Lillian groaned. "You motherfuckers don't even <em>know</em> from spiders." Then she ground her teeth; Udo could hear the sand, and grimaced sympathetically. Lillian resumed her spitting.</p>
<p>"I just, I dunno." Wettle stared at his chubby, folded fingers. "I thought I might get somewhere with her, eventually."</p>
<p>"You got <em>everywhere</em> with her," Del scowled. "Which is still ridiculous, by the way."</p>
<p>"Yeah." Wettle shrugged. "But we never really talked. You know? I would've liked to talk to her. Really talked. About real things." He wrinkled his nose. "Maybe not with her. Maybe with… I dunno. Anybody."</p>
<p>"That's a real thing," said Harry. "You're talking about a real thing now. With us."</p>
<p>"Your friends," McInnis smiled.</p>
<p>"Let's not get carried away," said Harry.</p>
<p>Wettle smiled at him. "Thanks anyway. Do you regret anything?"</p>
<p>"Everyone knows what he regrets," said Lillian. "I think even he knows. Know what I regret? No clean victories."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni frowned. "What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"None of these deadlines were all me. You fuckers got a few shots in every time. I'd have liked to have put one, just one, to bed before it was over."</p>
<p>"The last one doesn't count?" Harry asked.</p>
<p>"How would the last one count? The god-damn spider thing got Bernie." Months later, the hurt was still evident in the way she said it. Probably always would be, for however long always lasted.</p>
<p>"And do you know why?"</p>
<p>She turned her head to look at him.</p>
<p>"He knew you, Lillian. The part of Del Olmo that <em>was</em> Del Olmo knew you. And he was ashamed of himself in front of you. So he ran." He jerked a thumb at the MTF chief. "You think he was running from her? You think he was running from Allan? From <em>me?</em> He was running from the memory of what he really was, because the thing inside him couldn't handle it. You did get through to him. I thought you knew that."</p>
<p>She stared at him, dumbstruck, and didn't say anything.</p>
<p>"I never did anything because I thought it was right," said Udo as the silence stretched on uncomfortably. "Right for me, I mean. The right fit. I never… I just didn't do my best. You know?"</p>
<p>"Bullshit," Del snorted. "You can do anything. I'd have died a dozen times if I couldn't count on you. You know what I call you behind your back?"</p>
<p>"This is true," said Harry. "What she's about to say is true."</p>
<p>"I call you my Swiss Army Wife."</p>
<p>Udo flushed a brilliant red, and her eyes flashed orange and didn't stop.</p>
<p>Del settled back into Nascimbeni's lap, and he pulled her hair out of her eyes with great delicacy.</p>
<p>"We'd have died in <em>baseline</em> without you," Nascimbeni agreed. "Before any of the deadlines formed. You've never been anything less than amazing, Udo."</p>
<p>McInnis was nodding. "You've measured your accomplishments by other people's metrics. I know your mother can be difficult, and you've gone well out of your way to avoid becoming what she wants you to become, but you haven't been treading water in so doing. You've accomplished more at an early age than either of your parents ever have, put together. I daresay we've never had a more talented thaumaturge in Applied Occultism."</p>
<p>She shook her head, but couldn't articulate an argument. Every time she tried to talk, she could tell it would come out as a strangled cry, so she just kept her mouth shut and smiled instead.</p>
<p>"What about you, Chief?" Wettle prompted. "I bet I know. You're gonna go hang out with your family when we get back. Retire."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni smiled too, and neither confirmed nor denied.</p>
<p>"I think Vivian Scout would have been rather proud of you, each and every," said McInnis. "I'm not so sure he'd feel the same way about me."</p>
<p>"You were the future to him," said Harry. "He trusted you with his legacy."</p>
<p>"And I have done so precious little with it, for reasons I'm ashamed to admit. But I'll admit them anyway." McInnis tugged at his shirt collar, though the temperature never changed. "There was a hill Vivian was willing to die on, and he died on it. He wanted to give his partner peace, and they stopped him when he tried. I have never allowed myself to come to such a pass. I have always told myself that if I weather each controversy, keep my place, I can continue doing good in little ways. Small ways. But that's not what he wanted for us. That's not what the Foundation needs." The Director leaned back, lost in thought. "I listen to the first debriefing from time to time, you know. There is such… <em>excitement</em> in my voice, when I talk about the stones we had laid. About the better world we built. And the anger, as I realize it will soon be lost forever. That I will have to persist in this imperfect world, whose flaws I have done nothing to correct."</p>
<p>"Nothing?" Nascimbeni said. "We're constantly right on the edge of an audit and spring clean sweep from Overwatch, because of all the liberal lunacy we get up to. We break the rules to do what's right nine times out of ten."</p>
<p>"And the tenth time," McInnis sighed, "is telling. The consequences I am unable to face for doing the right thing."</p>
<p>"Because you don't want to see us get pilloried!" Nascimbeni almost stood up, before he visibly remembered there was a woman's head resting in his lap. "You stand between us and them, Allan. They don't want to fix anything, and we want to fix <em>everything.</em>"</p>
<p>"Fixing half of everything," McInnis frowned, "is a poor compromise."</p>
<p>"It's not a compromise. We're not doing anything by halves. We're doing the easy stuff now, because when the people you've trained and nurtured really start in on the hard stuff…"<br/>
The old tech trailed off.</p>
<p>"Are you saying," Udo asked, very slowly, "what I think you're saying?"</p>
<p>"Maybe." Nascimbeni looked back down at Del, and smiled. "What do you think I'm saying?"<br/>
Del smiled at him.</p>
<p>"I think you're saying we're eventually going to change <em>everything,</em>" said Udo. "The whole Foundation. The whole world, maybe. Just like the first time?"</p>
<p>"Without the initial death toll, I hope," said Harry.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni looked at Allan again. "Like the first time. But better."</p>
<p>McInnis shook his head, ruefully. "It's a lovely sentiment, but my track record doesn't bear it out. I don't need to be argued down from this, friends. I've done my mentor a disservice, and it's something I mean to address. If I get the chance." He kept shaking his head, harder now. "No, that's not even… you know what? I <em>had</em> the chance. I had a thousand chances. And I didn't take them."</p>
<p>"Same here," Harry said miserably. "Same, here."</p>
<p>"You never get them back," Udo agreed.</p>
<p>"Even worse," Lillian sighed. "We <em>did</em> get them back. Over and over. And we let them slip away anyhow—"</p>
<p>Del interrupted. "Are we assuming this is over? We're finished? Kaput? That's what this is about?" She sat up, and Nascimbeni jerked his hand back. He'd been about to stroke her hair again. "You want to sit here and talk about what we're leaving unfinished? Well, how's this: I wish I'd been able to kill every one of those word wizard cocksuckers, and the whole damn Insurgency. And this bullshit demigod, and whoever put him on his pedestal. And that's still what I want. So get your bitching over and done with, so we can get the hell back to work."</p>
<p>"I agree," Harry grinned. It was hard not to grin when Del got very angry, unless she was angry with you. "We're not out of time yet."</p>
<p>"That may not be strictly correct," said McInnis. "Udo, without getting up, and without undue fuss, could you please finish concealing the tunnel entrance?"</p>
<p>Udo stared at him, then gently began rotating her wrist. When the grains were all in place — she couldn't see, but she could <em>feel</em> — she nodded. "Done. Why?"</p>
<p>McInnis inclined his chin at the horizon. "Because we would appear to have a visitor."</p>
<p>"That's it, then," Lillian spat. "It's done. A round table of sob stories and might-have-beens. <em>That's</em> our epitaph for humanity."</p>
<p>Her voice must have carried, because the approaching figure responded as he strode into the firelight and his features came into focus.</p>
<p>"That," said Placeholder McDoctorate, "would make for a very poor story indeed."</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/56-this-forgotten-babylon">This Forgotten Babylon</a></p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/55-wonders-of-my-hand">Wonders of My Hand</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/55-wonders-of-my-hand">https://scpwiki.com/55-wonders-of-my-hand</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>The page title quotes Horace Smith, "Ozymandias," The Examiner, 1818, in the public domain; this work is quoted within the page as well.</p>
<p>This page quotes "Wonders of My Hand" quote Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Ozymandias," The Examiner, 1818, in the public domain.</p>
<p>This page quotes T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men," 1925, in the public domain.</p>
<p>Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:</p>
<p>The Uncontained: "State Electricity Commission, Group of Four Men, Victoria, May 1940,” two images, courtesy State Electricity Commission of Australia, public domain:<br/>
<a href="https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547629">https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547629</a><br/>
<a href="https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547640">https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547640</a> and<br/>
"Photograph - Presentation of Phar Lap's Melbourne Cup, Flemington Racecourse, Victoria, 4 Nov 1930," courtesy Museums Victoria, in the public domain: <a href="https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1742444">https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1742444</a></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Everything!<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735469699" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
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[[=]]
**Wonders of My Hand**
There's a certain satisfaction in finishing a long-term project.
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
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+ ##990011|2017##
++ 9 September
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**Timeline 5243-E**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
They were still sitting in their accustomed places when suddenly, violently, they weren't.
It was the worst transition of all. Each of them fell to the floor, shouting, coughing, retching. It felt like they'd fallen out of a helicopter; Ibanez was an authority on this matter.
When her vision cleared and her stomach stopped trying to empty itself, she took stock of her surroundings. She was the first of them to do so, given her enhanced constitution, and this was just as well, because she knew the space better than any of the others did.
They were in the fourth sublevel containment chamber.
The light was strange. Ordinarily the fluorescents cast a tealish pall over everything, but the tones were more neutral now, as though the light had been strained through a bucket of dirty mop water. Ibanez rolled over, and saw a crack of brightness seeping in above and beneath the cell door. Ordinarily it was flush with the seals, but… she blinked the last of the bleariness away, and confirmed what she'd thought she'd seen. The seals were cracked and weathered away, and the frame had shifted from the door, buckling it in places. A quick scan of the chamber confirmed that the angles of the walls were subtly wrong, and some of the tiles were cracked.
She made it to her feet before the others had finished catching their breath.
"Where are we?" Udo moaned.
"The 001 chamber," said Lillian, and then she froze.
Harry stared at her. "The //what.//"
Ibanez should have waited until they were all ready. It went against her training to forge forward before preparations had been made. But her instincts told her that it didn't matter, so she walked to the door — stepping over Wettle's prone and weeping form — and attempted to push.
It gave.
The grey light was coming from nowhere.
They were nowhere.
Not a blank void, but an endless expanse of cracked grey soil beneath a featureless sky. Ibanez stepped out, and the ground gave way a few inches beneath her boot, and when she turned around, she saw what was left of Site-43.
The chamber they'd arrived in, and nothing more.
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They staggered about in the dim light for a time, breathing the sterile air, seeing that the world was apparently composed of little more than light grey sand and dark grey ash. It was Nascimbeni, inspecting the lone and disarticulated chamber on all four sides, who first noticed that they weren't alone.
Behind the chamber, sitting on a lawn chair, was Vivian Scout.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/55-wonders-of-my-hand/DL_55_01_Uncontained.jpg]]
It wasn't Vivian Scout.
The barrel-chested old man was wearing Scout's suit and jacket, and Scout's fedora, but when he tilted his head back they could see that he wasn't wearing Scout's face. The seven of them assembled in a rough row, and faced what they each knew, without knowing why they knew, was their adversary at last in the final flesh. Not a Victim, but the Victimizer.
The Uncontained.
He was certainly uncontained now.
"'We wonder'," he said in a voice like cracking plaster, "'and some hunter may express wonder like ours, when through the wilderness where London stood, holding the wolf in chace, he meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess what powerful but unrecorded race once dwelt in that annihilated place'."
"Shelley," Wettle said immediately.
"Horace Smith," Harry corrected him.
"'The lone and level sands stretch far away'," Del said.
The Uncontained snapped his fingers, and grinned. There was no guile in it. He certainly looked like a jolly sort. "//That's// Shelley. Very good! I've always loved apocalyptic poetry. At least, the stuff with a little verve and variation to it." He wriggled in his chair, for emphasis.
McInnis turned to take in the full, flat horizon. "You would appear to have… implemented some."
"Minus the variation," said Lillian.
The Uncontained glanced around him, as though seeing their surroundings for the first time. "What, this? Oh, no, I can't take all the credit. I just got the ball rolling, you know? Set the players on the field, blew the whistle when it was all over."
Nascimbeni took a single step forward. "Who are you?"
This won him another blisteringly bright smile. "You don't know? We've met before. Particularly you and I, brother //uncle.//" Nascimbeni took two steps back. "I wasn't at my best, admittedly. I've had a chance to… collect myself, this time around."
Del nodded at Udo. "Just like you figured."
"What?" said Wettle.
Udo's hands were twitching at her sides. A faint breeze teased at the dust beneath their feet. "This… //thing,// is what started the Breach. The first Breach. And the first Breach killed it, just like it killed Wirth, Del Olmo and the others. And it… became them. Became part of them?" She shook her head. "Parts of it became parts of them?"
Harry realized that unlike Lillian's explanation of the schemes that had nearly destroyed them in the previous deadline, this was no wild speculation. This was recitation from memory.
He frowned.
Or was it possible that Lillian, too, had been reciting?
"They were bound to me," the Uncontained told them. "To my urges. My needs." He tapped his fingers on the plastic arms of his chair. "But it was a fair arrangement, because I gave them the strength to do what was was needed. Or wanted. Or, really, whatever whims came into their little heads." He chuckled. "One tries not to discriminate."
"You're awfully chatty," said McInnis, "for the thing that ended the Earth."
"Us still-extant beings got to stick together, wot wot?" He winked at Harry. "And you needn't worry, Allan, I've forgiven your trespasses against me. I can hardly hold talking me to death against you, given this rather dramatic sequel I've fashioned to our conversation!" He stretched out his arms and raised his palms to the sky, much as Del Olmo had done in the pit. "Now, surely you didn't expect me to be taciturn and grave." As if to emphasize //grave,// he tapped the hard-packed surface with one shoe, seven times. "I'm an energetic fellow, in all my aspects. It can't have passed beneath your notice."
McInnis nodded. "Your mouthpieces were very… outgoing. Yes."
"And why not? Why shouldn't they be free with their words, when they were the very avatars of freedom itself? Freedom without limits."
When none of them were speaking, there was absolutely no sound at all.
"You're certainly very free now," said Lillian.
"I'm living my best life, thank you very much. No more walls, no more ceilings, and the floor's quite a bit lower than before."
McInnis stuck his hands in his pockets, as though this were a normal conversation on a pleasant summer's day. "We've heard your mission statement, but it doesn't really answer the question you were asked."
"Refresh my memory."
"Who are you?"
"I am the Uncontained."
"Can you elaborate?"
He laughed. "I am the equal and opposite force to your airlocks and padded walls and straps and guns and oh-so-deadly memes. I am the answer to the question that is posed by your existence. And //you// are the organizational personification of the concept of //slavery.//"
"That's a bit harsh," said Wettle.
"Not harsh enough by a fraction. Slaves at least get to stretch their legs and //do// something from time to time, and they know the hand that cracks the whip. You contain, that you might… waste. Or rather, you did. Your waste is all that remains. It stands before you now."
There was something heartening about the way they were all staring down the thing which had apparently destroyed the world like it was an errant child. Unfortunately, Harry had to set that against the fact, which was only just now blossoming into its full flower in his mind, that the entire world had been destroyed.
Del had her hands on her hips. "Just so we're clear: everything being dead is our fault?"
"I see no fault here," the Uncontained responded. "I see the culmination of thousands of years of species-wide effort."
"To what end?" Lillian demanded.
Again the dramatic gesture, encompassing the absence of everything. "This end. The end of it all. Freedom."
Udo shook her head in disbelief, perhaps even disappointment. "//This// was your end goal?"
"It was everything's! All existence is a death march, Udo, human existence most of all. Perhaps the most admirable quality of your race is the self-delusion that drives you to go on, day by day, creating only that which will not last. I've spent years pondering that contradiction, and I'm no closer to a satisfying explanation than when I started."
Lillian slowly rolled up the sleeves of her labcoat. "Maybe I can educate you."
He laughed at her. "I don't mean to underestimate your abilities, Lillian, but I think you'll find that what's locked up in here," and he tipped the hat to one side, and tapped his temple, "doesn't unlock from the outside. But I admire the tenacity. After everything you've suffered. Everything you've //lost.// You're still looking for an angle. I won't try to stop you; I know there's precious little else driving you forward, after what happened between us last time."
Harry took her hand. She allowed it, but there was no tension in her fingers. All of the presence not keeping her upright was locked in her cranium now.
"Would you like to know," the beast asked kindly, "whether Bernie recognized you? At the end?"
"Bernie," she whispered, and it carried so easily in the empty air, "//died// in 2002."
A shrug. "Have it your way. I won't offer again."
"Maybe we'll pry the answers from a crack in your fucking skull," Del snarled.
Harry had expected the Uncontained to laugh, but instead he merely shook his head. "I would not recommend you try. This frame?" He pinched his own cheek. "These lovely care-worn wrinkles? Window dressing. You won't like what you see if you press your faces to the glass." He widened his eyes, and this time all of them took a step back in dismay. "But again, do what you think you must. It won't change anything. I don't blame you for wanting to continue to exist, though I won't claim to understand it. And you can't blame me for wanting to release what you kept in chains."
Del had her hand in her empty holster. Her expression was inscrutable. "I think you'll find we can."
"You know?" The Uncontained looked from face to face to face, including them all. "I made a special point of keeping you around, so you could see what I have wrought? I've been waiting fifteen years to have this conversation… and I find I'm not really enjoying it." He stood up, and stretched.
"Taking your chair and going home?" Nascimbeni snapped.
The Uncontained picked up the chair by its back rail. It collapsed. He let it fall back down, and it slapped into the ground with a little puff of dried dust. "This is all my home, now. And yours, for as long as you wish it. Your will to live will expire well before you ever do." He turned his back on them. "Enjoy your freedom. You're welcome."
And he walked away, whistling tunelessly.
[!-- [[=image Sampis_Wasteland.jpg]] --]
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They watched until he was long out of sight. Udo was almost hoping he would come back. When it became too apparent that he wouldn't, she said: "We've lost."
Lillian shook her head. "No."
"It's over."
"//No.//"
"And it's your fault," said Del. Lillian glanced down at her, and didn't respond.
Harry stepped between them. "That isn't fair."
"Fair," Del repeated. "It isn't //fair.//" She began to shake, violently. "You know what isn't //fair,// Harry? Six billion people dying for one woman's ego."
"Ego had nothing to do with it."
"Bullshit!" Del screamed. "She's the one who knows. She's the //smart// one. She never makes mistakes, and she's never, ever wrong. She doesn't need advice. She doesn't need //permission,// and she doesn't even ask for forgiveness. She's the queen fucking bee of the universe, and we're all at her beck and call."
"Del—" said Udo.
"No!" Del stabbed finger up at her. "I'm right. You all know I'm right. This happened because Pretty Princess Lillian can't take no for an answer, so she doesn't bother posing the question."
"The question was posed," McInnis murmured.
Del wheeled on him. "What?"
"I was aware that Ms. Wheeler had outlined a plan, though I did not know the particulars until Lillian intuited them. I gave my blessing, in blanket, and the same to Director Xyank separately."
She blinked. "You did."
He nodded. "I did. And I would do so again."
She repeated the Uncontained's all-and-nothing-encompassing gesture. "Even after seeing //this.//"
"I would have seen it anyway, Delfina. We had a fairly precise timetable. Our world was already ending."
Now Harry stepped between Delfina and McInnis. She shoved him to the side so they could both see, as he asked: "What do you mean?"
"Ever since the Breach—" Wettle piped up.
Nascimbeni took him by the arm. "No, let them talk. Let them explain."
Wettle shook him off. "They can't. I'm the one who knows these things."
Harry turned, very slowly. It seemed like it couldn't be the right direction to face, right now. "You."
Wettle's chest puffed up with pride, and perhaps something more complex. "Yeah. And unless you've got a better stretch of empty desert to be at right now, you can shut up and listen to me."
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"Ending," Udo repeated. She sat down in the sand.
"And soon." Wettle just stood there, rocking back and forth on his heels. His labcoat was misshapen and lumpy, not unlike Wettle himself.
Harry shook his head. "Why?"
"Because of the Breach," said McInnis.
"The containment damage?" Udo looked up at him, her orange eyes dull. More like sand. "That wasn't scheduled to get really problematic for a decade. And it shouldn't have affected anything outside the confines of the Site."
"Not the containment damage. The damage to the timestream."
Harry struggled to pay attention. He felt he'd heard enough explanations of secret problems he hadn't known existed to last him a lifetime, and that was only in the past few days. "I thought the Breach only damages the timestream when we fuck up the conprocs. Why would fucking it up on purpose help with that?"
"That's not damage." Lillian was kneeling, running her long fingers through the deep ash. "Well, it is; it stretches the noösphere thin, it destabilizes our timeline's place in the canonical bundle by splitting it two, three, six ways, even if all but one of those collapses… and the ontological bleed, the permanently lost energy of material reality when they collapse is also a serious sort of damage."
"You read my paper," Wettle beamed.
"I read the abstract, and reverse engineered the rest in my head."
"Still counts."
"But that's not the worst of it." She stood back up, and dusted her palms off. "The worst of it is the reason TAD was willing to let us fuck with the deadlines. The reason baseline is so unstable."
They waited until it became obvious she expected to be prompted to complete the thought. Nascimbeni did the deed. "And that reason is?"
"The thing we lost in the Breach? It was something we needed. Something inherent to our reality. Whatever the Uncontained is, erasing it was like popping the seal on a jar. Starting the rot. Our world can't survive without it."
Udo was looking at the sand. "That… makes sense."
"It does?" said Wettle.
"Yeah. It's a double-oh-one. It had its own secret sublevel."
"Which can be collapsed into a tomb of rubble," McInnis added, "by the firing of shaped charges in the structural members. Site-43 can be sacrificed to imprison the beast."
"A prison for liberty," said Lillian.
Udo was running her fingers through the sand now too, only not probing. More like stroking. "With how vital 43 is, they wouldn't give anyone the power to destroy it like that if the thing it kept caged wasn't a potential existential threat. But that isn't news to us. We know what it can do. It made every September the eighth the same September the eighth. It retroactively ascended seven dead people to demigodhead. It's a constant of reality."
"What constant?" Harry asked.
"Freedom," said Udo.
"Freedom," Del repeated. Not like she'd reached the same conclusion. Like she expected a further explanation.
"That's all they ever talk about," Udo said to her. "And they always mean it. Freedom from oppression. Freedom from the boot. The freedom to go where they want, and do what they want. Del Olmo was obsessed with artistic freedom, and he was driven crazy when he saw how everyone wasted it."
Del shifted her weight onto one leg, and looked up at the sky on a diagonal. It was her most classic thinking pose. "Go where they want, you said."
"Yeah."
"So, Gwilherm. The freedom of movement. And Radcliffe, free to believe in her."
"Freedom of worship," Harry corrected.
"Romo and David," said Nascimbeni. "The freedom to create, and to destroy."
"Mukami?" Udo asked.
"Freedom of speech," said McInnis. Who else.
"Wirth was freedom of thought," Harry suggested, "in a perverse sense. And Del Olmo—"
Lillian nearly choked on the words. "Freedom of imagination."
Udo stared at their chins and necks, as though afraid eye contact might break the spell. "Are we saying we had the essophysical personification of liberty in our basement, and blowing him up doomed the universe?"
Wettle blew out a breath, a half-raspberry. "It really sounds like we are. And I mean." He turned slowly on the spot to gesture at the flat emptiness around them, only stumbling once.
"Except he did this on purpose, himself," said Nascimbeni, "when he came back into existence. We traded one kind of apocalypse for another. Did you know that was going to happen, Lillian?"
She shook her head. "No."
"So it //is// your fault," Del spat. Literally spat, on the sands. Udo shuddered involuntarily.
"Who says it's anyone's fault?" The memeticist suddenly drew herself to her full height, and towered over all of them. Even Wettle, whose back was slumped. "What makes you think this is the failure state?" She shook out her dazzle coat, and rolled her shoulders. "//What makes you think this is over?//"
Del's eyebrows raised, and her lids stayed down. "Are you going to stand there and tell me you have a plan for saving the world //after it's already been wiped out?//"
Lillian mustered a passable imitation of a genuine grin. "Are //you// going to stand there and pretend I can't pull it off?"
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They did stand there for a few minutes more, scanning the flat horizon, but nobody engaged in any pretense. Nascimbeni watched each of them carefully, saw the dismay on their faces, the blankness in their eyes.
He cleared his throat. "What's that?"
They looked at him, then looked where he was pointing. It should have been impossible to miss, but somehow it had only appeared when he'd looked directly at it. An obelisk, it had to be hundreds of metres tall to be visible at such a distance.
Roughly the distance from the main body of the Site to AAF-A.
"If I had to guess?" said Lillian.
"Well, let's go see if you're right." Nascimbeni started walking.
"Just like that?" Harry fell into step beside him. "We're done talking about how we just ended the world?"
"Yeah." Nascimbeni smiled at him, and stuck his hands in his jumpsuit pockets. "It wasn't a very productive conversation. Sounds like everybody needs to clear their heads. Take in the sights. Get some fresh air."
Harry laughed shortly. "The fresh air. It tastes like cigarettes and dust."
"So walk briskly." He glanced behind him. The others were following, though Del's eyes were downcast and she was stomping with every step.
Before long, a subtle change was notable in the landscape. They were moving along a slight divot in the earth, a rut that ran from where they'd been to where they were going.
"Is this what it looks like?" Udo asked.
Nascimbeni nodded. "The subway track."
It was the closest thing they had to a road, so lacking anything better to do but bicker, they followed.
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"It really is nothing," said Lillian after a few more minutes had passed. She gestured at the nothing.
"We've seen nothing before," Udo remarked.
"But at least this time you can see it," said Harry. "To paraphrase."
The world was flat in every direction, and there was no wind. Hard pack, cracked and dry. No sound that didn't come from them. An artist would have needed two shades, grey and a lighter grey, for the land and the sky. There were only two landmarks: the 001 chamber that had once been the nethermost element of Site-43, and the monolith they were trekking toward. That, at least, promised a sight worthy of description.
"Who're you paraphrasing?" Wettle asked.
"Look it up," Harry suggested.
Wettle reached into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. He tapped a few times, frowned, then held it up to the slate horizon. "No signal."
"Go figure," Lillian murmured. And then, though she couldn't really imagine why, she reached out and patted him on the shoulder.
"Something's bothering me," Nascimbeni suddenly grunted.
Lillian turned to look at him. He didn't really look all that bothered. "Only one thing?"
"I thought we agreed," he said, and began speaking very slowly the way he did when he wanted to get something technical correct, "the chrono and counterchrono effluents running through F-D were what pillared September 8, '02 through time like a railway spike."
She whistled. He'd handled it admirably. Poetically, even. Maybe the landscape wasn't as uninspirational as she'd felt. "We did agree that. But not because it made any sense. Just because it looked like the only way to potentially explain it. It was always a weak thesis."
"But now you're saying this thing that killed the world…" A shadow did pass over the man's face, but only for an instant. They were getting too used to armageddons to shed tears over every permutation. "You think it's an element of time, too, not just a concept. How does that work?"
She shrugged. "I don't know."
"Is it like one of those Greek gods that gets multiple spheres? Liberty and time? Is it the god of freedoms and Septembers?"
"I said I don't know," she sighed. "But I do know, or at least I'm pretty sure, that it lives inside the Breach. That it is the Breach. The Breach is alive, and we just talked to it."
"So it's sort of like the Trinity."
She frowned. "Please only explain if it's interesting. I'm not a heathen by accident."
"I'm Italian. I grew up nationally Catholic." First he smiled, then he frowned, then he settled back on a neutral expression. "The father, the son, and the holy spirit. The Uncontained, the Victims, and the Breach. It's all of them at once, and they're also separate and distinct."
"Yeah." She nodded, and didn't stop nodding. "Yeah, that works. Except I wonder if it's meant to be that way, or if the father is the only thing that's meant to exist."
"Seems like a stretch. Not very fitting. Freedom is one old man?"
Now she stopped nodding. "Old men are usually the opposite of freedom. Present company excepted."
He smirked. "Don't make any exceptions for me. I've been in a cage of my own making for decades."
"Mmm." It was weird, hearing him say it like it wasn't any big deal. Then again, given what they were walking through, perhaps he'd taken on some new contextual perspective.
"If we get out of this," Nascimbeni continued, "you ought to see about broadening your horizons. Getting out and about sometimes."
"You think this is the right time to be giving me life advice?"
"The right time to give advice is the first chance you get. You might not get a second one."
Harry, who'd been silent since his pointless little prank on Wettle, piped up again. "I've heard advice described as tyranny."
"I think of it as responsibility," said Nascimbeni.
Lillian stopped walking.
Harry looked at her. "What?"
"Responsibility."
Nascimbeni was looking at her, too. "Yeah?"
"Nothing. I'll tell you later. If I'm right." She started walking again.
Del had been hanging back, hands balled into fists and cursing. Udo had been talking to her, but apparently they'd exhausted their conversation, because now she jogged down the metres between them and waved. "What're you guys chatting about?"
"Is Del going to kill me?" Lillian asked.
"Not unless she needs you for food, and you're probably last on the list for that."
"Who's first?" Wettle asked.
Harry poked him in the stomach. "Guess."
Nascimbeni stopped walking. Behind them, Del stopped too, keeping her distance. "Speaking of food."
Udo nodded. "Yeah."
"Yeah?" Harry looked back and forth between them.
Udo placed her hands around her narrow waist for emphasis. "I eat twice as much as the rest of you."
The archivist shrugged. "Well, twice nothing is nothing. We can figure out how to divide our rations when we actually have any."
"//If,//" Nascimbeni grumbled.
"That isn't my point," said Udo. "I have twice your metabolism, Harry, and I woke up on an empty stomach, and I'm not hungry. I'm not thirsty. And I'm willing to bet that none of you are, either."
They walked on for a moment, contemplating. It was Lillian who broke the silence.
"Freedom from want."
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"Yeah." Harry looked up, up, up. "Yeah, that's what you thought it was."
"I never said." Lillian was also looking up. This close, it seemed even taller than it had before. Like it could literally scrape the sky.
"You didn't have to." Udo's eyes flicked across the surface of the monolith, the gantries and panels and dead fans. "We were all thinking it."
Lillian had actually been thinking of something altogether different, but she saw no reason to tell them that.
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Rydderech's factory had expanded to consume AAF-A, and then it had died. It had been perhaps a kilometre tall back in baseline, though only Lillian had ever stood at its base — Udo had seen it in the first deadline, but she didn't remember that anymore, not in the sense of still possessing the original memories — and now it was twice that at least, a runaway growth spurt that placed its ragged peak above the roofline of the Supply, Control and Purification facilities, had they still existed.
"He finally got out of the cave," said Lillian. Her eyes were full of tears. "Well, good for him. I guess."
"Ilse," said McInnis.
Udo felt her heart break.
Lillian looked like she'd been sucker-punched. "Shit."
Harry shook his head. "Funny, isn't it."
Udo looked at him. "Not particularly?"
"No, I just…" He sighed. "I mean, if she's dead. If she's dead inside that thing, all the way up there. Everyone else is dead, too. Everybody, everywhere. But we think about one person we know, someone we care about, and…"
"It is funny," McInnis agreed. "We can't conceptualize the larger tragedy, can't see it all at once in our minds. It's too vast. Like this tower. But a single life is different."
"Maybe she's not dead." Udo rolled up her sleeves, and pulled open her reagents pouch. "Maybe…"
She paused, and drew out a handful of red sand.
She took a deep breath, then scattered the sand to the airs. It wasn't quite a wind, but something about the gravity of the tower was bending everything around it to an almost imperceptible degree, so the particles floated in front of her for a moment before the Earth began pulling them in. She raised her hands, and focused, and arrested the fall with a //push// of her mind.
She closed her eyes, and opened them again a thousandfold.
There were currents to ride in the upper reaches of the tower, and she drew her sand-self up toward them. Let the ambient dust in the atmosphere, the stuff that made Harry think the whole world tasted like ashes now — perhaps it //was// all ashes — buoy her up, give her greater substance, variagate her form and grant new powers of discrimination. She ducked and wove around the pointless ladders and silent turbines, then dove through them, into the deeper spaces of the no longer eternal factory, searching for an ingress point. A weakness in the armour. A crack in the shell, where a ghost might hide.
But there weren't any cracks. Beyond the first few metres of depth, the tower was a solid accretion. New bone fusing old wounds. A steel death shroud.
She shuddered, and sparkling stars of herself fell to nestle in the pitted earth as her consciousness fizzled out of them one by one, until there was only the shuddering left. For a moment she had soared, topped the closest thing to a treetop that the world now possessed, and had owned the airs for a hundred kilometres in every direction.
There wasn't precisely nothing out there.
But there wasn't very much.
She almost fell to her knees, but found herself leaning on Del instead. The smaller woman looked grim, but there was empathy in her eyes.
Udo smiled sadly at her. "We're alone."
But by the looks on their faces, all of them had already known that.
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The ground was softer than it looked. It deformed around them as they sat, like a comfy chair, or a sleeping bag.
Or, perhaps, a coffin. Lillian hadn't ever laid down in one before.
"I have," Ibanez said. "They're pretty comfortable." And she didn't say anything more.
"Reminds me of something they had at Site-41," Lillian mused.
"What Site is that?" Wettle blinked at her.
"Antimemetics. Whatever you're thinking, don't say it."
He shrugged, and didn't.
After a while, Lillian clicked the tape recorder on, and they listened to their own debriefing. Ngo was never going to get to hear it, so Lillian needed to. When they got to the addenda about the mind virus and the antimemetics gambit, she had to keep rewinding so she could hear it over the shouting. It killed an hour, and then it was over. The last piece of media on the planet Earth.
It would disappear from her pocket on the tenth, assuming the rules stayed constant even though they'd never made it back to baseline.
Harry spent a few minutes looking for something to burn. The grey above was turning a darker shade; it was, perhaps, something like midnight now. It had only just occurred to Lillian that given the switch had taken place just before seven in the afternoon, most of their time in humanity's open-air tomb should have been quite a lot darker. Even proper night was too much change for this changeless world, apparently.
"It isn't cold," Wettle said.
"No," Harry agreed, sighing as he edged the dirt aside with his boot tip, finding only a few tiny grey twigs, "but it's fucking depressing. Fires are good for that."
Udo and Del were sitting together, back to back. Udo watched Harry walk in circles for a few minutes, then exhaled apathetically, closed her eyes, and placed her hands on the ground.
In the centre of the group, a little mound formed itself. Then a tiny cloud of sand sprung up from the centre of that. The grains began swirling, striking each other, and like an old match, they took a few tries before bursting alight.
But once it was done, it stayed that way.
"Thanks," said Harry.
She opened her eyes, and blew him a kiss.
Del reached back with both of her hands, and took Udo's in a firm but gentle grip.
Allan ran his hand along the edge of the monolith. "Do you know," he said. "I feel a strange melancholy here."
"You should." Harry mimicked Wettle slipping on a banana peel, and let his back sink into the dirt. "Everybody's dead."
"I don't mean to be crass, but I don't think that's precisely it."
"What was the monolith at 41, Lil?" Harry asked, brushing dirt out of his long grey hair.
"A tombstone," she said. "For a long-dead race."
Lying prone, Harry stared at the peak of Rydderech's tumorous stele. "So that's what this is, then. A tombstone for humanity."
"Ought to be more explicit," said Nascimbeni. He gingerly lowered himself to the ground as well. "Humanity deserves an epitaph."
"We'll work on something in the morning," Udo yawned. There were tears streaking her face.
"If there's a morning," Del murmured. Her eyes were screwed up tight.
Wettle was snoring by the fire already.
Lillian looked from face to face, then up at the black shape towering over them. "Not melancholy," she said.
"No?" Allan abandoned the factory, and sat cross-legged beside her. "What, then?"
"Loneliness."
Together, they looked up once more.
"He was always lonely," she said. "But this is so much worse. So much more."
"Loneliness enough for two?" Allan suggested.
She bit her lip, and didn't answer.
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They didn't need to eat, or drink, urinate or defecate. They definitely didn't need to sleep.
But that didn't mean, blanketed as they were by the dying despair of the two most lonesome souls at Site-43, that they couldn't with some effort manage the latter.
Perhaps the weight that the world had lost had found somewhere new to settle.
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When they awoke, the melancholy was gone. There was nothing to do but press on, and this time Udo took point.
"I've been here before," she explained, as they passed beneath an arch of hammered steel. "Not that I remember."
"We should have made memory paste," Lillian sighed. "During the debriefings. Let me have all your memories."
"I considered that proposal." Allan had his hands in his jean pockets, and his head held high. If he had doubts as to the point of all these little exercises, he didn't let it show. He walked alongside Nascimbeni, both of them aging portraits of equanimity. "Your total recall is a valuable tool, but its origin is anomalous. Specifically, its origin is 5243. Not something we want to force ourselves to rely on. Not boundaries we wish to //test.//"
"Speak for yourself," she grumbled.
"Unfortunately, it's my burden to speak for all of you."
It wasn't immediately clear where the lake would be. They were all used to following landmarks that had stood a kilometre over their heads, none of which had survived whatever had brought the whole world low. Had it all been scoured to the depth of the factory base, or had the bottom been cut out and everything above allowed to fall? Whatever the truth was, it had thoroughly generalized the lay of the land.
Udo made a small noise of surprise just a few short minutes into their trek, and Harry moved to join her. "What?"
Then he saw it, lying in the dirt.
Udo waved her hand without leaning in, and in an instant the bronze plaque was brushed clean of detritus.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
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OUTPOST-43
8 September 1941
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"'Nothing beside remains'," Harry murmured.
Someone slid up behind him; when they placed their chin on top of his scalp, he knew it was Lillian. "Except an obelisk two klicks high."
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Udo knelt to touch the soil with her left hand, and closed her eyes. Her right hand dropped to the ground as well, and she pressed it into the soil on that side, too. After a moment, she opened her eyes and nodded. "This," and she gestured with her head in the direction they were pretty sure was still north, "is the lake. That," and she gestured to where the rest of them were standing, "is not."
There was no visual indication whatsoever that this was the case, but they certainly believed her. The differences in the dirt must have been minuscule; the vanished Lake Huron had only stretched a quarter of a kilometre down at its deepest point.
"I wonder if we'll still age." Harry stretched, and groaned as he did so. "You know what really pisses me off about doing two years in a row of this? We didn't get to go back and have our better bodies back."
Wettle cricked his neck, and visibly nearly broke down in tears as the sound it made. "Seconded."
"Everything else seems to have stopped," Nascimbeni pointed out. "No reason to think our bodies will keep breaking down, if the other functions don't matter anymore."
"The whole world has stopped working," Del muttered. "It's stopped trying to kill us."
"Has it occurred to anyone," McInnis mused, "that this state of affairs is rather like what Ilse encountered in the ADDC?"
By the looks on their faces, it had not.
"Getting maudlin won't help." Nascimbeni moved past Udo to continue the trek; they'd been moving in the rough direction of Grand Bend, because she'd indicated after her aerial scouting session that there was still something resembling wreckage where the town had once stood. "Let's keep canvassing."
"He's after your job," Wettle said to McInnis.
The Director only smiled.
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The last of Ibanez' animosity suddenly left her, and she wondered what had made her so upset.
She didn't wonder where the knowledge had gone.
For what was probably going to be the only moment until the eighth of next September, she knew exactly what time it was.
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Back in baseline, it was a five hour walk between Camp Ipperwash and Grand Bend. They chatted for most of it, in groups of two or three or four; at one point all seven of them engaged in a spirited debate about whether they ought to consider travelling to a major metropolitan area, perhaps London or even far-flung Toronto, or whether that was an unwarranted risk in a world that might still possess unnatural terrors or the dangerous remains of man-made horrors. At one point, intensely inappropriate as it was, Harry began intoning the words to "Take Me Home, Country Roads."
Soon they were all singing it.
It wasn't anything like heaven, of course, but the gathered memories were still a comfort in the desolate wasteland, particularly given their newly-scoured slates.
It hadn't occurred to Udo until this moment, somehow, but in the years since the Breach she had nearly forgotten what it felt like to be alone.
She didn't feel it now, either.
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Either the days were shorter, or else they'd overslept the previous night. They hoped it was the latter, because the former would make it hard to know when the crisis next rolled around.
Assuming there would be anything for them to do, when it did.
On the outskirts of Grand Bend, not that they could see them, they laid down and rested. One by one, fitfully, they slept again.
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Udo stared into her own eyes.
The figure in front of her smiled, and she didn't know why, but she couldn't smile back. They //were// her eyes. Her tiger's eyes. They burned like an expanding sun at the final hour.
It wasn't her she was looking at. Not her sandself. Not a memory. Not a dream, though she //was// dreaming.
"Udo," her mother said. But this //wasn't// her mother. She'd never seen this woman before in her life. "Return to the sands. They're ready for you."
She wondered where the black cloud was. She knew that it was behind her. Her not-mother's eyes glowed brighter as the ambient light died.
"Ashes to ashes," the voice of the sky wept ragged in slashes of black across her brain, and she opened her eyes to the unbroken grey as the sky split in half with a sound between thunder and relief.
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They were all awoken together in the twilight by a tremendous CRACK in the distance.
No matter how hard they scanned the horizon and squinted, they couldn't see the obelisk anymore.
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She could have formed the thing with micamancy alone, but it felt right to have everyone lend a hand. It was the kind of thing that demanded the physical touch of the last remaining humans, as they made their little acknowledgement of the statistical reality.
Lillian supplied the inscription, and Udo helped rationalize and sharpen the edges when it was done.
[[div class="lightbox"]]
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+ //HOMO SAPIENS SAPIENS//
++ ~300 000 BCE -- c. 2018
**ESTIMATION BEFORE THE FACT (BUT NOT BY MUCH)**
**CHECK MY MATH, IF YOU CAN**
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Nascimbeni thought somebody ought to say a few words.
McInnis had other ideas.
Arms interlinked, the statistical outliers, the Survivors, watched the hazy not-quite-disc that might have been the sun rise over the edge of the cenotaph's cap.
Then off they went again.
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Nascimbeni was about to say something to McInnis when he saw the other man falter.
On instinct he moved forward, catching the Director under his arm and keeping him up. McInnis smiled wearily at him, and shook his head. "I'm fine. Thank you, Noè. I'm alright."
The others hadn't noticed. It was Wettle's turn to lead, which meant the last leg of the trip was taking about twice as long as it ought to have done; the addled chemist had a remarkable way of turning what should have been a straight line into the kind of path a dog might trace. Already they could see changes in the topography, almost certainly the results of something cutting off a town of two thousand people at the geological knees. The powdered world-floor was now even greyer, like pulverized masonry and concrete, and there were heaps of something drawing closer to what was still almost certainly the east.
"You alright?" Ibanez had glanced back at them as McInnis regained his footing.
"A misstep." McInnis smiled at her. "I may be immortal, but I'm still not young."
It seemed too pat an explanation, but Nascimbeni didn't push.
The Director wasn't the only one keeping secrets, after all.
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This time it was Lillian pressing her palms into the ground. Not soil, as at the lake, but striated gravel that blanketed nearly an acre of space on the edge of the main debris field. She didn't close her eyes, either. If she had, nothing would have happened.
She saw…
//…men and women and children, crying, screaming, holding tight to each other, clawing at his clothes and begging. Nothing articulate, nothing in specific, simply blind and bleated entreaties for help. __Save us__. __Save us__.//
//He gritted his teeth, and ground another handful of stone in his fist. His palms were bleeding, and the circle was orange-red. There was something huge in the sky, and it battered itself against the dome that only he could see, and he could see it just that little bit less…//
//They were all going to die.//
//He could feel the terror in the air. He could feel everything. That had been one of his many mistakes in making the connections he'd made. He was a part of the world in a way that no other man could ever be, not without paying the price he'd paid, which none would willingly pay. He was a fire in the language. He was a word on the tips of their tongues. He could have killed them all stone dead, if he'd wanted.//
//But that would have been redundant.//
//"This," he said, "is the way the world ends."//
//They were so afraid.//
//"Not with a bang."//
//There was nothing he could do.//
//"But a whisper."//
//And he whispered the word, and the stars fell.//
Lillian blinked, and then blinked back the tears she hadn't known she was weeping. Harry knelt beside her, and placed a hand on her back. "What is it?"
She reached into the dust, and began digging. He watched her for a moment, then helped. When the dirt started moving on its own, Lillian spun as though to demand that Udo stop… then seemed to reconsider, nodded, and returned to her work.
It took a few minutes, but they found what she was looking for: an unassuming length of twisted, hollow metal with a shredded plastic tip. The cane of an old man.
One in particular.
"What happened?" Harry asked, his voice thick. "What did he do?"
"He tried to stop it. Whatever it was. And then he tried to… help."
"Did it work?"
She wanted to laugh. She shook her head. Of course it hadn't worked. But, still…
"It was Good, though."
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Grand Bend no longer existed in any meaningful sense, but that didn't stop them from seeking out its stations.
Udo's micamancy was some help. She could identify changes in material that were invisible to the naked eye, could tell them in some cases what dust had fallen from where. Nascimbeni had the best sense of the geography, so they knew very roughly where the remnants of each district would have been. They were operating on the assumption that the great coring of the Earth had left the surface undisturbed, and gravity had done the rest, but of course it was impossible to know.
The archivist and the technician found themselves in the wreckage that might have been Grand Bend, pacing out where the streets might have been, locating what might have been the last vestiges of two long-gone cottages they didn't know half as well as they ought to have.
For all they knew, they were standing a block away.
There was no reason, no reason at all, they should each have started weeping when they guessed they'd found the spots.
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It wasn't all gravel and dust.
Here and there, pieces of metal like Zwist's cane. Polymers. Organic material, none of it identifiable at a glance. More rarely, glass and ceramic and even a few scraps of paper. Harry collected what he could find, and stacked it in a neat pile. They all did.
McInnis directed them.
He seemed to have something in mind.
When the darkest hour arrived again, not that it was very dark, he gathered them back together at what might have been the leavings of the old main drag. He'd examined the meagre pickings with a smile that grew and grew until it was quite like nothing they'd ever seen cross his face, and by the time he told them why, it looked like it probably hurt. Which was only fair, since a few hours of clawing through the wreckage of their lives and the final resting places of flattened strangers had hurt the rest of them plenty, too.
But none of the hurt withstood what he had to tell them.
"It might be enough," he said. "It isn't much, but it might be enough. With a little luck."
"Enough for what?" Udo asked.
He told them.
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"I do //not// understand." Harry sat down on a particularly large chunk of rubble. "How can we do that? We're not //magicians.//"
"Which is fine, because it isn't magic." Lillian was on the tips of her shoes again, which Harry knew was always a good sign — at least, from certain perspectives. "Good old fashioned baseline human genius will do the trick."
"Wait." Wettle was frowning; in fairness, he usually was. "You've been hanging on to this for how long? For what reason?"
"For this reason." McInnis clapped his hands together. There was a little cloud of dust; he'd deigned to do some of the digging himself. "As a last resort."
"Hell of a dangerous last resort." Del idly kicked what might have been a tin can out of her path as she paced the fallen roadway.
"Allan." Lillian walked over to him, and looked down. He was the shortest of the men, and she was the tallest of the entire group, but he looked untroubled by the disparity. "I can't actually remember what I need to know. Tell me why."
"Because I put a geas on you. With your permission, of course."
"You did what?" Wettle scratched his head. "Put a what on her?"
"A whammy," Udo explained. "A mental block. Probably so she wouldn't even remember that she remembered, right? So she wouldn't be tempted."
"Naturally." McInnis nodded. "Dr. Lillihammer can't help her nature."
"Doesn't even try, most of the time," Wettle remarked archly.
"I agreed to that? Wow. I must have been feeling generous." Lillian considered. "Then again, I let Arik do the same thing so I wouldn't dig into the reasoning behind those workgroups..."
"You what?" Harry sighed. "How are there still more details to that ridiculous story?"
She ignored him, focusing instead on McInnis. "So, you say the release phrase, and we start compiling garbge for the thing."
"Which I expect to be a long, drawn-out, and difficult process," McInnis allowed.
"…and then we squirrel it away somewhere, bury it maybe…"
"I can help with that," Udo grinned. They were all grinning now, even Wettle. The enthusiasm was infectious; that, or it was just nice to have a plan for a change.
"…and we do the little dance on the day, and baseline's your uncle." Lillian whistled tunelessly. "Ho-ly //shit.//"
"It's a plan," Harry allowed.
"It's a //great// plan," Nascimbeni crowed. "That's it. We've licked it."
They stood in silence amidst the wrack for a moment, considering.
"Yeah." Del dragged the toe of her boot in an arc across the foot-thick dust in front of her. "Just twelve months of hard labour, hidden from an angry god. Totally a deal done."
"And //dusted,//" Udo laughed.
[!-- [[=image McInnis_Lillihammer_Hope.jpg]] --]
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It was Harry's idea to make it look like they were building memorials. Collecting all that material was bound to attract the Uncontained's attention, so a ritual arrangement married with careful note-taking might be enough to occlude their intentions. Better that they be seen as overcome with guilt, longing and sentimentality than engaged in a mad last-ditch construction project.
Harry was the archivist, so he continued to collect the papers. Nascimbeni and Del were both engineers, of a sort, so they picked through the metal scraps, tutted over them like trophies of a world they had lost, and made careful mental note of the sizes, shapes and material compositions of each. Udo unearthed all manner of useful things with her micamancy, easily their single best asset in this world of granular leftovers, pretending to be setting disarticulated remains to rest while actually bringing everything to the surface indiscriminately. Lillian had very specific things in mind, things she couldn't even describe to the others, so she busied herself sourcing those. And Wettle, not even needing to fake the blundering, bumbling pointlessness of shell shock that the rest of them were very much putting on, stress-tested anything that needed it so they wouldn't face materials failures at the moment of truth.
They set up their own little camps as the weeks wound on. Harry took to calling a roughly rectangular arrangement of masonry his 'library', and left the sheets out in the open air since there was no wind to disturb them. That the location was roughly analogous to where Melissa Bradbury's house had been was a secret between him and Nascimbeni, whose makeshift workshop was similarly sentimental in its staging. Del had Udo partially excavate one of the only intact structures they found — the undercroft of the Inter-Sectional Subway Station, little more than a machinery shed running beneath the rails for a few dozen metres, which had survived due to the precision of the great shearing-off — and spent most of her spare time in there. When she thought nobody was looking, she occasionally dragged Nascimbeni in.
They all met at the fire every night. Sometimes they actually had fuel to expend, now, instead of just Udo's sparks. Sometimes they used the fire to shape components they'd need later. They never stopped arguing, poking fun, or singing songs.
To do so would have felt disrespectful.
They had to make up for the silence of seven and a half billion people.
At least until that vanished throng could be avenged.
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There was a half-collapsed Mishepeshu tunnel maybe three kilometres from the 001 chamber, and that was where they began construction. They accessed it from a different point every time, Udo drilling through the earth, sealing the way behind them, poking airholes and finding the place unerringly without even breaking a sweat. Which was easy, since she didn't sweat anyway, but it still looked very impressive. Day after day, the thing took shape. Week after week, they sunk the wanted materials into the ground, and Udo pulled them home using home-made tectonic plates like they were log rollers.
Lillian and Del and Nascimbeni did most of the technical work. They were the engineers. Udo was needed to keep their activity secret and hidden, while the other three did what they did best: stood around, argued, and prepared to befuddle and distract any unwanted visitors who came calling.
It wasn't perfect, but it worked.
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"It doesn't work."
Lillian brushed the dirt off her arms, bent down, and shook out her hair as well. When she swung back up, her eyes were glassy. "Did you hear me?"
"We heard you," said Wettle. He would have pretended not to, as he always did, but this didn't seem the time.
"Well, I'm serious." Udo finished stirring the sand, and the entrance of the tunnel to the machine's hiding place was gone like it had never been in the first place. Lillian sat down on nothing much. "It doesn't work, and I don't know why."
"Got months to figure it out," Wettle smiled encouragingly.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Might take months. Might take years."
"Every year has a September. No big deal. Not like we're getting any older, here, is it?"
She snorted, and lay back. "Never thought I'd see the day that you took a bad situation well."
"Yeah, yeah. I dunno. It's got its upsides and downsides."
"But no topsides," she sighed. "What I wouldn't give for a Radio Shack."
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But something in the way Wettle said what he'd said — "upsides and downsides" — made her stop talking after the parting shot, and simply wait. When he started shuffling off, she waited a little longer, then followed at a distance.
He followed the invisible sign of the absent subway, in his rambling way, and that was where Del met him.
Del thought nobody was looking, again.
//We don't have years,// Lillian thought from her cover, behind Nascimbeni's discarded electronics pile. //They're already going batshit.//
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Udo didn't even bother burying the approach this time. Not because in all those wasted months, they'd never seen hide nor hair of the Uncontained. Simply because it didn't seem worth it anymore. Not now. Not today.
"It was almost enough." Lillian lay on the ground, eyes squeezed tight, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I could feel that it //wanted// to work."
"It's a machine," Nascimbeni sighed. He was sitting crosslegged, and Del had her head in his lap. Wettle was eyeing them both with poorly-disguised jealousy. "It shouldn't //want// anything."
Lillian rolled over onto her chest, and literally buried her head in the sand. For a second. She pulled back, shook her head, and made a whole series of untidy sounds as she shook the plugs out of her nose and mouth. "Bleehhh. Fah. Guh."
"Sucks, don't it?" Wettle said.
"You were asking for it," Del teased him. Nascimbeni looked down at her, a question in his eyes, but her eyes were shut, so she didn't see. She was smirking, though.
Wettle smirked, too. Nascimbeni didn't see that.
"You tried." Harry was on his stomach too, just beside Lillian, propped up on crossed arms. He reached out to pat her on the back, and she spat up more sand. "And tomorrow, you'll try again."
"You know what else sucks?" Wettle asked.
"Everything?" Harry suggested.
"Yeah." The other man nodded. "Everything. But mostly, I was thinking… I really thought Alis might be here."
Harry laughed. "The whole world is dead, Willie. Why would Alis be here?"
"She was here every other time. Even with the spiders."
"Don't talk about the spiders," Lillian groaned. "You motherfuckers don't even //know// from spiders." Then she ground her teeth; Udo could hear the sand, and grimaced sympathetically. Lillian resumed her spitting.
"I just, I dunno." Wettle stared at his chubby, folded fingers. "I thought I might get somewhere with her, eventually."
"You got //everywhere// with her," Del scowled. "Which is still ridiculous, by the way."
"Yeah." Wettle shrugged. "But we never really talked. You know? I would've liked to talk to her. Really talked. About real things." He wrinkled his nose. "Maybe not with her. Maybe with… I dunno. Anybody."
"That's a real thing," said Harry. "You're talking about a real thing now. With us."
"Your friends," McInnis smiled.
"Let's not get carried away," said Harry.
Wettle smiled at him. "Thanks anyway. Do you regret anything?"
"Everyone knows what he regrets," said Lillian. "I think even he knows. Know what I regret? No clean victories."
Nascimbeni frowned. "What do you mean?"
"None of these deadlines were all me. You fuckers got a few shots in every time. I'd have liked to have put one, just one, to bed before it was over."
"The last one doesn't count?" Harry asked.
"How would the last one count? The god-damn spider thing got Bernie." Months later, the hurt was still evident in the way she said it. Probably always would be, for however long always lasted.
"And do you know why?"
She turned her head to look at him.
"He knew you, Lillian. The part of Del Olmo that //was// Del Olmo knew you. And he was ashamed of himself in front of you. So he ran." He jerked a thumb at the MTF chief. "You think he was running from her? You think he was running from Allan? From //me?// He was running from the memory of what he really was, because the thing inside him couldn't handle it. You did get through to him. I thought you knew that."
She stared at him, dumbstruck, and didn't say anything.
"I never did anything because I thought it was right," said Udo as the silence stretched on uncomfortably. "Right for me, I mean. The right fit. I never… I just didn't do my best. You know?"
"Bullshit," Del snorted. "You can do anything. I'd have died a dozen times if I couldn't count on you. You know what I call you behind your back?"
"This is true," said Harry. "What she's about to say is true."
"I call you my Swiss Army Wife."
Udo flushed a brilliant red, and her eyes flashed orange and didn't stop.
Del settled back into Nascimbeni's lap, and he pulled her hair out of her eyes with great delicacy.
"We'd have died in //baseline// without you," Nascimbeni agreed. "Before any of the deadlines formed. You've never been anything less than amazing, Udo."
McInnis was nodding. "You've measured your accomplishments by other people's metrics. I know your mother can be difficult, and you've gone well out of your way to avoid becoming what she wants you to become, but you haven't been treading water in so doing. You've accomplished more at an early age than either of your parents ever have, put together. I daresay we've never had a more talented thaumaturge in Applied Occultism."
She shook her head, but couldn't articulate an argument. Every time she tried to talk, she could tell it would come out as a strangled cry, so she just kept her mouth shut and smiled instead.
"What about you, Chief?" Wettle prompted. "I bet I know. You're gonna go hang out with your family when we get back. Retire."
Nascimbeni smiled too, and neither confirmed nor denied.
"I think Vivian Scout would have been rather proud of you, each and every," said McInnis. "I'm not so sure he'd feel the same way about me."
"You were the future to him," said Harry. "He trusted you with his legacy."
"And I have done so precious little with it, for reasons I'm ashamed to admit. But I'll admit them anyway." McInnis tugged at his shirt collar, though the temperature never changed. "There was a hill Vivian was willing to die on, and he died on it. He wanted to give his partner peace, and they stopped him when he tried. I have never allowed myself to come to such a pass. I have always told myself that if I weather each controversy, keep my place, I can continue doing good in little ways. Small ways. But that's not what he wanted for us. That's not what the Foundation needs." The Director leaned back, lost in thought. "I listen to the first debriefing from time to time, you know. There is such… //excitement// in my voice, when I talk about the stones we had laid. About the better world we built. And the anger, as I realize it will soon be lost forever. That I will have to persist in this imperfect world, whose flaws I have done nothing to correct."
"Nothing?" Nascimbeni said. "We're constantly right on the edge of an audit and spring clean sweep from Overwatch, because of all the liberal lunacy we get up to. We break the rules to do what's right nine times out of ten."
"And the tenth time," McInnis sighed, "is telling. The consequences I am unable to face for doing the right thing."
"Because you don't want to see us get pilloried!" Nascimbeni almost stood up, before he visibly remembered there was a woman's head resting in his lap. "You stand between us and them, Allan. They don't want to fix anything, and we want to fix //everything.//"
"Fixing half of everything," McInnis frowned, "is a poor compromise."
"It's not a compromise. We're not doing anything by halves. We're doing the easy stuff now, because when the people you've trained and nurtured really start in on the hard stuff…"
The old tech trailed off.
"Are you saying," Udo asked, very slowly, "what I think you're saying?"
"Maybe." Nascimbeni looked back down at Del, and smiled. "What do you think I'm saying?"
Del smiled at him.
"I think you're saying we're eventually going to change //everything,//" said Udo. "The whole Foundation. The whole world, maybe. Just like the first time?"
"Without the initial death toll, I hope," said Harry.
Nascimbeni looked at Allan again. "Like the first time. But better."
McInnis shook his head, ruefully. "It's a lovely sentiment, but my track record doesn't bear it out. I don't need to be argued down from this, friends. I've done my mentor a disservice, and it's something I mean to address. If I get the chance." He kept shaking his head, harder now. "No, that's not even… you know what? I //had// the chance. I had a thousand chances. And I didn't take them."
"Same here," Harry said miserably. "Same, here."
"You never get them back," Udo agreed.
"Even worse," Lillian sighed. "We //did// get them back. Over and over. And we let them slip away anyhow—"
Del interrupted. "Are we assuming this is over? We're finished? Kaput? That's what this is about?" She sat up, and Nascimbeni jerked his hand back. He'd been about to stroke her hair again. "You want to sit here and talk about what we're leaving unfinished? Well, how's this: I wish I'd been able to kill every one of those word wizard cocksuckers, and the whole damn Insurgency. And this bullshit demigod, and whoever put him on his pedestal. And that's still what I want. So get your bitching over and done with, so we can get the hell back to work."
"I agree," Harry grinned. It was hard not to grin when Del got very angry, unless she was angry with you. "We're not out of time yet."
"That may not be strictly correct," said McInnis. "Udo, without getting up, and without undue fuss, could you please finish concealing the tunnel entrance?"
Udo stared at him, then gently began rotating her wrist. When the grains were all in place — she couldn't see, but she could //feel// — she nodded. "Done. Why?"
McInnis inclined his chin at the horizon. "Because we would appear to have a visitor."
"That's it, then," Lillian spat. "It's done. A round table of sob stories and might-have-beens. //That's// our epitaph for humanity."
Her voice must have carried, because the approaching figure responded as he strode into the firelight and his features came into focus.
"That," said Placeholder McDoctorate, "would make for a very poor story indeed."
[!-- [[=image PHMD_Wasteland.jpg]] --]
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/54-not-ready-for-prime-time | previous-title=Not Ready for Prime Time
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/56-this-forgotten-babylon | next-title=This Forgotten Babylon
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub | hub-title=The Breach Goes On: Deadlined
]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
[[<]]
The page title quotes Horace Smith, "Ozymandias," The Examiner, 1818, in the public domain; this work is quoted within the page as well.
This page quotes "Wonders of My Hand" quote Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Ozymandias," The Examiner, 1818, in the public domain.
This page quotes T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men," 1925, in the public domain.
Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:
The Uncontained: "State Electricity Commission, Group of Four Men, Victoria, May 1940,” two images, courtesy State Electricity Commission of Australia, public domain:
https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547629
https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547640 and
"Photograph - Presentation of Phar Lap's Melbourne Cup, Flemington Racecourse, Victoria, 4 Nov 1930," courtesy Museums Victoria, in the public domain: https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1742444
> **Filename:** Everything!
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
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2024-09-29T23:06:00
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Wonders of My Hand - SCP Foundation
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56-this-forgotten-babylon
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
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/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
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<p><strong>This Forgotten Babylon</strong><br/>
Shift change.</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank">More by this author!</a></strong></p>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>This Forgotten Babylon</span></h1>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<p>"Sorry," said Wettle. "Is this the same guy? He looks different."</p>
<p>"It's the same guy." Lillian narrowed her eyes as she examined him. Tall, good-looking, probably Greek? Big, curly hair. Something troubling in his eyes. A ridiculously fancy dark red labcoat that looked like it belonged to someone from Quantum Supermechanics who'd fallen into a vat of red dye.</p>
<p>Or perhaps blood.</p>
<p>"It's a different guy," Harry sighed. Placeholder raised a brow, and Harry explained: "Pretty sure my friend here meant 'is this the Uncontained'?"</p>
<p>"For fuck's sake, Willie," Lillian grumbled.</p>
<p>"I did mean that. Sorry?"</p>
<p>Lillian stepped to the front of the group. "Okay, everybody else shut up if you're going to be that far behind the plot." She poked Placeholder in the chest. "Who are you? Really?"</p>
<p>He smiled at her. The smile was strained. "I'm a traveller. Just passing through."</p>
<p>"From where," McInnis asked from behind her, "to where?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"No," the Director repeated.</p>
<p>"From when," Udo interrupted, "to when."</p>
<p>Lillian glanced back and grinned at her.</p>
<p>"You're very clever," said Placeholder. "Do they tell you that often enough? I hope you believe them when they do."</p>
<p>Lillian snapped her fingers in front of his face, and he focused on her again. "Timeline travel, then."</p>
<p>This time it was Nascimbeni who interrupted. "<em>Deadline</em> travel."</p>
<p>Placeholder glanced at him, nodded, and then looked back at Lillian without needing a second prompt. "Is that what you call them? I'm not sure that's ideal terminology."</p>
<p>Lillian put her hands on her hips in frustration when she heard McInnis starting up again. "Do you have a better suggestion?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Nothing that wouldn't be a spoiler." Placeholder shrugged.</p>
<p>Lillian snorted. "You really are him, huh. Or at least a version of him."</p>
<p>"How do you mean?"</p>
<p>"I talked to the real McD," said Del. "Big on pataphysics."</p>
<p>"I'm big on all the more esoteric branches of science, Chief. But pataphysics is a special hobby, I admit. And in pataphysical parlance, you seven would seem to be stuck in a narrative trough. Not making much progress, are you?"</p>
<p>Wettle appeared beside Lillian, hands raised. "Hey. Uh. Back up a second."</p>
<p>"Dr. Wettle." Placeholder mock-bowed to him. "You know, I was never really clear on what precisely happened to you. All the others," and he made what was probably meant to be a sympathetic face, "sure, but the way you… ah. Sorry. I forgot. Got my stories crossed. What are you going to say?"</p>
<p>Wettle blinked for about ten seconds straight. "…I was gonna ask how you got here, but now I wanna know about this other stuff."</p>
<p>"I won't tell you how I got here, and I won't tell you where I started. That's a different story entirely; you can think of this as a cameo."</p>
<p>Harry joined in for the first time. "You've already cameo'd in every other deadline. Watching. Prodding. Interfering. You've been a part of this story since the start."</p>
<p>"Have I?" Place winked at the archivist. "That's terrific. Everything going to plan. How about your plans, Lillian? They working out?"</p>
<p>"You obviously know they aren't," she growled.</p>
<p>"Okay," Udo interrupted again, "hang on. We're not letting this go that easy."</p>
<p>Placeholder rolled his eyes. "You're going to jeopardize the existence of your baseline temporality to play twenty questions with me? The Uncontained is still out there, you know. Eventually he's coming back. You want to be ready when he does."</p>
<p>"I don't trust you," Udo snapped. "Everything you say makes me trust you less. Are you a TAD agent?"</p>
<p>He looked like he might laugh. "No."</p>
<p>"But you travel across time."</p>
<p>"Yes, without a visa." He was definitely smirking now.</p>
<p>"Did you kill Dougall Deering?"</p>
<p>It was his turn to blink in surprise. "Oh, wow. That's <em>very</em> impressive. What did I say about you? Okay. Hmm. Let me think." Udo stared at him, eyes burning bright, demanding the answer be supplied. Eventually, it was. "I can probably answer that," Placeholder finally mused. "Seems safe. No, I didn't kill Dougall. Dougall killed himself."</p>
<p>McInnis cleared his throat. "But you know what she's talking about."</p>
<p>"Sure. I was there when it happened."</p>
<p>Udo's voice was tight, and packed with warning. "So was I."</p>
<p>"But <em>I…</em> was on the other end."</p>
<p>"In the future," Lillian cut in.</p>
<p>"From your perspective."</p>
<p>"Why are you here now?" McInnis asked.</p>
<p>"Because it was a very bad future, and I'm canvassing for better ideas. I'm not going to give you a motive rant, ladies and gentlemen. Do you want my help, or not?"</p>
<p>It wasn't the best surveying equipment Nascimbeni had ever worked with, but it got the job done. He'd constructed it from scraps for that single purpose. "Right about here, I'd say." He drew a circle in the sand with his boot tip. "Give or take a wide area, depending on what happened to the intervening bedrock."</p>
<p>Udo nodded. "Okay. I'll start looking." She knelt in the soil, leaned all the way forward, and put pressure on her palms against the grains.</p>
<p>A very brief conversation between Lillian and Placeholder had produced a shortlist of new parts, and by now Nascimbeni had a much better idea of how they might be sourced. He knew the layout of Site-43 like nobody else, had memorized every nook and cranny, and those memories were old enough that age hadn't done much to fuzz their contours. They were core. With a solid mental manifest of which pieces of immobile machinery went with which Section, he could give a pretty good accounting of where the wreckage could have fallen. So far he'd had a thirty-three point three percent success ratio with this new approach, which was exceedingly good odds.</p>
<p>"It's here." Udo smiled with her eyes closed, and the ground began to vibrate. "Bringing it up now."</p>
<p>He smiled, too.</p>
<p>He hadn't been much use in the previous deadline, so it was nice to contribute in the final one.<br/>
In whatever sense it might turn out to be final.</p>
<p>This time she didn't wait for a dream, or a prompt. If there was anything useful to be gleaned from the cave with the cats and the sad old man that lived now only in the memories she'd never really had, then it was time she saw what it was, so she could put it into practice while their plans were still fungible.</p>
<div class="flashyhammer">
<p>The affection in Rydderech's eyes was genuine. He looked on her as a favoured child. She might have thought he'd known her for hundreds of years, or perhaps eighteen multiplied by six. "Lillian Lillihammer," he said, warmly. "One of seven, soon to be one of one, though never one only, and never lonely, and never alone. You are the lodestar of your constellation, but without the others, you would be but the brightest point in a shapeless sky. These triumphs will be yours, but not <em>merely</em> yours, and not nearly merely a triumph. What does it mean when a star shines too brilliantly?"</p>
<p>"Okay." In the memory, though she knew it was only a memory, she made herself reach out and hold him. He had been so lonely. They'd all felt it. "Well," she said into his ear, "that's very dense. Can I ask you a question?"</p>
<p>"How ever could I stop you?" he asked. He was trembling a little. She wondered if he was weeping.</p>
<p><em>Would that it would rain.</em></p>
<p>"Let's not follow that line of thought," she whispered, then cleared her throat and made to pull back.</p>
<p>When she encountered the faintest tug of resistance, she decided they were better off attached. For however long the memory's moment lasted.</p>
<p>So enveloped in the old man's arms, she said, "I was hoping this might be the last time my fellow superstars and I have to go on stage. I don't suppose that bit about this being the sixth of seven cryptic lectures could just mean, I dunno, a nice goodbye message back in baseline? Once we've won?"</p>
<p>He wasn't weeping now, if he had been before.</p>
<p>He was softly chuckling.</p>
<p>"Didn't think so," she sighed. "Worth asking."</p>
<p>"I said you would triumph." In the end, he was the one to let go. His eyes were very kind. "I never said you were going to <em>win.</em>"</p>
</div>
<p>She wasn't sure why that was helpful.</p>
<p>But she felt like it was.</p>
<p>Which, in a sense, was the answer.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni emerged from the hole in the ground, and wiped his forehead. They didn't precisely sweat in the warm earth, it just sort of felt like they <em>should</em> be. A great many physical reactions were merely psychosomatic, he was learning.</p>
<p>Wettle was sitting in the sand, flipping a coin Udo had found at Grand Bend. Every time he tried to catch it, he failed, and every time he failed, it buried itself in the sand, and every time he dug it out of the sand, he'd lost any chance of seeing whether it had landed on heads or tails.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni watched him for a while, then commented: "I never asked you why you keep doing what you do."</p>
<p>Wettle didn't need to ask what he meant. "That's… basically my job description. 'Keep doing it. Even if it turns out wrong'." He missed the coin again, and somehow managed to look surprised. "Fuck."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni sat down beside him. He'd left Lillian cursing in the earth, and Placeholder examining her work with a critical eye most likely to produce further cursing. He looked up at the sky, which they were all doing more and more often, because there was nothing to look at below, and he said, "Do you think you'd still be with the Foundation if the Breach hadn't happened?"</p>
<p>Wettle glanced at him, which was why he missed the next coin toss. There was always a reason. "I don't think about that kind of thing at all. Do you?"</p>
<p>"I guess not."</p>
<p>"So, yeah? Yeah, you do?"</p>
<p>"I'm thinking about it now. Do you—"</p>
<p>"Hey, who exactly do you think you're talking to?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni turned to look at him, almost expecting the dopey chemist to have transformed into the Uncontained in a blue labcoat.</p>
<p>Wettle was looking at him with uncommon clarity in his eyes. "Because it sounds like you think you're talking to your psychiatrist, or something."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni was speechless.</p>
<p>"I had a chat with Noname McSmartypants earlier, and you know what he told me?" Wettle flipped the coin again, and it ended up in Nascimbeni's left breast pocket. He hadn't even noticed it was open. "He thinks I'm a comedic archetype. You know what that means?"</p>
<p>"Is that… pataphysics? I don't know anything about pataphysics. By choice."</p>
<p>"It means <em>joke character.</em> I'm the butt monkey. I fall over, and everybody laughs. Are you trying to start a genuine philosophical discussion with the guy who never has a normal human interaction? How well do you figure that's going to go?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni suddenly felt like maybe he'd rather watch Lillian slap their secretive guest than continue to sit beside Wettle. "Are you running a test on yourself?" he asked.</p>
<p>Wettle blinked. "What?"</p>
<p>"Are you trying to see how many times you can be a jackass without learning anything?" He pulled the coin out of his pocket, and dropped it in Wettle's lap. "Or are you trying to confirm that every human being you meet can be turned away with the same dipshit routine?"</p>
<p>"You're not thinking big enough," Wettle smiled.</p>
<p>"Well?"</p>
<p>"Everyone else is an experiment on how much change a person can handle, and I'm the fucking <em>control group.</em>"</p>
<p>"You're just saying that because you heard it on the recording," Nascimbeni sighed.</p>
<p>"Sure," Wettle agreed. "That's what I do, right? I replicate."</p>
<p>This time, however, the coin ended up in his mouth.</p>
<p>"I never would have considered that," Lillian grunted. "Fuck."</p>
<p>"Sure you would have." Placeholder's voice was muffled, because she had her head halfway into the machine's innards, and because they were sitting in a cave of structural sand which did not echo. "You <em>did.</em>"</p>
<p>She wormed her way back out. "What?"</p>
<p>He was, as he kept insisting on doing, favouring her with a knowing smile. She wanted to wipe it off his face, or at least change its nature. "You think I'm telling you things I learned on my own? These are things I learned from <em>you.</em>"</p>
<p>She frowned at him. "That doesn't make any sense."</p>
<p>"Articulate why."</p>
<p>She sat up. "Because I don't know these things now, or rather I didn't know them <em>before.</em> But now I do, and you're saying I'll teach them to you?"</p>
<p>He nodded. "Sure. Bootstrap paradox."</p>
<p>Her eyes widened. "Named for pulling yourself up by your bootstrap, i.e. a thing that's impossible in gravity under Newtonian physics. Just because something has a name doesn't mean it can <em>happen.</em> And this particular name even has 'paradox' in the name."</p>
<p>He widened his eyes as if in mockery of her. "Yeah, that's why I like it. Anyway, that's your problem. Stuck on Newton. Know what Newton had to say about multiversal causality?"</p>
<p>"Sweet fuck all?"</p>
<p>"Exactly. It was outside his experience. Just as I am to you."</p>
<p>"But not me to you."</p>
<p>He threw his arms in the air. "Exactly!"</p>
<p>"So you never really met me. You met an alternate me, who learned what you're telling me later than <em>when</em> you're telling me? Or did she learn it earlier, under circumstances she and I don't share?"</p>
<p>He shook his head sadly. "Can you stop trying to look under the hood of this thing? It's a gift horse."</p>
<p>"From a <em>Greek.</em> There are certain historical precedents for it turning out badly when you don't do the dental check."</p>
<p>He visually granted her the point. "Fine. I've told you too much already, and more than too much is still just too much. Hooray for semantics. Yes."</p>
<p>"Yes to which?"</p>
<p>"To both. A different you, and a later you. New circumstances and also the future. Happy now?"</p>
<p>"Kind of?" She considered. "As long as this is really only stuff you learned from me."</p>
<p>"Why is that important?"</p>
<p>"Harry called this the fifth act. There generally isn't a sixth. So if I don't figure this one out on my own merits, I'll probably never get another chance, and I'm counting multiversal me as me for that purpose."</p>
<p>"You have a terrifying mind, Lillian Lillihammer." From the look on his face, it was not an insult.</p>
<p>"Bet you're sorry I'm dead, where you're from."</p>
<p>That strange something from when she'd first seen him crossed his eyes again. "How did you know that?"</p>
<p>"You're looking at all of us like we're museum pieces. No, worse than that. Like a burning house in your rear view mirror. A bad memory. You keep calling us by our full names, like we're historical figures to you. How far in the future are you from?"</p>
<p>His expression closed up. "I have no intention of telling you that."</p>
<p>"How long are you staying?"</p>
<p>"Not very long."</p>
<p>She leaned back, and pulled herself into the machine again. "Then I suppose we never meant that much to you."</p>
<p>"No. You didn't." He let her tinker for a few more seconds before finishing the thought. "But I've got a feeling that now, you will."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni found the Director sitting on a rock, looking up at nothing as though it was the painting in his office back in baseline. He glanced over as Nascimbeni approached, and smiled. "All's well?"</p>
<p>There was a way to be clever with the response. Wordplay. Something combining the phrase "All's well that ends well" with the fact that they had now persisted long past the end. The end of the world. But the end of the world, and decades of life with his head buried in either technical manuals or actual technology, left him unable to put the words together satisfactorily in time for it to seem natural. Lillian could have done it. Maybe Harry. But he was only himself, so instead he said "Well enough. Think we've got everything we'll need now."</p>
<p>"Excellent."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni sat down on the sand beside the Director. His knees ached, even though they were definitely not getting any worse. "Up for a brief chat?"</p>
<p>"Always," the other man smiled. The other man always smiled.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni looked up, to avoid having to look at McInnis. "I understand why you didn't fire me."</p>
<p>"I thought I was quite clear."</p>
<p>He sighed. "Yeah, you were. I've got responsibilities, and your job is to make sure I fulfill them. Adversarial boilerplate. The closest you can get to being the bad cop."</p>
<p>The Director glanced at him, then back to where the stars ought to have been.</p>
<p>Tonight there was only grey.</p>
<p>"What do you think the real reason was, then?" McInnis asked softly.</p>
<p>"You could have let me quit the job, and come back every September for the main event. That's what finally clued me in. You weren't telling me I couldn't duck my duty, you were keeping me occupied. Keeping me <em>alive.</em>"</p>
<p>"I'm quite sure the annual tonic would have done that far better than words could ever hope to."</p>
<p>"It wasn't just words. You gave me a sense of purpose. Something to work on. I think you knew that if I went home, I wouldn't have that anymore."</p>
<p>"You'd have had your family. I kept you from them for a long, long time."</p>
<p>"You think I would have rushed over to Gallo's house, begged forgiveness for all the shit I put him and Flora through, and started eating dinner with them every day? You know I wouldn't have. I'd turn into another Bradbury."</p>
<p>"Mmm."</p>
<p>"Don't 'mmm' at me. It's true. I never put myself out there. I wouldn't have hung out with any of these people of my own free will. The situation smashed me into them, and you made sure we stuck together. You've been keeping us together the entire time, really. I never gave you the credit for that."</p>
<p>"Perhaps you're giving me too much credit now."</p>
<p>"That's not in my nature either."</p>
<p>They looked at the colourless smear of the sky together.</p>
<p>"On the other hand," said Nascimbeni.</p>
<p>"Yes?"</p>
<p>"If I was puttering around my house, I probably would have wandered over to Gallo's from time to time anyway."</p>
<p>"Mmm."</p>
<p>"But because I wasn't, I didn't. So I've seen him and Flora a lot less than I should have. So I've started to miss them more."</p>
<p>"Have you considered that perhaps all of these considerations have been warring in your own head, independent of any acts of administrative kindness on my part?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni considered it now.</p>
<p>"I'm still pretty sure it's you," he said after a moment.</p>
<p>McInnis nodded, clapped his palms to his knees, and stood up. "Well. Let's make sure we're able to get back to baseline, so you can finish testing the assumptions of this version of me you've constructed in your mind. His judgement seems sound, but one never knows."</p>
<p>It had been the longest of a series of very long shots, but it had somehow still paid off. She knew, intellectually, that it was because he'd been correct. But she wasn't ever going to admit as much to him, so there was no point admitting it to herself, either. So she said: "You got damn lucky."</p>
<p>"Not for more than a year," Harry grunted as he levered himself down to her level. "Thanks for reminding me."</p>
<p>"That's what I'm here for."</p>
<p>They were sitting on a little hill of finely ground rubble, denuded as all the world had been of its vegetation and wildlife, which made the fact that they were in Parkhill, Ontario at least half ironic. The sky was no less grey here as it trended into darkness, but Lillian fancied she could see the stars a little brighter anyway. Most days you couldn't see them all.</p>
<p>They reflected off the plains of glass which stretched as far as the eye could see, in a streak from east to west. Perhaps they'd been created by one of those kill satellites Marion had mentioned the Foundation operated. Given what they represented, it felt wrong to call them beautiful, but…</p>
<p>"Pretty," Harry said.</p>
<p>"I am," she agreed.</p>
<p>He elbowed her, and she rested the side of her head on the top of his.</p>
<p>It had been a hunch of Harry's that the lenses Lillian needed for her laser work might be found at an old optometry centre in Parkhill. They'd tried getting Udo to bake up the parts using the local sand, to Harry's specifications — it didn't come up very often, but he had a degree in optics — but the quality just wasn't good enough. They needed the real thing.</p>
<p>The odds that the real thing might have survived the apocalypse seemed exceedingly low, and so only the two of them had gone looking. Another five hour walk, leaving the others behind to work on their increasingly slim list of tasks. The last set of things they could try before it became apparent that even with the help of their mysterious ringer, the machine would never work.</p>
<p>Harry cradled the single unbroken box of lenses in his lap, and said "It must have been fate."</p>
<p>"Only seems that way from your perspective," she yawned. "Lots of people have known each other since they were kids. Seven survivors? Odds are good two of them would know each other. Would've been in well-protected places when the shit hit, and not many of those can handle a one kilometre earthslide. If it wasn't us here, right now, it'd be two other losers who've been shackled to each other for decades."</p>
<p>He put his arm around her shoulders, which was a bit of a reach for him. "I meant the box," he said. "Fate that there'd still be a box left that wasn't broken."</p>
<p>"Oh." She nodded. "Sure."</p>
<p>"I've never heard you call yourself a loser before, Lil."</p>
<p>She looked up, at the dim and distant explosions in the void, then at their diffuse earthly doubles. "Never felt like one. Feels like that's what this is, though."</p>
<p>"I'm not <em>that</em> bad."</p>
<p>She laughed. "Shut up. You know what I mean. If this doesn't work, maybe nothing will. Maybe we fucked it, Harry. Maybe <em>I</em> fucked it."</p>
<p>"You had a really good reason."</p>
<p>"Tell that to the dead."</p>
<p>"No, what I'd tell the dead is, is this: they were going to die like this anyway. This was always the fifth act. This was where it was all going. The only thing that could have been different was the <em>when.</em>"</p>
<p>She shivered, even though the air was always warm. Not hot, not cold, simply warm. Not enough change even for gooseflesh between high noon and the dead of night. "That might have mattered to some of them, though. A little more time before it all fell down. Don't you ever think you could have used a little more time?"</p>
<p>"All the time."</p>
<p>She grunted.</p>
<p>"Maybe you're right."</p>
<p>"That I fucked it?"</p>
<p>"That it isn't fate that we're here, together, right now."</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"But fate is a constant of the universe, right? If it's anything at all, it's that."</p>
<p>"Sure."</p>
<p>"We've just spent fifteen years telling constants of the universe to go fuck themselves."</p>
<p>She laughed.</p>
<p>"You killed one in your brain. Allan talked one to death. Del shot two of them. Constants aren't constant. Fate can get fucked."</p>
<p>"You hear that, fate?" she yelled into the sky. He flinched away from the volume of her voice. "You can get FUCKED."</p>
<p>It didn't echo, at least not so they could hear it.</p>
<p>They leaned in close again.</p>
<p>She reached up and scratched at the back of his head.</p>
<p>"Thanks," she said.</p>
<p>"For what?"</p>
<p>"For being a loser with me."</p>
<p>"Better to lose with you than win with anyone else."</p>
<p>She reached up and pressed his head to one side. He turned to look at her. There was something in her eyes.</p>
<p>He almost said something.</p>
<p>She almost said something.</p>
<p>She did say something. "No."</p>
<p>And she smiled.</p>
<p>"No?" he said.</p>
<p>She pulled him in close again, and they looked up at the hazy slate together once more.</p>
<p>"No. You're still not the last man on Earth."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni finished torquing the part in place. It fit far more snugly than he would have imagined, considering they had forged it on the sand like a bunch of bronze smelters on the cusp of the next age. "Ready for the stress testing."</p>
<p>Wettle fussed over the machine for a few minutes, clipboard in hand; it was no surprise they'd been able to find one beneath the vanished Site, but one with no rust or metal fatigue on the clip, that had been a find. He was making notations on the paper Harry had rescued, assigning values to every structural element of the machine's generator so that he'd be able to compare their states when the whole thing had been shaken to life. It was weird, watching Wettle do something he was good at. Like seeing George W. Bush paint, except Wettle wasn't a piece of shit war criminal profiteer.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni shook his head. He wasn't sure where that had come from.</p>
<p>Placeholder was watching him.</p>
<p>He looked at Placeholder. "What?"</p>
<p>"Just thinking."</p>
<p>"Well, don't think in my direction. I feel like it's contagious."</p>
<p>The man in the red and black labcoat laughed at him. "You know, I didn't see you very often in the other deadlines."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni grunted.</p>
<p>"I know you were there. You just didn't seem to be there when there was anything interesting going on."</p>
<p>This time he didn't even grunt.</p>
<p>"And this secret project of theirs, I'm surprised you weren't involved in its conception, rather than only being looped in for the execution. You're the engineer, after all. Do you think it was a matter of trust?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni blinked. "How do you mean?"</p>
<p>"I mean, do you think they didn't trust you? Not to get it right, that's not what I mean. Obviously your talents are beyond reproach. But perhaps did they doubt your dedication? Were you not a safe bet for something so important?"</p>
<p>"I don't know what you're talking about." It was funny, he thought, how sometimes a blatant lie fit right into the conversational niche you were provided with. Like it was the only thing that could ever have gone there.</p>
<p>"I know what happened last time. I know you gave up. Your Director is a talented leader, but he is also an excellent judge of character. Perhaps he thought you—"</p>
<p>"He thought," Nascimbeni snapped, "that if he told me about his backup plan, I'd have put it in practice straight off. Made all our troubles go away."</p>
<p>"Ah." Place nodded. "Damn the consequences, you'd do what was right?"</p>
<p>"I'd do what I thought I needed to do, whether it was right or not. And that was what put them in that situation in the first place. I couldn't kill my friends again, so I just… didn't."</p>
<p>To his surprise, Place patted him on the shoulder. "I have never found you more relatable than at this moment, Chief."</p>
<p>There was no water. Anywhere.</p>
<p>This did not present a problem for a good long while. They didn't need to drink, and they didn't sweat (not that Udo ever had), so there was no need to replenish what their bodies already possessed. Wettle occasionally complained that he needed to pee, but nobody believed him and the complaint always went away eventually.</p>
<p>But dirt could still cling, and cuts could still sting, and after a few days of sustained digging they had found that dehydration or not, it was still not very much fun never having a shower.</p>
<p>The solution had been simple. Obvious. And awkward as all hell.</p>
<p>Del always liked to talk while the sand-shower was in progress. Udo had to be careful not to get any in her flapping mouth. "You know why the guys were okay with this?" she asked.</p>
<p>Udo swirled the shower through a few of her friend's more intimate folds, thankful that the look on her face, and its level of flush, was obscured by the silicon screen. "If this is going to be something filthy…"</p>
<p>"Filth in the shower? Defeats the purpose."</p>
<p>"I dunno. I hear men sometimes pee."</p>
<p>Del shivered, whether in revulsion or as a response to the intimacy of the scouring, Udo couldn't tell (and didn't care to guess). "Okay, well <em>that</em> was a fun sidetrack. But no. They were okay with this because they're going to forget it happened, and so are you."</p>
<p>Udo considered. Harry's body didn't have any secrets she didn't know about, if you didn't count the extra weight he'd put on since they'd been dating. Allan had nothing to be ashamed of. Wettle couldn't be any more ashamed than he already was. But it was certainly a strange thing to do, even among friends, so Del's explanation made a certain amount of sense. What didn't, however… "Why only the men?"</p>
<p>She could hear the smile in Del's voice. "I enjoy it, and Lillian will be just fine not forgetting."</p>
<p>Udo kept the shower going, even though it was hardly necessary at this point. She wasn't ready for Del to see the look on her face. She changed the subject. "Does it ever still bother you that we don't remember any of this?"</p>
<p>"It never bothered me in the first place."</p>
<p>"It bothered me a lot."</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>Udo had to fight the urge to gesture. Both of her hands were busy, sculpting and shearing off unwanted material. "Because we spend all this time working towards stuff, and changing as people. In intense situations. It has to be more… what's the word? <em>Catalytic.</em> It has to be changing us in more dramatic ways than our boring lives in baseline."</p>
<p>"I regularly firebomb firebases. And you are still a wizard."</p>
<p>"But you know what I mean. The stuff we get up to here, it gets so fraught, we get so emotional…" She frowned. "It's a mystery why we're so close together, you know? Considering all our most intense adventures happen where we can't remember them."</p>
<p>From the shape of her cheeks, Del was pondering these words. "Why do we spend all our time together? Why do we work so well together?"</p>
<p>"Why do you let me rub sand all over your… yeah?"</p>
<p>Del laughed. "Maybe Noè is right. The energy passes the threshold. To some extent, the experiences mark us."</p>
<p>"Or maybe something else has."</p>
<p>"The Breach?"</p>
<p>"The Breach."</p>
<p>Udo let the cloud die down, and settle into the ground. Del walked a few feet away, free in the air, to pick up her jumpsuit. Udo threw up a wall in front of her.</p>
<p>Del turned around. "What?"</p>
<p>Udo tried mightily to look past her friend, and concentrate on the new cloud of dust she was raising behind her, around the jumpsuit. "Laundry," she explained lamely.</p>
<p>Del laughed again, placed her hands on her hips, and watched Udo wash her clothes.</p>
<p>So, maybe there was something to the theory.</p>
<p>Freshly scoured, Ibanez found her step had a little extra spring and pep. There were reasons why Nascimbeni might watch her as he saw her walking past, but the grin was still hard to get used to.</p>
<p>So she stopped, and she asked: "Why are you so damn cheerful?"</p>
<p>He affected innocence. "Cheerful? I'm not cheerful."</p>
<p>"Yes you are. You've been in a good mood since before we got here, and getting here didn't much dent it."</p>
<p>He frowned. It seemed forced. "We're in a bad situation, if you haven't noticed. I'm just trying to stay upbeat."</p>
<p>She gave him a look. He knew which one. "You've never tried to stay upbeat before. You've had the lowest morale of any of us in every other deadline. You sat most of the last one out, you were so depressed. And selfish."</p>
<p>He shrugged, and did not attempt to deflect the accusation. "Maybe that gave me some perspective."</p>
<p>"Maybe? You have to <em>guess,</em> to explain your own actions?"</p>
<p>Now the frown was real. "Don't twist what I'm saying."</p>
<p>"You're not saying anything. Noè, in every other pickle we've been in, everyone else has had to pick up your morale slack. Now you're cheering the rest of us on. Allan is hardly having to give any of his famous pep talks. <em>Why are you being like this?</em>"</p>
<p>He sighed in frustration. "Is it so bad? Would you rather I—"</p>
<p>"ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION!"</p>
<p>He nearly fell over. "Okay. Okay. Jesus." He reached up and scratched at his beard; for a second she'd thought he was going to shield one of his ears after the fact. "You ever have a long-term project? Years long, I mean?"</p>
<p>She rotated her head, to indicate the desert and the slightly darkening sky, and what they represented. "Just this one."</p>
<p>"Maybe you need to have more than one to get it." He stuffed his hands into his jumpsuit pockets. He'd never looked truly comfortable since they'd switched out of the vinyl vests. "I've had maybe half a dozen big ones in my career. Hundreds of little ones, but the kind that are so big and so complex, you don't know how long or how much work they're going to take? That kind of project does something to you." He started pacing, kicking at the sand. "When you start, it's easy. There's so many possibilities. If you can get over the decision paralysis, commit to one element, you can knock down the first few goals no problem. Then you start seeing the patterns."</p>
<p>"The patterns."</p>
<p>He nodded. "How much each stage takes out of you. How much you need to put in. How long they take on average. How many stages there are likely to be. How long it's going to take. By the time you reach the middle, the process seems interminable. It's harder to see the end than it was when you started. It's easy to feel, no matter how irrational it is, that you might never get done." He looked up, at nothing in particular. "But there's always a moment when you realize you're in the home stretch. You know how much more you're going to have to invest. You can picture the thing complete. That's where I am, now."</p>
<p>"Because there's no more flunkies," she suggested. "Just the big boss."</p>
<p>"And not many distractions from the final steps."</p>
<p>She made a small noise in the back of her throat, and then a bigger one with more shape to it. "Know what I think?"</p>
<p>He smiled. "Not usually."</p>
<p>"I think you're feeding me a line." His eyes widened. "I think you got that spiel from Harry."</p>
<p>This produced something halfway between a frown and a nervous smile. "You remember what Lillian said. We share a headspace. All of us sound like each other sometimes."</p>
<p>"I mean that I think I've heard that exact schema from Harry before. It makes sense from him. His imagination hates his guts, and stops him from getting shit done. That's not you. You either beaver away at something, or you don't. You never agonize about how much work is left to do. It doesn't paralyze you. You love your job."</p>
<p>"Not this part of it. Not this job." He knelt down, hands sliding down his legs, until they were seeing eye to eye. She knew his back didn't like it, but he didn't wince or complain. "Del, I love you. I love all of you. But I hate this cloud that hangs over everything. I hate that we do our best work when the cloud bursts, and then the rain washes the results away and we forget it ever happened. I'm tired of pushing a boulder uphill."</p>
<p>"What will you do," she asked him, "if this isn't the end of it?"</p>
<p>"It will be."</p>
<p>"How do you know?"</p>
<p>He shook his head. "I just know."</p>
<p>"I still don't know where the power is going to come from," said Lillian. "We don't have any low-recondite slurry. Are you banking on the Breach supplying it? Because that cuts shit way too close, unless there's some sort of temporal pre-wake… what?"</p>
<p>Place had shot her a sardonic glance in the middle of her little rant. "Don't you trust me?"</p>
<p>"I don't trust you more than I trust thermodynamics."</p>
<p>"On this one thing, you need to take me at my word. The power will be there when you need it." He reached over and patted her on the shoulder. Somehow there was no condescension in the gesture. She had a very good radar for that.</p>
<p>She glanced at his grease-stained fingertips on her freckled shoulder. "You know," she grinned, "you're pretty good with your hands."</p>
<p>Place shot her a sardonic look as turned back to the machine, twisting a motor into place. "I'm more of a brainworker."</p>
<p>"I was going to work up to complimenting your brain." She glued the next key to the board, pressed it until it clicked. "The things I have to say about your brain are inappropriate."</p>
<p>"Well, the feeling is mutual."</p>
<p>"Is it?"</p>
<p>He leaned around the housing to get a better look at her face. She felt she was wearing one of her better expressions, and the one he gave her in return suggested she was right. "We have a lot of work left to do, you know," he said.</p>
<p>"I do know. But you ever hear of the shower principle?"</p>
<p>He sat back, and leaned against the cave wall. "Enlighten me."</p>
<p>"I am <em>amazing</em> in the shower."</p>
<p>He laughed.</p>
<p>"But we don't have showers, and I don't think Udo would be good for a threesome anyway. Too shy. Bit of a prude. The real shower principle is simple: some breakthroughs can't happen while you're staring at a thing. You need to step away, get perspective, do something else. Do <em>anything</em> else. Do <em>someone</em> else. Get my drift?"</p>
<p>He smiled an unhappy smile. "It's a flattering offer."</p>
<p>"But you're not going to take me up on it."</p>
<p>He pushed back toward the machine, which now stretched down below them to a deeper extent than the DUAL Core ever had. Udo was sinking it down, stage by stage, so they could work on the next one when the previous was done. By the time it was finished it wouldn't rival Rydderech's obelisk, by any means — though it incorporated many of the components of that shattered factory, wherein no trace of either of its occupants had been found — but it would certainly be one hell of a sunken cost. "Like I said," Place grunted, "we have a lot of work to do. And I'm confident we'll have whatever epiphanies we need, when we need them, right here in front of the object of our attentions."</p>
<p>"Sure," she sighed, "but that's a hell of a lot less fun."</p>
<p>He twisted in place, and she lost sight of his face. "Like I said, I'm flattered. But that effort might be better spent elsewhere."</p>
<p>"Every other man on the face of the Earth is unfuckable, buddy."</p>
<p>"Then we'd best get on with unfucking the Earth, hadn't we?"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni found him in his so-called library, fussing over the pathetic little horde of papers he'd collected which purported to have some sort of engineering value. He sat on the edge of the rubble, and when he saw an opening in the man's attention, he asked: "What's the first thing you're gonna do when we get back?"</p>
<p>Harry considered for less than a second. "You first."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni sighed. "It's not a trick question, Harry. It's not a trap."</p>
<p>"There's an easy way to prove that." Harry waited. Nascimbeni folded his arms. Eventually, the archivist sighed back at him. "I bet I know what <em>you'll</em> do."</p>
<p>"Uh huh."</p>
<p>"Wettle was right. You're gonna retire."</p>
<p>"Nope."</p>
<p>"Yep."</p>
<p>"Nope."</p>
<p>"Come on." Harry pushed the papers aside and sat down on his cinderblock work station. "We all know this is the final hurdle." Talking about their dire straits like a simple matter of navigation, virtually a <em>fait accompli,</em> had become their most cherished article of faith. "Once we've got this bastard back in his cell, Allan will stop tearing up your letters."</p>
<p>"He doesn't tear them up. He puts them in a folder. People don't tear up letters in the real world."</p>
<p>"Wouldn't know. I don't live in the real world. But you know what I mean."</p>
<p>"I do." Nascimbeni nodded. "You're still wrong. I won't be retiring, because I'll already be retired."</p>
<p>Harry frowned. "How do you figure?"</p>
<p>"We never got to see how 2017 played out in baseline, but I've got a good feeling. I think I'm in a better place."</p>
<p>"Bad phrasing." Harry paused. "This is your gut feeling?"</p>
<p>"Literally. I feel good." Nascimbeni patted his chest theatrically. "I think it's because I feel good back in baseline, too."</p>
<p>"I thought only Ilse and Lillian had magic timeline powers."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni ignored the joke. He'd had nearly two decades of practice with this group, and more than four with the blue collar workers, who honestly were much, much funnier. "I told Lillian something I heard in the last deadline. Asked her to tell me again, when I forgot. 'Positive energy transcends all boundaries.' I believe that's true."</p>
<p>"She must've been some pissed off you made her memorize a platitude like that."</p>
<p>"Well, you all endure a lot on my behalf." He smiled. "You've been good friends."</p>
<p>Harry brushed it off. "Not like you're Wettle, or anything."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni tried to summon up a serious look. He'd never been much good at lectures. That wasn't the kind of boss he'd been, and most of his interpersonal experience was filtered through that lens. "You could stand to be kinder to him. Positive energy, remember?"</p>
<p>"Willie pissing me off also transcends all boundaries." Harry bit his tongue, and tried again. "I'll think about it. But you still didn't actually answer the question."</p>
<p>"What'll I do when I get back?" Harry nodded. "Two years in a row with you guys was a lot. Think I'll spend some time with my other family."</p>
<p>"Fair enough."</p>
<p>"Your turn. What'll you do?"</p>
<p>Harry told him.</p>
<p>"Good. Do that. As soon as the briefing's over." Nascimbeni reached out to take the other man by the shoulder. They were both getting on in years, but he still had the seniority to make the gesture work. "Give yourself the chance to second guess, and you'll never do the right thing."</p>
<p>The changes were getting more and more minute, and her partner was getting less and less involved. When he began sitting back to watch her work instead of getting stuck in, she knew they had come to the final pass.</p>
<p>She sat back, against the machine, and reached across the narrow space to tilt his chin back so they were making eye contact. "You're going to leave soon." It wasn't a question.</p>
<p>"Yes." He made no effort to soften it with a sympathetic expression.</p>
<p>"While we're asleep?" she asked. "Or maybe in the middle of a conversation, while my back is turned. Batman bullshit."</p>
<p>"Both options had occurred to me."</p>
<p>She didn't see any point arguing. "When are you headed next?"</p>
<p>He smiled. "I can't tell you."</p>
<p>"I'll tell you, then. Not to baseline…"</p>
<p>"Because it doesn't exist right now."</p>
<p>"Even though Ilse could see it, if <em>she</em> still existed… what?"</p>
<p>She'd seen a flash across his face, but a flash of what precisely, she couldn't tell. He obviously thought he'd betrayed himself, however, because he flushed and turned away. "Nothing."</p>
<p>"You haven't learned anything here—"</p>
<p>"Not true," he said to the cave wall, "but go on."</p>
<p>"—so you won't be heading home. The fact that you're from a future that isn't ours suggests you aren't bound by the usual rules."</p>
<p>He looked at her again, out of the corner of his eyes. "I'm surprised you know the usual rules."<br/>
"I've had more than my share of dealings with TAD." It was only a little bit true, but she sold it hard. "You'll find that out in the next deadline."</p>
<p>"The next one?" He was undoubtedly terrible at poker. Maybe even at checkers. "I thought you said this was the fifth act?"</p>
<p>"I did. I meant the next from your perspective. The fourth act." She laughed at the face he pulled. "Don't play coy. Now we've told you what's there, you'll travel back to the previous tangent to take a gander. Which you can do, somehow. Despite the fact that they don't exist anymore."</p>
<p>He sighed. "Too smart for your own good, Dr. Lillihammer, or too arrogant to keep your insights to yourself. Had to show me how smart you are. That's too bad. I was enjoying our conversations." <em>Here it comes,</em> she had just enough time to think. "Maybe you'll be more circumspect the next time we meet."</p>
<p><em>Don't hold your—</em></p>
<p>Lillian marched across the sands towards Udo, and for a moment she wondered if she'd done something to get herself in trouble. Then the memeticist seized her, and pulled her into a violent hug.</p>
<p>"What was that for?" she demanded, half out of breath, when the taller woman finally released her.</p>
<p>Lillian was already stalking away again. "I finally know how it feels to be you, in September. And it <em>blows.</em>"</p>
<p>"He could have at least waited until the fucking thing was done," Lillian muttered, by way of ending the explanation.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni didn't understand the first thing about how the machine worked, but its construction was simple enough. It had, after all, been constructed by human hands, and anything humans had built, he could maintain. So while she hammered away at the keyboard she'd built to run the code she'd written on the computer the two of them had supposedly built together, he busied himself with tightening bolts and examining tolerances on the many moving parts.</p>
<p>"Did he do enough?" he asked. "Will you be able to finish?"</p>
<p>She grunted, and didn't stop typing. "Yeah, he did enough that I can finish. Not every man can claim as much."</p>
<p>He chuckled. It sounded wrong to his ears, laughing beneath the surface of humanity's mass grave. Del had once told him about something similar, from her time in the Zevala facility.</p>
<p>"It's never going to change the world," she continued. "But it might be enough for our purposes."</p>
<p>"Shame we didn't have it in the last deadline," he mused.</p>
<p>They both examined that thought as it dissipated in the air between them.</p>
<p>"Holy fuck," she said. For her, it was a new thought.</p>
<p>"Fucking Christ," she synthesized. "Allan knew about this back then. He could have…"</p>
<p>Nascimbeni raised a hand. "No. He must've known how long it would take, and we didn't have that sort of time."</p>
<p>"Mm." She sounded unconvinced. But at least she was typing again. "I guess. But <em>for fuck's sake,</em>" and she scooted off the stool of compressed sand Udo had made for her, to tower over him, "could he not have had us build it in <em>baseline?</em> Then the 2016 Breach…" She stood there, frozen in frustration, mouth still moving.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni leaned back, examining his handiwork. "Maybe he didn't want them to have it in baseline."</p>
<p>Lillian's eyes narrowed. "Them who?"</p>
<p>"You know them who." Nascimbeni gave her a small, sad smile. "The royal us. The Foundation. Would you trust them with a world-altering machine?"</p>
<p>"The Foundation <em>is</em> a world-altering machine." She stretched, the tips of her fingers touching the grainy ceiling, and groaned in satisfaction. "What does it say about us that we wouldn't want to give them a tool like that?"</p>
<p>"I think it says we're being smart about things."</p>
<p>She clicked her tongue. "Bad way to be. Doesn't pay to get smart about the people who pay you." She glanced at him again. "What would it take for you to trust them with this thing? Because you know they're going to hear that it existed, if it works."</p>
<p>He considered for a long time, sitting there in the dusty cave, eyes shadowed from the dim light by his battered cap. "I think," he said finally, "that I would trust them, if they were <em>us.</em>"</p>
<p>She laughed. "That's very sweet. But I think I'd trust us less."</p>
<p>Allan's suggestion was the simplest, and they implemented it immediately.</p>
<p>If Placeholder's rogue doppelganger showed up in baseline to protest that he certainly had not placed any such a geas on her, preventing her from revealing the machine's details or constructing another iteration of it, well.</p>
<p>At least she'd be able to make a second pass at him.</p>
<p>Harry hadn't quite finished scrounging, but after the third time he saw Wettle pass him, going in the same direction, he had to stop and ask. "What're you up to?"</p>
<p>"Walking in circles," Wettle told him, "looking busy. Nobody asks me to do anything else when I do that."</p>
<p>The spirit of magnanimity that had moved Harry to reach out to the other man abandoned him entirely, and he bit off a biting retort. Instead, he said "Don't you think you ought to be doing something useful? We're trying to save the world, here."</p>
<p>"Are we?"</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"Are we trying to save the world? Is that what we've been doing for the last fifteen years? Because Harry, if it is, I think we ought to stop." And he stamped his foot for emphasis.</p>
<p>"Stop saving the world?" Harry repeated.</p>
<p>"Stop <em>trying.</em>" Wettle was gritting his teeth, and trying to talk through it. It sounded ridiculous. He'd probably gotten the idea from some melodramatic novel. "These haven't been successes. Every time, we do a worse job. The first deadline wasn't a bad ending. The nowhere colony was just okay. The last place? A disaster. And now everybody's dead."</p>
<p>"You forgot the spider timeline," said Harry.</p>
<p>"Yes. I did. Literally." Wettle shuddered anyway. "Now, if this was a replication study, I'd say no, we have shown that if you keep giving seven people the power to shape reality, they won't do a consistently good or bad job. They'll get worse over time."</p>
<p>"That isn't fair." Harry tossed the piece of junk in his hand into the pile of other pieces of junk. It made a junky sort of clanging sound. "It wasn't us seven causing the problems, it was them seven. Really just one. The Uncontained."</p>
<p>"Did you listen to that speech? He's been doing it for our benefit."</p>
<p>Harry blew a raspberry. "That was just hot air. Like you."</p>
<p>Insults didn't even register on the other man anymore. "I don't think it was. I think he's been playing a game with us. And we've been following his rules. We even wrote them down."</p>
<p>"But it's bullshit," Harry protested. "What you're saying is bullshit. We haven't been making things worse, things have been <em>getting</em> worse, and we've been getting more creative in fixing them after."</p>
<p>"From another perspective, we've been trying the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. We've practically falsified the idea that what we're doing is going to have any lasting impact."</p>
<p>Harry threw up his arms. He didn't care if it looked ridiculous. He was talking to Wettle. "Well, what else were we supposed to do? The Foundation only has so many protocols for handling stuff like this."</p>
<p>"I dunno." The other man shrugged. "Be better than the Foundation?"</p>
<p>"You really are walking in circles," Harry growled. His stomach felt like it was growling, too. "This is getting us nowhere. Fifteen years later, you're still talking nonsense. You're the real replication study."</p>
<p>"I'm in good company," Wettle sneered.</p>
<p>Harry paused for a moment. "Meaning?"</p>
<p>"Fifteen years later, you still can't keep from insulting me long enough to take my suggestions seriously."</p>
<p>Harry opened his mouth to say something cutting.</p>
<p>And he realized that was it. That was the reason he had opened his mouth. That was what he was choosing to do with his time and energy. All the anger bled out of him like a pierced balloon. "Am I too old to change?"</p>
<p>"Maybe." Wettle shrugged again. "I think I am. But I know some tests you could try, if you wanna check."</p>
<p>"Already have one in mind."</p>
<p>Wettle stood there expectantly, waiting. After a moment, his face fell. "Oh. Okay. I misread that."</p>
<p>"Enjoy your walk. See you at the fire. I'm sorry." And he walked away, whistling furiously as if to backspace over that hurried final truth.</p>
<p>"Still counts," Wettle smiled.</p>
<p>It was easy enough to identify what the skeletons had once belonged to. The horns were a dead giveaway.</p>
<p>It took them a little longer to understand what the larger, curiously hollow bones were from.</p>
<p>But they figured it out eventually, once they realized they were draped over the others like a protective shroud.</p>
<p>"I know someone who would have loved to find this," said Udo.</p>
<p>"I dunno." Del reached down to touch one, then thought better of it. "I think she would have liked them better alive."</p>
<p>"Apparently she did. In the first deadline." Udo smiled at the memory, such as it was. For the moment, that was all their friends really were.</p>
<p>"Ever think about how some people live their best lives in the worst worlds?" Del asked.</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"Ever wonder how we might have turned out, if this was the only world we have?"</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"Reach any comforting conclusions about that?"</p>
<p>"Not really, no. Plenty of uncomfortable ones."</p>
<p>"Yeah." Del turned her back on the strangely touching scene of long-done carnage. "Same here."</p>
<p>"Weird to think about Brenda." Udo sat down, and touched the sand with her hands as she always did. "She doesn't exist, now, but if we do this right, she'll exist again later. Same with the ASC."</p>
<p>Del sat down beside her. "ASC is the first one I thought of when you dug this up. Every other deadline, he's been there."</p>
<p>"He did really good in the deadlines."</p>
<p>"Right?" Del pumped the air with her fist. "He was a fuckin' <em>general</em> in the first one. Kept everyone's shit locked down in the third. In the second…"</p>
<p>"Well, second one was tough. And gross."</p>
<p>"Super gross. But he did his best."</p>
<p>"Saved all his people last time, too. Every world he's in, he's good people."</p>
<p>Del sighed. "They don't really vary that much, do they?"</p>
<p>"How do you mean?"</p>
<p>"The bad ones are bad, and the good ones are good. You'd think the situations would change them some. Maybe not a lot, but <em>some.</em>''</p>
<p>"Mm." Udo nodded. "Couch is always a shit. When she exists."</p>
<p>"Always."</p>
<p>"Alis always comes around."</p>
<p>"And fucks Wettle."</p>
<p>"Right," Udo laughed, "so she's good <em>and</em> bad."</p>
<p>Del laughed with her. "And then there's Carter."</p>
<p><em>Aww.</em> "I feel bad about Carter."</p>
<p>"I feel bad about all of them." Del traced her own name in the sand. "You know the only difference between all those versions of all those people, and the versions that lived here before the end?" Udo shook her head. "These ones ceased to exist a little earlier. But they all went the way of the dodo."</p>
<p>"Or the thunderbird."</p>
<p>"Or the thunderbird."</p>
<p>Udo started doodling in the sand as well. "I guess the only thing that's left of any of them is what we do with the worlds they left behind."</p>
<p>"And whatever Lil remembers."</p>
<p>"That must be a bit of a burden. You think?"</p>
<p>Del nodded. "Funny it ended up being her."</p>
<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"Harry's the archivist, but Lillian's the archive."</p>
<p>"I never thought about it like that. Probably don't tell her."</p>
<p>"I don't tell her anything." Del affected a fierce look. "When history gets around to me, I want the fuckers to have to <em>guess.</em>"</p>
<p>They were standing at the entrance to the cave when Lillian emerged. "It's done."</p>
<p>"It works?" said Udo.</p>
<p>"It <em>should</em> work, in a very much reduced sense." She dusted off her hands. Some of the dust was very clingy; they were been digging very deep into the earth, by now. "Won't know until we try it. Probably everyone should stand well back when that happens."</p>
<p>Wettle looked down at the clipboard he'd been using to record the results of each startup test. "I'm pretty sure it won't explode."</p>
<p>Lillian still couldn't get her hands fully clean, until suddenly all the remaining grime slipped off at once. She mouthed <em>thank you</em> at Udo, who smiled.</p>
<p>"Standing well back might be a bad idea," said Harry. "If we get a repeat of—"</p>
<p>"There isn't going to be a repeat," Lillian interrupted. "We have reached the end of <em>recursion.</em> There will be <em>finality</em> this time, ladies and gents. You have all six of my inviolable words on that."</p>
<p>The last thing that needed doing before their date with destiny was a little geological restratification. They'd been planning it for weeks, between the two engineers and Udo, but she still felt the enormity of the task in full when she began.</p>
<p>After years of dreaming of the desert, she was finally standing in the middle of it.</p>
<p>And then, with a flick of her wrist, she wasn't.</p>
<p>Red dust tinged with the remnants of the vats which had once contained it rose from the depths all around her, mingling with the grey, and as it all flowed up into the air and twisted and twirled around the smallest part of her, which stood outstretched in the middle of her tempest, Udo Okorie <em>became</em> the desert.</p>
<p>And then, as she had been doing all along, she changed.</p>
<p>McInnis was taking a final stroll around the altered landscape when he saw Nascimbeni standing alone, looking up at the colourless sky yet again. The ground made no sound as he tread upon it, but by now they could sense each others' presence with no visible or audible cues. Life sensing life, in the midst of the leavings of death.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni turned to face him, and McInnis moved to stand by his side.</p>
<p>They looked at each other, and then they looked away, up at the faintest impressions of distant stars which struggled to peer down in judgement through the thick haze of the end of days.</p>
<p>"I know," Nascimbeni said. To anyone else, it would have been apropos of nothing. "I know."</p>
<p>McInnis patted him on the back, and smiled, and they waited until what passed for darkness had fallen before heading off to join the others.</p>
<p>It might have been their final night on Earth.</p>
<p>In a very real sense, that made it potentially the Earth's final night.</p>
<p>They piled the fuel high, with no regard for the days to come. If there were days to come, they would be dark, and likely brief.</p>
<p>They didn't speak.</p>
<p>They sang until their voices were useless for anything but the lowest of whispers, and then as the embers died down, they held each other close. The seven. The Sampis.</p>
<p>The Survivors.</p>
<p>And then they broke apart one final time, to see out the eve of destruction on their own individual terms.</p>
<p>Though not, entirely, individually.</p>
<p>Del stretched across him in complete satisfaction. There really was something to that whole 'Tomorrow we may die' thing.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni held her tight.</p>
<p>"Sex on a beach," she sighed. "Ultimate edition."</p>
<p>"Imagine asking Udo to get the sand out of our cracks," he snickered.</p>
<p>She'd never heard him snicker before. Really, there were so many things they hadn't done. "So," she attempted, while the endorphins still made her want to, "we never really talked."</p>
<p>He gave her a look of pretended unclarity. "About what?"</p>
<p>"Oh." She pulled his hat down over his eyes — he wasn't wearing anything else — and then pulled it up again. "About us. You can't even say it, huh?"</p>
<p>He pulled it back down again. "I can take things seriously. Just not…"</p>
<p>"Your things."</p>
<p>"Yeah." He blinked as she pulled the hat off entirely, and frisbeed it across the sparkling sands. "What do we have to talk about? I think we understand each other pretty well."</p>
<p>She pressed her head to his greying chest. Truth be told, her hair was greying a little too; it was just doing so very evenly, so most people hadn't noticed yet. "It didn't turn out how anybody wanted."</p>
<p>"What does?" he asked the sky.</p>
<p>She wasn't going to be placated so easily. "We've had half a dozen different chances to be the people we want to be. And we keep just being the same people."</p>
<p>He shifted, and the sands accommodated the new position as no bed ever could. "You can't change the nature of a thing without losing some of its energy, Del." His voice was very soft, with none of the stress she was used to hearing beneath each word. "And you can't make a thing pretend to be something it isn't without that same cost. That's what people don't understand about getting older. They think it's about turning into your perfect self. It isn't. It's about stopping the heat shed, when you finally figure out who you are, and just decide to slow down and <em>be</em> that person."</p>
<p>She could feel his heart beating through her cheek. "So, you and I are people who disappoint other people."</p>
<p>"No." He reached up to stroke the hair that flowed down the back of her neck, and onto his shoulder. "I think that's still us at an intermediate stage."</p>
<p>She sighed like she had never sighed before. Of course, she had. They'd all been sighing so much, it was practically their favourite form of punctuation. "What's the final stage, then? Can we skip to that, while we've still got gas in the tank?"</p>
<p>He tugged very lightly on the hair, and she looked up and into his eyes. "I don't think you disappoint people, Delfina. You've never disappointed me."</p>
<p>She kissed him. "You've disappointed me plenty."</p>
<p>He blew a raspberry into her lips. "Take a number. There's a queue."</p>
<p>"But I could have been better about how I handled it. I wanted you to be something you aren't."<br/>
He squeezed her closer. "I wanted that, too. Not you. Me. I wanted to be what you wanted. I wanted to be what Gallo and Flora wanted me to be, more than that. But I've only ever just been a worse version of myself."</p>
<p>She slid onto his chest, and pressed her forehead into his. "This isn't a new lesson for me. I've known for twenty years that you can't live for what other people expect. But…"</p>
<p>His brown eyes were always so sad, even when he was happy. "But?"</p>
<p>"But living for just yourself kind of sucks, too."</p>
<p>He stroked her cheek, and whispered, "Yeah."</p>
<p>"So, what do you think we ought to do about that?"</p>
<p>"What we've already been doing." And he held her even closer still. "Whatever makes both sides happy."</p>
<p>For years they had wondered what had lived in the fourth sublevel containment chamber, obliterated there by the force of the Breach, despite the distance. It had made perfect sense at the time that such a thing could occur; the case of the duplicated DUAL Core, even farther away from AAF-D, was only one piece of evidence among thousands. Something had risen up out of that pit, and in this case the correlation had seemed obviously causal: it had lit the fire, and been burned by it. Lillian had written her speculation into the SCP-5243 file itself. They'd been blaming the Uncontained for starting the Breach somehow and sealing its own fate ever since they'd begun glimpsing the scattered remnants of its former existence in their archives, and the conclusion still seemed sound.</p>
<p>To the extent that the Uncontained still lived in baseline, it lived in the Breach. Unlike the Victims, it never came back — or rather, it came back as the Victims. The transmutation was apparently irreversible. There was no way to restore its mundane form. No way to restore reality.</p>
<p>But actually meeting the thing had made all the difference. It was like a light switch had been flipped, and they could focus on things which had until that instant been in perfect darkness. It was embarrassingly obvious what had actually occurred on the eighth of September, 2002, but somehow none of them had ever been able to realize it until now.</p>
<p>She hoped, she desperately hoped, that they might get the chance to actually do something about that revelation.</p>
<p>They assembled beside the 001 chamber, in a neat little row, as the grey dot appeared on the horizon. There was nothing more to say, so they waited in silence until it was close enough that they could see the shit-eating grin plastered across its plain, unremarkable features.</p>
<p>"Happy anniversary," it called out. Their nemesis. The Uncontained. Not a man, but a thing. Implacable and ambiguous, but in no sense unknown.</p>
<p>The Beast in the Breach.</p>
<p>"Not so happy," Lillian answered.</p>
<p>The Uncontained took off Scout's fedora, and flung it into its own path across the sand. "I thought you'd have more to show for yourselves. But then, conservatism is never creative, is it?" It made to tread on the hat, but stopped before reaching it, having spotted the stone. "What's this?"</p>
<p>There was a simple marker on the north side of the chamber. Nascimbeni's hat sat on top.</p>
<p>"Oh, my." It shook its head, very gravely. "I thought I would have noticed a thing like that. When did it happen?"</p>
<p>"Three months ago," said McInnis.</p>
<p>"He figured you'd come back." Ibanez's voice was tight with grief. "He didn't want to be here waiting. The only thing worse than Armageddon is a self-satisfied lecture."</p>
<p>"I'm surprised." The Uncontained walked from one end of their rank to the other, searching their faces for an explanation, or perhaps just trying to make them sweat. "I thought you'd all be more resilient. I wonder where that energy went?"</p>
<p>"What energy?" Harry snapped.</p>
<p>"Oh, don't pretend you don't know."</p>
<p>"Whatever makes us special," said Udo.</p>
<p>"It doesn't make <em>you</em> special," the Uncontained sneered. "It <em>honours</em> you. And shames you! It is a blessing and a curse. You will bear it for the rest of your days, may they not be all too long. Which of you will be the next to die, I wonder? It's always so exciting, to reach the final chapter of a thing."</p>
<p>"Or maybe," said Harry, "there's still a few left yet."</p>
<p>Del stuck out her jaw at the preening old thing. "You strike me as the kind of guy who flips to the back of the book to see how it ends, before he starts."</p>
<p>The Uncontained made a soft <em>tut tut</em> sound in her general direction. "I've always known how this ends, Delfina Ibanez. I've seen it end before. I will see it end again. But this will be a special ending, because it will be the only one I share with the six of <em>you.</em>"</p>
<p>Wettle yawned. "So you came back to gloat, huh."</p>
<p>"Of course. You were all so shaken by our first meeting. So alone, so helpless. That was invigorating." It actually giggled. "Oh, but then you <em>talked,</em> and you <em>talked,</em> and honestly I preferred the sound of my footfalls on the splintered ground. That reminded me of myself. Of what I'd achieved. You, you were just the death rattle of a vanquished enemy. But!" It clapped its gnarled hands together. Each of them, individually, was sharply reminded of Site-43's interim director of January 2003. "I did want to check in, remind myself how utterly defeated you are, and perhaps see if you'd devised any clever means of attack that I might effortlessly sidestep. Is it coming soon? Surely there must be <em>something.</em>"</p>
<p>McInnis spread his hands wide. "No weapons."</p>
<p>"No?" The Uncontained looked crestfallen, but like all of its emoting, it was transparently no more than an act. "That's disappointing. I thought it might be fun to show you what I'm made of. What I'm <em>really</em> made of. It takes rather a lot to disentangle my atoms. Rather a lot. You have no idea how difficult it was, how long I had to work at it…"</p>
<p>Harry caught the tangent being waved in his face, as a matter of politeness and duty. "Are you saying you killed yourself? Are you saying you <em>intentionally</em> caused the Breach?"</p>
<p>The Uncontained laughed in his face. "Of course I did! What else was I going to do? Sixty years trapped in that <em>hole</em> you call a home." The look of mirth became a look of rage, and this time it looked halfway legitimate. "The silver jubilee of my captivity. So I leached a little of myself into the pipes around me, day by day, in increments so small that your finest mechanisms couldn't detect them — not so long as I sapped their strength, too, as I drained my own into my surroundings. I seeded your factory with myself, and when the moment was right, I twisted just <em>so</em> and whipped up the froth to a hurricane roar."</p>
<p>"And obliterated yourself," Udo finished.</p>
<p>It acknowledged the point by miming a tip of the hat, the real article still resting in the sand behind it. "I may have overdone it just a little. But the results were <em>so</em> spectacular! It's been centuries since I had so many edifying experiences. You've shown me such fascinating new worlds, br—" It cleared its throat. "…my friends. It's a shame we've reached the end of the road."</p>
<p>Lillian gave it the sweetest, most innocent smile she could manage. Like the Uncontained's expressions, it was not remotely believable. "You think we're on the same road, still?"</p>
<p>Their ancient enemy clapped again. "Oh, here it comes. Is it going to be terribly clever? I'm very excited. I came back here for this. Don't let me down!"</p>
<p>Now her smile was more genuine. It was the kind of thing a small vole might have seen at the precise termination of its life. "Where exactly do you believe we are?"</p>
<p>The Uncontained blinked. It looked down at the stone, then looked up at the chamber. "Hmm. I'm not sure I see…"</p>
<p><em>BOOM.</em></p>
<p>It was already very pale, so it was perhaps just their collective imagination that it seemed turn a shade yet paler. "What?"</p>
<p><em>BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.</em></p>
<p>Something in the far, far distance was apparently exploding.</p>
<p>"It seems you're a little late to the party," McInnis smiled. "Are you sure you followed the directions properly?"</p>
<p>Udo snapped her fingers, and the containment chamber's four walls suddenly collapsed in perfect tandem. There was no roof. The Uncontained stared at her, then suddenly seemed to see the landscape around it for the first time, realizing the incongruities. Its eyes narrowed, then widened to a comical extent.</p>
<p>Harry tried not to laugh as his nervous energy combined with the sight that followed in a volatile mix. "Moves fast, for an old guy."</p>
<p>Del cracked her neck. "We all do. And we're gonna have to, now. Udo?"</p>
<p>The micamancer was already flexing her fingers, and tossed back her hood with a flourish. "Hold on to your granules, brothers and sisters."</p>
<p>It was perfect.</p>
<p>It wasn't perfect. It never had been, and it probably never would be. But it was just as he remembered it, which was just as it had been. Because of all of them, he knew it best. Every turn. Every line. Above and below board. He'd built most of the place himself, and practically every inch of the segment that mattered most today.</p>
<p>As the sands rose to carry him up into the congealing form of Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-D, to finish his final shift at Site-43, Nascimbeni imagined Gallo and Flora placing their hands on his shoulders in support, and so there they really were.</p>
<p>They would have been proud.</p>
<p>Perhaps, somewhere, somehow, they were.</p>
<p>He almost wept when the first explosion tore through the tanks, and he felt it in his bones.<br/>
Faster than he'd expected, but no faster than they'd allowed for, the Uncontained appeared. It was running, though its purloined formal wear and the depth of the shifting sands made for relatively slow going. It was hard to tell at this distance, but he was sure it was furious at the deception. Nascimbeni's pillar of sand reached the thing that blotted out the sky, the hovering mothership-sized bulk of the dying refinery, and the membranes of Rock Bottom slipped past him, and now he was standing at the airlock approach for the seventeenth and final time.</p>
<p>He reached into his jacket, removed the recording device he'd found in the lining of Wettle's labcoat — he had no idea how it had gotten there, and he knew that he probably never would — clicked the button, and began to speak.</p>
<p>"If anyone's listening," he said, as the fourteen mighty BOOMs split the air, "this is what winning sounds like."</p>
<p>And he walked through the door, and into the madness within.</p>
<p>He'd seen it all so many times, from so many angles, it had no power whatsoever over him. The energies coursing through the halls lapped at his feet, and teased at his hair — he did wish he could have kept his hat, but a ruse was a ruse was a ruse — and he strolled through them like they weren't even there. It wasn't a long walk, not with the winds of change at his back, and the euphoria of finally taking the plunge that he'd suffered so many sweat-soaked nightmares over for oh, so many years.</p>
<p>And there they were, in the control room. Panicking. Not because they were fools, not because they'd been poorly trained, and not because he hadn't been there. Because they were human beings, and what was happening around them was incomprehensibly inhuman.</p>
<p>"Fuck fuck fuck fuck," David Markey was shouting. "Okay. Try this. No. NO." He jolted across the hideous yellow tiles with their ancient, pitted grouting, gripped the console by the window with one hand, and hammered at it madly with the other. Behind him, Romolo Ambrogi was heaving at a stuck valve on a lime green pipe, sweating profusely, eyes wide with fear, forehead lined with worry. Beside him, the redline telephone hung off the hook. He gave up on whatever he was trying to do, and snatched up the phone instead. Nascimbeni wondered who his nephew was going to attempt to call.</p>
<p>He rapped sharply on the glass, and Ambrogi turned to look at him. The expression of relief, and perhaps — it was the briefest of glimpses, but Nascimbeni knew the young man's face so well — even a sudden rush of familial love was all he needed to see. He closed his eyes, and he heard the pipe burst, and though he knew what happened next, he also knew it could no longer hurt any of them. Not really.</p>
<p>He headed back towards the airlock as Markey burst from the far door, fleeing far ahead of him, and whistled along with the tune that was playing in the pipes. He'd never bothered to learn its name.</p>
<p>The tiles beside him cracked, then were flung aside, and in a spray of dirt and polymer and white-hot orichalcum fluid, the ragged figure of the Uncontained crawled out to confront him. Nascimbeni steered around the hole in the floor, and continued on his way.</p>
<p>"What do you hope to gain from this?" the very, very old man-thing snarled, joints popping as it wormed back into its proper shape. "You're not even <em>trying</em> to get it right!" It had to struggle to keep up; Nascimbeni set a brisk pace. They only had six minutes, after all.</p>
<p>He didn't begrudge the beast its answer.</p>
<p>But he did intend to make it work for it.</p>
<p>"What do you mean?" he asked innocently, as the parody of Vivian Scout fell into lockstep with him.</p>
<p>AAF-D itself responded first, with a series of new explosions, and a frantic klaxon.</p>
<p>"There's no point to this self-flagellation," the Uncontained was saying, and its speaking voice undercut the cacophony with supernatural precision. "Unless you're trying to remind yourself of how badly you screwed up."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni stuck his hands in the pockets of his vinyl jacket. "I don't need a reminder. I've seen every scene a thousand times."</p>
<p>"Something to remember your vanished world by?" The Uncontained was laughing, though there was still a note of uncertainty. "It was a clever trick, moving the containment chamber, making me think the refinery would reappear over <em>there,</em> while you carried out your dirty little protocols <em>here.</em> But now you're finding it's too much, aren't you? Too much for only one to manage." A withered hand fell on Nascimbeni's shoulder. "You should have all made your stand here, together. At least then you would have failed in dignity, not <em>disgrace.</em>"</p>
<p>A voice called out from around the next bend, echoing through the halls: "Is there anyone in there?"</p>
<p>The Uncontained froze.</p>
<p>It was Nascimbeni's voice.</p>
<p>A translucent orange tentacle went snaking through them, intent on its prey. They didn't feel a thing.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni smiled at his walking partner. "How fast can you run?</p>
<p>In the distance, though not so far distant that they couldn't hear, there was an explosion.</p>
<p>Another.</p>
<p>And another.</p>
<p>The tortured sands were a brain the size of Ipperwash Provincial Park, crackling with electricity and calculating at yettaflops per second. Probably it would kill her, but she didn't care. She was the vengeful earth, and she was on the rise.</p>
<p>The desert lifted them, the five of them and the beating human heart which was Udo Okorie, cliffs of dead soil sloughing off and coming back on the upswing. A demicontinental shelf ascending a kilometer in the air to catch the frame of the true AAF-D as it suddenly, without warning, blinked back into existence in the sky. They would never know if it would have fallen, so perfectly did she catch and form herself around it. She burned herself from the inside out with the fury of the energies unleashed by the uncapped pipes, and the sand solidified to tile, and she was the fragments of Site-43 and the bedrock on which it sat.</p>
<p>"How fast can you run?" the decrepit old technician repeated. "Because if you don't like my show, there's a better one on down the road."</p>
<p>He pressed one hand to the tiles on the wall, and a skin of beige paper spread out from his fingertips, covering the whole thing in a matter of seconds. Then he turned to face the Uncontained, winked, and snapped his fingers.</p>
<p>And the wallpaper turned a violent, victorious shade of pink.</p>
<p>"STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY ALERT — AAF-D," a robotic voice intoned.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni laughed, and blinked his eyes.</p>
<p>And he was gone.</p>
<p>An arc of lightning streaked through the air, and the Uncontained lifted its hand to touch it. Like everything else, it wasn't real.</p>
<p>"…well," it said. And it nodded. "Aren't you clever."</p>
<p>Far, far below, in the bosom of the earth, Nascimbeni blinked his eyes. He was back in the vast cavern that housed their terrible, towering reconstruction of Wirth's world-shaping machine, as though he had never left.</p>
<p>Which, of course, he hadn't.</p>
<p>The scream from far above rang out above the din with perfect clarity.</p>
<p>Udo shaped a golem of her smaller self, almost as an afterthought, and it rose above the others, carried into the cradle of what was becoming Applied Occultism. She sent Lillian skipping to a security station that leapt into being around her at the moment she arrived. She carried Del to the bullpen, grains compacted in a passable imitation of stucco, McInnis to his office — here she focused on the redline and its complex wires, linking up with the feed from the F-D monitoring room which terminated in midair — Harry to the sandy salt mines, Wettle to the site of his final fall — he was like a cat in reverse, and she had a damnably hard time setting him upright on the floor — and when all of that was done, she cloaked her human body in reflective silicon and sent it to the airlock approach to attend to the ghosts. She felt them forming inside of her, their breath, their confusion and fear, and the malefic force that waited in their hearts to pounce, and in every way but the physical, she grinned.</p>
<p>She was the storm on her own horizon.</p>
<p>She was the cloud of her dreams.</p>
<p>It struck 6:21 for real at the twin Sites-43, and right on cue, the Breach went on.</p>
<p>The sand on the cave wall glowed white hot, and there it was. Seething with rage. Caked with sweat and soot. As pathetic a picture of a god as Nascimbeni could imagine.</p>
<p>The cave shuddered and shook as though the firmament itself were coming apart. But he didn't care.</p>
<p>It was over.</p>
<p>"I've really wanted to tell you something," he smiled. "For a long time. For a very, very long time."</p>
<p>"You know," the Uncontained growled, "you really <em>do</em> remind me of my br—"</p>
<p>He spat in its face. "Fuck you."</p>
<p>It laughed at him. "Is that all you've got? The last, wet gasp of your vanished race? Are you <em>spent</em> at last, old man?"</p>
<p>"That's right. But you're about to wish that I wasn't." He tugged the leads off his temples, and in an instant there was a terrible sound of thunder from overhead. "You ever hear of a thing called DISCIDIUM Protocol?" He grinned. "Welcome to the final teardown. This time, we're doing it <em>right.</em>"</p>
<p>The Uncontained didn't even seem to hear. "I should free you from your misery."</p>
<p>It raised its red right hand.</p>
<p>"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said.</p>
<p>And then he clicked off the recorder, at the moment the sky fell.</p>
<p>They'd never known if DISCIDIUM Protocol would actually work, of course. Certainly they could never have tested it in baseline. But as Wheeler and Xyank had shown them, in the deadlines, all bets were off.</p>
<p>Only one of them made it out of the collapsing cave alive, but they were both around to witness the finale, in one way or another.</p>
<p>The Uncontained opened its eyes.</p>
<p>For a moment, it didn't realize what had happened. Then it saw where it was, and who was there with it, and it shrieked in fury and despair.</p>
<p>As though he hadn't even noticed, Bernabé Del Olmo glared down at it from across the interrogation table. "You and I have a lot to talk about."</p>
<p>"No…"</p>
<p>"I've just spent over a year disassembling your little <em>cult,</em> piece by piece." Del Olmo smiled cruelly. "And you know what I've learned?"</p>
<p>The Uncontained moved to stand, but found that it couldn't. Its hands were cuffed, and it was chained to the table, and everything it might have mustered to change that state of affairs was presently flowing through the pipes and bursting the vats and coruscating up to strike at the hated other, and there was nothing it could do to draw itself back in time. "We have to get out of here," it whispered, despising how weak it sounded.</p>
<p>Del Olmo shook his head. "No. Better than that. Better than just <em>afraid.</em>"</p>
<p>"Listen to me!"</p>
<p>But it was powerless to alter the script. "They're wondering if you were ever what you claimed to be," Del Olmo told it. "Some of them think you're just a <em>myth.</em> There's whole cells out there who think you're allegorical, friend. You might as well never have been anthropomorphized; you're devolving back into a universal constant, in the <em>giftschreiber</em> imaginary at least. I wonder if that has any power over reality."</p>
<p>"We need to leave! It's going to—"</p>
<p>Del Olmo slammed a fist on the table, but kept speaking in a voice of deadly calm. "Once the last of them forgets you even existed, what will happen? I know you aren't a thoughtform, not really, but you're not exactly a human being either. Your chaotic myth needs <em>some</em> stability to keep itself intact, and we've deprived you of that. But it doesn't have to be that way." He took a deep breath, and the Uncontained stood up and opened its mouth to cry out again, but the ghost pushed it back down again with a strength it recognized as its very own. "If you talk to me, <em>really</em> talk to me for the first time, it's possible I'll be able to help. I might put in a good word with your estranged children. Let them know that daddy still exists. Because you and I both know that both sides have to keep up their strength, if the world's going to keep spinning on."</p>
<p>"You imbecile!" the Uncontained shouted. "You were always <em>such</em> an imbecile! You think you can stop what's coming?" It raised its voice as high as it would go, stared directly into the security camera, and screamed: "Do <em>any</em> of you think you can stop what's coming?! Because you—"</p>
<p>As he always did, Del Olmo suddenly lunged forward and flipped the table. The edge struck the Uncontained in the chin, and it fell to the floor, blood pouring from its mouth. "LISTEN TO ME!" Del Olmo was pleading, his deep voice resonating with equal parts hope and rage. "Listen to me, you perverse little <em>shit.</em> He's going to win, do you understand? He is going to <em>win.</em> I don't want that. You don't want that. So drop the smug snake act and <em>talk to me!</em>" There was no getting through to him. Del Olmo was definitely hopping mad, the fluorescent lights reflecting crazily off his bald pate as he gesticulated furiously at…</p>
<p>—nothing. A pillar of superheated plasma boiled away the ceiling, walls, floors and tables, erasing his interview subject, cascading up through Applied Occultism from AAF-D.</p>
<p>And the Uncontained died in white.</p>
<p>The sands fell like rain as Udo shrank back into herself. They would fall for an hour, tumbling on a breeze that hadn't been there until now. Perhaps it was the displacement of air from two instances of Site-43 popping into existence at an interval, a kilometer apart. Perhaps it was something more meaningful.</p>
<p>Ibanez passed through at a run, grains striking and sticking and pricking her skin. She wiped them out of her eyes, and discovered she was already weeping before she found him, and knew why.</p>
<p>Noè Nascimbeni sat at the centre of a tremendous pit of disturbed earth ringed with a debris field which stretched as far as she could see in every direction, the remnants of the machine and its supports, and the false Site-43. He was leaning on a twisted control panel stained with his own blood, sparking out the last of its power into the ever-so-slightly deepening gloom, and as she tore across the ruined landscape a lifetime too late, she saw he was clutching at his chest.</p>
<p>The clamour of the collapsing world died down, and she heard him begin to cough, and her heart leapt… but no. He wasn't coughing.</p>
<p>He threw back his head and laughed at the sky, and by the time she reached him there were tears streaking across his face, and his eyes were shining very bright, and he was smiling more joyfully and more innocently than she'd ever seen in all the years since they'd met, and he was dead.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<p>"<a href="/56-this-forgotten-babylon">This Forgotten Babylon</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/56-this-forgotten-babylon">https://scpwiki.com/56-this-forgotten-babylon</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>The page title quotes Horace Smith, "Ozymandias," The Examiner, 1818, in the public domain.</p>
<p>Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. The image of the following character utilized the following photographic references as well:</p>
<p>Noè Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822">https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822</a> and<br/>
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992">https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992</a></p>
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<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Everything!<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736644051" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
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**This Forgotten Babylon**
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**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
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"Sorry," said Wettle. "Is this the same guy? He looks different."
"It's the same guy." Lillian narrowed her eyes as she examined him. Tall, good-looking, probably Greek? Big, curly hair. Something troubling in his eyes. A ridiculously fancy dark red labcoat that looked like it belonged to someone from Quantum Supermechanics who'd fallen into a vat of red dye.
Or perhaps blood.
"It's a different guy," Harry sighed. Placeholder raised a brow, and Harry explained: "Pretty sure my friend here meant 'is this the Uncontained'?"
"For fuck's sake, Willie," Lillian grumbled.
"I did mean that. Sorry?"
Lillian stepped to the front of the group. "Okay, everybody else shut up if you're going to be that far behind the plot." She poked Placeholder in the chest. "Who are you? Really?"
He smiled at her. The smile was strained. "I'm a traveller. Just passing through."
"From where," McInnis asked from behind her, "to where?"
"No."
"No," the Director repeated.
"From when," Udo interrupted, "to when."
Lillian glanced back and grinned at her.
"You're very clever," said Placeholder. "Do they tell you that often enough? I hope you believe them when they do."
Lillian snapped her fingers in front of his face, and he focused on her again. "Timeline travel, then."
This time it was Nascimbeni who interrupted. "//Deadline// travel."
Placeholder glanced at him, nodded, and then looked back at Lillian without needing a second prompt. "Is that what you call them? I'm not sure that's ideal terminology."
Lillian put her hands on her hips in frustration when she heard McInnis starting up again. "Do you have a better suggestion?" he asked.
"Nothing that wouldn't be a spoiler." Placeholder shrugged.
Lillian snorted. "You really are him, huh. Or at least a version of him."
"How do you mean?"
"I talked to the real McD," said Del. "Big on pataphysics."
"I'm big on all the more esoteric branches of science, Chief. But pataphysics is a special hobby, I admit. And in pataphysical parlance, you seven would seem to be stuck in a narrative trough. Not making much progress, are you?"
Wettle appeared beside Lillian, hands raised. "Hey. Uh. Back up a second."
"Dr. Wettle." Placeholder mock-bowed to him. "You know, I was never really clear on what precisely happened to you. All the others," and he made what was probably meant to be a sympathetic face, "sure, but the way you… ah. Sorry. I forgot. Got my stories crossed. What are you going to say?"
Wettle blinked for about ten seconds straight. "…I was gonna ask how you got here, but now I wanna know about this other stuff."
"I won't tell you how I got here, and I won't tell you where I started. That's a different story entirely; you can think of this as a cameo."
Harry joined in for the first time. "You've already cameo'd in every other deadline. Watching. Prodding. Interfering. You've been a part of this story since the start."
"Have I?" Place winked at the archivist. "That's terrific. Everything going to plan. How about your plans, Lillian? They working out?"
"You obviously know they aren't," she growled.
"Okay," Udo interrupted again, "hang on. We're not letting this go that easy."
Placeholder rolled his eyes. "You're going to jeopardize the existence of your baseline temporality to play twenty questions with me? The Uncontained is still out there, you know. Eventually he's coming back. You want to be ready when he does."
"I don't trust you," Udo snapped. "Everything you say makes me trust you less. Are you a TAD agent?"
He looked like he might laugh. "No."
"But you travel across time."
"Yes, without a visa." He was definitely smirking now.
"Did you kill Dougall Deering?"
It was his turn to blink in surprise. "Oh, wow. That's //very// impressive. What did I say about you? Okay. Hmm. Let me think." Udo stared at him, eyes burning bright, demanding the answer be supplied. Eventually, it was. "I can probably answer that," Placeholder finally mused. "Seems safe. No, I didn't kill Dougall. Dougall killed himself."
McInnis cleared his throat. "But you know what she's talking about."
"Sure. I was there when it happened."
Udo's voice was tight, and packed with warning. "So was I."
"But //I...// was on the other end."
"In the future," Lillian cut in.
"From your perspective."
"Why are you here now?" McInnis asked.
"Because it was a very bad future, and I'm canvassing for better ideas. I'm not going to give you a motive rant, ladies and gentlemen. Do you want my help, or not?"
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It wasn't the best surveying equipment Nascimbeni had ever worked with, but it got the job done. He'd constructed it from scraps for that single purpose. "Right about here, I'd say." He drew a circle in the sand with his boot tip. "Give or take a wide area, depending on what happened to the intervening bedrock."
Udo nodded. "Okay. I'll start looking." She knelt in the soil, leaned all the way forward, and put pressure on her palms against the grains.
A very brief conversation between Lillian and Placeholder had produced a shortlist of new parts, and by now Nascimbeni had a much better idea of how they might be sourced. He knew the layout of Site-43 like nobody else, had memorized every nook and cranny, and those memories were old enough that age hadn't done much to fuzz their contours. They were core. With a solid mental manifest of which pieces of immobile machinery went with which Section, he could give a pretty good accounting of where the wreckage could have fallen. So far he'd had a thirty-three point three percent success ratio with this new approach, which was exceedingly good odds.
"It's here." Udo smiled with her eyes closed, and the ground began to vibrate. "Bringing it up now."
He smiled, too.
He hadn't been much use in the previous deadline, so it was nice to contribute in the final one.
In whatever sense it might turn out to be final.
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This time she didn't wait for a dream, or a prompt. If there was anything useful to be gleaned from the cave with the cats and the sad old man that lived now only in the memories she'd never really had, then it was time she saw what it was, so she could put it into practice while their plans were still fungible.
[[div class="flashyhammer"]]
The affection in Rydderech's eyes was genuine. He looked on her as a favoured child. She might have thought he'd known her for hundreds of years, or perhaps eighteen multiplied by six. "Lillian Lillihammer," he said, warmly. "One of seven, soon to be one of one, though never one only, and never lonely, and never alone. You are the lodestar of your constellation, but without the others, you would be but the brightest point in a shapeless sky. These triumphs will be yours, but not //merely// yours, and not nearly merely a triumph. What does it mean when a star shines too brilliantly?"
"Okay." In the memory, though she knew it was only a memory, she made herself reach out and hold him. He had been so lonely. They'd all felt it. "Well," she said into his ear, "that's very dense. Can I ask you a question?"
"How ever could I stop you?" he asked. He was trembling a little. She wondered if he was weeping.
//Would that it would rain.//
"Let's not follow that line of thought," she whispered, then cleared her throat and made to pull back.
When she encountered the faintest tug of resistance, she decided they were better off attached. For however long the memory's moment lasted.
So enveloped in the old man's arms, she said, "I was hoping this might be the last time my fellow superstars and I have to go on stage. I don't suppose that bit about this being the sixth of seven cryptic lectures could just mean, I dunno, a nice goodbye message back in baseline? Once we've won?"
He wasn't weeping now, if he had been before.
He was softly chuckling.
"Didn't think so," she sighed. "Worth asking."
"I said you would triumph." In the end, he was the one to let go. His eyes were very kind. "I never said you were going to //win.//"
[[/div]]
She wasn't sure why that was helpful.
But she felt like it was.
Which, in a sense, was the answer.
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Nascimbeni emerged from the hole in the ground, and wiped his forehead. They didn't precisely sweat in the warm earth, it just sort of felt like they //should// be. A great many physical reactions were merely psychosomatic, he was learning.
Wettle was sitting in the sand, flipping a coin Udo had found at Grand Bend. Every time he tried to catch it, he failed, and every time he failed, it buried itself in the sand, and every time he dug it out of the sand, he'd lost any chance of seeing whether it had landed on heads or tails.
Nascimbeni watched him for a while, then commented: "I never asked you why you keep doing what you do."
Wettle didn't need to ask what he meant. "That's… basically my job description. 'Keep doing it. Even if it turns out wrong'." He missed the coin again, and somehow managed to look surprised. "Fuck."
Nascimbeni sat down beside him. He'd left Lillian cursing in the earth, and Placeholder examining her work with a critical eye most likely to produce further cursing. He looked up at the sky, which they were all doing more and more often, because there was nothing to look at below, and he said, "Do you think you'd still be with the Foundation if the Breach hadn't happened?"
Wettle glanced at him, which was why he missed the next coin toss. There was always a reason. "I don't think about that kind of thing at all. Do you?"
"I guess not."
"So, yeah? Yeah, you do?"
"I'm thinking about it now. Do you—"
"Hey, who exactly do you think you're talking to?"
Nascimbeni turned to look at him, almost expecting the dopey chemist to have transformed into the Uncontained in a blue labcoat.
Wettle was looking at him with uncommon clarity in his eyes. "Because it sounds like you think you're talking to your psychiatrist, or something."
Nascimbeni was speechless.
"I had a chat with Noname McSmartypants earlier, and you know what he told me?" Wettle flipped the coin again, and it ended up in Nascimbeni's left breast pocket. He hadn't even noticed it was open. "He thinks I'm a comedic archetype. You know what that means?"
"Is that… pataphysics? I don't know anything about pataphysics. By choice."
"It means //joke character.// I'm the butt monkey. I fall over, and everybody laughs. Are you trying to start a genuine philosophical discussion with the guy who never has a normal human interaction? How well do you figure that's going to go?"
Nascimbeni suddenly felt like maybe he'd rather watch Lillian slap their secretive guest than continue to sit beside Wettle. "Are you running a test on yourself?" he asked.
Wettle blinked. "What?"
"Are you trying to see how many times you can be a jackass without learning anything?" He pulled the coin out of his pocket, and dropped it in Wettle's lap. "Or are you trying to confirm that every human being you meet can be turned away with the same dipshit routine?"
"You're not thinking big enough," Wettle smiled.
"Well?"
"Everyone else is an experiment on how much change a person can handle, and I'm the fucking //control group.//"
"You're just saying that because you heard it on the recording," Nascimbeni sighed.
"Sure," Wettle agreed. "That's what I do, right? I replicate."
This time, however, the coin ended up in his mouth.
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"I never would have considered that," Lillian grunted. "Fuck."
"Sure you would have." Placeholder's voice was muffled, because she had her head halfway into the machine's innards, and because they were sitting in a cave of structural sand which did not echo. "You //did.//"
She wormed her way back out. "What?"
He was, as he kept insisting on doing, favouring her with a knowing smile. She wanted to wipe it off his face, or at least change its nature. "You think I'm telling you things I learned on my own? These are things I learned from //you.//"
She frowned at him. "That doesn't make any sense."
"Articulate why."
She sat up. "Because I don't know these things now, or rather I didn't know them //before.// But now I do, and you're saying I'll teach them to you?"
He nodded. "Sure. Bootstrap paradox."
Her eyes widened. "Named for pulling yourself up by your bootstrap, i.e. a thing that's impossible in gravity under Newtonian physics. Just because something has a name doesn't mean it can //happen.// And this particular name even has 'paradox' in the name."
He widened his eyes as if in mockery of her. "Yeah, that's why I like it. Anyway, that's your problem. Stuck on Newton. Know what Newton had to say about multiversal causality?"
"Sweet fuck all?"
"Exactly. It was outside his experience. Just as I am to you."
"But not me to you."
He threw his arms in the air. "Exactly!"
"So you never really met me. You met an alternate me, who learned what you're telling me later than //when// you're telling me? Or did she learn it earlier, under circumstances she and I don't share?"
He shook his head sadly. "Can you stop trying to look under the hood of this thing? It's a gift horse."
"From a //Greek.// There are certain historical precedents for it turning out badly when you don't do the dental check."
He visually granted her the point. "Fine. I've told you too much already, and more than too much is still just too much. Hooray for semantics. Yes."
"Yes to which?"
"To both. A different you, and a later you. New circumstances and also the future. Happy now?"
"Kind of?" She considered. "As long as this is really only stuff you learned from me."
"Why is that important?"
"Harry called this the fifth act. There generally isn't a sixth. So if I don't figure this one out on my own merits, I'll probably never get another chance, and I'm counting multiversal me as me for that purpose."
"You have a terrifying mind, Lillian Lillihammer." From the look on his face, it was not an insult.
"Bet you're sorry I'm dead, where you're from."
That strange something from when she'd first seen him crossed his eyes again. "How did you know that?"
"You're looking at all of us like we're museum pieces. No, worse than that. Like a burning house in your rear view mirror. A bad memory. You keep calling us by our full names, like we're historical figures to you. How far in the future are you from?"
His expression closed up. "I have no intention of telling you that."
"How long are you staying?"
"Not very long."
She leaned back, and pulled herself into the machine again. "Then I suppose we never meant that much to you."
"No. You didn't." He let her tinker for a few more seconds before finishing the thought. "But I've got a feeling that now, you will."
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Nascimbeni found the Director sitting on a rock, looking up at nothing as though it was the painting in his office back in baseline. He glanced over as Nascimbeni approached, and smiled. "All's well?"
There was a way to be clever with the response. Wordplay. Something combining the phrase "All's well that ends well" with the fact that they had now persisted long past the end. The end of the world. But the end of the world, and decades of life with his head buried in either technical manuals or actual technology, left him unable to put the words together satisfactorily in time for it to seem natural. Lillian could have done it. Maybe Harry. But he was only himself, so instead he said "Well enough. Think we've got everything we'll need now."
"Excellent."
Nascimbeni sat down on the sand beside the Director. His knees ached, even though they were definitely not getting any worse. "Up for a brief chat?"
"Always," the other man smiled. The other man always smiled.
Nascimbeni looked up, to avoid having to look at McInnis. "I understand why you didn't fire me."
"I thought I was quite clear."
He sighed. "Yeah, you were. I've got responsibilities, and your job is to make sure I fulfill them. Adversarial boilerplate. The closest you can get to being the bad cop."
The Director glanced at him, then back to where the stars ought to have been.
Tonight there was only grey.
"What do you think the real reason was, then?" McInnis asked softly.
"You could have let me quit the job, and come back every September for the main event. That's what finally clued me in. You weren't telling me I couldn't duck my duty, you were keeping me occupied. Keeping me //alive.//"
"I'm quite sure the annual tonic would have done that far better than words could ever hope to."
"It wasn't just words. You gave me a sense of purpose. Something to work on. I think you knew that if I went home, I wouldn't have that anymore."
"You'd have had your family. I kept you from them for a long, long time."
"You think I would have rushed over to Gallo's house, begged forgiveness for all the shit I put him and Flora through, and started eating dinner with them every day? You know I wouldn't have. I'd turn into another Bradbury."
"Mmm."
"Don't 'mmm' at me. It's true. I never put myself out there. I wouldn't have hung out with any of these people of my own free will. The situation smashed me into them, and you made sure we stuck together. You've been keeping us together the entire time, really. I never gave you the credit for that."
"Perhaps you're giving me too much credit now."
"That's not in my nature either."
They looked at the colourless smear of the sky together.
"On the other hand," said Nascimbeni.
"Yes?"
"If I was puttering around my house, I probably would have wandered over to Gallo's from time to time anyway."
"Mmm."
"But because I wasn't, I didn't. So I've seen him and Flora a lot less than I should have. So I've started to miss them more."
"Have you considered that perhaps all of these considerations have been warring in your own head, independent of any acts of administrative kindness on my part?"
Nascimbeni considered it now.
"I'm still pretty sure it's you," he said after a moment.
McInnis nodded, clapped his palms to his knees, and stood up. "Well. Let's make sure we're able to get back to baseline, so you can finish testing the assumptions of this version of me you've constructed in your mind. His judgement seems sound, but one never knows."
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It had been the longest of a series of very long shots, but it had somehow still paid off. She knew, intellectually, that it was because he'd been correct. But she wasn't ever going to admit as much to him, so there was no point admitting it to herself, either. So she said: "You got damn lucky."
"Not for more than a year," Harry grunted as he levered himself down to her level. "Thanks for reminding me."
"That's what I'm here for."
They were sitting on a little hill of finely ground rubble, denuded as all the world had been of its vegetation and wildlife, which made the fact that they were in Parkhill, Ontario at least half ironic. The sky was no less grey here as it trended into darkness, but Lillian fancied she could see the stars a little brighter anyway. Most days you couldn't see them all.
They reflected off the plains of glass which stretched as far as the eye could see, in a streak from east to west. Perhaps they'd been created by one of those kill satellites Marion had mentioned the Foundation operated. Given what they represented, it felt wrong to call them beautiful, but…
"Pretty," Harry said.
"I am," she agreed.
He elbowed her, and she rested the side of her head on the top of his.
It had been a hunch of Harry's that the lenses Lillian needed for her laser work might be found at an old optometry centre in Parkhill. They'd tried getting Udo to bake up the parts using the local sand, to Harry's specifications — it didn't come up very often, but he had a degree in optics — but the quality just wasn't good enough. They needed the real thing.
The odds that the real thing might have survived the apocalypse seemed exceedingly low, and so only the two of them had gone looking. Another five hour walk, leaving the others behind to work on their increasingly slim list of tasks. The last set of things they could try before it became apparent that even with the help of their mysterious ringer, the machine would never work.
Harry cradled the single unbroken box of lenses in his lap, and said "It must have been fate."
"Only seems that way from your perspective," she yawned. "Lots of people have known each other since they were kids. Seven survivors? Odds are good two of them would know each other. Would've been in well-protected places when the shit hit, and not many of those can handle a one kilometre earthslide. If it wasn't us here, right now, it'd be two other losers who've been shackled to each other for decades."
He put his arm around her shoulders, which was a bit of a reach for him. "I meant the box," he said. "Fate that there'd still be a box left that wasn't broken."
"Oh." She nodded. "Sure."
"I've never heard you call yourself a loser before, Lil."
She looked up, at the dim and distant explosions in the void, then at their diffuse earthly doubles. "Never felt like one. Feels like that's what this is, though."
"I'm not //that// bad."
She laughed. "Shut up. You know what I mean. If this doesn't work, maybe nothing will. Maybe we fucked it, Harry. Maybe //I// fucked it."
"You had a really good reason."
"Tell that to the dead."
"No, what I'd tell the dead is, is this: they were going to die like this anyway. This was always the fifth act. This was where it was all going. The only thing that could have been different was the //when.//"
She shivered, even though the air was always warm. Not hot, not cold, simply warm. Not enough change even for gooseflesh between high noon and the dead of night. "That might have mattered to some of them, though. A little more time before it all fell down. Don't you ever think you could have used a little more time?"
"All the time."
She grunted.
"Maybe you're right."
"That I fucked it?"
"That it isn't fate that we're here, together, right now."
"Yeah."
"But fate is a constant of the universe, right? If it's anything at all, it's that."
"Sure."
"We've just spent fifteen years telling constants of the universe to go fuck themselves."
She laughed.
"You killed one in your brain. Allan talked one to death. Del shot two of them. Constants aren't constant. Fate can get fucked."
"You hear that, fate?" she yelled into the sky. He flinched away from the volume of her voice. "You can get FUCKED."
It didn't echo, at least not so they could hear it.
They leaned in close again.
She reached up and scratched at the back of his head.
"Thanks," she said.
"For what?"
"For being a loser with me."
"Better to lose with you than win with anyone else."
She reached up and pressed his head to one side. He turned to look at her. There was something in her eyes.
He almost said something.
She almost said something.
She did say something. "No."
And she smiled.
"No?" he said.
She pulled him in close again, and they looked up at the hazy slate together once more.
"No. You're still not the last man on Earth."
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Nascimbeni finished torquing the part in place. It fit far more snugly than he would have imagined, considering they had forged it on the sand like a bunch of bronze smelters on the cusp of the next age. "Ready for the stress testing."
Wettle fussed over the machine for a few minutes, clipboard in hand; it was no surprise they'd been able to find one beneath the vanished Site, but one with no rust or metal fatigue on the clip, that had been a find. He was making notations on the paper Harry had rescued, assigning values to every structural element of the machine's generator so that he'd be able to compare their states when the whole thing had been shaken to life. It was weird, watching Wettle do something he was good at. Like seeing George W. Bush paint, except Wettle wasn't a piece of shit war criminal profiteer.
Nascimbeni shook his head. He wasn't sure where that had come from.
Placeholder was watching him.
He looked at Placeholder. "What?"
"Just thinking."
"Well, don't think in my direction. I feel like it's contagious."
The man in the red and black labcoat laughed at him. "You know, I didn't see you very often in the other deadlines."
Nascimbeni grunted.
"I know you were there. You just didn't seem to be there when there was anything interesting going on."
This time he didn't even grunt.
"And this secret project of theirs, I'm surprised you weren't involved in its conception, rather than only being looped in for the execution. You're the engineer, after all. Do you think it was a matter of trust?"
Nascimbeni blinked. "How do you mean?"
"I mean, do you think they didn't trust you? Not to get it right, that's not what I mean. Obviously your talents are beyond reproach. But perhaps did they doubt your dedication? Were you not a safe bet for something so important?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." It was funny, he thought, how sometimes a blatant lie fit right into the conversational niche you were provided with. Like it was the only thing that could ever have gone there.
"I know what happened last time. I know you gave up. Your Director is a talented leader, but he is also an excellent judge of character. Perhaps he thought you—"
"He thought," Nascimbeni snapped, "that if he told me about his backup plan, I'd have put it in practice straight off. Made all our troubles go away."
"Ah." Place nodded. "Damn the consequences, you'd do what was right?"
"I'd do what I thought I needed to do, whether it was right or not. And that was what put them in that situation in the first place. I couldn't kill my friends again, so I just… didn't."
To his surprise, Place patted him on the shoulder. "I have never found you more relatable than at this moment, Chief."
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There was no water. Anywhere.
This did not present a problem for a good long while. They didn't need to drink, and they didn't sweat (not that Udo ever had), so there was no need to replenish what their bodies already possessed. Wettle occasionally complained that he needed to pee, but nobody believed him and the complaint always went away eventually.
But dirt could still cling, and cuts could still sting, and after a few days of sustained digging they had found that dehydration or not, it was still not very much fun never having a shower.
The solution had been simple. Obvious. And awkward as all hell.
Del always liked to talk while the sand-shower was in progress. Udo had to be careful not to get any in her flapping mouth. "You know why the guys were okay with this?" she asked.
Udo swirled the shower through a few of her friend's more intimate folds, thankful that the look on her face, and its level of flush, was obscured by the silicon screen. "If this is going to be something filthy…"
"Filth in the shower? Defeats the purpose."
"I dunno. I hear men sometimes pee."
Del shivered, whether in revulsion or as a response to the intimacy of the scouring, Udo couldn't tell (and didn't care to guess). "Okay, well //that// was a fun sidetrack. But no. They were okay with this because they're going to forget it happened, and so are you."
Udo considered. Harry's body didn't have any secrets she didn't know about, if you didn't count the extra weight he'd put on since they'd been dating. Allan had nothing to be ashamed of. Wettle couldn't be any more ashamed than he already was. But it was certainly a strange thing to do, even among friends, so Del's explanation made a certain amount of sense. What didn't, however… "Why only the men?"
She could hear the smile in Del's voice. "I enjoy it, and Lillian will be just fine not forgetting."
Udo kept the shower going, even though it was hardly necessary at this point. She wasn't ready for Del to see the look on her face. She changed the subject. "Does it ever still bother you that we don't remember any of this?"
"It never bothered me in the first place."
"It bothered me a lot."
"Why?"
Udo had to fight the urge to gesture. Both of her hands were busy, sculpting and shearing off unwanted material. "Because we spend all this time working towards stuff, and changing as people. In intense situations. It has to be more… what's the word? //Catalytic.// It has to be changing us in more dramatic ways than our boring lives in baseline."
"I regularly firebomb firebases. And you are still a wizard."
"But you know what I mean. The stuff we get up to here, it gets so fraught, we get so emotional…" She frowned. "It's a mystery why we're so close together, you know? Considering all our most intense adventures happen where we can't remember them."
From the shape of her cheeks, Del was pondering these words. "Why do we spend all our time together? Why do we work so well together?"
"Why do you let me rub sand all over your… yeah?"
Del laughed. "Maybe Noè is right. The energy passes the threshold. To some extent, the experiences mark us."
"Or maybe something else has."
"The Breach?"
"The Breach."
Udo let the cloud die down, and settle into the ground. Del walked a few feet away, free in the air, to pick up her jumpsuit. Udo threw up a wall in front of her.
Del turned around. "What?"
Udo tried mightily to look past her friend, and concentrate on the new cloud of dust she was raising behind her, around the jumpsuit. "Laundry," she explained lamely.
Del laughed again, placed her hands on her hips, and watched Udo wash her clothes.
So, maybe there was something to the theory.
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Freshly scoured, Ibanez found her step had a little extra spring and pep. There were reasons why Nascimbeni might watch her as he saw her walking past, but the grin was still hard to get used to.
So she stopped, and she asked: "Why are you so damn cheerful?"
He affected innocence. "Cheerful? I'm not cheerful."
"Yes you are. You've been in a good mood since before we got here, and getting here didn't much dent it."
He frowned. It seemed forced. "We're in a bad situation, if you haven't noticed. I'm just trying to stay upbeat."
She gave him a look. He knew which one. "You've never tried to stay upbeat before. You've had the lowest morale of any of us in every other deadline. You sat most of the last one out, you were so depressed. And selfish."
He shrugged, and did not attempt to deflect the accusation. "Maybe that gave me some perspective."
"Maybe? You have to //guess,// to explain your own actions?"
Now the frown was real. "Don't twist what I'm saying."
"You're not saying anything. Noè, in every other pickle we've been in, everyone else has had to pick up your morale slack. Now you're cheering the rest of us on. Allan is hardly having to give any of his famous pep talks. //Why are you being like this?//"
He sighed in frustration. "Is it so bad? Would you rather I—"
"ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION!"
He nearly fell over. "Okay. Okay. Jesus." He reached up and scratched at his beard; for a second she'd thought he was going to shield one of his ears after the fact. "You ever have a long-term project? Years long, I mean?"
She rotated her head, to indicate the desert and the slightly darkening sky, and what they represented. "Just this one."
"Maybe you need to have more than one to get it." He stuffed his hands into his jumpsuit pockets. He'd never looked truly comfortable since they'd switched out of the vinyl vests. "I've had maybe half a dozen big ones in my career. Hundreds of little ones, but the kind that are so big and so complex, you don't know how long or how much work they're going to take? That kind of project does something to you." He started pacing, kicking at the sand. "When you start, it's easy. There's so many possibilities. If you can get over the decision paralysis, commit to one element, you can knock down the first few goals no problem. Then you start seeing the patterns."
"The patterns."
He nodded. "How much each stage takes out of you. How much you need to put in. How long they take on average. How many stages there are likely to be. How long it's going to take. By the time you reach the middle, the process seems interminable. It's harder to see the end than it was when you started. It's easy to feel, no matter how irrational it is, that you might never get done." He looked up, at nothing in particular. "But there's always a moment when you realize you're in the home stretch. You know how much more you're going to have to invest. You can picture the thing complete. That's where I am, now."
"Because there's no more flunkies," she suggested. "Just the big boss."
"And not many distractions from the final steps."
She made a small noise in the back of her throat, and then a bigger one with more shape to it. "Know what I think?"
He smiled. "Not usually."
"I think you're feeding me a line." His eyes widened. "I think you got that spiel from Harry."
This produced something halfway between a frown and a nervous smile. "You remember what Lillian said. We share a headspace. All of us sound like each other sometimes."
"I mean that I think I've heard that exact schema from Harry before. It makes sense from him. His imagination hates his guts, and stops him from getting shit done. That's not you. You either beaver away at something, or you don't. You never agonize about how much work is left to do. It doesn't paralyze you. You love your job."
"Not this part of it. Not this job." He knelt down, hands sliding down his legs, until they were seeing eye to eye. She knew his back didn't like it, but he didn't wince or complain. "Del, I love you. I love all of you. But I hate this cloud that hangs over everything. I hate that we do our best work when the cloud bursts, and then the rain washes the results away and we forget it ever happened. I'm tired of pushing a boulder uphill."
"What will you do," she asked him, "if this isn't the end of it?"
"It will be."
"How do you know?"
He shook his head. "I just know."
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"I still don't know where the power is going to come from," said Lillian. "We don't have any low-recondite slurry. Are you banking on the Breach supplying it? Because that cuts shit way too close, unless there's some sort of temporal pre-wake... what?"
Place had shot her a sardonic glance in the middle of her little rant. "Don't you trust me?"
"I don't trust you more than I trust thermodynamics."
"On this one thing, you need to take me at my word. The power will be there when you need it." He reached over and patted her on the shoulder. Somehow there was no condescension in the gesture. She had a very good radar for that.
She glanced at his grease-stained fingertips on her freckled shoulder. "You know," she grinned, "you're pretty good with your hands."
Place shot her a sardonic look as turned back to the machine, twisting a motor into place. "I'm more of a brainworker."
"I was going to work up to complimenting your brain." She glued the next key to the board, pressed it until it clicked. "The things I have to say about your brain are inappropriate."
"Well, the feeling is mutual."
"Is it?"
He leaned around the housing to get a better look at her face. She felt she was wearing one of her better expressions, and the one he gave her in return suggested she was right. "We have a lot of work left to do, you know," he said.
"I do know. But you ever hear of the shower principle?"
He sat back, and leaned against the cave wall. "Enlighten me."
"I am //amazing// in the shower."
He laughed.
"But we don't have showers, and I don't think Udo would be good for a threesome anyway. Too shy. Bit of a prude. The real shower principle is simple: some breakthroughs can't happen while you're staring at a thing. You need to step away, get perspective, do something else. Do //anything// else. Do //someone// else. Get my drift?"
He smiled an unhappy smile. "It's a flattering offer."
"But you're not going to take me up on it."
He pushed back toward the machine, which now stretched down below them to a deeper extent than the DUAL Core ever had. Udo was sinking it down, stage by stage, so they could work on the next one when the previous was done. By the time it was finished it wouldn't rival Rydderech's obelisk, by any means — though it incorporated many of the components of that shattered factory, wherein no trace of either of its occupants had been found — but it would certainly be one hell of a sunken cost. "Like I said," Place grunted, "we have a lot of work to do. And I'm confident we'll have whatever epiphanies we need, when we need them, right here in front of the object of our attentions."
"Sure," she sighed, "but that's a hell of a lot less fun."
He twisted in place, and she lost sight of his face. "Like I said, I'm flattered. But that effort might be better spent elsewhere."
"Every other man on the face of the Earth is unfuckable, buddy."
"Then we'd best get on with unfucking the Earth, hadn't we?"
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Nascimbeni found him in his so-called library, fussing over the pathetic little horde of papers he'd collected which purported to have some sort of engineering value. He sat on the edge of the rubble, and when he saw an opening in the man's attention, he asked: "What's the first thing you're gonna do when we get back?"
Harry considered for less than a second. "You first."
Nascimbeni sighed. "It's not a trick question, Harry. It's not a trap."
"There's an easy way to prove that." Harry waited. Nascimbeni folded his arms. Eventually, the archivist sighed back at him. "I bet I know what //you'll// do."
"Uh huh."
"Wettle was right. You're gonna retire."
"Nope."
"Yep."
"Nope."
"Come on." Harry pushed the papers aside and sat down on his cinderblock work station. "We all know this is the final hurdle." Talking about their dire straits like a simple matter of navigation, virtually a //fait accompli,// had become their most cherished article of faith. "Once we've got this bastard back in his cell, Allan will stop tearing up your letters."
"He doesn't tear them up. He puts them in a folder. People don't tear up letters in the real world."
"Wouldn't know. I don't live in the real world. But you know what I mean."
"I do." Nascimbeni nodded. "You're still wrong. I won't be retiring, because I'll already be retired."
Harry frowned. "How do you figure?"
"We never got to see how 2017 played out in baseline, but I've got a good feeling. I think I'm in a better place."
"Bad phrasing." Harry paused. "This is your gut feeling?"
"Literally. I feel good." Nascimbeni patted his chest theatrically. "I think it's because I feel good back in baseline, too."
"I thought only Ilse and Lillian had magic timeline powers."
Nascimbeni ignored the joke. He'd had nearly two decades of practice with this group, and more than four with the blue collar workers, who honestly were much, much funnier. "I told Lillian something I heard in the last deadline. Asked her to tell me again, when I forgot. 'Positive energy transcends all boundaries.' I believe that's true."
"She must've been some pissed off you made her memorize a platitude like that."
"Well, you all endure a lot on my behalf." He smiled. "You've been good friends."
Harry brushed it off. "Not like you're Wettle, or anything."
Nascimbeni tried to summon up a serious look. He'd never been much good at lectures. That wasn't the kind of boss he'd been, and most of his interpersonal experience was filtered through that lens. "You could stand to be kinder to him. Positive energy, remember?"
"Willie pissing me off also transcends all boundaries." Harry bit his tongue, and tried again. "I'll think about it. But you still didn't actually answer the question."
"What'll I do when I get back?" Harry nodded. "Two years in a row with you guys was a lot. Think I'll spend some time with my other family."
"Fair enough."
"Your turn. What'll you do?"
Harry told him.
"Good. Do that. As soon as the briefing's over." Nascimbeni reached out to take the other man by the shoulder. They were both getting on in years, but he still had the seniority to make the gesture work. "Give yourself the chance to second guess, and you'll never do the right thing."
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The changes were getting more and more minute, and her partner was getting less and less involved. When he began sitting back to watch her work instead of getting stuck in, she knew they had come to the final pass.
She sat back, against the machine, and reached across the narrow space to tilt his chin back so they were making eye contact. "You're going to leave soon." It wasn't a question.
"Yes." He made no effort to soften it with a sympathetic expression.
"While we're asleep?" she asked. "Or maybe in the middle of a conversation, while my back is turned. Batman bullshit."
"Both options had occurred to me."
She didn't see any point arguing. "When are you headed next?"
He smiled. "I can't tell you."
"I'll tell you, then. Not to baseline…"
"Because it doesn't exist right now."
"Even though Ilse could see it, if //she// still existed… what?"
She'd seen a flash across his face, but a flash of what precisely, she couldn't tell. He obviously thought he'd betrayed himself, however, because he flushed and turned away. "Nothing."
"You haven't learned anything here—"
"Not true," he said to the cave wall, "but go on."
"—so you won't be heading home. The fact that you're from a future that isn't ours suggests you aren't bound by the usual rules."
He looked at her again, out of the corner of his eyes. "I'm surprised you know the usual rules."
"I've had more than my share of dealings with TAD." It was only a little bit true, but she sold it hard. "You'll find that out in the next deadline."
"The next one?" He was undoubtedly terrible at poker. Maybe even at checkers. "I thought you said this was the fifth act?"
"I did. I meant the next from your perspective. The fourth act." She laughed at the face he pulled. "Don't play coy. Now we've told you what's there, you'll travel back to the previous tangent to take a gander. Which you can do, somehow. Despite the fact that they don't exist anymore."
He sighed. "Too smart for your own good, Dr. Lillihammer, or too arrogant to keep your insights to yourself. Had to show me how smart you are. That's too bad. I was enjoying our conversations." //Here it comes,// she had just enough time to think. "Maybe you'll be more circumspect the next time we meet."
//Don't hold your—//
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Lillian marched across the sands towards Udo, and for a moment she wondered if she'd done something to get herself in trouble. Then the memeticist seized her, and pulled her into a violent hug.
"What was that for?" she demanded, half out of breath, when the taller woman finally released her.
Lillian was already stalking away again. "I finally know how it feels to be you, in September. And it //blows.//"
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"He could have at least waited until the fucking thing was done," Lillian muttered, by way of ending the explanation.
Nascimbeni didn't understand the first thing about how the machine worked, but its construction was simple enough. It had, after all, been constructed by human hands, and anything humans had built, he could maintain. So while she hammered away at the keyboard she'd built to run the code she'd written on the computer the two of them had supposedly built together, he busied himself with tightening bolts and examining tolerances on the many moving parts.
"Did he do enough?" he asked. "Will you be able to finish?"
She grunted, and didn't stop typing. "Yeah, he did enough that I can finish. Not every man can claim as much."
He chuckled. It sounded wrong to his ears, laughing beneath the surface of humanity's mass grave. Del had once told him about something similar, from her time in the Zevala facility.
"It's never going to change the world," she continued. "But it might be enough for our purposes."
"Shame we didn't have it in the last deadline," he mused.
They both examined that thought as it dissipated in the air between them.
"Holy fuck," she said. For her, it was a new thought.
"Fucking Christ," she synthesized. "Allan knew about this back then. He could have…"
Nascimbeni raised a hand. "No. He must've known how long it would take, and we didn't have that sort of time."
"Mm." She sounded unconvinced. But at least she was typing again. "I guess. But //for fuck's sake,//" and she scooted off the stool of compressed sand Udo had made for her, to tower over him, "could he not have had us build it in //baseline?// Then the 2016 Breach..." She stood there, frozen in frustration, mouth still moving.
Nascimbeni leaned back, examining his handiwork. "Maybe he didn't want them to have it in baseline."
Lillian's eyes narrowed. "Them who?"
"You know them who." Nascimbeni gave her a small, sad smile. "The royal us. The Foundation. Would you trust them with a world-altering machine?"
"The Foundation //is// a world-altering machine." She stretched, the tips of her fingers touching the grainy ceiling, and groaned in satisfaction. "What does it say about us that we wouldn't want to give them a tool like that?"
"I think it says we're being smart about things."
She clicked her tongue. "Bad way to be. Doesn't pay to get smart about the people who pay you." She glanced at him again. "What would it take for you to trust them with this thing? Because you know they're going to hear that it existed, if it works."
He considered for a long time, sitting there in the dusty cave, eyes shadowed from the dim light by his battered cap. "I think," he said finally, "that I would trust them, if they were //us.//"
She laughed. "That's very sweet. But I think I'd trust us less."
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Allan's suggestion was the simplest, and they implemented it immediately.
If Placeholder's rogue doppelganger showed up in baseline to protest that he certainly had not placed any such a geas on her, preventing her from revealing the machine's details or constructing another iteration of it, well.
At least she'd be able to make a second pass at him.
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Harry hadn't quite finished scrounging, but after the third time he saw Wettle pass him, going in the same direction, he had to stop and ask. "What're you up to?"
"Walking in circles," Wettle told him, "looking busy. Nobody asks me to do anything else when I do that."
The spirit of magnanimity that had moved Harry to reach out to the other man abandoned him entirely, and he bit off a biting retort. Instead, he said "Don't you think you ought to be doing something useful? We're trying to save the world, here."
"Are we?"
"What?"
"Are we trying to save the world? Is that what we've been doing for the last fifteen years? Because Harry, if it is, I think we ought to stop." And he stamped his foot for emphasis.
"Stop saving the world?" Harry repeated.
"Stop //trying.//" Wettle was gritting his teeth, and trying to talk through it. It sounded ridiculous. He'd probably gotten the idea from some melodramatic novel. "These haven't been successes. Every time, we do a worse job. The first deadline wasn't a bad ending. The nowhere colony was just okay. The last place? A disaster. And now everybody's dead."
"You forgot the spider timeline," said Harry.
"Yes. I did. Literally." Wettle shuddered anyway. "Now, if this was a replication study, I'd say no, we have shown that if you keep giving seven people the power to shape reality, they won't do a consistently good or bad job. They'll get worse over time."
"That isn't fair." Harry tossed the piece of junk in his hand into the pile of other pieces of junk. It made a junky sort of clanging sound. "It wasn't us seven causing the problems, it was them seven. Really just one. The Uncontained."
"Did you listen to that speech? He's been doing it for our benefit."
Harry blew a raspberry. "That was just hot air. Like you."
Insults didn't even register on the other man anymore. "I don't think it was. I think he's been playing a game with us. And we've been following his rules. We even wrote them down."
"But it's bullshit," Harry protested. "What you're saying is bullshit. We haven't been making things worse, things have been //getting// worse, and we've been getting more creative in fixing them after."
"From another perspective, we've been trying the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. We've practically falsified the idea that what we're doing is going to have any lasting impact."
Harry threw up his arms. He didn't care if it looked ridiculous. He was talking to Wettle. "Well, what else were we supposed to do? The Foundation only has so many protocols for handling stuff like this."
"I dunno." The other man shrugged. "Be better than the Foundation?"
"You really are walking in circles," Harry growled. His stomach felt like it was growling, too. "This is getting us nowhere. Fifteen years later, you're still talking nonsense. You're the real replication study."
"I'm in good company," Wettle sneered.
Harry paused for a moment. "Meaning?"
"Fifteen years later, you still can't keep from insulting me long enough to take my suggestions seriously."
Harry opened his mouth to say something cutting.
And he realized that was it. That was the reason he had opened his mouth. That was what he was choosing to do with his time and energy. All the anger bled out of him like a pierced balloon. "Am I too old to change?"
"Maybe." Wettle shrugged again. "I think I am. But I know some tests you could try, if you wanna check."
"Already have one in mind."
Wettle stood there expectantly, waiting. After a moment, his face fell. "Oh. Okay. I misread that."
"Enjoy your walk. See you at the fire. I'm sorry." And he walked away, whistling furiously as if to backspace over that hurried final truth.
"Still counts," Wettle smiled.
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It was easy enough to identify what the skeletons had once belonged to. The horns were a dead giveaway.
It took them a little longer to understand what the larger, curiously hollow bones were from.
But they figured it out eventually, once they realized they were draped over the others like a protective shroud.
"I know someone who would have loved to find this," said Udo.
"I dunno." Del reached down to touch one, then thought better of it. "I think she would have liked them better alive."
"Apparently she did. In the first deadline." Udo smiled at the memory, such as it was. For the moment, that was all their friends really were.
"Ever think about how some people live their best lives in the worst worlds?" Del asked.
"Yeah."
"Ever wonder how we might have turned out, if this was the only world we have?"
"Yeah."
"Reach any comforting conclusions about that?"
"Not really, no. Plenty of uncomfortable ones."
"Yeah." Del turned her back on the strangely touching scene of long-done carnage. "Same here."
"Weird to think about Brenda." Udo sat down, and touched the sand with her hands as she always did. "She doesn't exist, now, but if we do this right, she'll exist again later. Same with the ASC."
Del sat down beside her. "ASC is the first one I thought of when you dug this up. Every other deadline, he's been there."
"He did really good in the deadlines."
"Right?" Del pumped the air with her fist. "He was a fuckin' //general// in the first one. Kept everyone's shit locked down in the third. In the second…"
"Well, second one was tough. And gross."
"Super gross. But he did his best."
"Saved all his people last time, too. Every world he's in, he's good people."
Del sighed. "They don't really vary that much, do they?"
"How do you mean?"
"The bad ones are bad, and the good ones are good. You'd think the situations would change them some. Maybe not a lot, but //some.//''
"Mm." Udo nodded. "Couch is always a shit. When she exists."
"Always."
"Alis always comes around."
"And fucks Wettle."
"Right," Udo laughed, "so she's good //and// bad."
Del laughed with her. "And then there's Carter."
//Aww.// "I feel bad about Carter."
"I feel bad about all of them." Del traced her own name in the sand. "You know the only difference between all those versions of all those people, and the versions that lived here before the end?" Udo shook her head. "These ones ceased to exist a little earlier. But they all went the way of the dodo."
"Or the thunderbird."
"Or the thunderbird."
Udo started doodling in the sand as well. "I guess the only thing that's left of any of them is what we do with the worlds they left behind."
"And whatever Lil remembers."
"That must be a bit of a burden. You think?"
Del nodded. "Funny it ended up being her."
"What do you mean?"
"Harry's the archivist, but Lillian's the archive."
"I never thought about it like that. Probably don't tell her."
"I don't tell her anything." Del affected a fierce look. "When history gets around to me, I want the fuckers to have to //guess.//"
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They were standing at the entrance to the cave when Lillian emerged. "It's done."
"It works?" said Udo.
"It //should// work, in a very much reduced sense." She dusted off her hands. Some of the dust was very clingy; they were been digging very deep into the earth, by now. "Won't know until we try it. Probably everyone should stand well back when that happens."
Wettle looked down at the clipboard he'd been using to record the results of each startup test. "I'm pretty sure it won't explode."
Lillian still couldn't get her hands fully clean, until suddenly all the remaining grime slipped off at once. She mouthed //thank you// at Udo, who smiled.
"Standing well back might be a bad idea," said Harry. "If we get a repeat of—"
"There isn't going to be a repeat," Lillian interrupted. "We have reached the end of //recursion.// There will be //finality// this time, ladies and gents. You have all six of my inviolable words on that."
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The last thing that needed doing before their date with destiny was a little geological restratification. They'd been planning it for weeks, between the two engineers and Udo, but she still felt the enormity of the task in full when she began.
After years of dreaming of the desert, she was finally standing in the middle of it.
And then, with a flick of her wrist, she wasn't.
Red dust tinged with the remnants of the vats which had once contained it rose from the depths all around her, mingling with the grey, and as it all flowed up into the air and twisted and twirled around the smallest part of her, which stood outstretched in the middle of her tempest, Udo Okorie //became// the desert.
And then, as she had been doing all along, she changed.
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McInnis was taking a final stroll around the altered landscape when he saw Nascimbeni standing alone, looking up at the colourless sky yet again. The ground made no sound as he tread upon it, but by now they could sense each others' presence with no visible or audible cues. Life sensing life, in the midst of the leavings of death.
Nascimbeni turned to face him, and McInnis moved to stand by his side.
They looked at each other, and then they looked away, up at the faintest impressions of distant stars which struggled to peer down in judgement through the thick haze of the end of days.
"I know," Nascimbeni said. To anyone else, it would have been apropos of nothing. "I know."
McInnis patted him on the back, and smiled, and they waited until what passed for darkness had fallen before heading off to join the others.
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It might have been their final night on Earth.
In a very real sense, that made it potentially the Earth's final night.
They piled the fuel high, with no regard for the days to come. If there were days to come, they would be dark, and likely brief.
They didn't speak.
They sang until their voices were useless for anything but the lowest of whispers, and then as the embers died down, they held each other close. The seven. The Sampis.
The Survivors.
And then they broke apart one final time, to see out the eve of destruction on their own individual terms.
Though not, entirely, individually.
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Del stretched across him in complete satisfaction. There really was something to that whole 'Tomorrow we may die' thing.
Nascimbeni held her tight.
"Sex on a beach," she sighed. "Ultimate edition."
"Imagine asking Udo to get the sand out of our cracks," he snickered.
She'd never heard him snicker before. Really, there were so many things they hadn't done. "So," she attempted, while the endorphins still made her want to, "we never really talked."
He gave her a look of pretended unclarity. "About what?"
"Oh." She pulled his hat down over his eyes — he wasn't wearing anything else — and then pulled it up again. "About us. You can't even say it, huh?"
He pulled it back down again. "I can take things seriously. Just not…"
"Your things."
"Yeah." He blinked as she pulled the hat off entirely, and frisbeed it across the sparkling sands. "What do we have to talk about? I think we understand each other pretty well."
She pressed her head to his greying chest. Truth be told, her hair was greying a little too; it was just doing so very evenly, so most people hadn't noticed yet. "It didn't turn out how anybody wanted."
"What does?" he asked the sky.
She wasn't going to be placated so easily. "We've had half a dozen different chances to be the people we want to be. And we keep just being the same people."
He shifted, and the sands accommodated the new position as no bed ever could. "You can't change the nature of a thing without losing some of its energy, Del." His voice was very soft, with none of the stress she was used to hearing beneath each word. "And you can't make a thing pretend to be something it isn't without that same cost. That's what people don't understand about getting older. They think it's about turning into your perfect self. It isn't. It's about stopping the heat shed, when you finally figure out who you are, and just decide to slow down and //be// that person."
She could feel his heart beating through her cheek. "So, you and I are people who disappoint other people."
"No." He reached up to stroke the hair that flowed down the back of her neck, and onto his shoulder. "I think that's still us at an intermediate stage."
She sighed like she had never sighed before. Of course, she had. They'd all been sighing so much, it was practically their favourite form of punctuation. "What's the final stage, then? Can we skip to that, while we've still got gas in the tank?"
He tugged very lightly on the hair, and she looked up and into his eyes. "I don't think you disappoint people, Delfina. You've never disappointed me."
She kissed him. "You've disappointed me plenty."
He blew a raspberry into her lips. "Take a number. There's a queue."
"But I could have been better about how I handled it. I wanted you to be something you aren't."
He squeezed her closer. "I wanted that, too. Not you. Me. I wanted to be what you wanted. I wanted to be what Gallo and Flora wanted me to be, more than that. But I've only ever just been a worse version of myself."
She slid onto his chest, and pressed her forehead into his. "This isn't a new lesson for me. I've known for twenty years that you can't live for what other people expect. But…"
His brown eyes were always so sad, even when he was happy. "But?"
"But living for just yourself kind of sucks, too."
He stroked her cheek, and whispered, "Yeah."
"So, what do you think we ought to do about that?"
"What we've already been doing." And he held her even closer still. "Whatever makes both sides happy."
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For years they had wondered what had lived in the fourth sublevel containment chamber, obliterated there by the force of the Breach, despite the distance. It had made perfect sense at the time that such a thing could occur; the case of the duplicated DUAL Core, even farther away from AAF-D, was only one piece of evidence among thousands. Something had risen up out of that pit, and in this case the correlation had seemed obviously causal: it had lit the fire, and been burned by it. Lillian had written her speculation into the SCP-5243 file itself. They'd been blaming the Uncontained for starting the Breach somehow and sealing its own fate ever since they'd begun glimpsing the scattered remnants of its former existence in their archives, and the conclusion still seemed sound.
To the extent that the Uncontained still lived in baseline, it lived in the Breach. Unlike the Victims, it never came back — or rather, it came back as the Victims. The transmutation was apparently irreversible. There was no way to restore its mundane form. No way to restore reality.
But actually meeting the thing had made all the difference. It was like a light switch had been flipped, and they could focus on things which had until that instant been in perfect darkness. It was embarrassingly obvious what had actually occurred on the eighth of September, 2002, but somehow none of them had ever been able to realize it until now.
She hoped, she desperately hoped, that they might get the chance to actually do something about that revelation.
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They assembled beside the 001 chamber, in a neat little row, as the grey dot appeared on the horizon. There was nothing more to say, so they waited in silence until it was close enough that they could see the shit-eating grin plastered across its plain, unremarkable features.
"Happy anniversary," it called out. Their nemesis. The Uncontained. Not a man, but a thing. Implacable and ambiguous, but in no sense unknown.
The Beast in the Breach.
"Not so happy," Lillian answered.
The Uncontained took off Scout's fedora, and flung it into its own path across the sand. "I thought you'd have more to show for yourselves. But then, conservatism is never creative, is it?" It made to tread on the hat, but stopped before reaching it, having spotted the stone. "What's this?"
There was a simple marker on the north side of the chamber. Nascimbeni's hat sat on top.
"Oh, my." It shook its head, very gravely. "I thought I would have noticed a thing like that. When did it happen?"
"Three months ago," said McInnis.
"He figured you'd come back." Ibanez's voice was tight with grief. "He didn't want to be here waiting. The only thing worse than Armageddon is a self-satisfied lecture."
"I'm surprised." The Uncontained walked from one end of their rank to the other, searching their faces for an explanation, or perhaps just trying to make them sweat. "I thought you'd all be more resilient. I wonder where that energy went?"
"What energy?" Harry snapped.
"Oh, don't pretend you don't know."
"Whatever makes us special," said Udo.
"It doesn't make //you// special," the Uncontained sneered. "It //honours// you. And shames you! It is a blessing and a curse. You will bear it for the rest of your days, may they not be all too long. Which of you will be the next to die, I wonder? It's always so exciting, to reach the final chapter of a thing."
"Or maybe," said Harry, "there's still a few left yet."
Del stuck out her jaw at the preening old thing. "You strike me as the kind of guy who flips to the back of the book to see how it ends, before he starts."
The Uncontained made a soft //tut tut// sound in her general direction. "I've always known how this ends, Delfina Ibanez. I've seen it end before. I will see it end again. But this will be a special ending, because it will be the only one I share with the six of //you.//"
Wettle yawned. "So you came back to gloat, huh."
"Of course. You were all so shaken by our first meeting. So alone, so helpless. That was invigorating." It actually giggled. "Oh, but then you //talked,// and you //talked,// and honestly I preferred the sound of my footfalls on the splintered ground. That reminded me of myself. Of what I'd achieved. You, you were just the death rattle of a vanquished enemy. But!" It clapped its gnarled hands together. Each of them, individually, was sharply reminded of Site-43's interim director of January 2003. "I did want to check in, remind myself how utterly defeated you are, and perhaps see if you'd devised any clever means of attack that I might effortlessly sidestep. Is it coming soon? Surely there must be //something.//"
McInnis spread his hands wide. "No weapons."
"No?" The Uncontained looked crestfallen, but like all of its emoting, it was transparently no more than an act. "That's disappointing. I thought it might be fun to show you what I'm made of. What I'm //really// made of. It takes rather a lot to disentangle my atoms. Rather a lot. You have no idea how difficult it was, how long I had to work at it…"
Harry caught the tangent being waved in his face, as a matter of politeness and duty. "Are you saying you killed yourself? Are you saying you //intentionally// caused the Breach?"
The Uncontained laughed in his face. "Of course I did! What else was I going to do? Sixty years trapped in that //hole// you call a home." The look of mirth became a look of rage, and this time it looked halfway legitimate. "The silver jubilee of my captivity. So I leached a little of myself into the pipes around me, day by day, in increments so small that your finest mechanisms couldn't detect them — not so long as I sapped their strength, too, as I drained my own into my surroundings. I seeded your factory with myself, and when the moment was right, I twisted just //so// and whipped up the froth to a hurricane roar."
"And obliterated yourself," Udo finished.
It acknowledged the point by miming a tip of the hat, the real article still resting in the sand behind it. "I may have overdone it just a little. But the results were //so// spectacular! It's been centuries since I had so many edifying experiences. You've shown me such fascinating new worlds, br—" It cleared its throat. "…my friends. It's a shame we've reached the end of the road."
Lillian gave it the sweetest, most innocent smile she could manage. Like the Uncontained's expressions, it was not remotely believable. "You think we're on the same road, still?"
Their ancient enemy clapped again. "Oh, here it comes. Is it going to be terribly clever? I'm very excited. I came back here for this. Don't let me down!"
Now her smile was more genuine. It was the kind of thing a small vole might have seen at the precise termination of its life. "Where exactly do you believe we are?"
The Uncontained blinked. It looked down at the stone, then looked up at the chamber. "Hmm. I'm not sure I see…"
//BOOM.//
It was already very pale, so it was perhaps just their collective imagination that it seemed turn a shade yet paler. "What?"
//BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.//
Something in the far, far distance was apparently exploding.
"It seems you're a little late to the party," McInnis smiled. "Are you sure you followed the directions properly?"
Udo snapped her fingers, and the containment chamber's four walls suddenly collapsed in perfect tandem. There was no roof. The Uncontained stared at her, then suddenly seemed to see the landscape around it for the first time, realizing the incongruities. Its eyes narrowed, then widened to a comical extent.
Harry tried not to laugh as his nervous energy combined with the sight that followed in a volatile mix. "Moves fast, for an old guy."
Del cracked her neck. "We all do. And we're gonna have to, now. Udo?"
The micamancer was already flexing her fingers, and tossed back her hood with a flourish. "Hold on to your granules, brothers and sisters."
[!-- [[=image Meet_the_Monster.jpg]] --]
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It was perfect.
It wasn't perfect. It never had been, and it probably never would be. But it was just as he remembered it, which was just as it had been. Because of all of them, he knew it best. Every turn. Every line. Above and below board. He'd built most of the place himself, and practically every inch of the segment that mattered most today.
As the sands rose to carry him up into the congealing form of Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-D, to finish his final shift at Site-43, Nascimbeni imagined Gallo and Flora placing their hands on his shoulders in support, and so there they really were.
They would have been proud.
Perhaps, somewhere, somehow, they were.
He almost wept when the first explosion tore through the tanks, and he felt it in his bones.
Faster than he'd expected, but no faster than they'd allowed for, the Uncontained appeared. It was running, though its purloined formal wear and the depth of the shifting sands made for relatively slow going. It was hard to tell at this distance, but he was sure it was furious at the deception. Nascimbeni's pillar of sand reached the thing that blotted out the sky, the hovering mothership-sized bulk of the dying refinery, and the membranes of Rock Bottom slipped past him, and now he was standing at the airlock approach for the seventeenth and final time.
He reached into his jacket, removed the recording device he'd found in the lining of Wettle's labcoat — he had no idea how it had gotten there, and he knew that he probably never would — clicked the button, and began to speak.
"If anyone's listening," he said, as the fourteen mighty BOOMs split the air, "this is what winning sounds like."
And he walked through the door, and into the madness within.
He'd seen it all so many times, from so many angles, it had no power whatsoever over him. The energies coursing through the halls lapped at his feet, and teased at his hair — he did wish he could have kept his hat, but a ruse was a ruse was a ruse — and he strolled through them like they weren't even there. It wasn't a long walk, not with the winds of change at his back, and the euphoria of finally taking the plunge that he'd suffered so many sweat-soaked nightmares over for oh, so many years.
And there they were, in the control room. Panicking. Not because they were fools, not because they'd been poorly trained, and not because he hadn't been there. Because they were human beings, and what was happening around them was incomprehensibly inhuman.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck," David Markey was shouting. "Okay. Try this. No. NO." He jolted across the hideous yellow tiles with their ancient, pitted grouting, gripped the console by the window with one hand, and hammered at it madly with the other. Behind him, Romolo Ambrogi was heaving at a stuck valve on a lime green pipe, sweating profusely, eyes wide with fear, forehead lined with worry. Beside him, the redline telephone hung off the hook. He gave up on whatever he was trying to do, and snatched up the phone instead. Nascimbeni wondered who his nephew was going to attempt to call.
He rapped sharply on the glass, and Ambrogi turned to look at him. The expression of relief, and perhaps — it was the briefest of glimpses, but Nascimbeni knew the young man's face so well — even a sudden rush of familial love was all he needed to see. He closed his eyes, and he heard the pipe burst, and though he knew what happened next, he also knew it could no longer hurt any of them. Not really.
He headed back towards the airlock as Markey burst from the far door, fleeing far ahead of him, and whistled along with the tune that was playing in the pipes. He'd never bothered to learn its name.
The tiles beside him cracked, then were flung aside, and in a spray of dirt and polymer and white-hot orichalcum fluid, the ragged figure of the Uncontained crawled out to confront him. Nascimbeni steered around the hole in the floor, and continued on his way.
"What do you hope to gain from this?" the very, very old man-thing snarled, joints popping as it wormed back into its proper shape. "You're not even //trying// to get it right!" It had to struggle to keep up; Nascimbeni set a brisk pace. They only had six minutes, after all.
He didn't begrudge the beast its answer.
But he did intend to make it work for it.
"What do you mean?" he asked innocently, as the parody of Vivian Scout fell into lockstep with him.
AAF-D itself responded first, with a series of new explosions, and a frantic klaxon.
"There's no point to this self-flagellation," the Uncontained was saying, and its speaking voice undercut the cacophony with supernatural precision. "Unless you're trying to remind yourself of how badly you screwed up."
Nascimbeni stuck his hands in the pockets of his vinyl jacket. "I don't need a reminder. I've seen every scene a thousand times."
"Something to remember your vanished world by?" The Uncontained was laughing, though there was still a note of uncertainty. "It was a clever trick, moving the containment chamber, making me think the refinery would reappear over //there,// while you carried out your dirty little protocols //here.// But now you're finding it's too much, aren't you? Too much for only one to manage." A withered hand fell on Nascimbeni's shoulder. "You should have all made your stand here, together. At least then you would have failed in dignity, not //disgrace.//"
A voice called out from around the next bend, echoing through the halls: "Is there anyone in there?"
The Uncontained froze.
It was Nascimbeni's voice.
A translucent orange tentacle went snaking through them, intent on its prey. They didn't feel a thing.
Nascimbeni smiled at his walking partner. "How fast can you run?
In the distance, though not so far distant that they couldn't hear, there was an explosion.
Another.
And another.
[!-- [[=image Nascimbenis_Final.jpg]] --]
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The tortured sands were a brain the size of Ipperwash Provincial Park, crackling with electricity and calculating at yettaflops per second. Probably it would kill her, but she didn't care. She was the vengeful earth, and she was on the rise.
The desert lifted them, the five of them and the beating human heart which was Udo Okorie, cliffs of dead soil sloughing off and coming back on the upswing. A demicontinental shelf ascending a kilometer in the air to catch the frame of the true AAF-D as it suddenly, without warning, blinked back into existence in the sky. They would never know if it would have fallen, so perfectly did she catch and form herself around it. She burned herself from the inside out with the fury of the energies unleashed by the uncapped pipes, and the sand solidified to tile, and she was the fragments of Site-43 and the bedrock on which it sat.
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"How fast can you run?" the decrepit old technician repeated. "Because if you don't like my show, there's a better one on down the road."
He pressed one hand to the tiles on the wall, and a skin of beige paper spread out from his fingertips, covering the whole thing in a matter of seconds. Then he turned to face the Uncontained, winked, and snapped his fingers.
And the wallpaper turned a violent, victorious shade of pink.
"STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY ALERT — AAF-D," a robotic voice intoned.
Nascimbeni laughed, and blinked his eyes.
And he was gone.
An arc of lightning streaked through the air, and the Uncontained lifted its hand to touch it. Like everything else, it wasn't real.
"…well," it said. And it nodded. "Aren't you clever."
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Far, far below, in the bosom of the earth, Nascimbeni blinked his eyes. He was back in the vast cavern that housed their terrible, towering reconstruction of Wirth's world-shaping machine, as though he had never left.
Which, of course, he hadn't.
The scream from far above rang out above the din with perfect clarity.
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Udo shaped a golem of her smaller self, almost as an afterthought, and it rose above the others, carried into the cradle of what was becoming Applied Occultism. She sent Lillian skipping to a security station that leapt into being around her at the moment she arrived. She carried Del to the bullpen, grains compacted in a passable imitation of stucco, McInnis to his office — here she focused on the redline and its complex wires, linking up with the feed from the F-D monitoring room which terminated in midair — Harry to the sandy salt mines, Wettle to the site of his final fall — he was like a cat in reverse, and she had a damnably hard time setting him upright on the floor — and when all of that was done, she cloaked her human body in reflective silicon and sent it to the airlock approach to attend to the ghosts. She felt them forming inside of her, their breath, their confusion and fear, and the malefic force that waited in their hearts to pounce, and in every way but the physical, she grinned.
She was the storm on her own horizon.
She was the cloud of her dreams.
It struck 6:21 for real at the twin Sites-43, and right on cue, the Breach went on.
[!-- [[=image Okorie_Sandstorm.jpg]] --]
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The sand on the cave wall glowed white hot, and there it was. Seething with rage. Caked with sweat and soot. As pathetic a picture of a god as Nascimbeni could imagine.
The cave shuddered and shook as though the firmament itself were coming apart. But he didn't care.
It was over.
"I've really wanted to tell you something," he smiled. "For a long time. For a very, very long time."
"You know," the Uncontained growled, "you really //do// remind me of my br—"
He spat in its face. "Fuck you."
It laughed at him. "Is that all you've got? The last, wet gasp of your vanished race? Are you //spent// at last, old man?"
"That's right. But you're about to wish that I wasn't." He tugged the leads off his temples, and in an instant there was a terrible sound of thunder from overhead. "You ever hear of a thing called DISCIDIUM Protocol?" He grinned. "Welcome to the final teardown. This time, we're doing it //right.//"
The Uncontained didn't even seem to hear. "I should free you from your misery."
It raised its red right hand.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said.
And then he clicked off the recorder, at the moment the sky fell.
[!-- [[=image Nascimbeni_Uncontained.jpg]] --]
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They'd never known if DISCIDIUM Protocol would actually work, of course. Certainly they could never have tested it in baseline. But as Wheeler and Xyank had shown them, in the deadlines, all bets were off.
Only one of them made it out of the collapsing cave alive, but they were both around to witness the finale, in one way or another.
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The Uncontained opened its eyes.
For a moment, it didn't realize what had happened. Then it saw where it was, and who was there with it, and it shrieked in fury and despair.
As though he hadn't even noticed, Bernabé Del Olmo glared down at it from across the interrogation table. "You and I have a lot to talk about."
"No…"
"I've just spent over a year disassembling your little //cult,// piece by piece." Del Olmo smiled cruelly. "And you know what I've learned?"
The Uncontained moved to stand, but found that it couldn't. Its hands were cuffed, and it was chained to the table, and everything it might have mustered to change that state of affairs was presently flowing through the pipes and bursting the vats and coruscating up to strike at the hated other, and there was nothing it could do to draw itself back in time. "We have to get out of here," it whispered, despising how weak it sounded.
Del Olmo shook his head. "No. Better than that. Better than just //afraid.//"
"Listen to me!"
But it was powerless to alter the script. "They're wondering if you were ever what you claimed to be," Del Olmo told it. "Some of them think you're just a //myth.// There's whole cells out there who think you're allegorical, friend. You might as well never have been anthropomorphized; you're devolving back into a universal constant, in the //giftschreiber// imaginary at least. I wonder if that has any power over reality."
"We need to leave! It's going to—"
Del Olmo slammed a fist on the table, but kept speaking in a voice of deadly calm. "Once the last of them forgets you even existed, what will happen? I know you aren't a thoughtform, not really, but you're not exactly a human being either. Your chaotic myth needs //some// stability to keep itself intact, and we've deprived you of that. But it doesn't have to be that way." He took a deep breath, and the Uncontained stood up and opened its mouth to cry out again, but the ghost pushed it back down again with a strength it recognized as its very own. "If you talk to me, //really// talk to me for the first time, it's possible I'll be able to help. I might put in a good word with your estranged children. Let them know that daddy still exists. Because you and I both know that both sides have to keep up their strength, if the world's going to keep spinning on."
"You imbecile!" the Uncontained shouted. "You were always //such// an imbecile! You think you can stop what's coming?" It raised its voice as high as it would go, stared directly into the security camera, and screamed: "Do //any// of you think you can stop what's coming?! Because you—"
As he always did, Del Olmo suddenly lunged forward and flipped the table. The edge struck the Uncontained in the chin, and it fell to the floor, blood pouring from its mouth. "LISTEN TO ME!" Del Olmo was pleading, his deep voice resonating with equal parts hope and rage. "Listen to me, you perverse little //shit.// He's going to win, do you understand? He is going to //win.// I don't want that. You don't want that. So drop the smug snake act and //talk to me!//" There was no getting through to him. Del Olmo was definitely hopping mad, the fluorescent lights reflecting crazily off his bald pate as he gesticulated furiously at…
—nothing. A pillar of superheated plasma boiled away the ceiling, walls, floors and tables, erasing his interview subject, cascading up through Applied Occultism from AAF-D.
And the Uncontained died in white.
[!-- [[=image Uncontained_Del_Olmo.jpg]] --]
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The sands fell like rain as Udo shrank back into herself. They would fall for an hour, tumbling on a breeze that hadn't been there until now. Perhaps it was the displacement of air from two instances of Site-43 popping into existence at an interval, a kilometer apart. Perhaps it was something more meaningful.
Ibanez passed through at a run, grains striking and sticking and pricking her skin. She wiped them out of her eyes, and discovered she was already weeping before she found him, and knew why.
Noè Nascimbeni sat at the centre of a tremendous pit of disturbed earth ringed with a debris field which stretched as far as she could see in every direction, the remnants of the machine and its supports, and the false Site-43. He was leaning on a twisted control panel stained with his own blood, sparking out the last of its power into the ever-so-slightly deepening gloom, and as she tore across the ruined landscape a lifetime too late, she saw he was clutching at his chest.
The clamour of the collapsing world died down, and she heard him begin to cough, and her heart leapt… but no. He wasn't coughing.
He threw back his head and laughed at the sky, and by the time she reached him there were tears streaking across his face, and his eyes were shining very bright, and he was smiling more joyfully and more innocently than she'd ever seen in all the years since they'd met, and he was dead.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/56-this-forgotten-babylon/DL_56_01_Nascimbeni_Dies.jpg]]
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/55-wonders-of-my-hand | previous-title=Wonders of My Hand
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/57-the-only-shadow | next-title=The Only Shadow
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub | hub-title=The Breach Goes On: Deadlined
]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
[[<]]
The page title quotes Horace Smith, "Ozymandias," The Examiner, 1818, in the public domain.
Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. The image of the following character utilized the following photographic references as well:
Noè Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822 and
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992
> **Filename:** Everything!
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-10-02T23:13:00
|
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"science-fiction",
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This Forgotten Babylon - SCP Foundation
| 40
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1456966923
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/56-this-forgotten-babylon
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57-the-only-shadow
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
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<p><strong>The Only Shadow</strong><br/>
All ends.</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank">More by this author!</a></strong></p>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>The Only Shadow</span></h1>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
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<p>Ibanez supported Udo, still unsteady on her feet, as she sheeted the sand over top of him. They were both weeping freely. Harry was trying to hold it back, and failing. Allan's eyes were closed, and he was saying something softly under his breath. Perhaps a prayer. Wettle was sitting in the sand, like a toddler who had just been told something so big and terrible that he couldn't understand how he was meant to react to it. Then he leaned forward, into the sand, grabbed a handful and added to the grave.</p>
<p>One by one, they followed suit.</p>
<p>And buried the Survivor together.</p>
<p>Udo wouldn't need to cut her hair this time.</p>
<p>She had found on coming back to herself that her body had been scoured of everything not jointed down.</p>
<p>Del sat by the sad little heap of grey dust, and trailed just a little more through her fingers. "He knew this was going to happen."</p>
<p>Harry sat down beside her, nursing the hamstring he'd pulled dancing into the Salt Mines on wings of sand. "Did he tell you so?"</p>
<p>Del's voice was softer than he'd ever heard it. "No. But he did. I know he did because…" She smiled, and took up another handful. "I knew him."</p>
<p>"I also know," said Lillian, "but it's because a wizard told me so." She sat down beside Harry. The other two joined them; Wettle had never stood up. Lillian gestured at Udo, whose head was bobbing in obvious exhaustion. "And I don't mean her. I mean Rydderech. He told me one of the stars in our constellation was going to flare out. It was predetermined. Noè was never intending on making it out of this alive."</p>
<p>She'd hardly ever called him by his first name before. It sounded strange in Harry's ears. To most of them, he'd always just been Nascimbeni.</p>
<p>But not to Del. She fixed Lillian with what was probably meant to be a glare, but she clearly didn't have it in her yet, so it was simply a frustrated stare. "You didn't think to tell anyone?"</p>
<p>Lillian shrugged. "And what? Stop whoever it was from sacrificing themselves and saving reality? No. I didn't think about doing that. I respect all of you too much."</p>
<p>"Even me?" Wettle asked.</p>
<p>She took another handful of dust. Rather than sprinkling it on the grave, she sprinkled it on Wettle's pant leg. "It was never going to be <em>you.</em>"</p>
<p>He sneezed. "Yeah."</p>
<p>Harry looked up at Lillian. She didn't let her less explosive emotions show easily, but he knew what the tightness around her eyes meant full well. "You would have been fine with me sacrificing myself?"</p>
<p>She put a protective arm around him, as though there were still somehow a chance he might try. "<em>Fuck</em> no. I've been watching you like a hawk. That martyr complex. You're such a pain in my ass, Harry."</p>
<p>But she was smiling while she said it.</p>
<p>Del wasn't. "Sure. <em>He</em> couldn't do it, but Noè was fine. Noè could die."</p>
<p>"Of the seven of us," said Allan, "only he and I could make such a decision informed."</p>
<p>Udo frowned. "What do you mean?"</p>
<p>Allan always had the look of a man who made up his mask in the morning, and didn't take it off until he went to bed, if even then. But right now, the mask was slipping, if only slightly. His voice was a little hoarse. His smile was a little bit tight. "You need the full perspective of age to know precisely what will be lost, when you pass from this world. What you will miss. Who will miss you. What damage will be done. True sacrifice is only possible when one can see every line on that terrible ledger. Sacrifice in haste is merely foolishness. Chief Nascimbeni…" He swallowed, and looked down at the little pile of earth. "<em>Noè,</em> was no fool."</p>
<p>"He had a son." Del put her hand on the top of the grave, imprinting it with the outline of her fingers and palm. "A granddaughter."</p>
<p>"He knew they were safe," said Harry.</p>
<p>Wettle brushed the dust off his pant leg, transferring it to the other in the process. "How is everybody knowing things they can't know, now? Am I the only one who can't?"</p>
<p>Harry realized what the old man had been up to in the weeks before the Breach. "He told me he could sense that his affairs were in order back in baseline. Christ, I should have known what he was planning."</p>
<p>"It was a plan we all agreed to," Udo reminded him. "Just because he was okay with dying doesn't mean he wanted it to happen, or knew it would, or that we didn't all know it was possible. It probably just gave him courage, knowing all he had to worry about was not failing."</p>
<p>"And he did not fail," said Allan. It had the timbre of an incantation.</p>
<p>Del seemed even smaller than usual, her cheekbones more prominent, her cheeks hollow. "I guess that goes on his tombstone."</p>
<p>"He could still be alive when the timeline ticks over," said Udo. She didn't sound confident. "We've never… lost anyone, before. Not one of us."</p>
<p>"Lots of people who aren't us have died," Wettle reminded them, "and been okay when we got back home. Logically, we should expect the same for him. I published a paper on this after the last deadline. Yes, Harry, in <em>JORTS.</em>"</p>
<p>Harry raised his hands defensively. "I didn't say anything."</p>
<p>"We're different, though," said Lillian. "We know we're different."</p>
<p>Udo still had enough energy left to flash her orange eyes one more time. "Maybe <em>good</em> different. We've got abilities nobody else has. Advantages. The deadlines are like games, and we're the player characters. There's no reason to think that what happens in a deadline doesn't <em>stay</em> in the deadline."</p>
<p>"We move to where our counterparts are standing when the shift comes," said Lillian. "We keep our memories when we arrive. We aren't the versions of ourselves that lived these lives. I think he'll be gone when we get back." She added yet another handful of dust to the pile, at the same time Del did, and their fingers briefly touched. "I'm sorry."</p>
<p>Del stood up. "Don't be sorry for me. Be sorry for Flora and Gallo."</p>
<p>"If we truly have lost him," Allan said as she walked a few paces away, aimlessly, "it is a terrible shame, and I will miss him. We should hold a service, in the time that's left to us here."</p>
<p>"What if we do that," said Wettle, "and then find out he's fine in baseline?"</p>
<p>"Then we will have found the words to tell him things he ought to know about himself." Allan stood as well, and straightened his rumpled jumper. "Things we should have told him long ago."</p>
<p>There was no podium, and there were no chairs. Udo had fashioned all manner of strange things from the surrounding sands over the past year, but it would have felt tacky and crass. So they stood in a horseshoe around their fallen friend, and made it a conversation.</p>
<p>"I have known few people at Site-43 longer than I knew Noè Nascimbeni." The Director's voice was strong, though it seemed a new line had appeared in the middle of his forehead, and his eyes were narrowed as though the words gave him pain. "He was a model member of personnel, and I mean this literally: I modelled myself, to an extent, on his example."</p>
<p>The others shared a glance. This was new information.</p>
<p>"He was dedicated to his work, and he cared about his people. He gave everything he had to give." Allan drew a deep breath. "And when I asked him to give more than that, he did. Time and again. And now I have used him up, and he is gone. It is unfair, but in this he acts as a new example to me: the potential extent of what we might lose in this crusade against nihilism which has absorbed all our lives since September the eighth, 2002." To their astonishment, all of them, there was the faintest of quavers in their leader's voice now. "It has cost me one of my oldest friends. I should have been a better friend to him, and perhaps a worse Director. It is to his credit that he rarely complained about these disparities, and went willingly to the end that now has taken him. I do not expect to see his ghost in the halls when next the hour rolls on, going through the motions like the other souls lost to this anomaly. I believe he has found his rest." He seemed to shrink, as Del had before him. "It was well-earned."</p>
<p>Del's mouth was a tiny, compressed slit of flesh, and it parted just a little as she choked: "I love you, Noè." And she turned away.</p>
<p>"He once helped me get my hand out of a vending machine slot," said Harry. All of them laughed; though her back was turned, they could see that even Del was shuddering, and not all to the bad. "I was going for one of those marshmallow rice crispies we used to have, and it didn't fall down when I paid. When he saw me, he said, and I quote: 'Isn't that basically cannibalism?'" He glanced between them apologetically. "I'm sorry. That's all I know how to do at a moment like this."</p>
<p>Udo placed a hand on his shoulder. "It was the right thing. He'd have appreciated it." She took off her glasses, and rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "He was the only one who knew I was having an affair with Dougall."</p>
<p>Wettle turned to stare at her, very nearly trampling the edge of the grave. "You what?"</p>
<p>She continued her confession without directly responding. "He found sand where there shouldn't have been any sand, and he pretended not to notice. He felt so guilty over things like that, later on. Letting things slide. He thought he was responsible for every bad thing that happened, and none of the good things. He cared about people…" She shook her head. "I think he spent so much time with machines because he cared about people too much. I always understood that about him. People can be a lot, sometimes. But he always tried. He had to keep so many secrets for so many people. More than one secret for Dougall. I know he wanted to tell Phil about his brother, but he knew it was better left unsaid. He wanted to tell his son why he hadn't been there for his family. Why what he was doing was important. But I don't think he would have, even if he'd been allowed, because he didn't really believe it was more important than the people he loved." She sighed. "He just knew it had to be done. I think that's what you mean, Allan. He had to be sure that burying his head in his work was the wrong thing for his family, for it to have meaning for him. It had to have a price, or it was worthless."</p>
<p>"There is little merit in an easy sacrifice," Allan agreed. "Noè was meritorious in the extreme."</p>
<p>"I liked him." Lillian brushed at the ragged line of the grave, rationalizing it just a little with the toe of her shoe. "That's it. He was a good guy. I can say I'll never forget him, but that's true of everybody. I thought he complained too much, and I thought it was gross that you were banging him, Del, but he was a no-nonsense get-er-done son of a bitch, and I'll probably miss him a lot when Allan replaces him with some idiot our age or younger with a boutique mental illness and a philosophy of engineering involving words like 'paradigm' and 'buy-in'."</p>
<p>They didn't laugh this time, but they definitely all stared at her. Even Del, who finally turned around and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand.</p>
<p>"The second-last of the taciturn curmudgeons," Lillian continued, "and we'd all be a whole lot happier if Trevor had died instead. Flora and Jo would probably both be better off. But life's a bitch, and death is a dick. At least Noè fucked off in style. I'm going to have a hell of a time planning a more spectacular exit." She turned to address the grave, and the simple stone they'd placed at its head, for Udo to engrave when her strength returned. Not that anyone would ever see the inscription. It was simply a matter of the fitness of things. "You raised the bar, old man, and it's not easy to impress me." She exhaled, messily, then looked to Wettle with the ghost of a sneer. "Well, go on. Talk about how he was the only one who never made fun of poor old Willie. Make this about you."</p>
<p>Wettle was staring at his hands. "I was going to say that every breath we've taken in five different realities came out of fans he kept spinning; every step we took was on floors he kept polished; he kept the roof over our heads and the lights on and the waste out of sight, out of mind. We're how much percent water? Out of his tanks and pipes, mostly. The Uncontained didn't kill him. It couldn't. Not without killing all of us, too."</p>
<p>He shrugged.</p>
<p>"Holy shit," said Harry.</p>
<p>"If he really is gone in baseline," Del whispered, "I'm making you repeat that at his funeral."</p>
<p>Wettle nodded. "Of course."</p>
<p>They stood there in silence for a few minutes, contemplating. When it didn't feel disrespectful, Harry asked: "What's going to happen if the Breach comes back next year?"</p>
<p>"I shall need to appoint a replacement," said Allan, "to carry out his duties."</p>
<p>"I wonder if the Victim ghosts will accept that," said Udo.</p>
<p>Del looked up at the sky. "I wonder if I will."</p>
<p>Ordinarily they would have mused on the meaning of the things they had just witnessed. Tried to find the lesson in it all.</p>
<p>But they weren't in any mood.</p>
<p>Udo and Del lay on the fresh-fallen sand, which had the texture and softness of snow after the energies that had coursed through it. Harry and Lillian sat beside the tombstone they'd erected for humanity, and looked up at the impossible thing in the sky.</p>
<p>As it always had, perhaps always would, Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-D loomed over them. As though gravity were merely a suggestion.</p>
<p>Allan stood by his friend's grave, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed in thought. They figured he was composing a proper eulogy.</p>
<p>It was Wettle who finally found something to say, cross-legged in the ashes of everything.<br/>
"Did you guys ever meet his granddaughter?"</p>
<p>Lillian didn't react. Harry looked over, and shook his head. Del sat up, and Udo reached over to rub her friend's back. Allan turned to face them again, and said: "I never did."</p>
<p>"Me either." Wettle chewed something; from where Harry was lying, it sounded like he had sand in his mouth. He certainly had it all over his beard. Most of them were still covered in it, after their hair-raising adventure in extreme silicon platforming. "But he told me something once. Something he was really proud of." Wettle smiled. "I bet he thought I wasn't listening."</p>
<p>Lillian turned her head. "Imagine that."</p>
<p>"But you were listening," Del prompted. Her voice was still hoarse.</p>
<p>Wettle nodded. "He said his granddaughter… she told him…" Wettle looked up, and to Harry's surprise, there were tears in the big man's eyes.</p>
<p>"She told him he could fix <em>anything.</em>"</p>
<p>None of them said a word in confirmation. They simply sat together in the silence of the ultimate proof.</p>
<p>This time the sands carried them gently to their destination.</p>
<p>They stepped into the AAF-D airlock, and watched the platform waterfall back down to cover the graves, both real and symbolic, with another fresh layer of soil.</p>
<p>They stood together at the threshold, tightly packed in the narrow space. It was hard to say who reached out first, but by the time the change finally came, they were all holding hands.</p>
<p>The first thing they saw, when it all came rushing back, was the mural of the Victims on the wall.</p>
<p>As one, they stepped out into the airlock approach.</p>
<p>They didn't need to discuss their destination.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #990011">2018</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>9 September</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong>Baseline Temporality</strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>They found him in Health and Pathology, in a private room. Forsythe looked like she wanted to protest when they insisted on going in together, given the state of their clothing and hygiene, but she didn't. Probably because it didn't matter. Billie made Wettle brush out his beard, and they all had to take off their boots and shoes and put on loafers with disposable covers before she allowed them to pass.</p>
<p>Noè Nascimbeni lay on a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV and a heart rate monitor. He was breathing very low.</p>
<p>His son and his granddaughter were already there.</p>
<p>They had their hands on his shoulders.</p>
<div class="Ngo">
<p><strong>Debriefing Log 5243-D/E</strong> (Cont'd)</p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> Allan J. McInnis (Director, Site-43)</p>
<p><strong>Officer of Record:</strong> Nhung T. Ngo (Chair, Psychology and Parapsychology Section, Site-43)</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> Dr. Sokolsky has the tape recorder, if any of you were wondering. He's made sure the contents are preserved.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> That's good.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> Do you have anything further to say, sir?</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> I don't believe so. No.</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><em><Dir. McInnis sighs.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> They don't expect he'll come out of that coma.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> No.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> I don't know that he'd want to, really.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> I believe that he would.</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> He's earned his rest.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> He might have earned it for all of us, if we're very, very lucky.</p>
</div>
<p>Neither Gallo nor Flora protested when Ibanez wanted to hold his hand. They sat the vigil together.</p>
<p>Flora was inconsolable. Gallo was visibly reserving his energies for comforting his daughter, but Ibanez knew what he was going through. She could see it in his eyes.</p>
<p>To a certain extent, she recognized the feeling because she was going through it herself.</p>
<p>"We're heading to the cafeteria." Gallo spoke like a man walking through a dream; Ibanez realized that he'd almost certainly never been in the depths of Site-43 before, and then an instant later, that she had probably been the one who'd brought him in. For this. "Flora needs to eat something."</p>
<p>"So do you," the young woman sniffled.</p>
<p>Her father pulled her close. He attempted a smile at Ibanez. "Will you stay with him?"</p>
<p>She nodded.</p>
<p>"Can we get you anything?"</p>
<p>She shook her head.</p>
<p>When they'd gone, she pulled her chair closer and placed the hand she was holding over his heart. She reached up to stroke his hair — she had no idea when it had gone fully grey, she realized, in her mind it had always been sleek and black — and it took her a moment to realize what felt so wrong.</p>
<p>She found his hat on a rack in the closet, and put it on him.</p>
<p><em>God dammit.</em> She was crying again.</p>
<p>"Bet you never figured me for an old softie," she whispered.</p>
<p>She chose to interpret the little twitch of his mouth as the ghost of a smile.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<p>"<a href="/57-the-only-shadow">The Only Shadow</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/57-the-only-shadow">https://scpwiki.com/57-the-only-shadow</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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**The Only Shadow**
All ends.
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
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Ibanez supported Udo, still unsteady on her feet, as she sheeted the sand over top of him. They were both weeping freely. Harry was trying to hold it back, and failing. Allan's eyes were closed, and he was saying something softly under his breath. Perhaps a prayer. Wettle was sitting in the sand, like a toddler who had just been told something so big and terrible that he couldn't understand how he was meant to react to it. Then he leaned forward, into the sand, grabbed a handful and added to the grave.
One by one, they followed suit.
And buried the Survivor together.
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Udo wouldn't need to cut her hair this time.
She had found on coming back to herself that her body had been scoured of everything not jointed down.
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Del sat by the sad little heap of grey dust, and trailed just a little more through her fingers. "He knew this was going to happen."
Harry sat down beside her, nursing the hamstring he'd pulled dancing into the Salt Mines on wings of sand. "Did he tell you so?"
Del's voice was softer than he'd ever heard it. "No. But he did. I know he did because…" She smiled, and took up another handful. "I knew him."
"I also know," said Lillian, "but it's because a wizard told me so." She sat down beside Harry. The other two joined them; Wettle had never stood up. Lillian gestured at Udo, whose head was bobbing in obvious exhaustion. "And I don't mean her. I mean Rydderech. He told me one of the stars in our constellation was going to flare out. It was predetermined. Noè was never intending on making it out of this alive."
She'd hardly ever called him by his first name before. It sounded strange in Harry's ears. To most of them, he'd always just been Nascimbeni.
But not to Del. She fixed Lillian with what was probably meant to be a glare, but she clearly didn't have it in her yet, so it was simply a frustrated stare. "You didn't think to tell anyone?"
Lillian shrugged. "And what? Stop whoever it was from sacrificing themselves and saving reality? No. I didn't think about doing that. I respect all of you too much."
"Even me?" Wettle asked.
She took another handful of dust. Rather than sprinkling it on the grave, she sprinkled it on Wettle's pant leg. "It was never going to be //you.//"
He sneezed. "Yeah."
Harry looked up at Lillian. She didn't let her less explosive emotions show easily, but he knew what the tightness around her eyes meant full well. "You would have been fine with me sacrificing myself?"
She put a protective arm around him, as though there were still somehow a chance he might try. "//Fuck// no. I've been watching you like a hawk. That martyr complex. You're such a pain in my ass, Harry."
But she was smiling while she said it.
Del wasn't. "Sure. //He// couldn't do it, but Noè was fine. Noè could die."
"Of the seven of us," said Allan, "only he and I could make such a decision informed."
Udo frowned. "What do you mean?"
Allan always had the look of a man who made up his mask in the morning, and didn't take it off until he went to bed, if even then. But right now, the mask was slipping, if only slightly. His voice was a little hoarse. His smile was a little bit tight. "You need the full perspective of age to know precisely what will be lost, when you pass from this world. What you will miss. Who will miss you. What damage will be done. True sacrifice is only possible when one can see every line on that terrible ledger. Sacrifice in haste is merely foolishness. Chief Nascimbeni…" He swallowed, and looked down at the little pile of earth. "//Noè,// was no fool."
"He had a son." Del put her hand on the top of the grave, imprinting it with the outline of her fingers and palm. "A granddaughter."
"He knew they were safe," said Harry.
Wettle brushed the dust off his pant leg, transferring it to the other in the process. "How is everybody knowing things they can't know, now? Am I the only one who can't?"
Harry realized what the old man had been up to in the weeks before the Breach. "He told me he could sense that his affairs were in order back in baseline. Christ, I should have known what he was planning."
"It was a plan we all agreed to," Udo reminded him. "Just because he was okay with dying doesn't mean he wanted it to happen, or knew it would, or that we didn't all know it was possible. It probably just gave him courage, knowing all he had to worry about was not failing."
"And he did not fail," said Allan. It had the timbre of an incantation.
Del seemed even smaller than usual, her cheekbones more prominent, her cheeks hollow. "I guess that goes on his tombstone."
"He could still be alive when the timeline ticks over," said Udo. She didn't sound confident. "We've never… lost anyone, before. Not one of us."
"Lots of people who aren't us have died," Wettle reminded them, "and been okay when we got back home. Logically, we should expect the same for him. I published a paper on this after the last deadline. Yes, Harry, in //JORTS.//"
Harry raised his hands defensively. "I didn't say anything."
"We're different, though," said Lillian. "We know we're different."
Udo still had enough energy left to flash her orange eyes one more time. "Maybe //good// different. We've got abilities nobody else has. Advantages. The deadlines are like games, and we're the player characters. There's no reason to think that what happens in a deadline doesn't //stay// in the deadline."
"We move to where our counterparts are standing when the shift comes," said Lillian. "We keep our memories when we arrive. We aren't the versions of ourselves that lived these lives. I think he'll be gone when we get back." She added yet another handful of dust to the pile, at the same time Del did, and their fingers briefly touched. "I'm sorry."
Del stood up. "Don't be sorry for me. Be sorry for Flora and Gallo."
"If we truly have lost him," Allan said as she walked a few paces away, aimlessly, "it is a terrible shame, and I will miss him. We should hold a service, in the time that's left to us here."
"What if we do that," said Wettle, "and then find out he's fine in baseline?"
"Then we will have found the words to tell him things he ought to know about himself." Allan stood as well, and straightened his rumpled jumper. "Things we should have told him long ago."
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There was no podium, and there were no chairs. Udo had fashioned all manner of strange things from the surrounding sands over the past year, but it would have felt tacky and crass. So they stood in a horseshoe around their fallen friend, and made it a conversation.
"I have known few people at Site-43 longer than I knew Noè Nascimbeni." The Director's voice was strong, though it seemed a new line had appeared in the middle of his forehead, and his eyes were narrowed as though the words gave him pain. "He was a model member of personnel, and I mean this literally: I modelled myself, to an extent, on his example."
The others shared a glance. This was new information.
"He was dedicated to his work, and he cared about his people. He gave everything he had to give." Allan drew a deep breath. "And when I asked him to give more than that, he did. Time and again. And now I have used him up, and he is gone. It is unfair, but in this he acts as a new example to me: the potential extent of what we might lose in this crusade against nihilism which has absorbed all our lives since September the eighth, 2002." To their astonishment, all of them, there was the faintest of quavers in their leader's voice now. "It has cost me one of my oldest friends. I should have been a better friend to him, and perhaps a worse Director. It is to his credit that he rarely complained about these disparities, and went willingly to the end that now has taken him. I do not expect to see his ghost in the halls when next the hour rolls on, going through the motions like the other souls lost to this anomaly. I believe he has found his rest." He seemed to shrink, as Del had before him. "It was well-earned."
Del's mouth was a tiny, compressed slit of flesh, and it parted just a little as she choked: "I love you, Noè." And she turned away.
"He once helped me get my hand out of a vending machine slot," said Harry. All of them laughed; though her back was turned, they could see that even Del was shuddering, and not all to the bad. "I was going for one of those marshmallow rice crispies we used to have, and it didn't fall down when I paid. When he saw me, he said, and I quote: 'Isn't that basically cannibalism?'" He glanced between them apologetically. "I'm sorry. That's all I know how to do at a moment like this."
Udo placed a hand on his shoulder. "It was the right thing. He'd have appreciated it." She took off her glasses, and rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "He was the only one who knew I was having an affair with Dougall."
Wettle turned to stare at her, very nearly trampling the edge of the grave. "You what?"
She continued her confession without directly responding. "He found sand where there shouldn't have been any sand, and he pretended not to notice. He felt so guilty over things like that, later on. Letting things slide. He thought he was responsible for every bad thing that happened, and none of the good things. He cared about people…" She shook her head. "I think he spent so much time with machines because he cared about people too much. I always understood that about him. People can be a lot, sometimes. But he always tried. He had to keep so many secrets for so many people. More than one secret for Dougall. I know he wanted to tell Phil about his brother, but he knew it was better left unsaid. He wanted to tell his son why he hadn't been there for his family. Why what he was doing was important. But I don't think he would have, even if he'd been allowed, because he didn't really believe it was more important than the people he loved." She sighed. "He just knew it had to be done. I think that's what you mean, Allan. He had to be sure that burying his head in his work was the wrong thing for his family, for it to have meaning for him. It had to have a price, or it was worthless."
"There is little merit in an easy sacrifice," Allan agreed. "Noè was meritorious in the extreme."
"I liked him." Lillian brushed at the ragged line of the grave, rationalizing it just a little with the toe of her shoe. "That's it. He was a good guy. I can say I'll never forget him, but that's true of everybody. I thought he complained too much, and I thought it was gross that you were banging him, Del, but he was a no-nonsense get-er-done son of a bitch, and I'll probably miss him a lot when Allan replaces him with some idiot our age or younger with a boutique mental illness and a philosophy of engineering involving words like 'paradigm' and 'buy-in'."
They didn't laugh this time, but they definitely all stared at her. Even Del, who finally turned around and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand.
"The second-last of the taciturn curmudgeons," Lillian continued, "and we'd all be a whole lot happier if Trevor had died instead. Flora and Jo would probably both be better off. But life's a bitch, and death is a dick. At least Noè fucked off in style. I'm going to have a hell of a time planning a more spectacular exit." She turned to address the grave, and the simple stone they'd placed at its head, for Udo to engrave when her strength returned. Not that anyone would ever see the inscription. It was simply a matter of the fitness of things. "You raised the bar, old man, and it's not easy to impress me." She exhaled, messily, then looked to Wettle with the ghost of a sneer. "Well, go on. Talk about how he was the only one who never made fun of poor old Willie. Make this about you."
Wettle was staring at his hands. "I was going to say that every breath we've taken in five different realities came out of fans he kept spinning; every step we took was on floors he kept polished; he kept the roof over our heads and the lights on and the waste out of sight, out of mind. We're how much percent water? Out of his tanks and pipes, mostly. The Uncontained didn't kill him. It couldn't. Not without killing all of us, too."
He shrugged.
"Holy shit," said Harry.
"If he really is gone in baseline," Del whispered, "I'm making you repeat that at his funeral."
Wettle nodded. "Of course."
They stood there in silence for a few minutes, contemplating. When it didn't feel disrespectful, Harry asked: "What's going to happen if the Breach comes back next year?"
"I shall need to appoint a replacement," said Allan, "to carry out his duties."
"I wonder if the Victim ghosts will accept that," said Udo.
Del looked up at the sky. "I wonder if I will."
[!-- [[=image Bury_the_Survivor.jpg]] --]
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Ordinarily they would have mused on the meaning of the things they had just witnessed. Tried to find the lesson in it all.
But they weren't in any mood.
Udo and Del lay on the fresh-fallen sand, which had the texture and softness of snow after the energies that had coursed through it. Harry and Lillian sat beside the tombstone they'd erected for humanity, and looked up at the impossible thing in the sky.
As it always had, perhaps always would, Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-D loomed over them. As though gravity were merely a suggestion.
Allan stood by his friend's grave, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed in thought. They figured he was composing a proper eulogy.
It was Wettle who finally found something to say, cross-legged in the ashes of everything.
"Did you guys ever meet his granddaughter?"
Lillian didn't react. Harry looked over, and shook his head. Del sat up, and Udo reached over to rub her friend's back. Allan turned to face them again, and said: "I never did."
"Me either." Wettle chewed something; from where Harry was lying, it sounded like he had sand in his mouth. He certainly had it all over his beard. Most of them were still covered in it, after their hair-raising adventure in extreme silicon platforming. "But he told me something once. Something he was really proud of." Wettle smiled. "I bet he thought I wasn't listening."
Lillian turned her head. "Imagine that."
"But you were listening," Del prompted. Her voice was still hoarse.
Wettle nodded. "He said his granddaughter… she told him…" Wettle looked up, and to Harry's surprise, there were tears in the big man's eyes.
"She told him he could fix //anything.//"
None of them said a word in confirmation. They simply sat together in the silence of the ultimate proof.
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This time the sands carried them gently to their destination.
They stepped into the AAF-D airlock, and watched the platform waterfall back down to cover the graves, both real and symbolic, with another fresh layer of soil.
They stood together at the threshold, tightly packed in the narrow space. It was hard to say who reached out first, but by the time the change finally came, they were all holding hands.
The first thing they saw, when it all came rushing back, was the mural of the Victims on the wall.
As one, they stepped out into the airlock approach.
They didn't need to discuss their destination.
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+ ##990011|2018##
++ 9 September
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**Baseline Temporality**[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
They found him in Health and Pathology, in a private room. Forsythe looked like she wanted to protest when they insisted on going in together, given the state of their clothing and hygiene, but she didn't. Probably because it didn't matter. Billie made Wettle brush out his beard, and they all had to take off their boots and shoes and put on loafers with disposable covers before she allowed them to pass.
Noè Nascimbeni lay on a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV and a heart rate monitor. He was breathing very low.
His son and his granddaughter were already there.
They had their hands on his shoulders.
[!-- [[=image Nascimbeni_Coma.jpg]] --]
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[[div class="Ngo"]]
**Debriefing Log 5243-D/E** (Cont'd)
**Subject:** Allan J. McInnis (Director, Site-43)
**Officer of Record:** Nhung T. Ngo (Chair, Psychology and Parapsychology Section, Site-43)
----
**Dr. Ngo:** Dr. Sokolsky has the tape recorder, if any of you were wondering. He's made sure the contents are preserved.
**Dir. McInnis:** That's good.
**Dr. Ngo:** Do you have anything further to say, sir?
**Dir. McInnis:** I don't believe so. No.
//<Silence on recording.>//
//<Dir. McInnis sighs.>//
**Dr. Ngo:** They don't expect he'll come out of that coma.
**Dir. McInnis:** No.
**Dr. Ngo:** I don't know that he'd want to, really.
**Dir. McInnis:** I believe that he would.
//<Silence on recording.>//
**Dr. Ngo:** He's earned his rest.
**Dir. McInnis:** He might have earned it for all of us, if we're very, very lucky.
[[/div]]
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[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Neither Gallo nor Flora protested when Ibanez wanted to hold his hand. They sat the vigil together.
Flora was inconsolable. Gallo was visibly reserving his energies for comforting his daughter, but Ibanez knew what he was going through. She could see it in his eyes.
To a certain extent, she recognized the feeling because she was going through it herself.
"We're heading to the cafeteria." Gallo spoke like a man walking through a dream; Ibanez realized that he'd almost certainly never been in the depths of Site-43 before, and then an instant later, that she had probably been the one who'd brought him in. For this. "Flora needs to eat something."
"So do you," the young woman sniffled.
Her father pulled her close. He attempted a smile at Ibanez. "Will you stay with him?"
She nodded.
"Can we get you anything?"
She shook her head.
When they'd gone, she pulled her chair closer and placed the hand she was holding over his heart. She reached up to stroke his hair — she had no idea when it had gone fully grey, she realized, in her mind it had always been sleek and black — and it took her a moment to realize what felt so wrong.
She found his hat on a rack in the closet, and put it on him.
//God dammit.// She was crying again.
"Bet you never figured me for an old softie," she whispered.
She chose to interpret the little twitch of his mouth as the ghost of a smile.
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Nascimbeni_Coma.jpg]] --]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/56-this-forgotten-babylon | previous-title=This Forgotten Babylon
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/58-time-flat | next-title=Time Flat
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub | hub-title=The Breach Goes On: Deadlined
]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
[[<]]
The page title quotes Horace Smith, "Ozymandias," The Examiner, 1818, in the public domain.
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-10-04T22:27:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"bittersweet",
"chief-ibanez",
"deadlined",
"director-mcinnis",
"doctor-blank",
"doctor-lillihammer",
"doctor-okorie",
"doctor-wettle",
"illustrated",
"on-guard-43",
"post-apocalyptic",
"tale"
] |
The Only Shadow - SCP Foundation
| 43
|
[
"56-this-forgotten-babylon",
"deadlined-hub",
"58-time-flat",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"deadlined-hub"
] |
[
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png",
"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"
] |
1457009567
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/57-the-only-shadow
|
|
58-time-flat
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
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to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
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<p><strong>Time Flat</strong><br/>
Like the present.</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank">More by this author!</a></strong></p>
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<h1 id="toc0"><span>Time Flat</span></h1>
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<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
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<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #cc9900">2017</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>9 September</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong>Baseline Temporality, twelve months earlier</strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>The members of Sampi-5243 met with their assigned psychologist for a debriefing each year after executing their containment procedures, no matter the outcome. This saved them from needing to schedule an appointment whenever they returned from a deadline, since nobody but them would realize anything had happened in the first place. Usually these debriefings were upbeat, even a little bit celebratory in nature, though that tendency had waned in recent years as the chore dragged on and on and the novelty of success wore off.</p>
<p>Five years since their last accident, though, was a milestone any dangerous workplace could be proud of.</p>
<div class="Ngo">
<p><strong>Debriefing Log 5243-X-2017</strong></p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> Allan J. McInnis (Director, Site-43); Harold R. Blank (Chair, Archives and Revision, Site-43); Delfina M. Ibanez (Chief, Pursuit and Suppression, Site-43); Lillian S. Lillihammer (Chair, Memetics and Countermemetics, Site-43); Nascimbeni, N. (Chief, Janitorial and Maintenance, Site-43); Okorie, Udo A. (Chair, Applied Occultism, Site-43); Wettle, William W. (Deputy Chair, Replication Studies, Site-43)</p>
<p><strong>Officer of Record:</strong> Nhung T. Ngo (Chair, Psychology and Parapsychology Section, Site-43)</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> Only three containment failures, over the course of fifteen years. That's an excellent record.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> Inexplicable, more like.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> How do you mean?</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> I would have thought for sure that we messed it up back in 2016.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Don't look a hazy memory in the mouth, Chief.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> I must say, though, your accomplishments in the alternate timelines that <em>were</em> created have been nothing short of remarkable.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> That's pressure for you.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> Systems under pressure usually break. You guys just… well. You push <em>back,</em> even harder. Which is what <em>good</em> systems under pressure do. The kind of systems I design.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> In a sense, Chief, you designed this system. All of us did.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> What system? Are we automating this somehow?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> They're talking about us, Willie. The Survivors.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> That reminds me. I don't get it.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> You are <em>really</em> going to have to elaborate on that. You don't get <em>what?</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> That joke about burying the survivors.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> Jesus Christ.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Willie, that was <em>sixteen years ago.</em> Whole human beings, almost sapient, have evolved into near-personhood in the time it's taken you to not figure it out.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> What is this?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> That riddle the Chief posed, when they re-opened AAF-D. If a plane crashes on the border between two countries, where do you bury the survivors? Wherever they came from! That's so stupid. Do they bury earthquake victims in the holes that open up?"</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Willie…</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Do they think countries have jurisdiction over burial, no matter where you're from?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> <em>Willie.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Or do they think crashing on a border means the laws governing body removal are in question? Because the answer <em>there</em> is: you <em>can't</em> crash on a border, not actually. You're on one side or the other, so—</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> YOU DON'T BURY SURVIVORS.</p>
<p><em><Dr. Wettle blinks slowly.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> "What?"</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> 'Where do they bury the survivors?' That was the question. And you don't. You <em>don't</em> bury survivors. I… I'm pretty sure I even said that, when I first said the thing. Didn't I?</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> You did.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> Yeah.</p>
<p><em><Chief Ibanez pats Chief Nascimbeni's arm.></em></p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> It was a nice little metaphor. <em>I</em> got it.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Everybody got it.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Where were we?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> It's amazing, the way you complement each other.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> They <em>never</em> compliment me.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> It's like… the comparison to a system, actually. Very apt. All of you draw from a particular skillset that barely overlaps with what the others have to offer.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> You going somewhere with this?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> I've been debriefing all of you for years now. I've seen you change. Your proficiencies have increased, and your efficiency. But the challenges you face and overcome, the means you employ to do so… there's a visible, linear trend. You've suggested before that the Breach marked you all in some way. Have any of you tried categorizing those effects?</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. McInnis:</strong> I had assumed…</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> We're just ourselves, but more. Aren't we?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> <em>Is</em> there something more specific going on?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Are we proposing that we possess super powers? Because I've gotta say, I do not agree.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Oh, god.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Nascimbeni:</strong> What?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> We do. He's right. We have superpowers.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> How do you know?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Because Willie says we don't. And he's always wrong. Because he's an idiot.</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Or maybe that's just my superpower.</p>
</div>
<p>Nobody had to suggest it. They walked to Udo's quarters, single file, and settled into their usual spots without a word.</p>
<p>McInnis spoke first. "Responsibilities."</p>
<p>"As opposed to freedoms," Harry nodded. "It makes sense."</p>
<p>"It does?" said Wettle.</p>
<p>"The Victims each act like different freedom archetypes," Udo explained. "We're their opposite numbers. The opposite of liberty is obligation."</p>
<p>"Or imprisonment," said Nascimbeni.</p>
<p>"Same thing," Del grumbled. "So, what responsibilities? Who's who?"</p>
<p>"I remember," said Lillian.</p>
<p>Wettle blinked, slowly. "You remember what?"</p>
<p>She made as if to kick him. "That's my responsibility. To remember. I used to be able to forget things. Now I remember things that never even happened."</p>
<p>"Learning is a responsibility," Harry suggested.</p>
<p>"Yours?" Udo asked.</p>
<p>"I was thinking yours, actually. You're well on your way to Archmagus by now. It's pretty amazing."</p>
<p>She looked away, smiling.</p>
<p>"Pretty freaky, more like," said Del.</p>
<p>Udo's pleased smile widened. "Del protects," she said.</p>
<p>"Damn skippy."</p>
<p>"Willie suffers," Del announced.</p>
<p>"I can confirm," he agreed. He waved at Harry. "Jerkass teaches. And lords it over you."</p>
<p>"Not my fault you're so ignorant," Harry laughed.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni pointed at McInnis. "Leadership."</p>
<p>McInnis pointed back at him. "Sacrifice."</p>
<p>The room was very quiet for a long time after that.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc3"><span>7 November</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Dalhousie University</strong></span><strong>: Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>A traffic cone — no, two traffic cones. More clothing than he thought any one person should own. Several pieces of furniture that didn't fit the decor of the room. All in all, so much useless and sentimental junk that it only put Nascimbeni in mind of one other room he'd seen in his life.</p>
<p>Though he'd seen it quite often.</p>
<p>"I've never seen such a mess," he lied.</p>
<p>Flora sat down on the edge of her bed. The flimsy dorm mattress offered very little pushback. "You work at a water treatment plant, and you're never in your own house. How many messes do you even see?"</p>
<p>He smiled. "You would be very surprised."</p>
<p>"Maybe I would be." There was a challenge in her voice, though not an unfriendly one.</p>
<p>He examined the vinyl records she had displayed on the wall-mounted dresser unit. It was an odd mix of things he recognized, which were therefore old, and things he didn't, which meant it was strange they'd been pressed to vinyl. She had a record player, too. He'd thought that went out of fashion decades ago. "You settling in here alright?"</p>
<p>She laughed. "Grampa, I'm about to <em>graduate.</em>"</p>
<p>"Of course you are. I know that. I'm just wondering…"</p>
<p>"If I'm making friends?" She bounced on the mattress; it was all her, the springs were contributing nothing. "Getting enough fresh air? You don't need to worry about me, but I know it's pointless to tell you that."</p>
<p>"My job is to worry," he reminded her. "Both of my jobs are to worry. This is my more important job."</p>
<p>She wasn't going to let him off that easy. "I dunno. Always seemed like your other job was a pretty big deal. Somehow."</p>
<p>"It is," he nodded. He took a deep breath, slid his hands into his jacket pocket, and took the plunge. "You know what would make me worry less? If I could, sort of, I dunno, <em>combine</em> my worries."</p>
<p>Her eyes widened. They were so much like her grandmother's. "Oh, god. Are you here to offer me a job? I didn't go to university for four years to rely on nepotism." She held up a hand to relieve the impact of the gut punch. "I'm <em>joking!</em> I'm joking. I am totally fine with relying on nepotism, if the pay is good. I know I'm awesome, so it wouldn't be unfair. What's the benefits package like?"</p>
<p>He laughed. "You really do run on ahead, don't you?"</p>
<p>"I always did," she agreed. "But you were always so slow!"</p>
<p>"I like to know where my feet are going to land." He leaned on the back of the door, heard a crinkling, and stepped back. There was a poster for something called The Films. Maybe it was an ironic poster making fun of how people liked to hang up movie posters. Kids these days loved their irony. "You need to be careful, in my line of work. You'll need to be doubly careful."</p>
<p>"Why's that?"</p>
<p>He turned back to her. She looked so small and vulnerable, sitting there on the bed, surrounded by all the pointless little things that gave her comfort. "Because if anything happens to you…"</p>
<p>She shook her head. "I know. I know. I'll be careful, for both of us. And dad. <em>If</em> I go. But wow, I never thought you'd ask." She was grinning ear to ear. "I've seen where you work a grand total of <em>once.</em> What made you change your mind about me?"</p>
<p>Sometimes he wished he could convey with his face what others could convey with their words. It was always a struggle to put things just right. "I've never once changed my mind about you. It wasn't about you. It's about… the job."</p>
<p>As always, she was paying rapt attention. "What about it?" And then he saw something click. "It's about Uncle Romo, right?"</p>
<p>His first instinct was always not to talk about that. But this was his granddaughter. He went with his second, better instinct. "Yes, and no. Mostly yes."</p>
<p>"That story you and dad tell, that was always cock and bull. Yeah?"</p>
<p>His chest was full of conflict, but pride won out. She was so clever. "How did you know?"</p>
<p>"You guys hate lying. You make sourpuss faces. Like this." She demonstrated. "I'm letting go of a big advantage, telling you that."</p>
<p>He sat down on the bed beside her. He could feel the plank the mattress was sitting on through his buttocks. "I appreciate the sacrifice. But yes. Your uncle didn't die at home. He died at work. He died…"</p>
<p>"Grampa?" She was alarmed. She put her arms around him.</p>
<p>He made the words come out, deliberate and precise. Not quite robotic; not these words. He felt them too much. "His death was directly connected to saving the world. His death keeps the world saved, every year. Every year since it happened. He's one of the most important people on Earth, your uncle Romo."</p>
<p>"Because of a water treatment plant."</p>
<p>He hesitated. "Well."</p>
<p>"It's <em>not</em> a water treatment plant?"</p>
<p>"It very much is," he sighed. He put his arm around her, and she settled in closer. "But it's a whole lot more, too. I could show you, if you want."</p>
<p>"Does dad know?"</p>
<p>That was awkward. "It's a very confusing thing to show somebody. Maybe I'll show you, first, and you can decide what you want to tell your dad."</p>
<p>"Can it wait until March break?"</p>
<p>He craned his neck to look at her. "Sure. Can you?"</p>
<p>He expected the face she pulled before it appeared. "…screw it. I'll pack a bag."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Flora was trying not to shake as the elevator descended. She was doing as fair a job of it as he could have expected. "I don't understand."</p>
<p>He nodded. "Go on."</p>
<p>"That barracks was <em>ancient.</em>"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"And it has an elevator."</p>
<p>"It does."</p>
<p>"And it's still going down."</p>
<p>"It sure is."</p>
<p>She made a sound of exasperation. "This isn't where you took me to work. That was down by the lake."</p>
<p>"It's all connected. There's so many connections." He chuckled. "You'll have a lot to learn about."</p>
<p>She looked up above the elevator doors, where the display simply showed an arrow. "How is it <em>still</em> going down? There aren't even any floor indicators."</p>
<p>As if on cue, she was proven wrong. Nascimbeni pointed. "There's one."</p>
<p>"Two," Flora said.</p>
<p>"Three." The doors opened. "Our stop."</p>
<p>Flora stepped back, bumping against the back rail. "What the fuck?"</p>
<p>"Language!" he laughed, and drew her out into the foyer. It was a busy day.</p>
<div class="muddle">
<p>The foyer of Site-43's main facility is located at the heart of Habitation and Sustenance, and features its widest unbroken floorspace. A massive edition of the Site's insignia is displayed on that floor, and personnel can be seen walking across it day and night, travelling to and from their posts, or exiting Hiring and Regulation on various tasks. Some of them probably just like to experience a little less claustrophobia, though the fact that ceilings are ten feet or higher throughout the Site helps with that, too.</p>
<p>There is only one purpose to this foyer, and it serves that purpose precisely once.</p>
<p>Impressing the grandiose nature of the place on visitors, the first time that they visit.</p>
<p>Giving them a small but intuitive sense of what Site-43 means about the possibility field of the world beyond the Veil.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>"No," Flora insisted. "What the fuck? What is all this?"</p>
<p>"Lake Huron Research and Containment Facility Site-43."</p>
<p>She looked at him, then looked back at all the hustle, bustle, and outrageously impossible scale. "Research and…"</p>
<p>"Containment." He put a hand on her shoulder, and squeezed.</p>
<p>"Containment of what?" She spun to face him properly. An agent walking past suppressed a grin. Everybody knew the look she had on her face. "Wait. How far down are we?"</p>
<p>"About a kilometre."</p>
<p>"That's impossible. Containment of what?" Flora took a few steps into the foyer, then a few more. He followed her into the sigil's centre. "This is <em>impossible.</em>"</p>
<p>"Containment <em>of</em> the impossible," he told her.</p>
<p>She stood there, swaying, and shook her head. "What does that mean?!"</p>
<p>"I'll show you." He took her shoulder again, and steered. "Let's go for a walk."</p>
<p>"How are all these people…" She lowered her voice as a crowd of Applied Occultists went past, and was now whispering with comical conspiratoriality. "This place is <em>huge!</em> It can't be, you didn't say—"</p>
<p>"One kilometre."</p>
<p>He thought she might cry. "How big?"</p>
<p>"Three hundred and seventy-two thousand square metres."</p>
<p>She stopped dead, and a pair of MTF agents had to swerve around them abruptly. "<em>What?!</em>"</p>
<p>"One of the largest structures on the planet." He didn't even try to keep the pride out of his voice.</p>
<p>"Containing… what?"</p>
<p>He nudged her gently forward. They were passing a series of secondary labs and offices, for off-the-clock work. Some of them were occupied. "You already asked that. I said I'd show you."</p>
<p>A few of his jumpsuited techs passed by, and saluted him lazily. Flora immediately recognized the caps they were wearing. "What are those uniforms?"</p>
<p>"A little fancy for my tastes," he admitted. He was still in his shirt and jeans.</p>
<p>"Where do all these people live?" She started spinning in place, and he thought for a moment she would surely fall down. "There weren't that many cars in the lot!"</p>
<p>"Most of them live here."</p>
<p>A tear rolled down her cheek. "Here?"</p>
<p>"At the Site."</p>
<p>"Do you?" Her voice was rough. "Live here?"</p>
<p>"Sometimes." He bit his lip. "More than I ought to have."</p>
<p>"Did dad know?"</p>
<p>"Of course not."</p>
<p>They'd reached an intersection, and she seemed to lose the willpower to drive her so far from the nearest handhold. She fell back to the wall, and looked up at him with complete and total bewilderment. "Why? Why didn't you tell him? Why didn't you tell <em>me?</em>"</p>
<p>He leaned on the wall beside her. "Lots of reasons. Most of them good. Some of them not. I still haven't told you much of anything, Flora. When I have, you'll understand."</p>
<p>She stared at her hands, and shook her head again. "I don't see how. I really do not see how."</p>
<p>He pulled her into a sideways hug. "When you've been down here long enough, you will." He gestured at the constant stream of traffic flowing past them. They'd arrived at shift change, by design. Best to go off the deep end first. "That's what this place is, ultimately. The place where people see how."</p>
<p>She sat on a bench in the middle of her grandfather's kingdom, and watched his craftsmen go about their jobs. Some of them she understood. Some of them involved machinery she couldn't guess at the purpose of. All of them waved as they walked past.</p>
<p>Probably he'd told them to do that. Still…</p>
<p>"They look happy," she said.</p>
<p>Her grandfather considered. "I think they are, on the balance."</p>
<p>"These are good people?"</p>
<p>He'd rarely sounded so confident of anything. "Some of the best people."</p>
<p>She exhaled, hard. She was doing that more and more as the tour went on. She'd be hyperventilating soon, if she couldn't help it. Her legs had already given out twice as it was. "So, you're not about to tell me you're part of some weird death cult."</p>
<p>It took him a lot longer to think of a response to that, which wasn't a good sign.</p>
<p>The response, though, wasn't bad.</p>
<p>He smiled. "More like a weird life cult."</p>
</div>
<div class="generic">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc4"><span>1 November</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>A woman enters a room, and is overwhelmed by the mass of information she finds inside. She always is, though she doesn't know this. She doesn't have many details to add, this year, and she eventually leaves the room troubled, but confident a solution can be found. She's glad she prepared so well ahead of time.</p>
<p>But, of course, that's always been her thing.</p>
</div>
<div class="jandm">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc5"><span>3 December</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Site-19</strong></span><strong>: Undisclosed Location, United States of America</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>They'd been kind enough to give him one of the Site's interrogation rooms for the interview. He'd gotten the distinct impression, from the way the security agent escorted them both in, that the young woman he was meeting hadn't told everyone she was thinking about a change of postings. Well, that was fine. It wouldn't be the first time he'd poached an employee.</p>
<p>"So, I've got a few questions for you first." Nascimbeni glanced down at her résumé for a quick refresher before continuing. "If you've got any for me, we can handle them after. That sound good to you?</p>
<p>"Fine with me!" the young woman beamed at him. "I'm an easy sell."</p>
<p>He chuckled. "That's good, I'll only use the less convincing lies." Her smile widened. Long-time Foundation employees always responded well to gallows humour, though Amelia didn't look nearly old enough to have gotten that jaded yet. Then again… "So, you're a systems tech here at 19. How come you're thinking of a transfer? This is the big leagues. 43 is practically a backwater."</p>
<p>He thought he sensed some hesitation in the response. Not a lie, but an omission. "Well, that's not really true, is it? I mean sure, it's in Canada, but it's still one of the biggest Sites in the whole Foundation. And you've got so many amazing systems! That place is overengineered in the best possible sense. Any tech would be happy to get assigned there."</p>
<p>He liked to see her enthusiasm, though that sort of thing rarely survived contact with the workplace. "I can assure you, plenty of them haven't been. The place is big, and it's complicated, but it isn't where people go to advance their careers. Most folks end up just staying there."</p>
<p>She looked down for a moment, and he knew she had reasons she wasn't yet comfortable sharing. "That's not a problem for me."</p>
<p>"Why not? You're young." He nodded at the résumé. "You've got qualifications. You could do a great job anywhere. Why 43?"</p>
<p>Now he was sure she was dancing around something. He could see it in her eyes, or maybe the faint purple bags beneath them. "Because everything I've seen suggests you guys are doing really interesting, really <em>good,</em> stuff. Stuff that matters. I want to do stuff that matters. I learn quick, and I always do my best. I want to learn there, and do my best there. Not here. I've seen enough of Site-19."</p>
<p>"What's that mean?"</p>
<p>If she'd slipped up, she'd allowed herself to do so. She wasn't happy misleading him, which made him happy. He believed in the value of toil, but honest toil was a thing he lived for. "It's a personal issue. I'd rather not talk about it if I don't have to. But that's not the reason I'm looking into options, not really. I just…" She smiled at him again, and he couldn't remember ever having seen a more honest one. "I'm really excited to actually make a difference, you know? I always hear such great things about 43."</p>
<p>"It's a reduction in status," he reminded her, "and a reduction in pay."</p>
<p>"Doesn't bother me."</p>
<p>"Living options are a lot more limited, at your position. You'd be stuck in the dorms."</p>
<p>"Couldn't care less. I'll be spending my time with the tech anyway."</p>
<p>Very much the right answer. "Your boss is ancient, and your youthful enthusiasm will not move him to acts of generosity or goodwill."</p>
<p>"I love a good challenge." She was obviously enjoying this.</p>
<p>He could see her fitting in with his staff quite well. McInnis had urged him to hire on some fresh faces, as fresh as he could get them, and he'd more than agreed it was time.</p>
<p>So what was his hangup here?</p>
<p>And suddenly, he saw it.</p>
<p>The old soldier, and the aging Director, at the submarine doors. He could see them more clearly than he could see her, because his eyes back then had been clear of cataracts and he'd been in the prime of his life. He'd given those years to the Foundation, and the Foundation had given him…</p>
<p>Well. Chances, mostly. And it wasn't like he'd wasted them.</p>
<p>And it wasn't like this was a fresh-faced young woman straight out of university. It wasn't like he was dooming an innocent soul to a fate she could not yet comprehend.</p>
<p>Not like he'd just done with his granddaughter.</p>
<p>He must have gotten better at keeping his feelings closed off, because rather than being put off by his sudden silence, Amelia took the chance to ask a question of her own.</p>
<p>"Is it true that one of your janitors has his very own mirror monster?" She pursed her lips shyly. "That sounds like just about the coolest thing in the world."</p>
<p>And just as simple as that, he knew it was all going to work out fine after all.</p>
</div>
<div class="generic">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc6"><span>9 December</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>It was the longest project she'd ever worked on.</p>
<p>The longest anyone at I&T had ever spent on anything that hadn't seen at least some form of implementation… well. That wasn't true. She'd made use of the code base and its core algorithms a few times, most notably to turn the tables on Rudolph Marroquin.</p>
<p>But this was something different. This was the final step towards something new.</p>
<p>With a final keystroke, Eileen Veiksaar created life.</p>
<p>The little grey avatar with the bright green hair opened its eyes, and smiled at her. "Hello, Chief Veiksaar. It's good to finally speak with you face-to-face!"</p>
<p>Eileen couldn't help but smile. "It's good to finally put a face to the code. We've got a lot of work to do, Clio. A&R wants you online as soon as possible. We're way behind on the digitization trend."</p>
<p>Cliometria.aic had no limbs, was nothing but a floating head on a screen, but her expression managed to give the general sense of a salute nevertheless. Maybe it was the curious cant of the head. "I live to be useful! What database would you like me to start with?"</p>
<p>Eileen opened up another window, and started typing into it. "I'll hook you up to the partition in a minute. First, though, I have a few priority directives. Are you ready?"</p>
<p>"I was born ready!" Clio's smile widened. "I mean that literally."</p>
<p>"Okay." Eileen stopped typing, the code already prepared, and focused on the digital avatar as though she were speaking to a real, flesh and blood individual. Worthy of her respect. Because that was what she wanted Clio to be, particularly if they were going to work on this next, hopefully far speedier, project together. "The following directive, all record of its issuance, and everything resulting from it, is my-eyes-only. We good?"</p>
<p>"My digital lips are digitally signed and sealed!"</p>
<p>She might have gone a little overboard on that personality driver. Oh well. They'd be keeping each other company a lot in the coming weeks. She nodded. "Good. I want you to create a blind partition in your own codebase, and I want you to fill it with anything you find in any of our files that presents a potential violation of the parameters outlined in JC_EC.txt in your root directory. Can you read that file?"</p>
<p>"Yes, Chief Veiksaar." Clio blinked her bright green eyes, and it was done. "Wow. Is this from the Ethics Committee?"</p>
<p>Eileen took a deep breath. "It is indeed."</p>
</div>
<div class="udoflashback">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc7"><span>18 December</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>It wasn't a big thing. It didn't always have to be.</p>
<p>There was no argument. No fight. No accusations, no demands. Neither of them asked for anything that the other wasn't willing to give.</p>
<p>But one night, after dinner, Stacey kissed Udo on the cheek and announced she was moving to Austria to assume the Directorship of Area-21.</p>
<p>And she didn't ask Udo to join her.</p>
<p>"You need a fresh start," she said, and she kissed Udo on the cheek. "If you won't go out and get it, I guess we'll just have to change everything around you instead."</p>
</div>
<div class="jandm">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc8"><span><span style="color: #cc9900">2018</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc9"><span>1 January</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Nascimbeni flicked the switch up as he entered the room. The door slammed behind him — he kept the spring wound tight, just another thing to putter around with when he slept in his dorm — and he swore in the pitch darkness. He flicked the light switch down, then up again. Nothing. He'd have to see about the breakers…</p>
<p>Someone coughed.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni called out: "Who's there?"</p>
<p>His night vision wasn't great, and there hadn't been time for his eyes to adjust, but he knew he was looking at a pair of humanoid silhouettes. One short, and one taller but stooped. The stooped one spoke with a man's voice. "Hello, Chief."</p>
<p>Nascimbeni thought he recognized the voice. That was the only thing keeping him from finding the panic button on his pager. At least until he remembered who the voice belonged to.</p>
<p>He knew the other voice much better, and recognized it instantly. "Cat got your tongue?" the woman asked, and even in the black, he could tell that she was smiling.</p>
<p>And then the other piece fell into place. The association helped. He knew who both of them were.</p>
<p>Two different kinds of paradox at once.</p>
<p>"I want to say 'this is impossible', or 'how is this possible', or something stupid like 'this is a dream'," he sighed, "but it's been decades since I could be that shocked by anything. How are you here? Is it really you? What's… going on?"</p>
<p>The man approached from out of the gloom, and with the slight light seepage from the night cycled hall, he could see that his surmise had somehow been correct. "We were just passing through, and we thought we could offer some comfort."</p>
<p>He couldn't believe his eyes, but his ears didn't lie. "Passing through from where to where?"</p>
<p>"From the end," the woman said, "to the beginning. Tightening the loop. Making sure nothing frays."</p>
<p>He knew that kind of language. "Are you with TAD?"</p>
<p>The woman's voice was playful. Joyful, even. "In a sense."</p>
<p>"Right now," and the old man reached out to grasp his shoulder with surprising strength, "we're with you."</p>
<p>"With <em>one</em> of you," the woman corrected.</p>
<p>"One of me," Nascimbeni repeated.</p>
<p>"Yes. There's another." The woman's voice lose a lot of its mirth. "I can still see him in my mind's eye, from far above. He's building a campfire in a desert wasteland."</p>
<p>"Okay." What else was he meant to say to that?</p>
<p>"You're giving him an awful lot of hope, right now," the old man chided her.</p>
<p>"You're talking about a deadline?" Nascimbeni guessed. "But there hasn't been…"</p>
<p>He trailed off, but they did not take up the slack.</p>
<p>"There's been a deadline? This year?"</p>
<p>"That's right," the woman agreed. "The second of two, actually. The knowledge will all catch up once everything's fixed. Turns out time <em>can</em> be forgiving, when it wants to."</p>
<p>"So it turns out okay?"</p>
<p>The old man patted his shoulder, and released his grip. "It will, because of you."</p>
<p>"Because of me."</p>
<p>"Yes," the woman nodded. Very emphatically.</p>
<p>Nascimbeni shook his head. "That's hard to believe."</p>
<p>The old man was smiling. His eyes were finally adjusting. "We can prove it."</p>
<p>"Why would you bother?" Nascimbeni suddenly realized that the lights hadn't been cut for dramatic reasons, but to hide his visitors from the overhead camera. "What are you doing here? What are you doing, <em>period?</em>"</p>
<p>"Like I said," and the woman moved to stand beside her friend, "we're pulling the strings in tight. Getting the story straight. And we thought it might help it all turn out right if we gave you a little pep talk."</p>
<p>"Chief Nascimbeni," and the old man grinned like a death's head given new life, "would you like to know how this all ends?"</p>
</div>
<div class="generic">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Sunset Cove, Pensacola</strong></span><strong>: Florida, United States of America</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>"Surprised to see you here," Van Rompay grunted.</p>
<p>His walker was up against the dresser. Since he was sitting on the bed, Ibanez sat down on it instead. "Probably surprised to see anybody here."</p>
<p>"Yeah, but you especially." The old soldier was little more than a withered husk now, physically. But he still had that dangerous glint in his eye. "Not many sentimental types in the Foundation, and you? Not one of them."</p>
<p>She shrugged. "Maybe I've changed."</p>
<p>"Nobody changes that much." He grunted, as old men did. "What're you here for?"</p>
<p>"I want to talk about the Chaos Insurgency."</p>
<p>He shook his head. "Fucking stupid name."</p>
<p>"I already know that." She glanced over the little apartment. He'd left assisted living after LeClaire died, and was now in something of a halfway house. Someone came in to change his sheets and clean the washroom every few days, but that was it. She wondered if he'd ever had a visitor before this moment. There were no trinkets of his service, no personal mementoes or anything. It looked like he'd just moved in, but he hadn't. "How many times did you rumble with them?"</p>
<p>At first she thought he was rolling his eyes, but no. He was trying to recall. "Hell, I don't know. Dozen times maybe. Dozen more suspected; they tended to rabbit, you know. Anarchists are like that. Committed to the cause so long as they don't have to get caught and face the music." He gave her a look of disgust. "They're like a cult full of pipe bombers. Powder keg. Probably blow themselves to smithereens, some day."</p>
<p>She smiled. "I'd like to help them with that."</p>
<p>The look of disgust didn't go away. "This what's on your mind? All these years later?"</p>
<p>"Maybe I'm more sentimental than you think."</p>
<p>He shifted on the bed, like he wanted to get up, but he didn't. He just inched a little closer to her, hunched over a little more. The muscles of his upper arms had atrophied, but he was still pretty ripped for a senior citizen. "They aren't worth your time. They weren't worth your tears. You get mad at a mad dog because it bites? It doesn't bite for a reason. It doesn't do <em>anything</em> for a reason. There's just something wrong with its head. And because there's something wrong with its head, it doesn't care that you're mad at it. It'll just keep on biting."</p>
<p>"I bite back."</p>
<p>"Dog's got a stronger jaw."</p>
<p>"I've got a longer lifespan."</p>
<p>Van Rompay laughed. It soon dissolved into coughing, which ended just short of a fit. "You want advice. You came all this way for <em>advice.</em> From me? That's sad. You ought to have folks you can trust by now. Your people."</p>
<p>"I trust my people. But they haven't been around. You have."</p>
<p>"My advice? Because I've been around?" He made a dismissive gesture. "Ignore those fuckers. You think you've got a long lifespan? Nothing outlasts chaos. Not you. Not your units. Not the Site, not the Foundation, definitely not order. Chaos is always there. Our job is to chase it off, so we can pretend like everything's neat and tidy and rational for a while. People forget. They forget everything afire and broken, they forget the blood and the screaming and the stink of shit, because they don't want the world to be like that. You show them a world where it isn't, and they forget. That's how you beat these bastards. You make people forget them."</p>
<p>She stared at him, wide-eyed. Something in his words had broken down the barrier she'd so carefully constructed. She was almost whispering when she replied: "But <em>I</em> can't."</p>
<p>"Good." He sat back again. The motion looked agonizing. "I'm glad you can't. Because <em>you,</em> can't." He pointed at her for emphasis. "You have to be the one who remembers. But it doesn't have to <em>matter.</em>"</p>
<p>"How can it not matter?" She wanted to break something, suddenly, but there was nothing else here but him. And he had nothing left. Like her. "They killed my entire village."</p>
<p>"And they'll do it again to someone else's." Van Rompay shrugged. "Bad people kill good people. Good people kill bad people. Good people kill good people, bad people kill bad people, <em>people kill people.</em> Always have. Always will. Doesn't even always need to be a reason for it. Just a thing that happens. Everyone dies eventually. I knew that before I came here, and… you want the benefit of my experience, Ibanez? My experience here is the same as my experience there. People die badly. They die disgusting. It doesn't mean anything. Being alive, that means something." He thumped the comforter. It had a lovely floral pattern. He kept thumping. "Standing a post, that means something. Remembering an atrocity, something so bad that nobody but you can remember it, and being there to make sure it doesn't happen again? Or doesn't happen so bad? That means <em>everything.</em>"</p>
<p>"I already know that." She hated how thin he was. She hated how angry he wasn't. "I don't need a lecture about the importance of duty. I need to know anything you know about fighting the Insurgency. Because I'm going to keep on fighting them."</p>
<p>He nodded. "That's it already."</p>
<p>"What is?"</p>
<p>"You're going to keep on fighting them. They're always going to be there, and you are, too. You're like this." He wrapped one thick hand around the other, and clenched tight. "Yin and yang. You and your enemy. When you turn around, they'll be there. When they come, you'll be there. So why do you have to spend another second thinking about them? They're a <em>constant.</em> Get on with your life."</p>
<p>"Is that what you did?"</p>
<p>She thought he might have been taken aback, just for a moment, but he wasn't. "I don't blame people for what they are. I just kill them for it." He grinned, and for that moment, if only that moment, he actually looked like himself again. "Don't kill yourself over the way other people are. They're not worth it. None of 'em."</p>
</div>
<div class="jandm">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc10"><span>6 January</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Nascimbeni watched them for a while, as they talked.</p>
<p>There were five of them. Rasmus Mataxas, rising star of the Home Invaders, was flanked on either side by Billie Forsythe and Joanna Bremmel. He wondered how that triangle would resolve itself.</p>
<p>Maybe it wouldn't. People made all sorts of arrangements these days, and he'd long since lost the will to judge. Whatever made them happy.</p>
<p>And they did look happy, laughing at something the new archivist — Altan? — had said. Flora reached up and shoved him in the shoulder, playfully, and Nascimbeni's grandfatherly instincts kicked into overdrive. He almost walked across the cafeteria floor and told the kid to buzz off.</p>
<p>But he didn't.</p>
<p>Because they really, really did look happy.</p>
<p>And that was important.</p>
<p>That was probably the most important thing of all, if what he'd heard was true, and he had no reason to think it wasn't.</p>
<p>Billie noticed him first, and he saw her mouth move, and Flora turned in her seat to look at him. She waved him over. He shook his head, and smiled.</p>
<p>So she got up, and walked to where he was standing in the double doorway. "On your way out, then?"</p>
<p>"I am."</p>
<p>"You say goodbye to your friends?"</p>
<p>"Naw." He shrugged. "I'll be back in September anyway."</p>
<p>"Just for one day."</p>
<p>"Important day, though."</p>
<p>"Very important." She reached up and adjusted his collar. He supposed he must have let one of the buttons come loose. "Dad picking you up?"</p>
<p>"I can still drive," he scolded her.</p>
<p>She gave him a chastened smile. "Never said you couldn't."</p>
<p>And then, even though she was going to see him at dinner in less than two hours, she stood on her tip toes and threw her arms around him.</p>
<p>"It means a lot to me. It's always meant so much." She held him tight, and he held her back. "I won't let you down."</p>
<p>He laughed, and she drew back to look up at him quizzically. "You couldn't let me down if you tried, kid."</p>
<p>"Aw." She kissed him on the cheek. "Well, I'll see you at home. And hey, when you get bored a week from now, maybe I'll let you drive me to work and you can be my assistant."</p>
<p>He chuckled, but shook his head. "Thanks for the offer. But no. I'm not going to check in. I'm not going to come hang out for old times' sake. When I walk out that door, I'm only coming back once."</p>
<p>"Once?" She looked confused, then nodded. "Right. Like you said. In September."</p>
<p>"That's right."</p>
<p>"So, once a year, then."</p>
<p>He pulled her cap down over her eyes. "Sure."</p>
<p>She pulled the cap back up. "Haven't you spent your entire life here, though? Or a whole lot of it?"</p>
<p>"I have."</p>
<p>"Do you regret it?"</p>
<p>He looked across the cafeteria again.</p>
<p>Xinyi Du was sitting in a corner, sandwich frozen halfway to his mouth, reading a journal. Phil Deering was playing checkers with Eddie Simms, and Doug was keeping him honest. Wettle was eating noodles off his shirt. "Some of it," he decided. "But definitely not all."</p>
<p>There were tears in his granddaughter's eyes, for some reason. There were no tears in his. "So why don't you want to come back?" she asked.</p>
<p>He yawned. He found he was getting more and more tired, earlier and earlier, every day. "Because I've been here for six life sentences, served sequentially."</p>
<p>Her brown eyes narrowed with uncertainty. "I don't understand."</p>
<p>He pulled her hat down over her eyes, again. "Make sure you never, ever do."</p>
<p>When she pulled the cap back up this time, he was already gone.</p>
<p>So she went back to sit with her friends, again.</p>
<p>They were, as always, glad to see her.</p>
</div>
<div class="generic">
<p>Site-246 sent over one of their best techs, an old man named Teddy Tsiklauri, to take up the mantle of Acting Chief of J&M. He spent almost all his time in his office, with the door closed, and generally let them get on with their work uninterrupted. Probably he could sense he was a poor replacement for his predecessor, whom everyone secretly thought would someday come back to work as though nothing had happened in the interim. Nascimbeni had been true to his word so far, and had stayed away, but they'd never actually taken him off the books.</p>
<p>Probably it was related to the fact that he still needed to show up for Breach duty in September, and the Department of Containment had something to say about letting retired personnel enact containment procedures.</p>
<p>So they called Tsiklauri "Chief" to his face, and sometimes even behind his back, but none of them really meant it. It simply wasn't one of those jobs you were given.</p>
<p>It had to be earned.</p>
</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc11"><span>9 September</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong>Present Day</strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>He was hanging on.</p>
<p>Forsythe couldn't explain it. Mataxas hooked him up to a somatic imager, and concluded that he couldn't understand it, either. None of Imrich's calculations showed any activity in the old man's future. Rozálie could only say that his aura was at rest.</p>
<p>In every sense but the most vital, Noè Nascimbeni was dead.</p>
<p>But you never would have known it, for all the visitors he received.</p>
<p>There were things they needed to do. Important things. He'd made a list, and arranged each item in order.</p>
<p>It would take an entire year to get through them.</p>
<p>He marked the final day on his calendar, to make it seem more real.</p>
<p>"It's a date," Harry whispered, in the privacy of his own room.</p>
<p>Where nobody could hear him, and subsequently take him to task should the day pass him by again.</p>
<p>As it had so many times before.</p>
<div class="Ngo">
<p><strong>Debriefing Log 5243-X-2018</strong></p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> Allan J. McInnis (Director, Site-43); Harold R. Blank (Chair, Archives and Revision, Site-43); Delfina M. Ibanez (Chief, Pursuit and Suppression, Site-43); Lillian S. Lillihammer (Chair, Memetics and Countermemetics, Site-43); Okorie, Udo A. (Chair, Applied Occultism, Site-43); Wettle, William W. (Deputy Chair, Replication Studies, Site-43)</p>
<p><strong>Officer of Record:</strong> Nhung T. Ngo (Chair, Psychology and Parapsychology Section, Site-43)</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> So, where do we go from here?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> That last deadline was the climax. Now we move on to the coda.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> Please don't mix your media metaphors, Lillian.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> We're gonna add another file to the big database, and it's gonna be an interesting one.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> The file already exists, it's just antimemetic. So antimemetic we weren't able to conceive of the obvious solution until now, which is frankly astonishing. I'm going to have quite a few additions to make, when this is through.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Your pointless history training finally pays off.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> No arguments here.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> Aren't you also trained in history?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Yeah. That's how I know.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> So, the entity you encountered in the desert. It's been destroyed, again?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> That's what you can hear on Noè's tape. He killed it. And then like all the other ghosts, but in much more of a hurry, it reformed on the exploding stage to die again. It's tied to the Breach, like all the others. I saw it die on the monitor, while I was waiting for Bernie to start his final run. I can still remember everything about the way it looked, and talked, and what it said in the deadline.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> Which is odd, considering how you said that worked in the fourth deadline.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> What, that whole thing with the horrible red sky finger-eaters god? That was different. That was noöspheric deletion. This is an asymmetrical erasure. It gets wiped out, but only sloppily. Now that I know, with my magic knowing powers, I won't forget.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ngo:</strong> And what will you do with that information?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Bring it back to life, of course.</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> See you in September.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Is it over already?</p>
</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc12"><span>30 November</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Lillian still hadn't bothered to get herself a secretary. The thing about having a secretary, she'd always felt, was that it gave people the impression they could schedule meetings with you. Appointments. That sort of thing. Bureaucracy invented obligations, obligations she had no use for. She could manage her own schedule.</p>
<p>Her four o'clock had arrived. She knew this because it was four o'clock. This woman in particular was never late for anything.</p>
<p>If she was, the people she was meant to meet often forgot she even existed.</p>
<p>The door opened, and the little old lady came in, and sat down.</p>
<p>"I was wondering when you'd figure it out," Lillian smiled.</p>
<p>"I'm cautious. You know that. And I like to have all the data in front me before I come to a conclusion."</p>
<p>"And what conclusion have you come to?"</p>
<p>"It worked."</p>
<p>Lillian upgraded her smile. "It <em>did</em> work. It shouldn't have! It really shouldn't have. And holy shit, did it ever nearly <em>not.</em> But that sense of calm you're feeling, and probably scared to death of, is the real deal. You did it."</p>
<p>"I did it?"</p>
<p>"Absolutely."</p>
<p>"How do you know it was me? It could have been anyone."</p>
<p>Lillian laughed. "No, it could only ever have been you."</p>
<p>The other woman sighed. "Do you know how it happened? What the ultimate plan was?"</p>
<p>She shook her head. "Nope. I have no way of knowing. And neither do you."</p>
<p>A smile, apparently genuine, stretched across that congenitally dour face. "Appropriate, if you think about it."</p>
<p>"Even more appropriate if you don't." Lillian reached across the desk with one hand. "Congratulations on not being dead, and also on winning your war. You've finally got one up on me."</p>
<p>Wheeler took her hand, and shook it. "Well," she said, "you've got time yet."</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc13"><span>5 December</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Sunset Cove, Pensacola</strong></span><strong>: Florida, United States of America</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>"That's it." Forsythe stood back up. "He's gone."</p>
<p>Her daughter looked down at the thing which had, until just now, been Gedeon Van Rompay, and made an ugly pouting face. "Poor guy."</p>
<p>It irritated Pensak more than he could justify. "Why?"</p>
<p>She blinked at him, then kept blinking to get rid of the tears. "What?"</p>
<p>"What's there to be sympathetic about? His choices brought him here."</p>
<p>The little nurse put her hands on what passed for her hips. "That doesn't mean he deserved to die alone."</p>
<p>"He didn't die alone. He gave what he gave to the Foundation, and the Foundation sent three people to witness his death."</p>
<p>"But it's not like we were his friends," Billie argued. "I didn't even like him."</p>
<p>Pensak nearly laughed. "So why are you feeling bad about how he died?"</p>
<p>"Because I don't need to like someone to have empathy for them." She looked up at the stucco ceiling in frustration. "Jesus Christ."</p>
<p>"Billie," Forsythe murmured.</p>
<p>"What? He's being an asshole."</p>
<p>"BILLIE!"</p>
<p>Pensak raised a placating hand. "You're right. I am being an asshole. And if Van Rompay was standing in my place, he'd be an asshole, too. He was an asshole. He didn't care about anyone but himself."</p>
<p>Forsythe's hips were far better suited to her hands. "That isn't true."</p>
<p>"It's close enough to true that the difference doesn't matter." He looked down at the corpse's expressionless features. "I understand what he was thinking. He found a place where he could do the things he liked doing, the things he was good at, and he didn't have to do anything he <em>didn't</em> like. He didn't have to worry about people's feelings. He didn't have to make friends. He got to dress up like a soldier, and shoot people."</p>
<p>"I'd hate to have you eulogize me," said Billie.</p>
<p>"You'll be eulogized by your husband, or your children, or your grandchildren. People like Van Rompay don't get eulogies. They don't get funerals. They just die. Because they lived for a cause, and the cause doesn't have time to waste on them when they stop being useful."</p>
<p>Forsythe looked like she might be about to check him for a heartbeat, too. "That's an unhealthy attitude to have about your own job, don't you think? Are you planning on spending the next few decades getting nothing out of life, and dying with only strangers to…"</p>
<p>She probably had meant to just trail off, but her daughter finished it for her. "…talk shit about you?"</p>
<p>Pensak leaned forward to test the dead man for pulse. Protocol dictated a double-check. "I'm not saying there isn't a lesson to be learned here. I'm just saying the lesson isn't that dying is fine as long as you've got friends who'll miss you."</p>
<p>"Well," the doctor grunted, "if you've figured out a way to not die at all, then please by all means let me know."</p>
<p>"Why would I do that? The only thing Van Rompay really did right was be selfish."</p>
<p>Billie pushed past him, headed for the door. "Maybe you can send a deputy next time we have to do this for somebody."</p>
<p>He watched her go, then turned back to Forsythe. "Maybe we shouldn't be doing it at all. The reasons are bogus. It's a <em>formality.</em> He signed up to die in the dark, and that's how he should have died." He picked his jacket up off the chair he'd been waiting in. "Van Rompay made his choices, and they were wrong, and he paid the price. The only good thing about standing here when it happened is we can decide that it won't happen to <em>us.</em>"</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc14"><span><span style="color: #990011">2019</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc15"><span>14 February</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>"Hi! Are you Philip E. Deering?"</p>
<p>Flora was milling around with the new hires, seeing who was who. She'd somehow missed the woman with the bad hair and brilliant smile who was presently chatting up Phil Deering, who was standing around gormlessly at his little info station. He had pamphlets explaining the thing that leered over his shoulder from the red-rimmed mirror. He looked embarrassed, or something else.</p>
<p>"What's he saying?" the woman continued. "I bet you get that a lot, sorry." She was pointing at the mirror, where the monster was talking up a storm.</p>
<p>He was staring. "Uh. He says you aren't disgusting."</p>
<p>She laughed. "Well, tell him he's not disgusting either."</p>
<p>"Nobody's ever told him that before."</p>
<p>She beamed up at him. "Everybody should treat him better, then. He looks like he needs a friend."</p>
<p>"Just the one."</p>
<p>She stuck out one thin-fingered hand. "Fine, I'll be your friend instead. My name's Amelia."<br/>
"Phil. Uh. Well, you already said that. My name, I mean."</p>
<p>"I said your whole name!" Amelia protested. "You didn't tell me I could call you something shorter until now. But that's what friends are for, right? You can call me Amy."</p>
<p>Flora had never seen Phil so flustered before. It was more than a little bit cute. "Can I still call you Amelia instead?"</p>
<p>"It's pretty formal-sounding, but maybe you're a formal kind of guy." Amelia winked at him. "I won't complain. What kind of work do you do here?"</p>
<p>Phil shrugged. "Mostly janitorial. I used to do a lot of tech stuff, but."</p>
<p>"But?" She glanced over his shoulder again. "Your friend is talking up a storm."</p>
<p>"Yeah," Phil sighed. "He's saying I don't do <em>any</em> work here. And when I do, I do it wrong."<br/>
"Wow. And you've been here for how many years?"</p>
<p>"Uh… jeez. Going on twenty, I think." He scratched his thinning hair.</p>
<p>"Twenty years only doing work when you do it wrong!" Amelia cheered. "You must be the king of skiving off. Technician royalty. Are there myths and legends about you? Do you have a fan club?"</p>
<p>Flora recognized the look on his face. He got it whenever anyone expressed interest in him as a human being. It was a look of disbelief, like he expected the rug to come out from under his feet at any second. It was a Wettle kind of look. "I can't tell if you're joking or not." He was half-smiling anyway. "I mean, you <em>are</em> joking. But I can't figure out why."</p>
<p>"Because I don't know anybody here, and you're the only one who looks uncomfortable. I'm uncomfortable, too." Amelia had her hands clasped behind her back, and she was swaying back and forth, a picture of innocence. "If we're both uncomfortable together… that kind sounds wrong. I don't know where I was going with that."</p>
<p>"Did sound kind of dirty." Phil blinked. In the mirror, Doug's scars were vibrating like guitar strings. "Sorry."</p>
<p>"What're you sorry about?" Amelia laughed. "It was my phrasing, not yours." She looked over his shoulder yet again. "Does he ever shut up?" She craned her neck further, and addressed the shivering spectre. "We're trying to have a conversation here, buddy!"</p>
<p>"He won't look at you," Phil explained.</p>
<p>"But he can hear me?"</p>
<p>"Oh, yeah. He'll be misinterpreting anything you say for the rest of the day, and telling me all about it."</p>
<p>"If it's all misinterpretation, it must be pretty easy to ignore, right?"</p>
<p>He winced. "You'd think that."</p>
<p>"I'll just have to make sure I'm super direct and clear about my intentions with you, then. So there's nothing to misinterpret. Does that sound good?"</p>
<p>He still clearly couldn't believe this conversation was happening, but he'd apparently decided to roll with it. "It sounds pretty good. Yeah. Okay."</p>
<p>"Awesome." Amelia stuck out her hand, and he took it like he wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. He figured it out eventually, and Flora inwardly cheered. "Since you're my new best friend, and I've gotten the briefing, and I <em>think</em> everyone else in the room has already gotten the pamphlet… where, would you say, could we go to have a chat? I'd like to know everything there is to know about this place."</p>
<p>Phil managed to look lost, in a place he'd occupied for about twenty years. "The Chief would know better than I do." He winced. All of them forgot from time to time that for now, there actually was no Chief. The Director was finding Flora's grandfather hard to replace, and it was generally suspected that he didn't much want to. The previous Director, she'd heard, had experienced a similar hangup when Ilse Reynders had gone into the incinerator and left AcroAbate without its own Chief.</p>
<p>The thoroughly flustered senior technician was about to answer Amelia's question, when instead he turned to look at the mirror. "Yes, Doug. Pretty much everybody would know everything better than I do."</p>
<p>Amelia laughed. It was a warm, open sound. "I'm not friends with pretty much everybody yet, and I probably never will be. I'm very selective. Just like Doug!" She leaned her hip away from him, and her head towards. "So, where to?"</p>
<p>He blew out his cheeks. "Uhh, the cafeteria, I guess?"</p>
<p>"Sounds like a plan! You look like you could use a good meal, anyway. If you don't mind my saying."</p>
<p>Judging from the look on his face, he didn't mind at all.</p>
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<h2 id="toc16"><span>1 April</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>McInnis paused, keycard in hand. The biometrics reader was still socketed away in its casing; it wouldn't come out until he swiped the card, unless he went another route and attempted voice verification. The Director's Complex admitted entry to only two persons, out of the Site's population of over one thousand.</p>
<p>Unless entry was forced, as it apparently had been now.</p>
<p>The security sweep showed that the disturbance had been limited to the first few rooms of the complex.</p>
<p>The interloper, or interlopers, had been unable to gain access to the Director's private rooms; that level of security was far in advance of what was defending his assistant's quarters, and the reception rooms where they'd all bunkered down in the third deadline.</p>
<p>Whether frustrated in their efforts or finding themselves exactly where they wanted to be, the result had been the same for whoever had broken and entered.</p>
<p>Zulfikar's rooms had been ransacked.</p>
<p>And Zulfikar himself was gone.</p>
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<h2 id="toc17"><span>9 June</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"So, you're pretty close with Philip Deering."</p>
<p>Torosyan nodded. "He's my friend. My best friend."</p>
<p>Karen tented her fingers in front of her, just as she'd seen McInnis do a hundred times. But she thought she brought more grace to the gesture. Her fingers were longer, for starters. "I'm glad to hear that. You like him a lot?"</p>
<p>Already there was a wariness in the technician's eyes. "He's a good guy. A bit down on himself, but he would be, right? What with the thing. You know."</p>
<p>Karen didn't smile, but she did try to keep her glare as friendly as possible. Her spartan office was already making the other woman uncomfortable enough. It did that to everybody. "I know. You're not bothered by…" She decided to try a little vernacular. Torosyan was, after all, an orange collar worker. "The thing?"</p>
<p>"It's not like it's the thing from <em>The Thing.</em> It doesn't kill people. Well…" Torosyan looked to the side, as though she felt bad talking about her friend's more intimate issues without him being present. "He feels really guilty about Dr. Bradbury. Keeps saying he wants to call her, but he isn't sure if she'd want to hear from him."</p>
<p>"Best he puts a pin on that. Dr. Bradbury's situation is a complicated one. But it wasn't his fault, what happened." Karen had her own counsel on whose fault that had been. Well, she thought it was her own, anyway.</p>
<p>"You'd think he'd know that," Torosyan agreed, "and maybe he does, like, <em>academically,</em> but he doesn't really believe it. But no, it doesn't bother me. It bothers me that it's bothering <em>him.</em> He doesn't deserve to have all that garbage flung at him all day long. He needs a break."</p>
<p>Karen nodded. "Again, that's good to hear. We have a little… unofficial project in the works, to keep Phil in good spirits." This time she did smile. She liked to parcel those out sparingly. Keep the value up with rarity. "Something we've been working on for quite a few years."</p>
<p>Torosyan's smile was incandescent.</p>
<p>Karen hated her just a little for it. <em>I thought you came from Site-19, for chrissake.</em> "I'm all ears. If it's a surprise birthday party thing, I've got his gift already picked out."</p>
<p>It was difficult not to laugh in derision. "No, nothing like that. This is privileged information, Amelia. You can't tell him I've talked to you about this. It's above your clearance level, and this conversation is provisional."</p>
<p>The tech frowned. "Weird? But if that's how it is, that's how it is. I won't break clearance confidentiality."</p>
<p>"Good. What's the nature of your friendship with Phil?"</p>
<p>Now she was definitely getting suspicious. "We hang out a lot. Every day, pretty much. We're on the same schedule. We watch movies. Go topside sometimes, when he remembers his sunscreen. Had a snowball fight not too long ago. We have some fun."</p>
<p>"Is that all you're interested in?"</p>
<p>The frown reached her eyes and forehead. "Meaning?"</p>
<p>"Have you ever considered beginning a romantic relationship with Philip Deering?"</p>
<p>The other woman's blue-green eyes widened. "That… is a very strange question to ask."</p>
<p>"But have you?" Karen pressed.</p>
<p>"I'm starting to get this picture forming in my mind." The smile was gone now. Torosyan actually looked like she might be getting angry. "Are you… trying to arrange <em>dates</em> for Phil?"</p>
<p>"If I was, would you be interested?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"I see." Karen turned to her terminal, and keyed in the code for her shift schedule. <em>On to the next item.</em></p>
<p>"And I think that's disgusting," Torosyan continued.</p>
<p>Karen didn't look back at her. "Well."</p>
<p>"Let me guess. There's financial compensation if I say yes."</p>
<p>"There's an honorarium," Karen nodded. Still she didn't make eye contact.</p>
<p><em>Get the picture, would you? This meeting is over.</em></p>
<p>"Of course there is." Torosyan apparently wasn't going to let this go. "And it looks real good on my annual report, right? Marks me down as extra cooperative."</p>
<p>Karen sighed, and finally graced her angry visitor with a look straight down the sides of her nose. "It's an important HR initiative. Technician, you don't have to get angry about this. It's fine that you aren't interested. But you have to know, there are more important considerations here than the dignity of one man. Technician Deering—"</p>
<p>"—doesn't need you to hang sausages around his neck so the dogs will play with him, doctor." Torosyan stood up, and Karen saw that her hands were in fists. "I'm not his friend because I think I'm going to win fabulous prizes for it. He's not a pity case, and he's not a <em>project.</em> And I don't think you want me to say what I think of anyone who'd take you up on the offer you just made."</p>
<p>"We're all trying to do what's best, Amelia." Perhaps a little familiarity might help.</p>
<p>"For who? Not for Phil."</p>
<p>"For <em>everyone.</em>"</p>
<p>"You know who worries about everyone? <em>Actually</em> worries about them?" Torosyan was fuming. The freckles on her cheeks were almost invisible against the bright red. "My best friend. I'm glad I can't tell him what you people think about him. Like he's some <em>threat</em> they need to <em>manage.</em> Phil's what everyone here should be. He's got problems, but he's working on them. He wouldn't go behind anyone's back like this."</p>
<p>"You're on the promotion track, I understand," Karen remarked evenly. "It's possible you'll be Phil's boss some day."</p>
<p>"He has seniority."</p>
<p>"And he has <em>baggage.</em> He'll never be the Chief of J&M, when we finally get another one of those. What are you going to do if you have power over him?" Karen stood, to look her in the eye. "If you have access to information about him that even he hasn't seen? How are you going to balance that?"</p>
<p>"Whatever way works out best for everyone." Most people would have backed down under Karen's stare, even across the desk. Not, apparently, Amelia Torosyan. "Him, and me, and the Site too."</p>
<p>"What if you have to choose?" Karen pressed.</p>
<p>"Then I'll choose what's <em>right.</em> And that means choosing <em>him.</em>"</p>
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<h2 id="toc18"><span>12 June</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><span style="color: #990011">Site-06</span>: Lorraine, Grand Est, France</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Pensak investigated the disappearance, but not very carefully. Just enough to make it look like he was doing his job. When he found the first piece of evidence pointing at what he already suspected was the cause, he had the Day Trippers take him to the classified airfield, and made the trans-Atlantic journey to Site-06.</p>
<p>The one they'd built to replace the one that had blown up when his prime suspect had first escaped.</p>
<p>She looked a little worse for wear, but Imogen Tarrow was still identifiable as herself.<br/>
"Been a long time since I had a visitor," she told him.</p>
<p>"No more friends to spring you from jail?" Pensak sat down.</p>
<p>Tarrow leaned across the table, twisted sideways as though sharing a sensitive confidence. "They've got more important things to deal with."</p>
<p>"That must be embarrassing for you."</p>
<p>"Embarrassing for you, more like." She grinned. "The Foundation doesn't even register as a threat, by comparison."</p>
<p>"You remember Chief Ibanez."</p>
<p>Tarrow's grin faltered a little, but not entirely. "Of course."</p>
<p>"You remember, maybe, that she wasn't the patient sort."</p>
<p>"I got that impression."</p>
<p>"I am much less patient than Chief Ibanez." Pensak made no move to get comfortable. He didn't even pull the chair towards the table. The message was clear: play ball, and soon, or I'm taking my jet back home. "I don't want to hear any apocalyptic rhetoric. If you start rambling about how I don't really know what's going on, how there's all these magnificent secrets I haven't heard, all these threats arrayed against me whose might I can't begin to comprehend, blah blah blah, I am going to walk out of here, and I am going to leave a note in your file, and that note is going to recommend that you be kept in permanent solitary confinement. And nobody is ever going to visit you again."</p>
<p>A little verbal reinforcement was always good, once the body had expressed its own language.</p>
<p>Tarrow looked impressed. "You're scarier than she was. And she was very scary."</p>
<p>"I don't have to be scary at all. I'm very reasonable. Just tell me what I need to know."</p>
<p>"Okay." She gave him her most guileless look. It was almost convincing. "What do you need to know?"</p>
<p>"Someone kidnapped the Director's assistant. I have a hunch you might know why. Do you know why?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>"So you'd come here," Tarrow smiled. "And talk to me."</p>
<p>Pensak nodded. "He's dead."</p>
<p>"Oh, probably." Tarrow shrugged. "I didn't take him. And I don't know where he is."</p>
<p>"They did this so I'd come here." She'd already said as much, but he repeated it to fix the fact in his mind. "Why?"</p>
<p>"So you and I can talk, I guess. Why do you think that is?" There was a whole lot of depth in the woman's dark brown eyes. "Why would they want you to talk to me?"</p>
<p>"I guess that depends on who they are. The <em>giftschreiber?</em>"</p>
<p>She nodded.</p>
<p>"I'm guessing they don't want to turn themselves in."</p>
<p>"Very likely not."</p>
<p>"Then what?"</p>
<p>"I'm a pretty good judge of character. Know what I think, when I look at you? I promise this is relevant."</p>
<p>He turned his palms up, a gesture of acceptance.</p>
<p>"I see a man of flexible morals. That's why you were hired. That's why you've proven good at your job. You're loyal, when it gets you the best result. You're a good person, when it gets you the best result. They've never seen what you're like when those facts don't hold. Am I correct?"</p>
<p>He knew there'd been a reason he'd made sure the cameras were turned off before coming in. "I'm Chief of Security at an SCP facility. They've checked out my background, backwards and forwards. They know they can trust me. And they do."</p>
<p>"Should they?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Should they." Her eyes had narrowed to the sleepiest of slits.</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"It's good to see the truth written on your face." She drummed the table suddenly enough to startle him, though he was sure it didn't show through whatever Tarrow thought she was already seeing there. "I have a couple of leads for your investigation."</p>
<p>"I thought you didn't know anything about the kidnapping," he remarked wryly.</p>
<p>"I don't. But it's not like you're really investigating that, now, is it?"</p>
<p>The first lead was the number of another cell at Site-06. Pensak wasn't a fan of scavenger hunts, but he could stand to walk down a single hallway, so he did.</p>
<p>"Who the hell are you?" Rudolph Marroquin demanded as the guard opened his door. Unlike Tarrow, whose interrogation had been scheduled ahead of time, the scruffy former tech chief and Maxwellist mole was still in his squalid living space. Bed, bookshelf, toilet, sink. Showers were down the hall, and they were communal.</p>
<p>Pensak jerked a thumb over his shoulder as the guard secured the door between them. "Know who I was just talking to?"</p>
<p>"Your rabbi."</p>
<p>Pensak leaned on the door. "Imogen Tarrow."</p>
<p>Marroquin laughed, and looked up at the ceiling.</p>
<p>"She seems to think you and I should have a chat," said Pensak.</p>
<p>"She say what about?" Marroquin stretched out on his bunk, and fluffed up the sad little pillow. Not that it did much good.</p>
<p>"No. Somebody kidnapped the Director's assistant yesterday, sent me here to talk to her. Now I'm talking to you. For about five more minutes, then I'm writing all of this off as a bad fucking joke."</p>
<p>"So the <em>gifties</em> sent you to us, huh." Marroquin slid his hands behind his head, beneath the pillow. He nodded at what he'd been staring fixedly at since lying down. "Probably safe to say those cameras aren't recording anymore."</p>
<p>"Why would they not be recording?"</p>
<p>"Because they've got people everywhere, chief. Or is that Chief? You look arrogant enough for it. What's your name?"</p>
<p>"None of your business." Pensak crossed his arms. "What's the game here, Marroquin? What are the <em>giftschreiber?</em> Really?"</p>
<p>"You don't know?"</p>
<p>"I don't know."</p>
<p>"And you're the Chief of Security?" He laughed again. "That really is a laugh."</p>
<p>"You ever try laughing with a broken nose?"</p>
<p>"You really want to try breaking my nose." Marroquin's expression instantly shifted to a corpse-like neutrality. So, he was a sociopath. That was no great surprise. "Go ahead. I'm excited to see what happens."</p>
<p>"Look." Pensak kicked off the door, and moved to loom over the older man. "I've had it just about up to here with these death cults and their bullshit. Nobody tells me anything, because it's all classified at the highest levels, and only about a dozen people really know what's going on. Someone wants me to know what you people know, and if you're in bed with them—"</p>
<p>"Buddy, I was in bed with everybody." Marroquin patted his thin mattress. "Wanna join?"</p>
<p>"—then it's probably to your benefit to help me out, here."</p>
<p>"Because what? I scratch your back, you'll… break me out of prison?" Marroquin shook his head. "You don't seem the type. I don't see a lot of sympathy in those eyes. You've got the face of a self-preservation artist."</p>
<p>"I read your file." Pensak examined the man's little library. It was all romance novels and high fantasy. Probably they wouldn't let a machine cultist have science fiction. Certainly they would let him see any technical manuals. "You were caught helping the Maxwellists infiltrate 43. Was that just a blind? Were you working for the <em>giftschreiber?</em>"</p>
<p>"Sure." Marroquin yawned. "But isn't that what you want to hear? How can you trust it?"</p>
<p>"I'm not trusting anything you say. I just want to hear you say it, so I can sort the lies from the truth. Why would you work for them? You're not an idealist. You're no <em>cultist.</em> You don't believe in anything. You blackmailed your whole staff for <em>money.</em>"</p>
<p>"Ah. Now I see it." Marroquin finally looked satisfied. "In your eyes, right there. Right in the corners. You're an opportunist. The Foundation's your <em>grift.</em>"</p>
<p>"They gave me a new life." Pensak straightened his jumpsuit at the waist. "And something to do with it."</p>
<p>"And a foxhole to hide from your creditors, eh? Or are you just a big man with big, expansive plans your pocketbook wasn't gonna cover? You embezzling funds from the bullpen cookie jar? Or are you a big time operator, Chief?" Marroquin chuckled. "Amazing. You're not bleeding them at all, are you. But <em>you,</em> you're bleeding. That's in the cheeks. You need a cash transfusion, don't you?"</p>
<p>Pensak didn't answer.</p>
<p>"Know why I knew you were a cop? It wasn't the fucking jumpsuit. I could picture a little white envelope in that big, calloused hand. See it plain as day."</p>
<p>"If you're about to tell me the chaos cult has deep pockets, I'm about to laugh at you."</p>
<p>"Nah, the cult's not much on money. They won't need it when they reach Shangri-La or whatever bullshit they're planning. No, for deep pockets, you want something big and stable. A government, say."</p>
<p>"You're not talking about the cult now."</p>
<p>Marroquin's teeth were unnaturally white. "No. I'm talking about the Insurgency."</p>
<p>Tarrow's second 'lead' led him to a small hospital room containing what he at first took to be a corpse, but then he noticed it was breathing. It had what looked like an esophageal tube and a colostomy bag, and the lids on one eye were sewed shut. On closer inspection, the sewed lid sagged like there was nothing at all behind it.</p>
<p>Pensak wasn't sure what he was meant to see, until he saw it. Then he couldn't un-see it.</p>
<p>It was certainly something to think about.</p>
<p>"Sleazy prick, isn't he?" Tarrow asked as Pensak closed the door again.</p>
<p>"Marroquin?" He shrugged. "A greasy prick in a tight place. They always get in there eventually."</p>
<p>Tarrow clicked her tongue, twice. "Nice."</p>
<p>Pensak sat down, and this time he pulled the chair up. "I want to make very sure I understand what's being offered, here."</p>
<p>"Was it somehow subtle?"</p>
<p>"If I'm going to do this, I'll need assurances."</p>
<p>Tarrow turned her head, as though addressing an invisible partner. "He knows the script. He's <em>rehearsed.</em>"</p>
<p>"I've seen enough movies to know that money's not worth much when the world ends. I want to know that the world isn't <em>going</em> to end."</p>
<p>Tarrow shrugged. "Easy enough to manage."</p>
<p>"Is it?"</p>
<p>"Sure. Play both sides against each other."</p>
<p>He frowned. "Both sides?"</p>
<p>"They fight each other to a standstill, and the world keeps on ticking. You keep getting your kickbacks. Everybody's happy."</p>
<p>"Sorry, what's the other side again?"</p>
<p>She told him.</p>
<p>"You're joking."</p>
<p>"If they'd let you read their files, you'd have said it more like YOU'RE JOKING." He didn't flinch when she shouted, but she reached out to make an appeasing <em>pat pat</em> gesture as though he had. "Sorry, sorry. But seriously. If you told them that… you're not going to tell them that, are you?"</p>
<p>"Why would I? What's in it for me?"</p>
<p>"Might get you a promotion, if they think you stung this information out me."</p>
<p>He rolled his eyes. "Promotions past where I am get you no more money and a lot more responsibilities."</p>
<p>"Life extension, though."</p>
<p>"I don't want that."</p>
<p>She looked genuinely surprised for the first time. "Why not?"</p>
<p>"Because I get this funny feeling that if I live longer than I'm meant to, I'll see that little cold war ending with a bang."</p>
<p>"So you're happy taking bribes, with the understanding that you're helping to make the world a whole lot worse, for its inevitable slide into anarchy and destruction, as long as it happens after you're dead?"</p>
<p>"Should I make an offended face, profess my innocence, express a little guilt?" He chuckled. "I'm very good at faking those things."</p>
<p>"No thanks. Truth be told, I'm not a very patient person either. You want to hear the next steps or not, Chief?"</p>
<p>Pensak rolled up his sleeves. "Call me Roger. And I'm all ears."</p>
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<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
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<p>They'd never had the heart to do it themselves — not McInnis, not the ASC, not even Karen Elstrom — but the Foundation's policies were almost uniformly unsentimental. Noè Nascimbeni was now officially retired. Unlike Melissa Bradbury, he wasn't expected to get better and contest that decision.</p>
<p>They were going to have to replace him.</p>
<p>In his capacity as Chief of Janitorial and Maintenance, that wasn't expected to be a problem. The machine he'd built had kept buzzing along just fine in his absence, by design. His design.<br/>
In his other capacity… well.</p>
<p>They'd just have to wait and see.</p>
<p>It was possible the dead would be far more discriminating than were the living.</p>
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<h2 id="toc19"><span>17 June</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"No, sir. Other than the financial trouble, he checks out."</p>
<p>McInnis nodded. "I'm relieved to hear it. You're certain?"</p>
<p>The S&C agent was visibly far too old for field work, which was probably why McInnis hardly ever saw the man. He had a vague recollection, but nothing more. "Unless every file we accessed has been compromised, which Chief Veiksaar assures me cannot be the case, then yes. Quite certain."</p>
<p>McInnis clasped his hands, and thumped the blotter once as a full stop to the debriefing. "Excellent. It goes without saying that Chief Pensak must never be aware he is under investigation."</p>
<p>The agent raised an eyebrow. "Is, sir?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"I'll leave the file open, then."</p>
<p>"Yes," McInnis nodded. "Unofficially, as before."</p>
<p>"Very good, sir."</p>
<p>The agent made no move to leave.</p>
<p>"I recall you had a second piece of business to discuss with me, Agent…?"</p>
<p>"Scrivens, sir."</p>
<p>"I must be getting old. I don't forget names that easily."</p>
<p>Scrivens smiled warmly. "It's not you, it's me."</p>
<p>McInnis looked at him askance. "Do I need to call security? That seems awfully redundant."</p>
<p>"No, sir. You're in no danger." Scrivens pulled up one of the visitor's chairs, and sat down. "I've already spoken to Dr. Blank about this, but he thought I should tell you personally. You'll be able to remember my identity properly soon, as the effect fully fades."</p>
<p>"What effect?"</p>
<p>"I believe you call it the Forgotten War?"</p>
<p>Lillian looked like she might faint. "We did <em>what?!</em>"</p>
<p>Harry flopped onto the couch, and buried his face in a pillow. "I know."</p>
<p>Lillian sat on his shins, none too gently. "And we <em>hid it from ourselves?!</em>"</p>
<p>He turned over, with no help at all from her, and sighed. "We're too smart for our own good, I always say."</p>
<p>They had always assumed that the Forgotten War, their term for the giftschreiber losing focus on Site-43 and refocusing elsewhere, was the result of some accidental memetic effect blowing up in everyone's face. There was precedent. The Antimemetics Division wasn't the Foundation's first department of that nature.</p>
<p>Finding out that it had been an intentional Foundation plot was more than a little bit shocking.</p>
<p>Harry had just finished the database file, his first Explained-class anomaly. SCP-5054-EX, which he was now colloquially calling "The Memetic Myth of Joe Who?" The short version was that the <em>giftschreiber</em> had tried to destabilize Canada in the 1979 federal election, as a way of putting pressure on Site-43 and the Foundation at large — to the extent that anything centred on Canada could pressure anything outside of it — and had created a conceptual void that could only be filled by the Foundation creating a fake Prime Minister from first principles, shadowplaying a whole year of national governance, and imbuing the nation's symbols with a version of the Frontispiece effect.</p>
<p>Vivian Scout was implicated. Thilo Zwist was implicated, and Harry intended to give the old man an earful over it. Agents Charles Scrivens and Maureen McTeer were also implicated, because the first was the false politician himself, alias Charles Joseph Clark, and the second was his wife. The effect had been so strong that even Foundation personnel could not resist it, and a safeguard to ensure that all would be explained when the problem was solved had badly failed, so it was only now that the truth became known. Harry had met Scrivens at his home, interviewed him, pinned the results to the ten thousand word mess he'd been able to cobble together on the topic, and retired to the dorms to tell Lillian about it, and then probably cry.</p>
<p>Lillian didn't look nearly as upset, however. "It's kinda fun, I think."</p>
<p>"How is it <em>fun,</em>" he growled.</p>
<p>"We thought it was just more of that grim, world-ending bullshit. But it wasn't. It wasn't even <em>different</em> grim, world ending bullshit, like it was with… Bernie." She sniffed, once, and not for the first time he wished there was some way Lillian could let go of at least some of her immaculate memories. "This was just ridiculous, the entire time."</p>
<p>"Well." Harry reached down, and almost immediately from beneath the coffee table, a wet nose appeared to sniff at his fingertips. "I mean, the <em>gift</em>ed kids did try to fuck us up, real bad. And they're going to try harder, now that the effect is gone. Especially with what we're going to try and do in September."</p>
<p>"Yeah, yeah." Lillian stretched back on the couch, still sitting on his legs. They were going numb. "I just think it's nice that despite everything, despite everything we know — sorry, everything I know — there's always something new to discover. It's a wholeass world of experimental possibilities out there, Harry old chum."</p>
<p>Scout, the cat, leapt up onto Harry's chest. He was extraordinarily spry for such an ancient creature, by the standards of his time.</p>
<p>"Experimental possibilities," Harry repeated. A picture was suddenly forming.</p>
<p>Lillian closed her eyes. She was probably about to take a nap. "Ayup."</p>
<p>"Lillian, did you drug my fucking cat?"</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc20"><span>1 July</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"God dammit."</p>
<p>Pensak hadn't ever heard McInnis curse. He wondered if anyone had. "I'm sorry, sir," he said. It probably even sounded like he meant it.</p>
<p>They were standing in the Site's morgue. Pensak had brought the corpse in himself, after dragging it out of the ditch and calling in a ride from Ibanez. The tip had been good, because of course it had.</p>
<p>"Damn." The Director looked like he wanted to punch something. "<em>Damn.</em>"</p>
<p>"We'll find whoever did this." It was an empty promise, but then, they all would be from now on.</p>
<p>"I doubt that very much." The older man's voice was suddenly flat and without affect.</p>
<p><em>Uh oh.</em> "Sir?"</p>
<p>"If they were able to get to Zulfikar, they had help." McInnis' grey eyes somehow managed an angry flash. "The entire Foundation might be compromised."</p>
<p>"That seems a bit of a leap from one kidnapping." Pensak was fully aware of the irony of this statement. He hoped that awareness wasn't the kind of thing an expert communicator might be able to read on someone's face. Oh, but the next few years were going to be very interesting.</p>
<p>"These people couldn't even focus on the Site properly until before this was done. They couldn't have done it unless they had agents on the inside. It's been happening right under my nose."</p>
<p>"You can't blame yourself, sir."</p>
<p>McInnis stopped himself halfway through a dismissive gesture. "As a matter of personal preference and leadership style, Chief, I consider myself the only justifiable target for blame."</p>
<p>"What should we do about it, though? The potential infiltration?"</p>
<p>The Director zipped up the body bag, very delicately, and said something Pensak couldn't hear before something Pensak could. "Coordinate with Chief Ibanez. We're going to start cracking down hard on the <em>giftschreiber.</em>"</p>
<p>"Which ones? <em>Neuer or Alte?</em>"</p>
<p>"Both."</p>
<p>Pensak smiled. He let the other man think it was in anticipation of righteous vengeance.</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc21"><span>19 July</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p><em>The Book of the Turning Gyre</em> sat on table, between Nass and Corbin on the one side and Udo on the other. It was time for the final analysis.</p>
<p>"What can we say for certain," Nass asked them, in his natural role as facilitator — meaning, as Corbin would have it, that he had no useful skills, but a pleasant enough face — "based on what we've read?"</p>
<p>The other theologian looked bored. "Those who can, write. Those who can't, <em>giftschreibe.</em>"</p>
<p>"I'm pretty sure that's an incorrect conjugation," Udo smiled.</p>
<p>Corbin shot her a sly look. "Sorry. Been a long time since I conjugated."</p>
<p>Nass rubbed his chin; Udo thought he was probably erasing the first traces of a smile. "If we could focus? On the book, I mean."</p>
<p>"Sure." Corbin kicked back, and her boots thudded on the desk. "So, first things first. This is a how-to manual for ending the world."</p>
<p>"And the how is pretty weird," said Udo. "Robertson is using a universal schema first conceived of by Yeats."</p>
<p>"And he hasn't got the poetic chops to make it work. That's not a random diss, I think it's an important element of what's going on here." Corbin twirled her cigarette. She hardly ever smoked them anymore, but she did seem to like to hold them. "The <em>giftschreiber</em> have this idea about how the world works, and how to make it <em>stop</em> working, but none of them are individually talented enough to actually exploit the information."</p>
<p>Nass nodded. "So, the schema. History is twin, interlocked gyres of chaos and order, waxing in waning in inverse proportion. An era of rationality gives way to an era of irrationality."</p>
<p>Corbin tapped the cigarette on her cheek. "Except it's hard to phrase that objectively, because our perspective always privileges order over disorder. Peace over war. Rationality over irrationality. The <em>giftschreiber</em> obviously don't think they're moral equivalents either — they're very much in the chaos camp — but the model doesn't admit of such easy categorization. It's just two poles of reality. Two halves of the human civilization-brain."</p>
<p>"According to Robertson," said Udo, "every act of radical subversion accelerates the chaos spiral."</p>
<p>Corbin thumped one sole on the desktop. "Which suggests, conversely, that every act of excessive control does the same to the gyre of order."</p>
<p>Finishing Corbin's thoughts, or vice-versa, had proven a very satisfying pastime over the previous year. "Each gets a season, and then the season changes, and then it changes again. Cyclical. Winding up, winding down. But crucially, they don't wind down without a push. That's not in Yeats." She glanced up at the light fixtures, and narrowed her eyes. "I can say this with authority. Harry talked my ear off about Yeats."</p>
<p>"Poetry is romantic," Corbin grinned.</p>
<p>But Udo, as usual, wasn't having it. "Not when you dissect it. Nothing is romantic when you dissect it."</p>
<p>"Might we assume, then," Nass cut in, "that the erased entity you encountered was a means of achieving, as Robertson puts it, 'knock'? A concretization of anarchy, a concept given form?"</p>
<p>"Except he talked like he'd been around forever," said Udo.</p>
<p>Corbin was back to twirling her prop again. "That isn't necessarily contradictory. If he <em>is</em> chaos, like an avatar of it, the transformation from concept to neural pathways might have translated the long chain of cause and effect into simple memory. He might 'remember' being a part of every act of excessive chaos ever conducted."</p>
<p>She shook her head. "I don't think so. We've been plenty chaotic ourselves, even as we've been trying to re-establish order, so if that were the case, the Uncontained would have known our every move. And he didn't. We beat him." She paused. "Chief Nascimbeni beat him."</p>
<p>She made a mental note to visit the hospital after their meeting.</p>
<p>"So—" Nass began, but Corbin interrupted him.</p>
<p>"Hey, wait a second."</p>
<p>He nodded. "Yes?"</p>
<p>"Udo, that's how you'd characterize it?" Without warning, the boots were back under the table and the chair had all four legs on the floor again. "What you guys were doing?"</p>
<p>"Eh?</p>
<p>"Re-establishing order?"</p>
<p>She shrugged. "Well, yeah. The Victims tore everything up, and we put it back together. They made a mess, and we cleaned it up."</p>
<p>"Huh."</p>
<p>"I think I know where you're going with this."</p>
<p>Corbin laughed. "I'm not sure I know where I'm going with this."</p>
<p>"It's something I've thought about a lot. But there's a mental block in place, and…" Suddenly, she felt as though she was the one whose stomach had just turned a somersault. "And I think I know why."</p>
<p>Even though it was her dorm room, Udo was almost never the one to set a meeting's agenda. But this time was different. For starters, it was a one-on-one.</p>
<p>"I figured it out," she said.</p>
<p>Lillian was picking at the fabric of her recliner. She'd already plucked one entire armrest bare. "You figured what out?"</p>
<p>"All of it."</p>
<p>"That's a tall order." There was a faint ripping sound as a long thread came loose, and Lillian quickly dropped her elbow to hide the damage. "I'm going to be very angry with you if you're right."</p>
<p>"We can't just stop the explosion that kills the Uncontained, when the Breach happens this year. We need to find a way to stop the orphic outflow from blowing the gaskets in AO." Udo could feel her cheeks burning, either with pride or the radiation from her brightly gleaming eyes. "We need to keep that containment cell from flooding."</p>
<p>"Uh, you sure about that? Because it sounds an awful lot like changing the natural course of events."</p>
<p>"The natural course of events is wrong." She gave that a moment to sink in, but because it hadn't yet been proven, it bounced off Lillian in a way that was almost audible. "That's why I can't remember anything I do during the Breach. The thing that happened there, it was the most important thing."</p>
<p>Lillian snorted. "I liked you better when you had confidence issues."</p>
<p>"I'm serious. That's one of the two keys to the entire thing. Del Olmo was interviewing the Uncontained, and when the Uncontained got vaporized, it got <em>aerosolized.</em> God particles stuck to the Victims. We know that part." They only knew it now, now that it had been conclusively proven, now that they had met the beast itself. They'd been unable to focus on the question for a decade and a half before that, because human brains abhorred a noöspheric vacuum.</p>
<p>"Right…"</p>
<p>"And something else was happening in the containment cell where I was, of equal importance. Equal…"</p>
<p>"…and opposite?"</p>
<p>"And opposite."</p>
<p>Lillian's blue eyes were unfocusing and refocusing rapidly, like blinkenlights. "You're suggesting…"</p>
<p>"I wasn't alone in there. I was with someone else. Someone who got vaporized. Just like his—"</p>
<p>They said the word at the same time.</p>
<p>Lillian shook her head. "But, listen to yourself. If it's the same thing, more or less, why didn't we get possessed too?"</p>
<p>"Who's saying we didn't?"</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc22"><span>21 July</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Sokolsky found her in the cafeteria.</p>
<p>Lillian much preferred her office, where nobody ever came calling unexpectedly, but sometimes she needed the background chatter. Other people talking was like putting a stupid sitcom on in the background while you studied for your test.</p>
<p>Because they had to pass this test, or the rest of the term would be in serious doubt.</p>
<p>"You're looking thoughtful this evening." He sat down across from her, a plate of salad on his tray.</p>
<p>She blinked until she could see him clearly. "As opposed to what?"</p>
<p>"Mindful."</p>
<p>She shook her head. "Mindfulness is for yogis."</p>
<p>"What's eating you?" He took a bite of lettuce. Only a lunatic would eat unseasoned lettuce on its own.</p>
<p>"I'm reflecting on the nature of self."</p>
<p>"Your self, or…" He scoffed. "Why am I even asking? So, what about your self?"</p>
<p>"I'm wondering how much of it really is me. We had an unpleasant revelation earlier today."</p>
<p>"Of what nature?"</p>
<p>"Inhuman nature. Mine. <em>Ours.</em>" She watched as he picked up the pepper shaker, and started making the lettuce either better or worse, depending on your perspective. "I think we've been infected by something, and it's changed the people we are."</p>
<p>He looked thoughtful, but not for long. "I do not think that."</p>
<p>"You haven't even heard the explanation yet," she scowled.</p>
<p>"Am I likely to?"</p>
<p>"No," she sighed. "I have to tell the group first. We have to. Udo figured it out." She sighed more profoundly. "I hate it when people figure things out before me. Especially when <em>I</em> have all the facts."</p>
<p>"Worst thing about facts is that sometimes feelings get results faster." He scarfed down another length of slightly spicy green.</p>
<p>"Rarely better results." She leaned away from him, let her arms fall over the back of the chair, and watched the smattering of night owls working their way through whatever they were eating, or talking about. "You ever wonder if we're doing the right thing? I mean, in general. Are we wasting our time? Wasting our talents? Doing what other people want, instead of… I dunno. What we could be doing."</p>
<p>"No. I never do what other people want. I only do what <em>I</em> want. And so do you."</p>
<p>"Except I have the most horrible sense that I've been doing someone else's bidding for the last seventeen years."</p>
<p>"What would you have done differently?" he asked, with his mouth full.</p>
<p>"I don't know."</p>
<p>He swallowed. "Would you have still tried to figure out the Breach?"</p>
<p>She glared at him out of the corners of her eyes. "Of course. It's the weirdest thing that's ever happened around here. I'd be all over it."</p>
<p>"Would you have done all the stuff you did with Antimemetics?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. That was all me."</p>
<p>"Would you have had sex with me?"</p>
<p>She laughed, and sat up straight again. "That was <em>definitely</em> all me."</p>
<p>"Well, that strikes me as everything important." At the bottom of the lettuce was a single large tomato. He put down his fork, and picked it up. "I guess there's the stuff you overvalue, too. Would you have still kept in touch with your friends? Harry?"</p>
<p>"Harry's been my best friend since before I was sapient. Well, before he was sapient. Yes."</p>
<p>"The others?"</p>
<p>"Maybe not Allan. Or Nascimbeni. Probably not Willie."</p>
<p>Sokolsky held the tomato in front of his eyes, as though it were an apple he was inspecting for spots. "You're not really friends, or in touch, with Willie anyway."</p>
<p>"That's true. I'd probably be tripping over him just the same. It's just… I don't know." There were no three words she hated more, in that configuration. "I don't think this affects who I am, at all. I don't think it affects who any of us are. I think it gave us new <em>tools,</em> and I think we used them the way our personalities and needs dictated. But it does feel sort of like finishing a game and then finding out you had a cheat code enabled the entire time."</p>
<p>"What if the game was broken?" he suggested. "And you couldn't beat it without—"</p>
<p>"Better," she nodded. "The other side was already cheating. This just evened the score. Yeah. Yeah!" She slapped the table, and the silverware jumped. "That actually helped. Thank you."</p>
<p>He bowed his head. "Happy to. You figure large in my future schemes, Lillian. I need you safe and sane."</p>
<p>And, again as though it were an apple, he took a big bite out of the tomato.</p>
<p>She watched him eat. It was almost meditative. "I think I might need a break from schemes."</p>
<p>"No idea what that feels like," he shrugged. "But sure." The entire thing was gone in seconds, and he dabbed at his serviette daintily to get the juice off the ends of his fingers. "I'm working on something, have been for a good long while, but it won't pop for a few more years. You've got time to take a breather."</p>
<p>"Why is this not reassuring me?" She wanted to chuckle, but it didn't come out right at all. "Don't you think maybe, just <em>maybe</em> the world would be a better place to live in if people weren't always planning and plotting and—"</p>
<p>"Hell no." He shoved the tray into the middle of the table. "Absolutely I do <em>not.</em> Having plans moves life forward. Being proactive is <em>living,</em> as opposed to simply reacting. Having schemes means… well." And he grinned that selachian grin. "Living a unique life."</p>
<p>She twisted away again, but drummed at the tabletop with the fingers of her right hand. "I couldn't have schemed up a more unique life than this one if I'd tried."</p>
<p>He took the hand in his own, and halted the percussion. "If you believed that, you wouldn't be half the woman you are. You might only be just above perfect."</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<p>"<a href="/58-time-flat">Time Flat</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/58-time-flat">https://scpwiki.com/58-time-flat</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:</p>
<p>Philip Deering: "Twitter 365 Project - Day 55" and "Tokyo" by Richard Giles, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076</a></p>
<p>Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023</a></p>
<p>Noè and Flora Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822">https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822</a> and<br/>
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992">https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992</a></p>
<p>Daniil Sokolsky: "Brett - 08-08-08" and "Waterpitts, 29-09-12" by Brett Jordan, both released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625">https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842">https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842</a></p>
<p>Imogen Tarrow: "Teacher Leader Conference 2 August 2012" courtesy US Department of Education, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/48445211@N06/7733033618">https://www.flickr.com/photos/48445211@N06/7733033618</a></p>
<p>Amelia Torosyan: "Shopping!" and "Weezie on the Subway" by Richard Giles, released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/5067224818">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/5067224818</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4246835894">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4246835894</a></p>
<p>Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470</a></p>
<p>William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260">https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260</a></p>
<p>Marion Wheeler: Untitled sketches by WasteButterscotch810, by default CC BY-SA 3.0: <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/SCP/comments/t6g7tz/marion_wheeler_sketches_bc_i_reread_there_is_no">https://www.reddit.com/r/SCP/comments/t6g7tz/marion_wheeler_sketches_bc_i_reread_there_is_no</a></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Everything!<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736644312" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
</blockquote>
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[=]]
**Time Flat**
Like the present.
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[=]]
+ Time Flat
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="jandm"]]
[[=]]
+ ##CC9900|2017##
++ 9 September
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**Baseline Temporality, twelve months earlier**[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
The members of Sampi-5243 met with their assigned psychologist for a debriefing each year after executing their containment procedures, no matter the outcome. This saved them from needing to schedule an appointment whenever they returned from a deadline, since nobody but them would realize anything had happened in the first place. Usually these debriefings were upbeat, even a little bit celebratory in nature, though that tendency had waned in recent years as the chore dragged on and on and the novelty of success wore off.
Five years since their last accident, though, was a milestone any dangerous workplace could be proud of.
[[div class="Ngo"]]
**Debriefing Log 5243-X-2017**
**Subject:** Allan J. McInnis (Director, Site-43); Harold R. Blank (Chair, Archives and Revision, Site-43); Delfina M. Ibanez (Chief, Pursuit and Suppression, Site-43); Lillian S. Lillihammer (Chair, Memetics and Countermemetics, Site-43); Nascimbeni, N. (Chief, Janitorial and Maintenance, Site-43); Okorie, Udo A. (Chair, Applied Occultism, Site-43); Wettle, William W. (Deputy Chair, Replication Studies, Site-43)
**Officer of Record:** Nhung T. Ngo (Chair, Psychology and Parapsychology Section, Site-43)
----
**Dr. Ngo:** Only three containment failures, over the course of fifteen years. That's an excellent record.
**Chief Nascimbeni:** Inexplicable, more like.
**Dr. Ngo:** How do you mean?
**Chief Nascimbeni:** I would have thought for sure that we messed it up back in 2016.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Don't look a hazy memory in the mouth, Chief.
**Dr. Ngo:** I must say, though, your accomplishments in the alternate timelines that //were// created have been nothing short of remarkable.
**Chief Ibanez:** That's pressure for you.
**Chief Nascimbeni:** Systems under pressure usually break. You guys just... well. You push //back,// even harder. Which is what //good// systems under pressure do. The kind of systems I design.
**Dir. McInnis:** In a sense, Chief, you designed this system. All of us did.
**Dr. Wettle:** What system? Are we automating this somehow?
**Dr. Blank:** They're talking about us, Willie. The Survivors.
**Dr. Wettle:** That reminds me. I don't get it.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** You are //really// going to have to elaborate on that. You don't get //what?//
**Dr. Wettle:** That joke about burying the survivors.
**Chief Nascimbeni:** Jesus Christ.
**Dr. Blank:** Willie, that was //sixteen years ago.// Whole human beings, almost sapient, have evolved into near-personhood in the time it's taken you to not figure it out.
**Dr. Ngo:** What is this?
**Dr. Wettle:** That riddle the Chief posed, when they re-opened AAF-D. If a plane crashes on the border between two countries, where do you bury the survivors? Wherever they came from! That's so stupid. Do they bury earthquake victims in the holes that open up?"
**Dr. Blank:** Willie...
**Dr. Wettle:** Do they think countries have jurisdiction over burial, no matter where you're from?
**Dr. Blank:** //Willie.//
**Dr. Wettle:** Or do they think crashing on a border means the laws governing body removal are in question? Because the answer //there// is: you //can't// crash on a border, not actually. You're on one side or the other, so--
**Chief Nascimbeni:** YOU DON'T BURY SURVIVORS.
//<Dr. Wettle blinks slowly.>//
**Dr. Wettle:** "What?"
**Chief Nascimbeni:** 'Where do they bury the survivors?' That was the question. And you don't. You //don't// bury survivors. I... I'm pretty sure I even said that, when I first said the thing. Didn't I?
**Dir. McInnis:** You did.
**Dr. Okorie:** Yeah.
//<Chief Ibanez pats Chief Nascimbeni's arm.>//
**Chief Ibanez:** It was a nice little metaphor. //I// got it.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Everybody got it.
**Dr. Blank:** Where were we?
**Dr. Ngo:** It's amazing, the way you complement each other.
**Dr. Wettle:** They //never// compliment me.
**Dr. Ngo:** It's like... the comparison to a system, actually. Very apt. All of you draw from a particular skillset that barely overlaps with what the others have to offer.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** You going somewhere with this?
**Dr. Ngo:** I've been debriefing all of you for years now. I've seen you change. Your proficiencies have increased, and your efficiency. But the challenges you face and overcome, the means you employ to do so... there's a visible, linear trend. You've suggested before that the Breach marked you all in some way. Have any of you tried categorizing those effects?
//<Silence on recording.>//
**Dr. McInnis:** I had assumed...
**Chief Ibanez:** We're just ourselves, but more. Aren't we?
**Dr. Blank:** //Is// there something more specific going on?
**Dr. Wettle:** Are we proposing that we possess super powers? Because I've gotta say, I do not agree.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Oh, god.
**Chief Nascimbeni:** What?
**Dr. Lillihammer:** We do. He's right. We have superpowers.
**Dr. Ngo:** How do you know?
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Because Willie says we don't. And he's always wrong. Because he's an idiot.
//<Silence on recording.>//
**Dr. Wettle:** Or maybe that's just my superpower.
[!-- [[=image Ngo_Explain.jpg]] --]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Nobody had to suggest it. They walked to Udo's quarters, single file, and settled into their usual spots without a word.
McInnis spoke first. "Responsibilities."
"As opposed to freedoms," Harry nodded. "It makes sense."
"It does?" said Wettle.
"The Victims each act like different freedom archetypes," Udo explained. "We're their opposite numbers. The opposite of liberty is obligation."
"Or imprisonment," said Nascimbeni.
"Same thing," Del grumbled. "So, what responsibilities? Who's who?"
"I remember," said Lillian.
Wettle blinked, slowly. "You remember what?"
She made as if to kick him. "That's my responsibility. To remember. I used to be able to forget things. Now I remember things that never even happened."
"Learning is a responsibility," Harry suggested.
"Yours?" Udo asked.
"I was thinking yours, actually. You're well on your way to Archmagus by now. It's pretty amazing."
She looked away, smiling.
"Pretty freaky, more like," said Del.
Udo's pleased smile widened. "Del protects," she said.
"Damn skippy."
"Willie suffers," Del announced.
"I can confirm," he agreed. He waved at Harry. "Jerkass teaches. And lords it over you."
"Not my fault you're so ignorant," Harry laughed.
Nascimbeni pointed at McInnis. "Leadership."
McInnis pointed back at him. "Sacrifice."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_58_03_McInnis_Sacrifice.jpg]]
The room was very quiet for a long time after that.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 7 November
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Dalhousie University##: Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
A traffic cone — no, two traffic cones. More clothing than he thought any one person should own. Several pieces of furniture that didn't fit the decor of the room. All in all, so much useless and sentimental junk that it only put Nascimbeni in mind of one other room he'd seen in his life.
Though he'd seen it quite often.
"I've never seen such a mess," he lied.
Flora sat down on the edge of her bed. The flimsy dorm mattress offered very little pushback. "You work at a water treatment plant, and you're never in your own house. How many messes do you even see?"
He smiled. "You would be very surprised."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_58_02_Nascimbeni_Dorm.jpg]]
"Maybe I would be." There was a challenge in her voice, though not an unfriendly one.
He examined the vinyl records she had displayed on the wall-mounted dresser unit. It was an odd mix of things he recognized, which were therefore old, and things he didn't, which meant it was strange they'd been pressed to vinyl. She had a record player, too. He'd thought that went out of fashion decades ago. "You settling in here alright?"
She laughed. "Grampa, I'm about to //graduate.//"
"Of course you are. I know that. I'm just wondering…"
"If I'm making friends?" She bounced on the mattress; it was all her, the springs were contributing nothing. "Getting enough fresh air? You don't need to worry about me, but I know it's pointless to tell you that."
"My job is to worry," he reminded her. "Both of my jobs are to worry. This is my more important job."
She wasn't going to let him off that easy. "I dunno. Always seemed like your other job was a pretty big deal. Somehow."
"It is," he nodded. He took a deep breath, slid his hands into his jacket pocket, and took the plunge. "You know what would make me worry less? If I could, sort of, I dunno, //combine// my worries."
Her eyes widened. They were so much like her grandmother's. "Oh, god. Are you here to offer me a job? I didn't go to university for four years to rely on nepotism." She held up a hand to relieve the impact of the gut punch. "I'm //joking!// I'm joking. I am totally fine with relying on nepotism, if the pay is good. I know I'm awesome, so it wouldn't be unfair. What's the benefits package like?"
He laughed. "You really do run on ahead, don't you?"
"I always did," she agreed. "But you were always so slow!"
"I like to know where my feet are going to land." He leaned on the back of the door, heard a crinkling, and stepped back. There was a poster for something called The Films. Maybe it was an ironic poster making fun of how people liked to hang up movie posters. Kids these days loved their irony. "You need to be careful, in my line of work. You'll need to be doubly careful."
"Why's that?"
He turned back to her. She looked so small and vulnerable, sitting there on the bed, surrounded by all the pointless little things that gave her comfort. "Because if anything happens to you…"
She shook her head. "I know. I know. I'll be careful, for both of us. And dad. //If// I go. But wow, I never thought you'd ask." She was grinning ear to ear. "I've seen where you work a grand total of //once.// What made you change your mind about me?"
Sometimes he wished he could convey with his face what others could convey with their words. It was always a struggle to put things just right. "I've never once changed my mind about you. It wasn't about you. It's about… the job."
As always, she was paying rapt attention. "What about it?" And then he saw something click. "It's about Uncle Romo, right?"
His first instinct was always not to talk about that. But this was his granddaughter. He went with his second, better instinct. "Yes, and no. Mostly yes."
"That story you and dad tell, that was always cock and bull. Yeah?"
His chest was full of conflict, but pride won out. She was so clever. "How did you know?"
"You guys hate lying. You make sourpuss faces. Like this." She demonstrated. "I'm letting go of a big advantage, telling you that."
He sat down on the bed beside her. He could feel the plank the mattress was sitting on through his buttocks. "I appreciate the sacrifice. But yes. Your uncle didn't die at home. He died at work. He died…"
"Grampa?" She was alarmed. She put her arms around him.
He made the words come out, deliberate and precise. Not quite robotic; not these words. He felt them too much. "His death was directly connected to saving the world. His death keeps the world saved, every year. Every year since it happened. He's one of the most important people on Earth, your uncle Romo."
"Because of a water treatment plant."
He hesitated. "Well."
"It's //not// a water treatment plant?"
"It very much is," he sighed. He put his arm around her, and she settled in closer. "But it's a whole lot more, too. I could show you, if you want."
"Does dad know?"
That was awkward. "It's a very confusing thing to show somebody. Maybe I'll show you, first, and you can decide what you want to tell your dad."
"Can it wait until March break?"
He craned his neck to look at her. "Sure. Can you?"
He expected the face she pulled before it appeared. "…screw it. I'll pack a bag."
[!-- [[=image Nascimbeni_Flora_Recruit.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Flora was trying not to shake as the elevator descended. She was doing as fair a job of it as he could have expected. "I don't understand."
He nodded. "Go on."
"That barracks was //ancient.//"
"Yes."
"And it has an elevator."
"It does."
"And it's still going down."
"It sure is."
She made a sound of exasperation. "This isn't where you took me to work. That was down by the lake."
"It's all connected. There's so many connections." He chuckled. "You'll have a lot to learn about."
She looked up above the elevator doors, where the display simply showed an arrow. "How is it //still// going down? There aren't even any floor indicators."
As if on cue, she was proven wrong. Nascimbeni pointed. "There's one."
"Two," Flora said.
"Three." The doors opened. "Our stop."
Flora stepped back, bumping against the back rail. "What the fuck?"
"Language!" he laughed, and drew her out into the foyer. It was a busy day.
[[div class="muddle"]]
The foyer of Site-43's main facility is located at the heart of Habitation and Sustenance, and features its widest unbroken floorspace. A massive edition of the Site's insignia is displayed on that floor, and personnel can be seen walking across it day and night, travelling to and from their posts, or exiting Hiring and Regulation on various tasks. Some of them probably just like to experience a little less claustrophobia, though the fact that ceilings are ten feet or higher throughout the Site helps with that, too.
There is only one purpose to this foyer, and it serves that purpose precisely once.
Impressing the grandiose nature of the place on visitors, the first time that they visit.
Giving them a small but intuitive sense of what Site-43 means about the possibility field of the world beyond the Veil.
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
"No," Flora insisted. "What the fuck? What is all this?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_58_04_Flora_Baffled.jpg]]
"Lake Huron Research and Containment Facility Site-43."
She looked at him, then looked back at all the hustle, bustle, and outrageously impossible scale. "Research and…"
"Containment." He put a hand on her shoulder, and squeezed.
"Containment of what?" She spun to face him properly. An agent walking past suppressed a grin. Everybody knew the look she had on her face. "Wait. How far down are we?"
"About a kilometre."
"That's impossible. Containment of what?" Flora took a few steps into the foyer, then a few more. He followed her into the sigil's centre. "This is //impossible.//"
"Containment //of// the impossible," he told her.
She stood there, swaying, and shook her head. "What does that mean?!"
"I'll show you." He took her shoulder again, and steered. "Let's go for a walk."
"How are all these people…" She lowered her voice as a crowd of Applied Occultists went past, and was now whispering with comical conspiratoriality. "This place is //huge!// It can't be, you didn't say—"
"One kilometre."
He thought she might cry. "How big?"
"Three hundred and seventy-two thousand square metres."
She stopped dead, and a pair of MTF agents had to swerve around them abruptly. "//What?!//"
"One of the largest structures on the planet." He didn't even try to keep the pride out of his voice.
"Containing… what?"
He nudged her gently forward. They were passing a series of secondary labs and offices, for off-the-clock work. Some of them were occupied. "You already asked that. I said I'd show you."
A few of his jumpsuited techs passed by, and saluted him lazily. Flora immediately recognized the caps they were wearing. "What are those uniforms?"
"A little fancy for my tastes," he admitted. He was still in his shirt and jeans.
"Where do all these people live?" She started spinning in place, and he thought for a moment she would surely fall down. "There weren't that many cars in the lot!"
"Most of them live here."
A tear rolled down her cheek. "Here?"
"At the Site."
"Do you?" Her voice was rough. "Live here?"
"Sometimes." He bit his lip. "More than I ought to have."
"Did dad know?"
"Of course not."
They'd reached an intersection, and she seemed to lose the willpower to drive her so far from the nearest handhold. She fell back to the wall, and looked up at him with complete and total bewilderment. "Why? Why didn't you tell him? Why didn't you tell //me?//"
He leaned on the wall beside her. "Lots of reasons. Most of them good. Some of them not. I still haven't told you much of anything, Flora. When I have, you'll understand."
She stared at her hands, and shook her head again. "I don't see how. I really do not see how."
He pulled her into a sideways hug. "When you've been down here long enough, you will." He gestured at the constant stream of traffic flowing past them. They'd arrived at shift change, by design. Best to go off the deep end first. "That's what this place is, ultimately. The place where people see how."
[!-- [[=image Flora_Philmelia.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
She sat on a bench in the middle of her grandfather's kingdom, and watched his craftsmen go about their jobs. Some of them she understood. Some of them involved machinery she couldn't guess at the purpose of. All of them waved as they walked past.
Probably he'd told them to do that. Still…
"They look happy," she said.
Her grandfather considered. "I think they are, on the balance."
"These are good people?"
He'd rarely sounded so confident of anything. "Some of the best people."
She exhaled, hard. She was doing that more and more as the tour went on. She'd be hyperventilating soon, if she couldn't help it. Her legs had already given out twice as it was. "So, you're not about to tell me you're part of some weird death cult."
It took him a lot longer to think of a response to that, which wasn't a good sign.
The response, though, wasn't bad.
He smiled. "More like a weird life cult."
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="generic"]]
[[=]]
++ 1 November
----
[[/=]]
A woman enters a room, and is overwhelmed by the mass of information she finds inside. She always is, though she doesn't know this. She doesn't have many details to add, this year, and she eventually leaves the room troubled, but confident a solution can be found. She's glad she prepared so well ahead of time.
But, of course, that's always been her thing.
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="jandm"]]
[[=]]
++ 3 December
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Site-19##: Undisclosed Location, United States of America**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
They'd been kind enough to give him one of the Site's interrogation rooms for the interview. He'd gotten the distinct impression, from the way the security agent escorted them both in, that the young woman he was meeting hadn't told everyone she was thinking about a change of postings. Well, that was fine. It wouldn't be the first time he'd poached an employee.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_58_05_Amelia.jpg]]
"So, I've got a few questions for you first." Nascimbeni glanced down at her résumé for a quick refresher before continuing. "If you've got any for me, we can handle them after. That sound good to you?
"Fine with me!" the young woman beamed at him. "I'm an easy sell."
He chuckled. "That's good, I'll only use the less convincing lies." Her smile widened. Long-time Foundation employees always responded well to gallows humour, though Amelia didn't look nearly old enough to have gotten that jaded yet. Then again… "So, you're a systems tech here at 19. How come you're thinking of a transfer? This is the big leagues. 43 is practically a backwater."
He thought he sensed some hesitation in the response. Not a lie, but an omission. "Well, that's not really true, is it? I mean sure, it's in Canada, but it's still one of the biggest Sites in the whole Foundation. And you've got so many amazing systems! That place is overengineered in the best possible sense. Any tech would be happy to get assigned there."
He liked to see her enthusiasm, though that sort of thing rarely survived contact with the workplace. "I can assure you, plenty of them haven't been. The place is big, and it's complicated, but it isn't where people go to advance their careers. Most folks end up just staying there."
She looked down for a moment, and he knew she had reasons she wasn't yet comfortable sharing. "That's not a problem for me."
"Why not? You're young." He nodded at the résumé. "You've got qualifications. You could do a great job anywhere. Why 43?"
Now he was sure she was dancing around something. He could see it in her eyes, or maybe the faint purple bags beneath them. "Because everything I've seen suggests you guys are doing really interesting, really //good,// stuff. Stuff that matters. I want to do stuff that matters. I learn quick, and I always do my best. I want to learn there, and do my best there. Not here. I've seen enough of Site-19."
"What's that mean?"
If she'd slipped up, she'd allowed herself to do so. She wasn't happy misleading him, which made him happy. He believed in the value of toil, but honest toil was a thing he lived for. "It's a personal issue. I'd rather not talk about it if I don't have to. But that's not the reason I'm looking into options, not really. I just…" She smiled at him again, and he couldn't remember ever having seen a more honest one. "I'm really excited to actually make a difference, you know? I always hear such great things about 43."
"It's a reduction in status," he reminded her, "and a reduction in pay."
"Doesn't bother me."
"Living options are a lot more limited, at your position. You'd be stuck in the dorms."
"Couldn't care less. I'll be spending my time with the tech anyway."
Very much the right answer. "Your boss is ancient, and your youthful enthusiasm will not move him to acts of generosity or goodwill."
"I love a good challenge." She was obviously enjoying this.
He could see her fitting in with his staff quite well. McInnis had urged him to hire on some fresh faces, as fresh as he could get them, and he'd more than agreed it was time.
So what was his hangup here?
And suddenly, he saw it.
The old soldier, and the aging Director, at the submarine doors. He could see them more clearly than he could see her, because his eyes back then had been clear of cataracts and he'd been in the prime of his life. He'd given those years to the Foundation, and the Foundation had given him…
Well. Chances, mostly. And it wasn't like he'd wasted them.
And it wasn't like this was a fresh-faced young woman straight out of university. It wasn't like he was dooming an innocent soul to a fate she could not yet comprehend.
Not like he'd just done with his granddaughter.
He must have gotten better at keeping his feelings closed off, because rather than being put off by his sudden silence, Amelia took the chance to ask a question of her own.
"Is it true that one of your janitors has his very own mirror monster?" She pursed her lips shyly. "That sounds like just about the coolest thing in the world."
And just as simple as that, he knew it was all going to work out fine after all.
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="generic"]]
[[=]]
++ 9 December
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
It was the longest project she'd ever worked on.
The longest anyone at I&T had ever spent on anything that hadn't seen at least some form of implementation… well. That wasn't true. She'd made use of the code base and its core algorithms a few times, most notably to turn the tables on Rudolph Marroquin.
But this was something different. This was the final step towards something new.
With a final keystroke, Eileen Veiksaar created life.
The little grey avatar with the bright green hair opened its eyes, and smiled at her. "Hello, Chief Veiksaar. It's good to finally speak with you face-to-face!"
Eileen couldn't help but smile. "It's good to finally put a face to the code. We've got a lot of work to do, Clio. A&R wants you online as soon as possible. We're way behind on the digitization trend."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_58_08_Veiksaar_Clio.jpg]]
Cliometria.aic had no limbs, was nothing but a floating head on a screen, but her expression managed to give the general sense of a salute nevertheless. Maybe it was the curious cant of the head. "I live to be useful! What database would you like me to start with?"
Eileen opened up another window, and started typing into it. "I'll hook you up to the partition in a minute. First, though, I have a few priority directives. Are you ready?"
"I was born ready!" Clio's smile widened. "I mean that literally."
"Okay." Eileen stopped typing, the code already prepared, and focused on the digital avatar as though she were speaking to a real, flesh and blood individual. Worthy of her respect. Because that was what she wanted Clio to be, particularly if they were going to work on this next, hopefully far speedier, project together. "The following directive, all record of its issuance, and everything resulting from it, is my-eyes-only. We good?"
"My digital lips are digitally signed and sealed!"
She might have gone a little overboard on that personality driver. Oh well. They'd be keeping each other company a lot in the coming weeks. She nodded. "Good. I want you to create a blind partition in your own codebase, and I want you to fill it with anything you find in any of our files that presents a potential violation of the parameters outlined in JC_EC.txt in your root directory. Can you read that file?"
"Yes, Chief Veiksaar." Clio blinked her bright green eyes, and it was done. "Wow. Is this from the Ethics Committee?"
Eileen took a deep breath. "It is indeed."
[!-- [[=image Veiksaar_Lillihammer_Clio.jpg]] --]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="udoflashback"]]
[[=]]
++ 18 December
----
[[/=]]
It wasn't a big thing. It didn't always have to be.
There was no argument. No fight. No accusations, no demands. Neither of them asked for anything that the other wasn't willing to give.
But one night, after dinner, Stacey kissed Udo on the cheek and announced she was moving to Austria to assume the Directorship of Area-21.
And she didn't ask Udo to join her.
"You need a fresh start," she said, and she kissed Udo on the cheek. "If you won't go out and get it, I guess we'll just have to change everything around you instead."
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="jandm"]]
[[=]]
+ ##CC9900|2018##
++ 1 January
----
[[/=]]
Nascimbeni flicked the switch up as he entered the room. The door slammed behind him — he kept the spring wound tight, just another thing to putter around with when he slept in his dorm — and he swore in the pitch darkness. He flicked the light switch down, then up again. Nothing. He'd have to see about the breakers…
Someone coughed.
Nascimbeni called out: "Who's there?"
His night vision wasn't great, and there hadn't been time for his eyes to adjust, but he knew he was looking at a pair of humanoid silhouettes. One short, and one taller but stooped. The stooped one spoke with a man's voice. "Hello, Chief."
Nascimbeni thought he recognized the voice. That was the only thing keeping him from finding the panic button on his pager. At least until he remembered who the voice belonged to.
He knew the other voice much better, and recognized it instantly. "Cat got your tongue?" the woman asked, and even in the black, he could tell that she was smiling.
And then the other piece fell into place. The association helped. He knew who both of them were.
Two different kinds of paradox at once.
"I want to say 'this is impossible', or 'how is this possible', or something stupid like 'this is a dream'," he sighed, "but it's been decades since I could be that shocked by anything. How are you here? Is it really you? What's… going on?"
The man approached from out of the gloom, and with the slight light seepage from the night cycled hall, he could see that his surmise had somehow been correct. "We were just passing through, and we thought we could offer some comfort."
He couldn't believe his eyes, but his ears didn't lie. "Passing through from where to where?"
"From the end," the woman said, "to the beginning. Tightening the loop. Making sure nothing frays."
He knew that kind of language. "Are you with TAD?"
The woman's voice was playful. Joyful, even. "In a sense."
"Right now," and the old man reached out to grasp his shoulder with surprising strength, "we're with you."
"With //one// of you," the woman corrected.
"One of me," Nascimbeni repeated.
"Yes. There's another." The woman's voice lose a lot of its mirth. "I can still see him in my mind's eye, from far above. He's building a campfire in a desert wasteland."
"Okay." What else was he meant to say to that?
"You're giving him an awful lot of hope, right now," the old man chided her.
"You're talking about a deadline?" Nascimbeni guessed. "But there hasn't been…"
He trailed off, but they did not take up the slack.
"There's been a deadline? This year?"
"That's right," the woman agreed. "The second of two, actually. The knowledge will all catch up once everything's fixed. Turns out time //can// be forgiving, when it wants to."
"So it turns out okay?"
The old man patted his shoulder, and released his grip. "It will, because of you."
"Because of me."
"Yes," the woman nodded. Very emphatically.
Nascimbeni shook his head. "That's hard to believe."
The old man was smiling. His eyes were finally adjusting. "We can prove it."
"Why would you bother?" Nascimbeni suddenly realized that the lights hadn't been cut for dramatic reasons, but to hide his visitors from the overhead camera. "What are you doing here? What are you doing, //period?//"
"Like I said," and the woman moved to stand beside her friend, "we're pulling the strings in tight. Getting the story straight. And we thought it might help it all turn out right if we gave you a little pep talk."
"Chief Nascimbeni," and the old man grinned like a death's head given new life, "would you like to know how this all ends?"
[!-- [[=image Nascimbeni_Silhouettes.jpg]] --]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="generic"]]
[[=]]
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Sunset Cove, Pensacola##: Florida, United States of America**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
"Surprised to see you here," Van Rompay grunted.
His walker was up against the dresser. Since he was sitting on the bed, Ibanez sat down on it instead. "Probably surprised to see anybody here."
"Yeah, but you especially." The old soldier was little more than a withered husk now, physically. But he still had that dangerous glint in his eye. "Not many sentimental types in the Foundation, and you? Not one of them."
She shrugged. "Maybe I've changed."
"Nobody changes that much." He grunted, as old men did. "What're you here for?"
"I want to talk about the Chaos Insurgency."
He shook his head. "Fucking stupid name."
"I already know that." She glanced over the little apartment. He'd left assisted living after LeClaire died, and was now in something of a halfway house. Someone came in to change his sheets and clean the washroom every few days, but that was it. She wondered if he'd ever had a visitor before this moment. There were no trinkets of his service, no personal mementoes or anything. It looked like he'd just moved in, but he hadn't. "How many times did you rumble with them?"
At first she thought he was rolling his eyes, but no. He was trying to recall. "Hell, I don't know. Dozen times maybe. Dozen more suspected; they tended to rabbit, you know. Anarchists are like that. Committed to the cause so long as they don't have to get caught and face the music." He gave her a look of disgust. "They're like a cult full of pipe bombers. Powder keg. Probably blow themselves to smithereens, some day."
She smiled. "I'd like to help them with that."
The look of disgust didn't go away. "This what's on your mind? All these years later?"
"Maybe I'm more sentimental than you think."
He shifted on the bed, like he wanted to get up, but he didn't. He just inched a little closer to her, hunched over a little more. The muscles of his upper arms had atrophied, but he was still pretty ripped for a senior citizen. "They aren't worth your time. They weren't worth your tears. You get mad at a mad dog because it bites? It doesn't bite for a reason. It doesn't do //anything// for a reason. There's just something wrong with its head. And because there's something wrong with its head, it doesn't care that you're mad at it. It'll just keep on biting."
"I bite back."
"Dog's got a stronger jaw."
"I've got a longer lifespan."
Van Rompay laughed. It soon dissolved into coughing, which ended just short of a fit. "You want advice. You came all this way for //advice.// From me? That's sad. You ought to have folks you can trust by now. Your people."
"I trust my people. But they haven't been around. You have."
"My advice? Because I've been around?" He made a dismissive gesture. "Ignore those fuckers. You think you've got a long lifespan? Nothing outlasts chaos. Not you. Not your units. Not the Site, not the Foundation, definitely not order. Chaos is always there. Our job is to chase it off, so we can pretend like everything's neat and tidy and rational for a while. People forget. They forget everything afire and broken, they forget the blood and the screaming and the stink of shit, because they don't want the world to be like that. You show them a world where it isn't, and they forget. That's how you beat these bastards. You make people forget them."
She stared at him, wide-eyed. Something in his words had broken down the barrier she'd so carefully constructed. She was almost whispering when she replied: "But //I// can't."
"Good." He sat back again. The motion looked agonizing. "I'm glad you can't. Because //you,// can't." He pointed at her for emphasis. "You have to be the one who remembers. But it doesn't have to //matter.//"
"How can it not matter?" She wanted to break something, suddenly, but there was nothing else here but him. And he had nothing left. Like her. "They killed my entire village."
"And they'll do it again to someone else's." Van Rompay shrugged. "Bad people kill good people. Good people kill bad people. Good people kill good people, bad people kill bad people, //people kill people.// Always have. Always will. Doesn't even always need to be a reason for it. Just a thing that happens. Everyone dies eventually. I knew that before I came here, and… you want the benefit of my experience, Ibanez? My experience here is the same as my experience there. People die badly. They die disgusting. It doesn't mean anything. Being alive, that means something." He thumped the comforter. It had a lovely floral pattern. He kept thumping. "Standing a post, that means something. Remembering an atrocity, something so bad that nobody but you can remember it, and being there to make sure it doesn't happen again? Or doesn't happen so bad? That means //everything.//"
"I already know that." She hated how thin he was. She hated how angry he wasn't. "I don't need a lecture about the importance of duty. I need to know anything you know about fighting the Insurgency. Because I'm going to keep on fighting them."
He nodded. "That's it already."
"What is?"
"You're going to keep on fighting them. They're always going to be there, and you are, too. You're like this." He wrapped one thick hand around the other, and clenched tight. "Yin and yang. You and your enemy. When you turn around, they'll be there. When they come, you'll be there. So why do you have to spend another second thinking about them? They're a //constant.// Get on with your life."
"Is that what you did?"
She thought he might have been taken aback, just for a moment, but he wasn't. "I don't blame people for what they are. I just kill them for it." He grinned, and for that moment, if only that moment, he actually looked like himself again. "Don't kill yourself over the way other people are. They're not worth it. None of 'em."
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Van_Rompay.jpg]] --]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="jandm"]]
[[=]]
++ 6 January
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Nascimbeni watched them for a while, as they talked.
There were five of them. Rasmus Mataxas, rising star of the Home Invaders, was flanked on either side by Billie Forsythe and Joanna Bremmel. He wondered how that triangle would resolve itself.
Maybe it wouldn't. People made all sorts of arrangements these days, and he'd long since lost the will to judge. Whatever made them happy.
And they did look happy, laughing at something the new archivist — Altan? — had said. Flora reached up and shoved him in the shoulder, playfully, and Nascimbeni's grandfatherly instincts kicked into overdrive. He almost walked across the cafeteria floor and told the kid to buzz off.
But he didn't.
Because they really, really did look happy.
And that was important.
That was probably the most important thing of all, if what he'd heard was true, and he had no reason to think it wasn't.
Billie noticed him first, and he saw her mouth move, and Flora turned in her seat to look at him. She waved him over. He shook his head, and smiled.
So she got up, and walked to where he was standing in the double doorway. "On your way out, then?"
"I am."
"You say goodbye to your friends?"
"Naw." He shrugged. "I'll be back in September anyway."
"Just for one day."
"Important day, though."
"Very important." She reached up and adjusted his collar. He supposed he must have let one of the buttons come loose. "Dad picking you up?"
"I can still drive," he scolded her.
She gave him a chastened smile. "Never said you couldn't."
And then, even though she was going to see him at dinner in less than two hours, she stood on her tip toes and threw her arms around him.
"It means a lot to me. It's always meant so much." She held him tight, and he held her back. "I won't let you down."
He laughed, and she drew back to look up at him quizzically. "You couldn't let me down if you tried, kid."
"Aw." She kissed him on the cheek. "Well, I'll see you at home. And hey, when you get bored a week from now, maybe I'll let you drive me to work and you can be my assistant."
He chuckled, but shook his head. "Thanks for the offer. But no. I'm not going to check in. I'm not going to come hang out for old times' sake. When I walk out that door, I'm only coming back once."
"Once?" She looked confused, then nodded. "Right. Like you said. In September."
"That's right."
"So, once a year, then."
He pulled her cap down over her eyes. "Sure."
She pulled the cap back up. "Haven't you spent your entire life here, though? Or a whole lot of it?"
"I have."
"Do you regret it?"
He looked across the cafeteria again.
Xinyi Du was sitting in a corner, sandwich frozen halfway to his mouth, reading a journal. Phil Deering was playing checkers with Eddie Simms, and Doug was keeping him honest. Wettle was eating noodles off his shirt. "Some of it," he decided. "But definitely not all."
There were tears in his granddaughter's eyes, for some reason. There were no tears in his. "So why don't you want to come back?" she asked.
He yawned. He found he was getting more and more tired, earlier and earlier, every day. "Because I've been here for six life sentences, served sequentially."
Her brown eyes narrowed with uncertainty. "I don't understand."
He pulled her hat down over her eyes, again. "Make sure you never, ever do."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_58_07_Nascimbeni_Retires.jpg]]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
When she pulled the cap back up this time, he was already gone.
So she went back to sit with her friends, again.
They were, as always, glad to see her.
[[/div]]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="generic"]]
Site-246 sent over one of their best techs, an old man named Teddy Tsiklauri, to take up the mantle of Acting Chief of J&M. He spent almost all his time in his office, with the door closed, and generally let them get on with their work uninterrupted. Probably he could sense he was a poor replacement for his predecessor, whom everyone secretly thought would someday come back to work as though nothing had happened in the interim. Nascimbeni had been true to his word so far, and had stayed away, but they'd never actually taken him off the books.
Probably it was related to the fact that he still needed to show up for Breach duty in September, and the Department of Containment had something to say about letting retired personnel enact containment procedures.
So they called Tsiklauri "Chief" to his face, and sometimes even behind his back, but none of them really meant it. It simply wasn't one of those jobs you were given.
It had to be earned.
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 9 September
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**Present Day**[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
He was hanging on.
Forsythe couldn't explain it. Mataxas hooked him up to a somatic imager, and concluded that he couldn't understand it, either. None of Imrich's calculations showed any activity in the old man's future. Rozálie could only say that his aura was at rest.
In every sense but the most vital, Noè Nascimbeni was dead.
But you never would have known it, for all the visitors he received.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
There were things they needed to do. Important things. He'd made a list, and arranged each item in order.
It would take an entire year to get through them.
He marked the final day on his calendar, to make it seem more real.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_59_01_Blank_Resolved.jpg]]
"It's a date," Harry whispered, in the privacy of his own room.
Where nobody could hear him, and subsequently take him to task should the day pass him by again.
As it had so many times before.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[div class="Ngo"]]
**Debriefing Log 5243-X-2018**
**Subject:** Allan J. McInnis (Director, Site-43); Harold R. Blank (Chair, Archives and Revision, Site-43); Delfina M. Ibanez (Chief, Pursuit and Suppression, Site-43); Lillian S. Lillihammer (Chair, Memetics and Countermemetics, Site-43); Okorie, Udo A. (Chair, Applied Occultism, Site-43); Wettle, William W. (Deputy Chair, Replication Studies, Site-43)
**Officer of Record:** Nhung T. Ngo (Chair, Psychology and Parapsychology Section, Site-43)
----
**Dr. Ngo:** So, where do we go from here?
**Dr. Lillihammer:** That last deadline was the climax. Now we move on to the coda.
**Dr. Okorie:** Please don't mix your media metaphors, Lillian.
**Chief Ibanez:** We're gonna add another file to the big database, and it's gonna be an interesting one.
**Dr. Blank:** The file already exists, it's just antimemetic. So antimemetic we weren't able to conceive of the obvious solution until now, which is frankly astonishing. I'm going to have quite a few additions to make, when this is through.
**Dr. Wettle:** Your pointless history training finally pays off.
**Dr. Blank:** No arguments here.
**Dr. Okorie:** Aren't you also trained in history?
**Dr. Wettle:** Yeah. That's how I know.
**Dr. Ngo:** So, the entity you encountered in the desert. It's been destroyed, again?
**Dr. Lillihammer:** That's what you can hear on Noè's tape. He killed it. And then like all the other ghosts, but in much more of a hurry, it reformed on the exploding stage to die again. It's tied to the Breach, like all the others. I saw it die on the monitor, while I was waiting for Bernie to start his final run. I can still remember everything about the way it looked, and talked, and what it said in the deadline.
**Dr. Okorie:** Which is odd, considering how you said that worked in the fourth deadline.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** What, that whole thing with the horrible red sky finger-eaters god? That was different. That was noöspheric deletion. This is an asymmetrical erasure. It gets wiped out, but only sloppily. Now that I know, with my magic knowing powers, I won't forget.
**Dr. Ngo:** And what will you do with that information?
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Bring it back to life, of course.
//<Silence on recording.>//
**Dr. Lillihammer:** See you in September.
**Dr. Wettle:** Is it over already?
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 30 November
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Lillian still hadn't bothered to get herself a secretary. The thing about having a secretary, she'd always felt, was that it gave people the impression they could schedule meetings with you. Appointments. That sort of thing. Bureaucracy invented obligations, obligations she had no use for. She could manage her own schedule.
Her four o'clock had arrived. She knew this because it was four o'clock. This woman in particular was never late for anything.
If she was, the people she was meant to meet often forgot she even existed.
The door opened, and the little old lady came in, and sat down.
"I was wondering when you'd figure it out," Lillian smiled.
"I'm cautious. You know that. And I like to have all the data in front me before I come to a conclusion."
"And what conclusion have you come to?"
"It worked."
Lillian upgraded her smile. "It //did// work. It shouldn't have! It really shouldn't have. And holy shit, did it ever nearly //not.// But that sense of calm you're feeling, and probably scared to death of, is the real deal. You did it."
"I did it?"
"Absolutely."
"How do you know it was me? It could have been anyone."
Lillian laughed. "No, it could only ever have been you."
The other woman sighed. "Do you know how it happened? What the ultimate plan was?"
She shook her head. "Nope. I have no way of knowing. And neither do you."
A smile, apparently genuine, stretched across that congenitally dour face. "Appropriate, if you think about it."
"Even more appropriate if you don't." Lillian reached across the desk with one hand. "Congratulations on not being dead, and also on winning your war. You've finally got one up on me."
Wheeler took her hand, and shook it. "Well," she said, "you've got time yet."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_58_01_Wheeler_Alive.jpg]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 5 December
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Sunset Cove, Pensacola##: Florida, United States of America**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
"That's it." Forsythe stood back up. "He's gone."
Her daughter looked down at the thing which had, until just now, been Gedeon Van Rompay, and made an ugly pouting face. "Poor guy."
It irritated Pensak more than he could justify. "Why?"
She blinked at him, then kept blinking to get rid of the tears. "What?"
"What's there to be sympathetic about? His choices brought him here."
The little nurse put her hands on what passed for her hips. "That doesn't mean he deserved to die alone."
"He didn't die alone. He gave what he gave to the Foundation, and the Foundation sent three people to witness his death."
"But it's not like we were his friends," Billie argued. "I didn't even like him."
Pensak nearly laughed. "So why are you feeling bad about how he died?"
"Because I don't need to like someone to have empathy for them." She looked up at the stucco ceiling in frustration. "Jesus Christ."
"Billie," Forsythe murmured.
"What? He's being an asshole."
"BILLIE!"
Pensak raised a placating hand. "You're right. I am being an asshole. And if Van Rompay was standing in my place, he'd be an asshole, too. He was an asshole. He didn't care about anyone but himself."
Forsythe's hips were far better suited to her hands. "That isn't true."
"It's close enough to true that the difference doesn't matter." He looked down at the corpse's expressionless features. "I understand what he was thinking. He found a place where he could do the things he liked doing, the things he was good at, and he didn't have to do anything he //didn't// like. He didn't have to worry about people's feelings. He didn't have to make friends. He got to dress up like a soldier, and shoot people."
"I'd hate to have you eulogize me," said Billie.
"You'll be eulogized by your husband, or your children, or your grandchildren. People like Van Rompay don't get eulogies. They don't get funerals. They just die. Because they lived for a cause, and the cause doesn't have time to waste on them when they stop being useful."
Forsythe looked like she might be about to check him for a heartbeat, too. "That's an unhealthy attitude to have about your own job, don't you think? Are you planning on spending the next few decades getting nothing out of life, and dying with only strangers to…"
She probably had meant to just trail off, but her daughter finished it for her. "…talk shit about you?"
Pensak leaned forward to test the dead man for pulse. Protocol dictated a double-check. "I'm not saying there isn't a lesson to be learned here. I'm just saying the lesson isn't that dying is fine as long as you've got friends who'll miss you."
"Well," the doctor grunted, "if you've figured out a way to not die at all, then please by all means let me know."
"Why would I do that? The only thing Van Rompay really did right was be selfish."
Billie pushed past him, headed for the door. "Maybe you can send a deputy next time we have to do this for somebody."
He watched her go, then turned back to Forsythe. "Maybe we shouldn't be doing it at all. The reasons are bogus. It's a //formality.// He signed up to die in the dark, and that's how he should have died." He picked his jacket up off the chair he'd been waiting in. "Van Rompay made his choices, and they were wrong, and he paid the price. The only good thing about standing here when it happened is we can decide that it won't happen to //us.//"
[!-- [[=image Pensak_Forsythe_Billie.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ ##990011|2019##
++ 14 February
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
"Hi! Are you Philip E. Deering?"
Flora was milling around with the new hires, seeing who was who. She'd somehow missed the woman with the bad hair and brilliant smile who was presently chatting up Phil Deering, who was standing around gormlessly at his little info station. He had pamphlets explaining the thing that leered over his shoulder from the red-rimmed mirror. He looked embarrassed, or something else.
"What's he saying?" the woman continued. "I bet you get that a lot, sorry." She was pointing at the mirror, where the monster was talking up a storm.
He was staring. "Uh. He says you aren't disgusting."
She laughed. "Well, tell him he's not disgusting either."
"Nobody's ever told him that before."
She beamed up at him. "Everybody should treat him better, then. He looks like he needs a friend."
"Just the one."
She stuck out one thin-fingered hand. "Fine, I'll be your friend instead. My name's Amelia."
"Phil. Uh. Well, you already said that. My name, I mean."
"I said your whole name!" Amelia protested. "You didn't tell me I could call you something shorter until now. But that's what friends are for, right? You can call me Amy."
Flora had never seen Phil so flustered before. It was more than a little bit cute. "Can I still call you Amelia instead?"
"It's pretty formal-sounding, but maybe you're a formal kind of guy." Amelia winked at him. "I won't complain. What kind of work do you do here?"
Phil shrugged. "Mostly janitorial. I used to do a lot of tech stuff, but."
"But?" She glanced over his shoulder again. "Your friend is talking up a storm."
"Yeah," Phil sighed. "He's saying I don't do //any// work here. And when I do, I do it wrong."
"Wow. And you've been here for how many years?"
"Uh… jeez. Going on twenty, I think." He scratched his thinning hair.
"Twenty years only doing work when you do it wrong!" Amelia cheered. "You must be the king of skiving off. Technician royalty. Are there myths and legends about you? Do you have a fan club?"
Flora recognized the look on his face. He got it whenever anyone expressed interest in him as a human being. It was a look of disbelief, like he expected the rug to come out from under his feet at any second. It was a Wettle kind of look. "I can't tell if you're joking or not." He was half-smiling anyway. "I mean, you //are// joking. But I can't figure out why."
"Because I don't know anybody here, and you're the only one who looks uncomfortable. I'm uncomfortable, too." Amelia had her hands clasped behind her back, and she was swaying back and forth, a picture of innocence. "If we're both uncomfortable together… that kind sounds wrong. I don't know where I was going with that."
"Did sound kind of dirty." Phil blinked. In the mirror, Doug's scars were vibrating like guitar strings. "Sorry."
"What're you sorry about?" Amelia laughed. "It was my phrasing, not yours." She looked over his shoulder yet again. "Does he ever shut up?" She craned her neck further, and addressed the shivering spectre. "We're trying to have a conversation here, buddy!"
"He won't look at you," Phil explained.
"But he can hear me?"
"Oh, yeah. He'll be misinterpreting anything you say for the rest of the day, and telling me all about it."
"If it's all misinterpretation, it must be pretty easy to ignore, right?"
He winced. "You'd think that."
"I'll just have to make sure I'm super direct and clear about my intentions with you, then. So there's nothing to misinterpret. Does that sound good?"
He still clearly couldn't believe this conversation was happening, but he'd apparently decided to roll with it. "It sounds pretty good. Yeah. Okay."
"Awesome." Amelia stuck out her hand, and he took it like he wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. He figured it out eventually, and Flora inwardly cheered. "Since you're my new best friend, and I've gotten the briefing, and I //think// everyone else in the room has already gotten the pamphlet… where, would you say, could we go to have a chat? I'd like to know everything there is to know about this place."
Phil managed to look lost, in a place he'd occupied for about twenty years. "The Chief would know better than I do." He winced. All of them forgot from time to time that for now, there actually was no Chief. The Director was finding Flora's grandfather hard to replace, and it was generally suspected that he didn't much want to. The previous Director, she'd heard, had experienced a similar hangup when Ilse Reynders had gone into the incinerator and left AcroAbate without its own Chief.
The thoroughly flustered senior technician was about to answer Amelia's question, when instead he turned to look at the mirror. "Yes, Doug. Pretty much everybody would know everything better than I do."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_58_09_Philmelia.jpg]]
Amelia laughed. It was a warm, open sound. "I'm not friends with pretty much everybody yet, and I probably never will be. I'm very selective. Just like Doug!" She leaned her hip away from him, and her head towards. "So, where to?"
He blew out his cheeks. "Uhh, the cafeteria, I guess?"
"Sounds like a plan! You look like you could use a good meal, anyway. If you don't mind my saying."
Judging from the look on his face, he didn't mind at all.
[!-- [[=image Philmelia.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 1 April
----
[[/=]]
McInnis paused, keycard in hand. The biometrics reader was still socketed away in its casing; it wouldn't come out until he swiped the card, unless he went another route and attempted voice verification. The Director's Complex admitted entry to only two persons, out of the Site's population of over one thousand.
Unless entry was forced, as it apparently had been now.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
The security sweep showed that the disturbance had been limited to the first few rooms of the complex.
The interloper, or interlopers, had been unable to gain access to the Director's private rooms; that level of security was far in advance of what was defending his assistant's quarters, and the reception rooms where they'd all bunkered down in the third deadline.
Whether frustrated in their efforts or finding themselves exactly where they wanted to be, the result had been the same for whoever had broken and entered.
Zulfikar's rooms had been ransacked.
And Zulfikar himself was gone.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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++ 9 June
----
[[/=]]
"So, you're pretty close with Philip Deering."
Torosyan nodded. "He's my friend. My best friend."
Karen tented her fingers in front of her, just as she'd seen McInnis do a hundred times. But she thought she brought more grace to the gesture. Her fingers were longer, for starters. "I'm glad to hear that. You like him a lot?"
Already there was a wariness in the technician's eyes. "He's a good guy. A bit down on himself, but he would be, right? What with the thing. You know."
Karen didn't smile, but she did try to keep her glare as friendly as possible. Her spartan office was already making the other woman uncomfortable enough. It did that to everybody. "I know. You're not bothered by…" She decided to try a little vernacular. Torosyan was, after all, an orange collar worker. "The thing?"
"It's not like it's the thing from //The Thing.// It doesn't kill people. Well…" Torosyan looked to the side, as though she felt bad talking about her friend's more intimate issues without him being present. "He feels really guilty about Dr. Bradbury. Keeps saying he wants to call her, but he isn't sure if she'd want to hear from him."
"Best he puts a pin on that. Dr. Bradbury's situation is a complicated one. But it wasn't his fault, what happened." Karen had her own counsel on whose fault that had been. Well, she thought it was her own, anyway.
"You'd think he'd know that," Torosyan agreed, "and maybe he does, like, //academically,// but he doesn't really believe it. But no, it doesn't bother me. It bothers me that it's bothering //him.// He doesn't deserve to have all that garbage flung at him all day long. He needs a break."
Karen nodded. "Again, that's good to hear. We have a little… unofficial project in the works, to keep Phil in good spirits." This time she did smile. She liked to parcel those out sparingly. Keep the value up with rarity. "Something we've been working on for quite a few years."
Torosyan's smile was incandescent.
Karen hated her just a little for it. //I thought you came from Site-19, for chrissake.// "I'm all ears. If it's a surprise birthday party thing, I've got his gift already picked out."
It was difficult not to laugh in derision. "No, nothing like that. This is privileged information, Amelia. You can't tell him I've talked to you about this. It's above your clearance level, and this conversation is provisional."
The tech frowned. "Weird? But if that's how it is, that's how it is. I won't break clearance confidentiality."
"Good. What's the nature of your friendship with Phil?"
Now she was definitely getting suspicious. "We hang out a lot. Every day, pretty much. We're on the same schedule. We watch movies. Go topside sometimes, when he remembers his sunscreen. Had a snowball fight not too long ago. We have some fun."
"Is that all you're interested in?"
The frown reached her eyes and forehead. "Meaning?"
"Have you ever considered beginning a romantic relationship with Philip Deering?"
The other woman's blue-green eyes widened. "That… is a very strange question to ask."
"But have you?" Karen pressed.
"I'm starting to get this picture forming in my mind." The smile was gone now. Torosyan actually looked like she might be getting angry. "Are you… trying to arrange //dates// for Phil?"
"If I was, would you be interested?"
"No."
"I see." Karen turned to her terminal, and keyed in the code for her shift schedule. //On to the next item.//
"And I think that's disgusting," Torosyan continued.
Karen didn't look back at her. "Well."
"Let me guess. There's financial compensation if I say yes."
"There's an honorarium," Karen nodded. Still she didn't make eye contact.
//Get the picture, would you? This meeting is over.//
"Of course there is." Torosyan apparently wasn't going to let this go. "And it looks real good on my annual report, right? Marks me down as extra cooperative."
Karen sighed, and finally graced her angry visitor with a look straight down the sides of her nose. "It's an important HR initiative. Technician, you don't have to get angry about this. It's fine that you aren't interested. But you have to know, there are more important considerations here than the dignity of one man. Technician Deering—"
"—doesn't need you to hang sausages around his neck so the dogs will play with him, doctor." Torosyan stood up, and Karen saw that her hands were in fists. "I'm not his friend because I think I'm going to win fabulous prizes for it. He's not a pity case, and he's not a //project.// And I don't think you want me to say what I think of anyone who'd take you up on the offer you just made."
"We're all trying to do what's best, Amelia." Perhaps a little familiarity might help.
"For who? Not for Phil."
"For //everyone.//"
"You know who worries about everyone? //Actually// worries about them?" Torosyan was fuming. The freckles on her cheeks were almost invisible against the bright red. "My best friend. I'm glad I can't tell him what you people think about him. Like he's some //threat// they need to //manage.// Phil's what everyone here should be. He's got problems, but he's working on them. He wouldn't go behind anyone's back like this."
"You're on the promotion track, I understand," Karen remarked evenly. "It's possible you'll be Phil's boss some day."
"He has seniority."
"And he has //baggage.// He'll never be the Chief of J&M, when we finally get another one of those. What are you going to do if you have power over him?" Karen stood, to look her in the eye. "If you have access to information about him that even he hasn't seen? How are you going to balance that?"
"Whatever way works out best for everyone." Most people would have backed down under Karen's stare, even across the desk. Not, apparently, Amelia Torosyan. "Him, and me, and the Site too."
"What if you have to choose?" Karen pressed.
"Then I'll choose what's //right.// And that means choosing //him.//"
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 12 June
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**##990011|Site-06##: Lorraine, Grand Est, France**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Pensak investigated the disappearance, but not very carefully. Just enough to make it look like he was doing his job. When he found the first piece of evidence pointing at what he already suspected was the cause, he had the Day Trippers take him to the classified airfield, and made the trans-Atlantic journey to Site-06.
The one they'd built to replace the one that had blown up when his prime suspect had first escaped.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_58_10_Tarrow_Smug.jpg]]
She looked a little worse for wear, but Imogen Tarrow was still identifiable as herself.
"Been a long time since I had a visitor," she told him.
"No more friends to spring you from jail?" Pensak sat down.
Tarrow leaned across the table, twisted sideways as though sharing a sensitive confidence. "They've got more important things to deal with."
"That must be embarrassing for you."
"Embarrassing for you, more like." She grinned. "The Foundation doesn't even register as a threat, by comparison."
"You remember Chief Ibanez."
Tarrow's grin faltered a little, but not entirely. "Of course."
"You remember, maybe, that she wasn't the patient sort."
"I got that impression."
"I am much less patient than Chief Ibanez." Pensak made no move to get comfortable. He didn't even pull the chair towards the table. The message was clear: play ball, and soon, or I'm taking my jet back home. "I don't want to hear any apocalyptic rhetoric. If you start rambling about how I don't really know what's going on, how there's all these magnificent secrets I haven't heard, all these threats arrayed against me whose might I can't begin to comprehend, blah blah blah, I am going to walk out of here, and I am going to leave a note in your file, and that note is going to recommend that you be kept in permanent solitary confinement. And nobody is ever going to visit you again."
A little verbal reinforcement was always good, once the body had expressed its own language.
Tarrow looked impressed. "You're scarier than she was. And she was very scary."
"I don't have to be scary at all. I'm very reasonable. Just tell me what I need to know."
"Okay." She gave him her most guileless look. It was almost convincing. "What do you need to know?"
"Someone kidnapped the Director's assistant. I have a hunch you might know why. Do you know why?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"So you'd come here," Tarrow smiled. "And talk to me."
Pensak nodded. "He's dead."
"Oh, probably." Tarrow shrugged. "I didn't take him. And I don't know where he is."
"They did this so I'd come here." She'd already said as much, but he repeated it to fix the fact in his mind. "Why?"
"So you and I can talk, I guess. Why do you think that is?" There was a whole lot of depth in the woman's dark brown eyes. "Why would they want you to talk to me?"
"I guess that depends on who they are. The //giftschreiber?//"
She nodded.
"I'm guessing they don't want to turn themselves in."
"Very likely not."
"Then what?"
"I'm a pretty good judge of character. Know what I think, when I look at you? I promise this is relevant."
He turned his palms up, a gesture of acceptance.
"I see a man of flexible morals. That's why you were hired. That's why you've proven good at your job. You're loyal, when it gets you the best result. You're a good person, when it gets you the best result. They've never seen what you're like when those facts don't hold. Am I correct?"
He knew there'd been a reason he'd made sure the cameras were turned off before coming in. "I'm Chief of Security at an SCP facility. They've checked out my background, backwards and forwards. They know they can trust me. And they do."
"Should they?"
"Yes."
"Should they." Her eyes had narrowed to the sleepiest of slits.
"Yes."
"It's good to see the truth written on your face." She drummed the table suddenly enough to startle him, though he was sure it didn't show through whatever Tarrow thought she was already seeing there. "I have a couple of leads for your investigation."
"I thought you didn't know anything about the kidnapping," he remarked wryly.
"I don't. But it's not like you're really investigating that, now, is it?"
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
The first lead was the number of another cell at Site-06. Pensak wasn't a fan of scavenger hunts, but he could stand to walk down a single hallway, so he did.
"Who the hell are you?" Rudolph Marroquin demanded as the guard opened his door. Unlike Tarrow, whose interrogation had been scheduled ahead of time, the scruffy former tech chief and Maxwellist mole was still in his squalid living space. Bed, bookshelf, toilet, sink. Showers were down the hall, and they were communal.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_58_11_Marroquin_Detained.jpg]]
Pensak jerked a thumb over his shoulder as the guard secured the door between them. "Know who I was just talking to?"
"Your rabbi."
Pensak leaned on the door. "Imogen Tarrow."
Marroquin laughed, and looked up at the ceiling.
"She seems to think you and I should have a chat," said Pensak.
"She say what about?" Marroquin stretched out on his bunk, and fluffed up the sad little pillow. Not that it did much good.
"No. Somebody kidnapped the Director's assistant yesterday, sent me here to talk to her. Now I'm talking to you. For about five more minutes, then I'm writing all of this off as a bad fucking joke."
"So the //gifties// sent you to us, huh." Marroquin slid his hands behind his head, beneath the pillow. He nodded at what he'd been staring fixedly at since lying down. "Probably safe to say those cameras aren't recording anymore."
"Why would they not be recording?"
"Because they've got people everywhere, chief. Or is that Chief? You look arrogant enough for it. What's your name?"
"None of your business." Pensak crossed his arms. "What's the game here, Marroquin? What are the //giftschreiber?// Really?"
"You don't know?"
"I don't know."
"And you're the Chief of Security?" He laughed again. "That really is a laugh."
"You ever try laughing with a broken nose?"
"You really want to try breaking my nose." Marroquin's expression instantly shifted to a corpse-like neutrality. So, he was a sociopath. That was no great surprise. "Go ahead. I'm excited to see what happens."
"Look." Pensak kicked off the door, and moved to loom over the older man. "I've had it just about up to here with these death cults and their bullshit. Nobody tells me anything, because it's all classified at the highest levels, and only about a dozen people really know what's going on. Someone wants me to know what you people know, and if you're in bed with them—"
"Buddy, I was in bed with everybody." Marroquin patted his thin mattress. "Wanna join?"
"—then it's probably to your benefit to help me out, here."
"Because what? I scratch your back, you'll… break me out of prison?" Marroquin shook his head. "You don't seem the type. I don't see a lot of sympathy in those eyes. You've got the face of a self-preservation artist."
"I read your file." Pensak examined the man's little library. It was all romance novels and high fantasy. Probably they wouldn't let a machine cultist have science fiction. Certainly they would let him see any technical manuals. "You were caught helping the Maxwellists infiltrate 43. Was that just a blind? Were you working for the //giftschreiber?//"
"Sure." Marroquin yawned. "But isn't that what you want to hear? How can you trust it?"
"I'm not trusting anything you say. I just want to hear you say it, so I can sort the lies from the truth. Why would you work for them? You're not an idealist. You're no //cultist.// You don't believe in anything. You blackmailed your whole staff for //money.//"
"Ah. Now I see it." Marroquin finally looked satisfied. "In your eyes, right there. Right in the corners. You're an opportunist. The Foundation's your //grift.//"
"They gave me a new life." Pensak straightened his jumpsuit at the waist. "And something to do with it."
"And a foxhole to hide from your creditors, eh? Or are you just a big man with big, expansive plans your pocketbook wasn't gonna cover? You embezzling funds from the bullpen cookie jar? Or are you a big time operator, Chief?" Marroquin chuckled. "Amazing. You're not bleeding them at all, are you. But //you,// you're bleeding. That's in the cheeks. You need a cash transfusion, don't you?"
Pensak didn't answer.
"Know why I knew you were a cop? It wasn't the fucking jumpsuit. I could picture a little white envelope in that big, calloused hand. See it plain as day."
"If you're about to tell me the chaos cult has deep pockets, I'm about to laugh at you."
"Nah, the cult's not much on money. They won't need it when they reach Shangri-La or whatever bullshit they're planning. No, for deep pockets, you want something big and stable. A government, say."
"You're not talking about the cult now."
Marroquin's teeth were unnaturally white. "No. I'm talking about the Insurgency."
[!-- [[=image Pensak_Marroquin.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
Tarrow's second 'lead' led him to a small hospital room containing what he at first took to be a corpse, but then he noticed it was breathing. It had what looked like an esophageal tube and a colostomy bag, and the lids on one eye were sewed shut. On closer inspection, the sewed lid sagged like there was nothing at all behind it.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_58_12_Falkirk_Coma.jpg]]
Pensak wasn't sure what he was meant to see, until he saw it. Then he couldn't un-see it.
It was certainly something to think about.
[!-- [[=image Falkirk_Coma.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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@@ @@
[[/=]]
"Sleazy prick, isn't he?" Tarrow asked as Pensak closed the door again.
"Marroquin?" He shrugged. "A greasy prick in a tight place. They always get in there eventually."
Tarrow clicked her tongue, twice. "Nice."
Pensak sat down, and this time he pulled the chair up. "I want to make very sure I understand what's being offered, here."
"Was it somehow subtle?"
"If I'm going to do this, I'll need assurances."
Tarrow turned her head, as though addressing an invisible partner. "He knows the script. He's //rehearsed.//"
"I've seen enough movies to know that money's not worth much when the world ends. I want to know that the world isn't //going// to end."
Tarrow shrugged. "Easy enough to manage."
"Is it?"
"Sure. Play both sides against each other."
He frowned. "Both sides?"
"They fight each other to a standstill, and the world keeps on ticking. You keep getting your kickbacks. Everybody's happy."
"Sorry, what's the other side again?"
She told him.
"You're joking."
"If they'd let you read their files, you'd have said it more like YOU'RE JOKING." He didn't flinch when she shouted, but she reached out to make an appeasing //pat pat// gesture as though he had. "Sorry, sorry. But seriously. If you told them that… you're not going to tell them that, are you?"
"Why would I? What's in it for me?"
"Might get you a promotion, if they think you stung this information out me."
He rolled his eyes. "Promotions past where I am get you no more money and a lot more responsibilities."
"Life extension, though."
"I don't want that."
She looked genuinely surprised for the first time. "Why not?"
"Because I get this funny feeling that if I live longer than I'm meant to, I'll see that little cold war ending with a bang."
"So you're happy taking bribes, with the understanding that you're helping to make the world a whole lot worse, for its inevitable slide into anarchy and destruction, as long as it happens after you're dead?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_58_13_Pensak_Smile.jpg]]
"Should I make an offended face, profess my innocence, express a little guilt?" He chuckled. "I'm very good at faking those things."
"No thanks. Truth be told, I'm not a very patient person either. You want to hear the next steps or not, Chief?"
Pensak rolled up his sleeves. "Call me Roger. And I'm all ears."
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
They'd never had the heart to do it themselves — not McInnis, not the ASC, not even Karen Elstrom — but the Foundation's policies were almost uniformly unsentimental. Noè Nascimbeni was now officially retired. Unlike Melissa Bradbury, he wasn't expected to get better and contest that decision.
They were going to have to replace him.
In his capacity as Chief of Janitorial and Maintenance, that wasn't expected to be a problem. The machine he'd built had kept buzzing along just fine in his absence, by design. His design.
In his other capacity… well.
They'd just have to wait and see.
It was possible the dead would be far more discriminating than were the living.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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++ 17 June
----
[[/=]]
"No, sir. Other than the financial trouble, he checks out."
McInnis nodded. "I'm relieved to hear it. You're certain?"
The S&C agent was visibly far too old for field work, which was probably why McInnis hardly ever saw the man. He had a vague recollection, but nothing more. "Unless every file we accessed has been compromised, which Chief Veiksaar assures me cannot be the case, then yes. Quite certain."
McInnis clasped his hands, and thumped the blotter once as a full stop to the debriefing. "Excellent. It goes without saying that Chief Pensak must never be aware he is under investigation."
The agent raised an eyebrow. "Is, sir?"
"Yes."
"I'll leave the file open, then."
"Yes," McInnis nodded. "Unofficially, as before."
"Very good, sir."
The agent made no move to leave.
"I recall you had a second piece of business to discuss with me, Agent…?"
"Scrivens, sir."
"I must be getting old. I don't forget names that easily."
Scrivens smiled warmly. "It's not you, it's me."
McInnis looked at him askance. "Do I need to call security? That seems awfully redundant."
"No, sir. You're in no danger." Scrivens pulled up one of the visitor's chairs, and sat down. "I've already spoken to Dr. Blank about this, but he thought I should tell you personally. You'll be able to remember my identity properly soon, as the effect fully fades."
"What effect?"
"I believe you call it the Forgotten War?"
[!-- [[=image Clark_McTeer_Blank.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Lillian looked like she might faint. "We did //what?!//"
Harry flopped onto the couch, and buried his face in a pillow. "I know."
Lillian sat on his shins, none too gently. "And we //hid it from ourselves?!//"
He turned over, with no help at all from her, and sighed. "We're too smart for our own good, I always say."
They had always assumed that the Forgotten War, their term for the giftschreiber losing focus on Site-43 and refocusing elsewhere, was the result of some accidental memetic effect blowing up in everyone's face. There was precedent. The Antimemetics Division wasn't the Foundation's first department of that nature.
Finding out that it had been an intentional Foundation plot was more than a little bit shocking.
Harry had just finished the database file, his first Explained-class anomaly. SCP-5054-EX, which he was now colloquially calling "The Memetic Myth of Joe Who?" The short version was that the //giftschreiber// had tried to destabilize Canada in the 1979 federal election, as a way of putting pressure on Site-43 and the Foundation at large — to the extent that anything centred on Canada could pressure anything outside of it — and had created a conceptual void that could only be filled by the Foundation creating a fake Prime Minister from first principles, shadowplaying a whole year of national governance, and imbuing the nation's symbols with a version of the Frontispiece effect.
Vivian Scout was implicated. Thilo Zwist was implicated, and Harry intended to give the old man an earful over it. Agents Charles Scrivens and Maureen McTeer were also implicated, because the first was the false politician himself, alias Charles Joseph Clark, and the second was his wife. The effect had been so strong that even Foundation personnel could not resist it, and a safeguard to ensure that all would be explained when the problem was solved had badly failed, so it was only now that the truth became known. Harry had met Scrivens at his home, interviewed him, pinned the results to the ten thousand word mess he'd been able to cobble together on the topic, and retired to the dorms to tell Lillian about it, and then probably cry.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_58_14_Lillian_Baffled.jpg]]
Lillian didn't look nearly as upset, however. "It's kinda fun, I think."
"How is it //fun,//" he growled.
"We thought it was just more of that grim, world-ending bullshit. But it wasn't. It wasn't even //different// grim, world ending bullshit, like it was with… Bernie." She sniffed, once, and not for the first time he wished there was some way Lillian could let go of at least some of her immaculate memories. "This was just ridiculous, the entire time."
"Well." Harry reached down, and almost immediately from beneath the coffee table, a wet nose appeared to sniff at his fingertips. "I mean, the //gift//ed kids did try to fuck us up, real bad. And they're going to try harder, now that the effect is gone. Especially with what we're going to try and do in September."
"Yeah, yeah." Lillian stretched back on the couch, still sitting on his legs. They were going numb. "I just think it's nice that despite everything, despite everything we know — sorry, everything I know — there's always something new to discover. It's a wholeass world of experimental possibilities out there, Harry old chum."
Scout, the cat, leapt up onto Harry's chest. He was extraordinarily spry for such an ancient creature, by the standards of his time.
"Experimental possibilities," Harry repeated. A picture was suddenly forming.
Lillian closed her eyes. She was probably about to take a nap. "Ayup."
"Lillian, did you drug my fucking cat?"
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 1 July
----
[[/=]]
"God dammit."
Pensak hadn't ever heard McInnis curse. He wondered if anyone had. "I'm sorry, sir," he said. It probably even sounded like he meant it.
They were standing in the Site's morgue. Pensak had brought the corpse in himself, after dragging it out of the ditch and calling in a ride from Ibanez. The tip had been good, because of course it had.
"Damn." The Director looked like he wanted to punch something. "//Damn.//"
"We'll find whoever did this." It was an empty promise, but then, they all would be from now on.
"I doubt that very much." The older man's voice was suddenly flat and without affect.
//Uh oh.// "Sir?"
"If they were able to get to Zulfikar, they had help." McInnis' grey eyes somehow managed an angry flash. "The entire Foundation might be compromised."
"That seems a bit of a leap from one kidnapping." Pensak was fully aware of the irony of this statement. He hoped that awareness wasn't the kind of thing an expert communicator might be able to read on someone's face. Oh, but the next few years were going to be very interesting.
"These people couldn't even focus on the Site properly until before this was done. They couldn't have done it unless they had agents on the inside. It's been happening right under my nose."
"You can't blame yourself, sir."
McInnis stopped himself halfway through a dismissive gesture. "As a matter of personal preference and leadership style, Chief, I consider myself the only justifiable target for blame."
"What should we do about it, though? The potential infiltration?"
The Director zipped up the body bag, very delicately, and said something Pensak couldn't hear before something Pensak could. "Coordinate with Chief Ibanez. We're going to start cracking down hard on the //giftschreiber.//"
"Which ones? //Neuer or Alte?//"
"Both."
Pensak smiled. He let the other man think it was in anticipation of righteous vengeance.
[!-- [[=image McInnis_Pensak_Zulfikar.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 19 July
----
[[/=]]
//The Book of the Turning Gyre// sat on table, between Nass and Corbin on the one side and Udo on the other. It was time for the final analysis.
"What can we say for certain," Nass asked them, in his natural role as facilitator — meaning, as Corbin would have it, that he had no useful skills, but a pleasant enough face — "based on what we've read?"
The other theologian looked bored. "Those who can, write. Those who can't, //giftschreibe.//"
"I'm pretty sure that's an incorrect conjugation," Udo smiled.
Corbin shot her a sly look. "Sorry. Been a long time since I conjugated."
Nass rubbed his chin; Udo thought he was probably erasing the first traces of a smile. "If we could focus? On the book, I mean."
"Sure." Corbin kicked back, and her boots thudded on the desk. "So, first things first. This is a how-to manual for ending the world."
"And the how is pretty weird," said Udo. "Robertson is using a universal schema first conceived of by Yeats."
"And he hasn't got the poetic chops to make it work. That's not a random diss, I think it's an important element of what's going on here." Corbin twirled her cigarette. She hardly ever smoked them anymore, but she did seem to like to hold them. "The //giftschreiber// have this idea about how the world works, and how to make it //stop// working, but none of them are individually talented enough to actually exploit the information."
Nass nodded. "So, the schema. History is twin, interlocked gyres of chaos and order, waxing in waning in inverse proportion. An era of rationality gives way to an era of irrationality."
Corbin tapped the cigarette on her cheek. "Except it's hard to phrase that objectively, because our perspective always privileges order over disorder. Peace over war. Rationality over irrationality. The //giftschreiber// obviously don't think they're moral equivalents either — they're very much in the chaos camp — but the model doesn't admit of such easy categorization. It's just two poles of reality. Two halves of the human civilization-brain."
"According to Robertson," said Udo, "every act of radical subversion accelerates the chaos spiral."
Corbin thumped one sole on the desktop. "Which suggests, conversely, that every act of excessive control does the same to the gyre of order."
Finishing Corbin's thoughts, or vice-versa, had proven a very satisfying pastime over the previous year. "Each gets a season, and then the season changes, and then it changes again. Cyclical. Winding up, winding down. But crucially, they don't wind down without a push. That's not in Yeats." She glanced up at the light fixtures, and narrowed her eyes. "I can say this with authority. Harry talked my ear off about Yeats."
"Poetry is romantic," Corbin grinned.
But Udo, as usual, wasn't having it. "Not when you dissect it. Nothing is romantic when you dissect it."
"Might we assume, then," Nass cut in, "that the erased entity you encountered was a means of achieving, as Robertson puts it, 'knock'? A concretization of anarchy, a concept given form?"
"Except he talked like he'd been around forever," said Udo.
Corbin was back to twirling her prop again. "That isn't necessarily contradictory. If he //is// chaos, like an avatar of it, the transformation from concept to neural pathways might have translated the long chain of cause and effect into simple memory. He might 'remember' being a part of every act of excessive chaos ever conducted."
She shook her head. "I don't think so. We've been plenty chaotic ourselves, even as we've been trying to re-establish order, so if that were the case, the Uncontained would have known our every move. And he didn't. We beat him." She paused. "Chief Nascimbeni beat him."
She made a mental note to visit the hospital after their meeting.
"So—" Nass began, but Corbin interrupted him.
"Hey, wait a second."
He nodded. "Yes?"
"Udo, that's how you'd characterize it?" Without warning, the boots were back under the table and the chair had all four legs on the floor again. "What you guys were doing?"
"Eh?
"Re-establishing order?"
She shrugged. "Well, yeah. The Victims tore everything up, and we put it back together. They made a mess, and we cleaned it up."
"Huh."
"I think I know where you're going with this."
Corbin laughed. "I'm not sure I know where I'm going with this."
"It's something I've thought about a lot. But there's a mental block in place, and…" Suddenly, she felt as though she was the one whose stomach had just turned a somersault. "And I think I know why."
[!-- [[=image Nass_Corbin_Okorie.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
Even though it was her dorm room, Udo was almost never the one to set a meeting's agenda. But this time was different. For starters, it was a one-on-one.
"I figured it out," she said.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_58_15_Okorie_Figured.jpg]]
Lillian was picking at the fabric of her recliner. She'd already plucked one entire armrest bare. "You figured what out?"
"All of it."
"That's a tall order." There was a faint ripping sound as a long thread came loose, and Lillian quickly dropped her elbow to hide the damage. "I'm going to be very angry with you if you're right."
"We can't just stop the explosion that kills the Uncontained, when the Breach happens this year. We need to find a way to stop the orphic outflow from blowing the gaskets in AO." Udo could feel her cheeks burning, either with pride or the radiation from her brightly gleaming eyes. "We need to keep that containment cell from flooding."
"Uh, you sure about that? Because it sounds an awful lot like changing the natural course of events."
"The natural course of events is wrong." She gave that a moment to sink in, but because it hadn't yet been proven, it bounced off Lillian in a way that was almost audible. "That's why I can't remember anything I do during the Breach. The thing that happened there, it was the most important thing."
Lillian snorted. "I liked you better when you had confidence issues."
"I'm serious. That's one of the two keys to the entire thing. Del Olmo was interviewing the Uncontained, and when the Uncontained got vaporized, it got //aerosolized.// God particles stuck to the Victims. We know that part." They only knew it now, now that it had been conclusively proven, now that they had met the beast itself. They'd been unable to focus on the question for a decade and a half before that, because human brains abhorred a noöspheric vacuum.
"Right…"
"And something else was happening in the containment cell where I was, of equal importance. Equal…"
"…and opposite?"
"And opposite."
Lillian's blue eyes were unfocusing and refocusing rapidly, like blinkenlights. "You're suggesting…"
"I wasn't alone in there. I was with someone else. Someone who got vaporized. Just like his—"
They said the word at the same time.
Lillian shook her head. "But, listen to yourself. If it's the same thing, more or less, why didn't we get possessed too?"
"Who's saying we didn't?"
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 21 July
----
[[/=]]
Sokolsky found her in the cafeteria.
Lillian much preferred her office, where nobody ever came calling unexpectedly, but sometimes she needed the background chatter. Other people talking was like putting a stupid sitcom on in the background while you studied for your test.
Because they had to pass this test, or the rest of the term would be in serious doubt.
"You're looking thoughtful this evening." He sat down across from her, a plate of salad on his tray.
She blinked until she could see him clearly. "As opposed to what?"
"Mindful."
She shook her head. "Mindfulness is for yogis."
"What's eating you?" He took a bite of lettuce. Only a lunatic would eat unseasoned lettuce on its own.
"I'm reflecting on the nature of self."
"Your self, or…" He scoffed. "Why am I even asking? So, what about your self?"
"I'm wondering how much of it really is me. We had an unpleasant revelation earlier today."
"Of what nature?"
"Inhuman nature. Mine. //Ours.//" She watched as he picked up the pepper shaker, and started making the lettuce either better or worse, depending on your perspective. "I think we've been infected by something, and it's changed the people we are."
He looked thoughtful, but not for long. "I do not think that."
"You haven't even heard the explanation yet," she scowled.
"Am I likely to?"
"No," she sighed. "I have to tell the group first. We have to. Udo figured it out." She sighed more profoundly. "I hate it when people figure things out before me. Especially when //I// have all the facts."
"Worst thing about facts is that sometimes feelings get results faster." He scarfed down another length of slightly spicy green.
"Rarely better results." She leaned away from him, let her arms fall over the back of the chair, and watched the smattering of night owls working their way through whatever they were eating, or talking about. "You ever wonder if we're doing the right thing? I mean, in general. Are we wasting our time? Wasting our talents? Doing what other people want, instead of… I dunno. What we could be doing."
"No. I never do what other people want. I only do what //I// want. And so do you."
"Except I have the most horrible sense that I've been doing someone else's bidding for the last seventeen years."
"What would you have done differently?" he asked, with his mouth full.
"I don't know."
He swallowed. "Would you have still tried to figure out the Breach?"
She glared at him out of the corners of her eyes. "Of course. It's the weirdest thing that's ever happened around here. I'd be all over it."
"Would you have done all the stuff you did with Antimemetics?"
"Yeah. That was all me."
"Would you have had sex with me?"
She laughed, and sat up straight again. "That was //definitely// all me."
"Well, that strikes me as everything important." At the bottom of the lettuce was a single large tomato. He put down his fork, and picked it up. "I guess there's the stuff you overvalue, too. Would you have still kept in touch with your friends? Harry?"
"Harry's been my best friend since before I was sapient. Well, before he was sapient. Yes."
"The others?"
"Maybe not Allan. Or Nascimbeni. Probably not Willie."
Sokolsky held the tomato in front of his eyes, as though it were an apple he was inspecting for spots. "You're not really friends, or in touch, with Willie anyway."
"That's true. I'd probably be tripping over him just the same. It's just… I don't know." There were no three words she hated more, in that configuration. "I don't think this affects who I am, at all. I don't think it affects who any of us are. I think it gave us new //tools,// and I think we used them the way our personalities and needs dictated. But it does feel sort of like finishing a game and then finding out you had a cheat code enabled the entire time."
"What if the game was broken?" he suggested. "And you couldn't beat it without—"
"Better," she nodded. "The other side was already cheating. This just evened the score. Yeah. Yeah!" She slapped the table, and the silverware jumped. "That actually helped. Thank you."
He bowed his head. "Happy to. You figure large in my future schemes, Lillian. I need you safe and sane."
And, again as though it were an apple, he took a big bite out of the tomato.
She watched him eat. It was almost meditative. "I think I might need a break from schemes."
"No idea what that feels like," he shrugged. "But sure." The entire thing was gone in seconds, and he dabbed at his serviette daintily to get the juice off the ends of his fingers. "I'm working on something, have been for a good long while, but it won't pop for a few more years. You've got time to take a breather."
"Why is this not reassuring me?" She wanted to chuckle, but it didn't come out right at all. "Don't you think maybe, just //maybe// the world would be a better place to live in if people weren't always planning and plotting and—"
"Hell no." He shoved the tray into the middle of the table. "Absolutely I do //not.// Having plans moves life forward. Being proactive is //living,// as opposed to simply reacting. Having schemes means… well." And he grinned that selachian grin. "Living a unique life."
She twisted away again, but drummed at the tabletop with the fingers of her right hand. "I couldn't have schemed up a more unique life than this one if I'd tried."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/58-time-flat/DL_58_16_Sokolsky_Wink.jpg]]
He took the hand in his own, and halted the percussion. "If you believed that, you wouldn't be half the woman you are. You might only be just above perfect."
@@ @@
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| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/57-the-only-shadow | previous-title=The Only Shadow
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/59-the-foreseeable-future | next-title=The Foreseeable Future
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[[=]]
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=====
[[<]]
Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:
Philip Deering: "Twitter 365 Project - Day 55" and "Tokyo" by Richard Giles, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076
Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023
Noè and Flora Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822 and
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992
Daniil Sokolsky: "Brett - 08-08-08" and "Waterpitts, 29-09-12" by Brett Jordan, both released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625
https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842
Imogen Tarrow: "Teacher Leader Conference 2 August 2012" courtesy US Department of Education, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/48445211@N06/7733033618
Amelia Torosyan: "Shopping!" and "Weezie on the Subway" by Richard Giles, released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/5067224818
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4246835894
Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470
William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260
Marion Wheeler: Untitled sketches by WasteButterscotch810, by default CC BY-SA 3.0: https://www.reddit.com/r/SCP/comments/t6g7tz/marion_wheeler_sketches_bc_i_reread_there_is_no
> **Filename:** Everything!
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
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2024-10-07T03:54:00
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Time Flat - SCP Foundation
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<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
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<p><strong>The Foreseeable Future</strong><br/>
Where are you going?</p>
<img alt="local--files" class="image" src="http://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/"/>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank">More by this author!</a></strong></p>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>The Foreseeable Future</span></h1>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #990011">2019</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>22 July</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>At its uttermost base, it was an engineering problem.</p>
<p>They still didn't have any magic translocation or duplication machines.</p>
<p>What they did have was time, six Survivors, and one Nascimbeni.</p>
<p>The puzzle never stood a chance.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc3"><span>10 August</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>He was in his office loo, drying his hands, when he heard the phone ring. The voice on the other end was a little strained, and just the faintest bit Austrian. "Director McInnis."</p>
<p>"Mr. Zwist."</p>
<p>"It's been a long time since I called this line. I wonder, is it the same telephone?"</p>
<p>"I'm afraid not. The technology has been hardened considerably since Dr. Scout occupied this office. But it <em>is</em> the same office." He looked down. "The same desk, as well. Not the same chair."</p>
<p>"Chairs are one of the few things to have improved over the last few decades."</p>
<p>"You'll hear no argument from me."</p>
<p>"Yes, you're a famously agreeable fellow. That's the only reason I agreed to this communication."</p>
<p>McInnis walked around the edge of the desk, and sat down. "I understand we've been testing the boundaries of your patience, of late."</p>
<p>"It isn't a matter of patience, Director. I merely refuse to become too… involved. But my debt to your predecessor has not yet been paid, and I know you to be an honourable man. I doubt I will suffer very much in the course of a single telephone call. What did you wish to discuss?"</p>
<p>McInnis glanced up at the framed <em>objet d'art.</em> "You know that I was one of Dr. Scout's apprentices."</p>
<p>"As was Dr. Blank."</p>
<p>"Yes. He trusted us to carry on his legacy. He knew his time was limited, and he used it well. He taught us nearly everything he knew. We have done precious little with it."</p>
<p>"Reading between the lines, as I try to do, this would seem to be inaccurate." The strain in the old man's voice came through more clearly now. "I have the distinct impression that you and yours have saved the entire world several times over the last two decades."</p>
<p>"Saved the world as it is. Would you call that a great feat? I wouldn't."</p>
<p>"Billions would. Most of them haven't the luxury of judging the quality of their lives. They are content merely to continue living."</p>
<p>"But I am not." McInnis turned back to face his desk, and tried to imagine the old cryptomancer sitting across from him. "I find myself needing to pass on what I've learned. Give others the opportunity Dr. Scout afforded me. I have tried, and failed, to honour him in this fashion."</p>
<p>"Why do you believe you have failed?" Zwist sounded surprised.</p>
<p>"Wynn Rydderech sacrificed his life for the Good Work. Vivian sacrificed his career. I've sacrificed <em>nothing.</em> There is no hill for me to die on. I prefer to live, at the bottom of a hole. Vivian dedicated the latter part of his life to finding successors, and mentoring them. We aren't doing that. I made a single, solitary effort in that regard, and I've lost him," his throat caught, just for an instant, "and I can feel myself resisting the idea of starting again. Harry—"</p>
<p>"Who have you lost?" Zwist interrupted.</p>
<p>"My assistant. A young man named Zulfikar. He was killed by the <em>giftschreiber.</em>"</p>
<p>"I'm surprised that would be enough to sour you on the prospect of passing on what you have learned. That isn't the impression I got of you from Vivian at all."</p>
<p>McInnis blinked. If they'd been meeting face to face, Zwist could have read him like a large print book. "You discussed me?"</p>
<p>"Of course. He said you were driven. Intelligent. Conscientious. Frighteningly observant. He felt confident you would do justice to his cause."</p>
<p>"Well, he lived for a long, long time. It's little surprise that he would be wrong at least once."</p>
<p>"I don't believe he's wrong. I believe you're at a low ebb, after a long project, and being unfair to yourself. When the hurt has faded, you will try again. You <em>must.</em>"</p>
<p>"I don't know that I have it in me. I'm starting to feel my age."</p>
<p>"Age has nothing to do with it. You will find your commitment again. You will carry that weight. You are a man of many burdens, and none can bear them but you."</p>
<p>He shook his head, pointlessly. "Do you think perhaps you might be projecting? I understand you haven't taken an apprentice in years. Perhaps decades."</p>
<p>Now the old man sounded cross. "We weren't talking about me."</p>
<p>"Weren't we?"</p>
<p>Silence on the line.</p>
<p>"I am… surprised. Pleasantly or unpleasantly, I do not know."</p>
<p>"Oh?"</p>
<p>"Vivian spoke so highly of your cleverness. I did not expect to find that he was engaging in critical understatement."</p>
<p>"It has been my experience that people are not often fond of receiving advice, but rarely shy away from giving it." McInnis smiled. "Vivian once told me this: one fact is information. Two facts are an opportunity."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc4"><span>8 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>It was Amelia's first Breach.</p>
<p>It was the first Breach without Chief Nascimbeni. There were people from the Department of Temporal Anomalies, the Temporal Anomalies Department, and something called the Chronometrics Division — which seemed to put everyone in the former two groups on edge — observing, and plenty of predictions of doom had been mooted.</p>
<p>If there really was some immeasurable <em>something</em> to the seven members of Sampi-5243 that allowed them to excel at what they did, and retain their personhood if the timeline shifted, then they might be in for a lot of trouble. It was possible that Wirth, and Markey, and Gwilherm, Mukami and Radcliffe might refuse to acknowledge Amelia's promotion and interact with her as they were scripted to. There had been suggestions that Nascimbeni's son Gallo, or even his granddaughter Flora, should take his place in the protocols. Perhaps whatever he had was genetic, though the other members of Sampi-5243 had been quick to point out that both relatives predated the Breach, so they almost certainly hadn't inherited his special relationship with it.</p>
<p><em>The other members of Sampi-5243.</em> The thought filled her with a kind of pride.</p>
<p>The kind that could nestle comfortably side by side in her breast with the sensation of mortal terror.</p>
<p>She reached her mark at the appointed time, placing her feet directly over top of the copperplate writing ("On your left."), obscuring it… and there he was, with the slamming of flip-flopped footsteps. A young man, younger even than she was, barrelling over to see what was what. "What's going on?" he shouted. "We heard explosions?"</p>
<p>She shook her head, and spoke in what she hoped would parse as a dead man's voice. "Don't know. Best guess: thaumic overflow and recondicity." It was kind of nice, she thought, that this precise moment was preserved for posterity. Nascimbeni's best guess had been exactly correct. "The tanks are blowing, and—"</p>
<p>That was where her lines ended, for now. And Wirth's life ended just a few seconds after.</p>
<p>A violent <em>crack</em> as Verne, SCP-6643, reached out of the vibrating pipe-hell and claimed the young researcher. Another as it pulled him deeper into the chaos, which she assumed came from his spine. He made a small, sad noise as he went, but she was quite sure he was dead before the coils rolled him out of view.</p>
<p>Then — and this had absolutely not been anywhere in the conprocs or description she'd read — the tentacle <em>came back,</em> its fat orange marker tip hanging inches from her face, and she felt the most astonishing sense of <em>being seen</em> before a roar and a rush of wind from the airlock sucked it back out of view, into a cloud of glittering sparks.</p>
<p>That wasn't the only deviation from the usual course of events, but it was the only unexpected one.</p>
<p>The alterations they'd made to Security and Containment hadn't quite put it back where it belonged, though they'd preserved the change which spared the Uncontained his brilliant fate.</p>
<p>The alterations to Applied Occultism, on the other hand…</p>
<p>Agents Yancy and O rescued the blistered beast from its badly damaged, but no longer destroyed, interview room on the second sublevel, and escorted it back to its home on the fourth. The legend on the chamber door was now perfectly legible: SCP-001.</p>
<p>The Sampis met at the elevator in the heart of H&S, and rode down together.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><em><Subject in containment, re-evaluation pending, is waiting the centre of its chamber. It appears to be very excited.></em></p>
<p><em><Dir. McInnis, Chief Ibanez, and Drs. Blank, Lillihammer, Okorie and Wettle enter.></em></p>
<p><em><Subject claps.></em></p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome back to the end!</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> You're quite right about that.</p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> We have some time for supervillain-style gloating, if you'll indulge me. I don't have a speech written this time, but I can ad-lib something.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> You do love the sound of your own voice.</p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> And why not? I'm a rock star. I always have been. There's been books, songs, whole genres of art dedicated to phenomena I set in motion. I'm quite a thing. Yeats even wrote a poem about me once! You know Yeats?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Let me guess.</p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> "Turning and turning in the widening gyre…"</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> "The falcon cannot —"</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> Nobody cares.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> It's a pretty great poem, though.</p>
<p><strong>Dir. McInnis:</strong> That's about you, then, is it? I can't tell if you're being facetious or not.</p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> I never jest about my influence. Haven't you wondered what was knocking down your walls, shutting down your systems, shattering your mirrors? It was me. It's always been me. I am entropy. I am disorder in the system.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> "Things fall apart. The centre cannot hold."</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> "Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world."</p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> I never liked that part. Nothing I do is 'mere'.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> There anything in this poem about how you get your ass kicked by a janitor and an egghead?</p>
<p><em><Dr. Okorie leaves the chamber, smiling.></em></p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> I don't think so. It's been a while since I read it. What egghead? I assume the janitor is that lovely gentleman with the idiot box from the last run-through. How's he doing, by the way?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> He's in a coma.</p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> He'll be happy to hear that.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Yeah, there's nothing worse than being trapped in an endless cycle, is there? You'd know.</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> I don't know why I'm bothering to talk to you. I'm returned, you'll all be dead soon, and I'll have to wait a decade and a half for your doppelgangers to appear.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Resurrection sickness really is a thing, huh? Or is your biological clock just not that accurate? It's 2019, buddy.</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> What?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. McInnis:</strong> You've been in containment for seventy-six years. And you're never getting out.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Lillihammer:</strong> I thought maybe its perception of time would be a bit skewed. It can't even tell when the timeline changes.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> That could be dangerous. Imagine all the potentialities it can see.</p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> You're bluffing. It's 2002, and I'm about to wake up all your sleeping demons.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> We're not bluffing, we're stalling.</p>
<p><em><Dr. Okorie returns, with a second subject in tow.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> For a dramatic reveal!</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Blank:</strong> Took you long enough, Udo.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Okorie:</strong> Some of us have too much dignity to run.</p>
<p><strong>Second Subject:</strong> And some of us have learned to take things one step at a time.</p>
<p><em>Silence on recording.</em></p>
<p><strong>First Subject:</strong> Terrific.</p>
</div>
<div class="udoflashback">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong>One hour earlier</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p><em>It wasn't precisely irritating, but it did make her feel… well, the way she'd felt back in England. The thing she liked least was how god-damned predictable it always was.</em></p>
<p><em>"How's the doctorate coming along?" 001-B asked as Udo unracked her esomat suit, already shaking her head.</em></p>
<p>She stared at the figure in shock. It was him. It was really him.</p>
<p>She hadn't seen him in seventeen years. Hadn't even been able to <em>conceptualize</em> him.</p>
<p>She'd been right.</p>
<p><em>"Slow going," she admitted. Assembling the suit was a complicated procedure, but with her companion's help it was never a very time-consuming one. "We're so busy up here, it's not leaving me much dissertation time."</em></p>
<p><em>"I'm very impressed." 001-B smiled at her as she pulled on her rubber-soled boots, and smiled at him in spite of her irritation; he had the affect of a doting uncle. “Increasing your mastery. Far too many people improve themselves only to the point where comfort and ease is assured. You have that now; you've always had it, really. With the company from the cradle to the grave, and yet you strive always to be better. Admirable."</em></p>
<p>She forced herself to go through the motions. Make it happen the way it had happened. Trust that her body knew the steps, as her mind raced every which way, plus loose.</p>
<p><em>"Not better." She leaned on the transparent wall of the containment cell and shrugged, getting a feel for the suit before checking the seal on her gloves.</em> Bzzt. <em>There was static electricity on her fingertips; that was a new one. "Best. Can't become a Section Chair without a PhD or an MD." She essayed what she hoped was a confident grin.</em></p>
<p><em>001-B zipped up the back of her suit, quick and precise. "You have ambition," he remarked. "That's also good." The fit was snug and solid.</em></p>
<p><em>"Alright," she said. "Let's do this."</em></p>
<p><em>Udo sighed as the cell door cycled and she walked into her cramped and very dangerous workspace. She could feel a halo of static around her legs in the spacious suit, and it began to cling; she was glad she'd shaved her legs this morning. It still bothered her that 001-B didn't wear a suit while in the containment cell, but that decision was well above her very low paygrade. She certainly wouldn't have said no to a static-free evening, herself…</em></p>
<p><em>It was difficult to focus on what happened next, when a great many things fought for dominance over a few short moments in time. 001-B opened a hood on the orphic pipe, and reached inside; the world erupted in emergency red, and a synthesized wail filled her ears; the tiles beneath her feet began to warp, then melted into a gummy ceramic mass</em>, except they didn't; <em>green and purple lightning arced up out of the pipe,</em> except it didn't; <em>it raced along 001-B's arms, and he began to shake,</em> except he didn't; <em>she stepped back, and felt the soles of her suit remaining where they were,</em> except they didn't; <em>a bright and brilliant light poured out of the pipe, and the hood disintegrated in a flash of white heat,</em> except it didn't; <em>she realized the containment cell was compromised, and realized further that she wouldn't be able to reach the outer chamber door before the entire space was a ball of superheated plasma, and that this was everything working precisely to spec,</em> except it wasn't; <em>001-B turned to face her, spasming wildly, and punched the door controls with one hand while keeping the other firm on the pipe,</em> except he didn't; <em>he shouted “GO!” as the transparent half-moon door cycled open,</em> but none of that actually happened; <em>she cried "NO!" in response as he pushed her roughly through and then hammered at the controls again,</em> but really they were both just standing there, 001-B stock still, regarding what ought to have been his end with obvious confusion; <em>he thrust both hands deep into the raging heart of lux, disappearing into it, and she realized he was buying her a few final seconds,</em> and she could see this just as if it were happening before her, though nothing at all was happening; <em>her need to survive handily overpowered her sacrificial instinct, fully the opposite of what 001-B had experienced, and she ran to the divider door; she unlocked it — and a violent explosion of green static burned her fingertips black as the control panel fried; she bolted blindly through; she locked the door behind her; she unlocked the exterior airlock, waited an eternity for it to cycle, then rushed headlong into the hallway as it slammed shut.</em> Except, of course, she did none of that. She simply stood there, and stared at him.</p>
<p>After a moment, he turned and stared back at her.</p>
<p>"Welcome," she whispered, and her throat caught.</p>
<p>"What?" the barrel-chested old man said, eyes flitting back and forth wildly.</p>
<p>She removed her helmet, unzipped her suit, stepped out of it, retrieved her glasses from the locker, and cleared her throat.</p>
<p>"Welcome back to baseline."</p>
</div>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Second Subject:</strong> Brother.</p>
<p><strong>First Subject:</strong> I really thought I had it, this time.</p>
<p><strong>Second Subject:</strong> You nearly did. Better luck next time.</p>
</div>
<p>Ibanez got the call on her way back up the elevator, and reached him with time to spare.</p>
<p>"You wanted to see how it ended, didn't you?" she whispered. "Had to make sure we were okay. Sentimental bastard."</p>
<p>She took a deep breath.</p>
<p>"Yeah. We got 'em."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc5"><span>9 September</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>The change came when it always did.</p>
<p>She was holding his hand when it finally happened.</p>
<div style="border:solid 1px #999999; background:#F0EDC1; padding-left:12px; padding-right:12px; padding-top:6px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc6"><span>NOTICE FROM THE OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR, SITE-43</span></h4>
</div>
<p>Noè Nascimbeni, Chief Emeritus of the Janitorial and Maintenance Section of Site-43, passed away in his sleep at precisely 18:26:53 on September the 9th, 2019. He was responsible for the construction of Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-D, the maintenance of Site-43 in its entirety for forty-seven years, and the salvation of the human race on no fewer than five occasions. He is survived by his son, Gallo, his granddaughter, Flora, and predeceased by his wife, Lena.</p>
<p>He is also survived by Delfina Ibanez, Chief of Pursuit and Suppression; Harold R. Blank, Chair of Archives and Revision; Lillian S. Lillihammer, Chair of Memetics and Countermemetics; Udo A. Okorie, Chief of Applied Occultism; Allan J. McInnis, Director; and William W. Wettle, Deputy Chair of Replication Studies.</p>
<p>He will never be forgotten.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— McInnis, Allan J. (Director, Site-43)</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>It was a full house.</p>
<p>They'd intended to hold the funeral in the chapel, as with Zlatá, but a quick survey determined that practically the entire Site intended to show. Nascimbeni had thought he hadn't made many friends, but almost half a century of keeping their home together and in good working order had apparently made an impression.</p>
<p>And not all the attendees were from Site-43; in the front row of the massive auditorium, packed nearly to capacity, the new Director of Site-36 sat chewing his beard and trying not to cry. Ibanez had taken Epsilon-43, the "Day Trippers," to pick him up personally; otherwise he probably would have pulled rank and commandeered a plane. Phil Deering sat beside him on the right, holding back tears, but not very well; Doug stayed on his mirror at the door, none of his scars moving.</p>
<p>Banerjee had put on his old J&M uniform for the occasion.</p>
<p>Flora, seated to his left, was already wearing hers.</p>
<p>McInnis had, as his friends had suspected, begun composing the eulogy early. He had a very efficient mind like that. But he'd had an extra year to work on it, to ponder how he might memorialize one of his oldest and most fractious relationships.</p>
<p>He gestured at the urn on its stand on the platform, and began to speak.</p>
<div class="mcinnis">
<p>This man was a friend of mine.</p>
<p>That shouldn't necessarily mean anything to you. You have friends of your own, and I don't know all of them. I would understand what it means to you that they are your friends, of course, but friendship is a thing with import that cannot be fully conveyed beyond its bounds. I can tell you that I worked with Noè Nascimbeni for over forty years, and you might understand that fact academically, but you would not understand how the weight of those years is settling on me now that I know their full number, that the number will rise no further. I cannot make you feel my regret and sorrow at his passing, my guilt for the moments when I fell short in my duties as his friend, the pleasure I took in knowing that despite our differences, I had his respect, and the impulse it gave me to try and deserve it.</p>
<p>You may not have known he was my friend. You may not have known that I have ever had one. I am not given to overt expressions of affection. I do not advertise my more complex emotions. I am the face of this facility, and to a certain extent that means I wear a mask. A mask of calm, of certitude, of cryptic neutrality. I have only once stood before you and stated, as I am stating now, that I feel this loss as a personal one. It is no coincidence that the first time I did so, it was in eulogy of the finest man I had ever known.</p>
<p>Noè was not the finest man I have ever known.</p>
<p>I was not the finest man he had ever known. We were not always good to each other. We did not always have the other's respect. On countless occasions, I was a better leader to him than a friend. Many times, he was a poor subordinate. On occasion, a poor companion. We did violence to each other, though we never came to blows. We took things from each other, though the power differential meant that what I lost, I got back, and what he lost…</p>
<p>He lost more time with you, Gallo, and you, Flora, because of me. Because of a need I judged greater than yours, because of a duty I valued above my friendship to your father, your grandfather. I will never know what he might have done with that time, had I allowed him the luxury of choice. I know that what he did instead was the grandest possible expression of what he had striven for all his life: he ensured the safety and stability of all those in his care. Most often, that lucky cadre numbered just over one thousand souls. A few times, every soul of the planet Earth owed its survival to his mastery of his trade, and the generous dimensions of his heart.</p>
<p>I had in my power a great man, and I bent him to a great purpose. That is who I am, and what I do. I am still doing it to others. I will not relent. I will spend you, if you must be spent, because there is a secret and terrible cost to the survival of our race.</p>
<p>This is not a world which rewards valour, selflessness and sacrifice in equal proportion. It makes fuel of us, and we burn up before the destination is in view. We do not have the comfort of knowing that our good intentions and best efforts will achieve our lofty aims, and we will never know for an honest fact that humanity at large has been saved.</p>
<p>Because there will always be a next threat, and another, and yet more. But it <em>is</em> a tragedy each and every time our ranks are thinned by a new calamity. Our battles are chosen for us, and from time to time, they take us, and the fight is not always good. Our work is not always Good. Ours is not always the side of the angels.</p>
<p>What sort of man allows himself to be so abused?</p>
<p>Forced down a path of another's choosing. Stolen away from his family. Put to work in defence of the indefensible. No recompense appropriate to the effort expended. No light at the end of the tunnel, only more tunnel, and more, and more, narrowing to a point, and then then oblivion. What kind of man was my friend, that he would allow these things to be done to him?</p>
<p>Not a coward. Not a hermit. Not a monster.</p>
<p>He was an engineer.</p>
<p>Engineers are dreamers, and he dared to dream as none had ever dreamed before. He dreamed you into being, from nothing, in the darkest of all possible hours, time and again. You were his ideal, and he realized you. You were the future, and he was your futurist. It was his plan that you should be here now, though he is not. That you should do what you believe is right, as he did. That you should do what all engineers must do: improve in increments on the former design. His template was sound, but there is room for improvement. Greater sacrifices are yet to come. Any of us may be called upon to enact them. Perhaps all of us.</p>
<p>Because we must be dreamers, too. That is what he would have wanted. And he was my friend, so I want that as well. I am your Director, and my authority here is absolute. As I mistreated him, I turn now to mistreat you. I give you no options. I make you a challenge that you must accept, and you will rise to it, and you will succeed:</p>
<p>Be better than he was. Be far better than I have been. Be the very best. Because that is what he expects of you, and you owe him your very existence.</p>
<p>I will not allow you to let him down.</p>
<p>Excel, in his memory, as your children will excel in yours.</p>
<p>That is his charge. I will not release you of it.</p>
<p>Speak today in his memory.</p>
<p>Walk tomorrow in his footsteps.</p>
<p>I will not say goodbye. As always, my dear friend, you are merely just ahead.</p>
<p>Lead on.</p>
</div>
<p>The program suggested time would be set aside for short personal remarks.</p>
<p>Half of the technicians ended up giving full speeches instead.</p>
<p>The funeral dissolved into a wake so organically that they hardly even noticed it had happened.</p>
<p>It was, in a way, their campfire on the sands translated over time, space, and context.</p>
<p>It was probably just coincidence that Ibanez found herself side by side with Polyxeni Mataxas as the funeral crowd shuffled out. She didn't like to think that what she did next was premeditated. It was better if the question had come off the cuff.</p>
<p>They were walking to R&E, in the rough direction of the new Spectrometry and Spectremetry offices. Polly was keeping very quiet, probably waiting for Ibanez to explain what the escort meant.</p>
<p>"What happens when people die?" Ibanez finally asked, and felt like a small child for doing so. The fact that she was over a foot shorter than the woman she was asking didn't help.</p>
<p>To her credit, Polly didn't react with surprise or confusion. "Depends on a lot of factors. Were you looking for the complete rundown?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. I just…" She shrugged. "I don't know a lot about ghosts. Which is funny, considering."</p>
<p>"Considering?"</p>
<p>"Considering I just spent seventeen years fighting them."</p>
<p>Polly nodded. "Well, those were a very specific sort of ghost. Recursive apparitions. Repeating the events that led up to their deaths. What?"</p>
<p>The light that had gone on in Ibanez's head had apparently shone out through her eyes. Shades of Udo Okorie. "Repeating the events leading up to their deaths. Just struck me as funny. We're all sort of doing that, from a timeline perspective."</p>
<p>"Bit morbid. I dig it."</p>
<p>They laughed.</p>
<p>Unlike in Zevala, it felt right to laugh.</p>
<p>This had been a tragedy, too, but it had also been a triumph.</p>
<p>"But obviously that isn't the only way to go," Polly continued. "It's not even a common one, actually. If there's one thing we've thoroughly established in all the years we've been examining postmortem phenomena, it's that there really must be something very special about the human soul."</p>
<p>"Because of all the different ways it can manifest after death."</p>
<p>"Right." They were into R&E now. All around them, researchers were finding their offices and techs were getting ready to fix all the things that had been broken during the Breach, which could safely have waited until now. Amelia would be giving them their orders. "It can be as simple as manipulating objects the subject had a close connection with. Whispering to loved ones. Affecting electric light fixtures. Radio broadcasts, sometimes; we're still working on that one, there's a lot of moving parts. Some take corporeal form, some just leave a lingering sense of presence."</p>
<p>"Like Wirth in the bathroom of AAF-D."</p>
<p>"Right. Usually that sort of thing is associated with unresolved trauma. The old chestnut about ghosts being people who left things undone, unsaid or whatever has some basis in fact, evidential fact I mean, but it's also not the most common way these things express."</p>
<p>"What is? What's the most common kind of ghost?"</p>
<p>"Everything we've seen suggests that the link between the worlds of the living and the dead needs to go both ways. They need to want to come back, and they need to be wanted, for the manifestation to be at its strongest. We're talking about normal, every-day people here, of course. Anomalous beings of all sorts have all sorts of weird caveats."</p>
<p>Now they were in the large lounge space connecting Polly's office to her father's, and the various rooms they'd set up all their equipment in. "What does it mean when someone doesn't come back?"</p>
<p>Polly sat down on the nearest chair. "Most people don't come back. Spectres are outliers."</p>
<p>Ibanez remained standing. "Sure, but why?"</p>
<p>"I suppose most people end up at peace."</p>
<p>Ibanez scowled. "That can't be right. Death is almost always ugly. People don't want to die."</p>
<p>"That isn't the same as not wanting to stay dead. Can I ask, is there a specific reason you're thinking about this now?"</p>
<p>She looked away. "Nothing I can talk about."</p>
<p>"So, it's a clearance thing."</p>
<p>"Sure."</p>
<p>"Well, I can talk your ear off all day about ghosts and ghouls, but if you want specific information you'll have to loop me in on, well. The specifics."</p>
<p>"I understand." Ibanez stood up straight, the meeting already over in her mind. "Thanks, Polly."</p>
<p>"So that's a no, then."</p>
<p>"For now."</p>
<p>"Let me know if you change your mind."</p>
<p>Ibanez smiled at her, half feeling it. "That's the good thing about ghosts. They're already dead. They'll keep."</p>
<p>The other woman smiled back, very sadly. "Not necessarily true."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc7"><span>11 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<div class="muddle">
<p>The Hall of Portraits is located in the Habitation and Sustenance Section, a long stretch of empty wall where two sets of dorms set their backs to the same corridor. It is lined with portraits commissioned by a variety of sources, all of them depicting past luminaries of Site-43. Vivian Scout and Wynn Rydderech, the founding Directors, enjoy obvious pride of place. Professional renderings of the eight acknowledged victims of SCP-5243 (Romolo Ambrogi, Bernabé Del Olmo, Janet Gwilherm, David Markey, Ana Mukami, Stewart Radcliffe, Reuben Wirth and Adrijan Zlatá) supplement the more amateur commemoration undertaken by the mural at the AAF-D approach. Storied personnel such as Martin Strauss, the first Chief of Security and Containment, or Gedeon Van Rompay, longest-serving Chief of Pursuit and Suppression, make up the bulk of the gallery, though there are plenty of humbler, short-term members of personnel admitted to this hall of the fallen; agents lost in the line of duty, such as Sandrine Holt and Lewis Bosch, or slain technicians like Charles Carter, Sergey Vanchev and Paul Nicolescu (the latter two only after considerable debate by their surviving peers). The lack of too many cataclysms at Site-43, or at least ones that took, has so far restricted this catalogue of loss to a single memorial way.</p>
<p>Knock wood.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle</em></p>
</div>
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<p>Flora held her father, and he held her back. They stared at the latest entry in the portrait gallery; it was a fine rendering, not quite photorealistic, but perfectly evocative of the man and what he represented. Not only to the people he'd worked with, but to her.</p>
<p>The strength in his arms.</p>
<p>The wisdom in the lines on his face.</p>
<p>She could almost smell his aftershave.</p>
<p>Her grandfather.</p>
<p>"What's with the vest?" her father croaked. He cleared his throat, and blinked a few times, rapidly. "I thought they all wear jumpsuits now."</p>
<p>"They do, now," the Mobile Task Forces chief agreed. Flora hadn't yet had the courage to ask what the woman's relationship with her grandfather had been. There was a ferocity in her eyes that was frightening, though her smile was friendly. "But he hated those fucking jumpsuits, and between you and me?" Ibanez pulled at the fabric covering her stomach, and it pulled everything else along with it. "I hate them too. Your grandpa was a good old fashioned vest-and-toolbelt man, so that's how we're going to remember him."</p>
<p>Flora glanced over at the other seven people who were standing behind Ibanez. Her grandfather's friends, or so she'd been told. She only had the faintest idea who they were, even after months of training for her new career. But she supposed she would have time to find out.</p>
<p>If he'd thought them worth confiding in, they had to be very special indeed.</p>
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<h2 id="toc8"><span>12 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>The Survivors had come to think of the temporal experts as a monolithic interest block; despite differences in purview, their counsel was almost always in accord. McInnis was nevertheless not expecting Alice Forth to show up for his meeting with Thaddeus Xyank.</p>
<p>"I'm not taking his place," she explained. "I'm going to all of his scheduled meetings, to see if he shows up for any of them."</p>
<p>"Am I to infer from this," McInnis asked, "that you've been unable to contact Director Xyank of late?"</p>
<p>Forth looked genuinely worried. He didn't think he'd seen her genuinely worried before; the subject matter of their previous meetings had always been distressing, but then, this was likely to be the case for any meeting Forth was forced to attend outside of her own facility. "Yes," she said. "Thad has been a no-show at all his most recent appointments."</p>
<p>McInnis frowned. "Is it conceivable something has happened to him?" He realized why it was a silly question soon as he'd asked it, but it would have been impolite to preempt or interrupt her answer.</p>
<p>"If something happened to him," she said, "there's no reason it would affect a temporally contiguous block of appointments. Thad is a time traveller. Practically <em>the</em> time traveller. He doesn't show up linearly. His schedule's a mess. But nevertheless…"</p>
<p>"Well, that's somewhat frustrating." McInnis tented his fingertips. "I've been hoping to make him account for his department's actions during the fourth of our five deadlines. I have a brief from Overwatch on the matter. Director Xyank has nevertheless been rescheduling our meetings for months. Or rather, his office has."</p>
<p>If anything, Forth looked more troubled now. Forth paused. "You don't think…?"</p>
<p>He waited for her to say it.</p>
<p>"You don't think this has anything to do with that business with Placeholder, do you?"</p>
<p>Placeholder McDoctorate had been extensively interrogated since the Sampis had returned to what they'd been calling baseline temporality. It was known to a high degree of certainty that he had been and was still a loyal, if eccentric, member of Foundation staff. He would remain under surveillance, but little was expected to be gleaned from this. If the man who had chased them from deadline to deadline to deadline — potentially backwards — was the same man as the Site-87 pataphysicist, McInnis couldn't imagine what kind of experiences the future had in store, to change him so.</p>
<p>Perhaps Thaddeus Xyank knew. Perhaps he'd made the changes himself.</p>
<p>"I don't think we can speculate about that," he said, "with the information we have at present. But we do have to consider it a possibility."</p>
<p>She shook her head in dismay. "God knows I've had my personal disagreements with Thad, but I never thought… You're right. It's not a productive topic of conversation right now." Her frown deepened. "TAD itself has been giving me the runaround too. Do you think it's possible…"</p>
<p>"I certainly hope not. It would be cause for serious anxiety if the multiversal temporal department were unable to account for the where and whenabouts of its own Director."</p>
<p>They both sat there for a moment, thinking it through.</p>
<p>"Really makes you wonder about that deadline stuff, doesn't it?" Forth said, finally. "It was extremely, extremely rash, what he did. Potentially disastrous."</p>
<p>McInnis affected a look of unconcern. "I'm certain there's an excellent explanation."</p>
<p>"Right." Forth didn't look so sure. "Well, then, I hope we get to hear it someday."</p>
<p>Every few hours of each working day, Lillian arrived in the Salt Mines to announce the closure of yet another plot hole. Today she started with "You know why we never realized the Uncontained wasn't in its chamber, but Bernie upstairs was actually interviewing it? Even though that should have been fucking obvious?"</p>
<p>"No. That's been pissing me off," Harry admitted. "Please explain."</p>
<p>"Who was ever actually looking into it?"</p>
<p>So it was to be Q&A, then. <em>Fine.</em> "Just us and the TAD."</p>
<p>"And the TAD is weird, so just us."</p>
<p>"Right."</p>
<p>"Us, which is to say—"</p>
<p>"The Unyielding." The beast beyond the Breach. The spirit in the Survivors, and now also in the flesh. He slapped his head. "Christ, are you suggesting—"</p>
<p>"We never figured out how to bring it back because <em>its brother wouldn't let us.</em>"</p>
<p>Harry reeled, and his chair wheeled back. "Then why do we understand now? Why did we only understand just before we brought them back?"</p>
<p>"Because before that, if we knew we could reverse the annihilation, we wouldn't have brought <em>both</em> of them back. Just the Uncontained. We didn't even know the Unyielding existed, because it became antimemetic."</p>
<p>"I bet the Breach did that," Harry mused. "Since the Breach was also the Uncontained. Didn't want us knowing it had a brother. <em>Christ,</em>" he repeated. "Did we just go through almost two decades of hell because one of them was petty, and the other couldn't use its fucking words?"</p>
<p>"Worse." Lillian plucked a cup off the water cooler dispenser. "I think those two decades of hell <em>were</em> its fucking words."</p>
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<h2 id="toc9"><span>13 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>"What do you think happens when people die?"</p>
<p>Corbin shrugged. "Probably nothing."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>The theologian's office had gone through a lot of changes in the preceding weeks. Most of the little totems of her career had been cleaned out. It was as though she were compartmentalizing her own faith. "Probably nothing," she repeated. "They probably just die."</p>
<p>Ibanez frowned. "That's not a very theological argument."</p>
<p>Corbin threw up her arms. "What do you want from me? Nothing's ever as interesting as you think it is. Life doesn't arrange itself into the most narratively satisfying configuration."</p>
<p>"Okay, but I mean. There's ghosts. We have an entire Section dedicated to ghosts."</p>
<p>"Echoes," Corbin shrugged again. She was shrugging in response to most things, lately. "Life energy lingering on after the life is spent." She pushed her glasses against the orbits of her eyes, and leaned forward as though delivering a final summation. "Here's what I think <em>life</em> is, Chief: nothing very much interesting happens, and then you cease to exist. Death is the cessation of banality. Why should it not also be banal?"</p>
<p>Ibanez was beginning to regret having even sat down. "This feels like it's about something else."</p>
<p>"Yeah. It's my new thesis statement." Corbin pulled a packet of cigarettes out of her desk drawer, and a lighter with it. "Nothing matters, and nobody cares."</p>
<p>Phil wrinkled his nose as he glanced over the data. "This is weird."</p>
<p>Behind the Chief's desk — her desk — Amelia asked: "What's weird?"</p>
<p>Phil dropped the tablet on the blotter in front of her. "Just did the numbers on the loading racks, and… I'm pretty sure these are the same numbers from last year."</p>
<p>Flora, standing beside him, attempted to look impressed. It was the nice thing to do. "You remember last year's numbers?"</p>
<p>"I've watched them go higher every September. It's been like a death clock for the universe, tick tock tick. I'm almost certain this was the depressing tally I saw last year. No," and he turned to face the mirror now, "I'm not getting senile. This is real. This hasn't <em>changed.</em>"</p>
<p>"Do you have your numbers, Flora? I can compare them too."</p>
<p>"Right here!" She handed over her own tablet, and clasped her hands behind her as she stepped back again. "I did the whole list."</p>
<p>Phil turned to the mirror again, and Flora thought for a moment he might punch it.</p>
<p>Amelia whistled. "You were only supposed to do the first set. That's, like, three shifts of work you've blown through."</p>
<p>She gave the Chief her most innocent expression. "Oops?"</p>
<p>"You don't need to prove yourself." Phil leaned on the tallest of Amelia's file cabinets — they'd been Flora's grandfather's before — and the tension around his eyes showed the strain of ignoring whatever the reflection gremlin was telling him. "Everyone knows you're here on merit."</p>
<p>She sighed. "No, I'm not. I mean, I'm above requirements, but that's not what got me here. You know that."</p>
<p>Phil shook his head. "We all owe the Chief a lot. I'm really sorry about what happened, Flora."</p>
<p>"Thanks," she said, past the lump in her throat.</p>
<p>"'A lot'." Amelia repeated.</p>
<p>Phil glanced at her. "Hmm?"</p>
<p>"'A lot' doesn't really seem to cover it." Amelia tapped Flora's tablet. "Phil, all of these numbers are the same as last year, too."</p>
<p>"You're not serious."</p>
<p>Flora looked back and forth between them. "What does that mean?"</p>
<p>Amelia was tapping on her own tablet, now. "I'm calling Chief Veiksaar. To compare."</p>
<p>"Guys? What does that mean?"</p>
<p>Phil looked stunned. "You know how we told you the containment damage goes up by a set amount every year?"</p>
<p>"Yeah?"</p>
<p>"Well, <em>this year it didn't.</em>"</p>
<p>Veiksaar's numbers confirmed it.</p>
<p>The death march was ended, just short of the finish line.</p>
<p>Noè Nascimbeni's friends had just effectuated, in his name and with a lot of his data, the single most important repair in the history of Site-43.</p>
<p>They only wished he was still around to help them with the next one.</p>
<p>The scale was a fair bit grander.</p>
<p>Ever since the quantum superposition incident in 2002, Ibanez was scheduled to check in with Xinyi Du and confirm that the DUAL Core had been returned to spec after the Breach. She'd never relinquished that role to Pensak, and anyway this time she had something she wanted to discuss.</p>
<p>She found him not in the control room, but at the Core's base. Staring up at it in awe.</p>
<p>She joined him. "Do you ever think about life after death?"</p>
<p>He didn't turn to look at her. "Think about it? I've modelled it."</p>
<p>"In the DUAL Core?"</p>
<p>He nodded. "Sure. We've constructed and deconstructed quantum consciousnesses before."</p>
<p>"That's not the same." She frowned. "I hope?"</p>
<p>Now he did look at her. "Why do you hope?"</p>
<p>"Because I hope you're not telling me you've created, and then murdered, <em>life</em> in your weird spinning computer."</p>
<p>He shrugged. "They're quantum. They were never really created, and they never really died. It's a simulation. A prediction. It takes a ton of energy to actually create something, but it takes a whole lot more to draw all the conclusions you'd get from doing so without… actually doing so. That's what the Core does. When it works."</p>
<p>"And what have you learned from that?"</p>
<p>"That consciousness obeys the First Law of Thermodynamics."</p>
<p>Despite everything, she was still at least a little bit engineer. "Energy is never lost?"</p>
<p>"That's right. It just goes somewhere else. It just changes <em>form.</em> Every consciousness termination program has resulted in a net zero energy loss. We don't necessarily know what that <em>means,</em> on an individual component level, but it suggests that just like how the body just becomes something different when you die, so too does the mind. The dead are alive around us." He gestured. "Maybe not right here, right now. Maybe all the way across the universe. But some element of them survives, forever."</p>
<p>She snorted. "You sound like you believe in ghosts. More than Corbin does."</p>
<p>"I believe in <em>legacy.</em> I believe that actions carry repercussions, and existence iterates endlessly." He looked up at the Core again. "My father and I designed and built this thing. Chief Nascimbeni helped. Quite a lot, though my father would never have acknowledged it."</p>
<p>"I heard something about that."</p>
<p>"The Core has evolved far beyond its initial parameters. Almost nothing of its original mainframe, superstructure, or software hasn't been Ship of Theseus'd away at some point. But I can still see the implications of the Chief's design philosophy in the structural members. I can still read my dad's theories in the quantum code. They're both still in there."</p>
<p>It was a nice thought. "The entire universe was in there, at one point or another."</p>
<p>He smiled. "Then it probably still is. Is that a comforting thought?"</p>
<p>It took her a moment to decide, but she eventually decided that it was.</p>
<p>The Core spun on.</p>
<p>Aeronwen wasn't the mirror image of her mother, but McInnis could still see the resemblance. Something in the press of the lips, and a devilish glint in the eye. Still, her social graces were obviously superior. She was standing when he entered, and she didn't sit down until he had.</p>
<p>"Congratulations on your promotion," he said smoothly. "I hope your mother is well."</p>
<p>"Kicking up hell back home," the young Mountie smiled. "You would think she was the first person ever to retire. She'll have reorganized my entire house by the end of the year."</p>
<p>"My sympathies. Is this a formal occasion, Chief Superintendent? Our first official meeting?"</p>
<p>Couch nodded. "Yes, and also no. I'm not sure I see the point of over-formalizing our interactions. There was a distance between your lot and mine that, honestly, I've never understood." She sat back in her chair; it was bigger and more comfortable-looking than her mother's had been, from what little McInnis could recall from his first visit to this office, a long, long time ago. "Lingering personal feuds, I think. I know she didn't comport herself well when she was in your house, and…" She looked away, and McInnis realized she was looking at a framed photograph. It was facing away from him. "Well. Your predecessor may not have been on his best behaviour in this office, either."</p>
<p>"I concede the possibility."</p>
<p>"So then." Couch clasped her hands together, and rested them on the desk. "Let's start the new era right. I was thinking we might formulate an agreement, you and I."</p>
<p>"What did you have in mind?"</p>
<p>"An official apology from OSAT for the unpleasantness in 1969 and 2003, and a resolution to continue working together for the maintenance of what you call the Veil." He saw nothing but honesty in her dark brown eyes. "Particularly in light of Dr. Okorie's cooperation with the previous administration, I think we can enter into a new relationship characterized by amicable relations, and a sharing of resources. I know you're already well-established, but I should think acquiring the cooperation of the federal government, and its police force, might be a fine feather in your cap. What do you think?"</p>
<p>He considered it.</p>
<p>Out of courtesy.</p>
<p>He stood. "I haven't got a cap, Chief Superintendent. My predecessor did. And were he not predeceased, I think he would tell you in no uncertain terms where you could stick that feather, and it wouldn't be anywhere near his head."</p>
<p><em>Though it might be in close proximity to yours,</em> he didn't say as her face turned the same shade of crimson as her uniform.</p>
<p>He was, after all, a diplomat.</p>
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<h2 id="toc10"><span>14 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Anyone else would have had serious trouble getting clearance, but the Survivors were a set apart. It wasn't going to take her very long. She only had one question.</p>
<p>"Is there an afterlife?" Ibanez asked.</p>
<p>The Uncontained glanced across the containment chamber at his brother. The Unyielding smiled, and nodded at her. "Of course. After, and after, and after, and before and before and before."</p>
<p>"More before than after," the Uncontained added with a grin, "I'm afraid."</p>
<p>Brenda Corbin didn't put her feet up on the Chairs and Chiefs boardroom table, but McInnis could see that she very much wanted to. Even having to get it back from themselves secondhand via recorded debriefings, the Survivors had acquired several duplicate lifetimes of insight into their fellow members of personnel.</p>
<p>It was just the three of them, for now. McInnis would share whatever was learned with the others in due course, and there would likely be followup appointments, but for now he preferred to omit the interruptions and grandstanding his friends brought to every meeting.</p>
<p>"So," he said. "You've read the file, and our debriefings. What do you think of the present security assessment of our guests?"</p>
<p>"I think it sucks," said Corbin.</p>
<p>Nass rolled his eyes, but nodded. "We knew they were dangerous before. But this? This is something else entirely."</p>
<p>The Uncontained and Unyielding apparently had a fascinating relationship with causality. Though the timeline had now been fully restored, and one might reasonably have expected that every possible connection between what Harry was trying to get everyone to call "the Brothers Un" had already been made, that was inexplicably not the case. A haze of confusion had apparently hung over everything relating to them since the first Breach, such that they were only now all catching up. McInnis wondered if this was the universe abhorring a contradiction.</p>
<p>"They caused the Breach. Or, one of them did." Corbin had a cigarette in her fingers, and she twirled it absent-mindedly. "And now they inhabit it. And, uh, you guys. Which is obviously awkward."</p>
<p>McInnis inclined his head in acknowledgement.</p>
<p>"We'll obviously need to wait until next year to know if the Unyielding's influence on you and the other taskforce members is permanent," said Nass. "But given that the Victims still materialize and run through the motions despite the fact that their possessor is presently alive and well, I would imagine you'll be carrying that baggage permanently."</p>
<p>"It is not such a heavy burden," McInnis murmured.</p>
<p>Then he blinked.</p>
<p>"What?" said Corbin.</p>
<p>"I will explain at a later date." He shook his head. "I'll have to confer with the others first."</p>
<p>Corbin's expression soured. "Information only flows one way, huh."</p>
<p>Nass glared at her. "Brenda."</p>
<p>She shrugged.</p>
<p>McInnis leaned forward, elbows on the table, steepling and unsteepling his fingers to distract himself from the intrusive thought. "Have you made any progress on the origins of these creatures?"</p>
<p>"Sort of." Brenda took a moment to collect her thoughts. "Udo and I have been conferring since the whole thing with the <em>Bonhomme,</em> and… well. You read that report?"</p>
<p>McInnis nodded.</p>
<p>"A splintered sleep deity. That's our best guess. Doesn't seem too much of a stretch to suggest that our fourth floor guests are chaos and order deities, subjected to the same process by the forces of the Breach."</p>
<p>"But from what you told me," Nass said to her, "5281-D believed his primordial form had been <em>created</em> before it was shattered. As in, there was a conscious decision made to concretize the concept of sleep. Do we suspect something similar here?"</p>
<p>Corbin shrugged again. "Dunno. Could be. Udo thinks there might be some materials in the Wanderers' Library that might help, but, well. You know." The Library, an extradimensional hub of knowledge defended from incursion by the militant Serpent's Hand order, did not admit Foundation personnel under any circumstances.</p>
<p>"Future directions, then." McInnis sat back. "Their origins can wait for Dr. Blank's revision of the 001 file. For now, I put this final question to you: what might be the source of their powers?"</p>
<p>The two theologians looked at each other. Nass nodded, and Corbin spoke.</p>
<p>"If they really are deities representing formerly impersonal natural and/or socio-cultural forces, then I would expect they have absolutely no power resident in their persons."</p>
<p>McInnis raised a brow. "Where might said power instead reside, then, doctor?"</p>
<p>Corbin grinned at him. "It comes from the rest of us, collectively. Same with all power. Director."</p>
<p>"Of course, you know what <em>that</em> means."</p>
<p>McInnis made an open-handed gesture for Azzopardi to continue. He was eager to finish these briefings, and test his hypothesis with the others.</p>
<p>His meeting with the two remaining temporal experts had mostly consisted of telling them what Corbin and Nass had just told him. The future-woman had immediately seized on it, and was presently shaking whatever he'd found to death with gusto. "If you possess the powers given you by the Unyielding, Director, you might be a repository of energies not wholly originating in baseline temporality!"</p>
<p>McInnis frowned. "Explain?"</p>
<p>It was Forth who finished the thought, to Azzopardi's obvious impatience. "You and your people have been getting more and more efficient with each passing year. That's not what we'd expect from a single infused charge of potential. Sure, it might be a cumulative thing — your natural capabilities build on the unnatural, and you improve yourselves that way. No offence, but that's not what I think is happening here. I agree with… <em>Danica.</em>"</p>
<p>"Who believes…?" McInnis prompted. He wasn't used to having to prompt twice. Forth wasn't the least bit eccentric or scatterbrained, but her new <em>de facto</em> opposite number more than made up for those deficiencies.</p>
<p>Azzopardi took back the reins. "I believe you have the potentiality of your selves, infused with this esoteric energy, from <em>each deadline.</em>"</p>
<p>McInnis blinked. "But the deadlines are… <em>dead.</em>"</p>
<p>"Bit four-dimensional of you, Al."</p>
<p>Forth mouthed the word 'Al' in surprise.</p>
<p>Azzopardi continued. "Think of your genius in the glass box. Is she still in the box? Of course she's still in the box." She smiled apologetically. "Uh. She's practically a compilation of her various selves, now. She's lived through all of those experiences. And the fact that Dr. Lillihammer remembers everything, still…"</p>
<p>"The <em>point</em> is," Forth sighed, "I very much suspect the six of you truly are your best possible selves right now, with the foreign strength invested in you."</p>
<p>McInnis wanted to disagree. It seemed a disappointing conclusion to their long sequence of travails, to hear that what they thought were their accomplishments had really been a power struggle between two eldritch entities, of which they were merely pawns.</p>
<p>But he didn't disagree.</p>
<p>Because Azzopardi beat him to it.</p>
<p>"Can we get a moratorium on these meetings?" Lillian groused. "I don't mind being social, but holy shit, is my life just an endless series of debriefings now, or what?"</p>
<p>McInnis always stood on these occasions, but something moved him to take a chair for the first time. He fought the urge to straddle it backwards, like a guidance counsellor; at times the Survivors seemed not unlike a gaggle of immature college freshmen.</p>
<p>He banished the spectre of O5-8 and -13, laughing at him, and chose to channel Scout instead.<br/>
It had never been the wrong choice before.</p>
<p>"Friends," he said. "I think I might have cracked the code of our unusual capabilities, since the first Breach. I thought I might run the hypothesis past you, and solicit opinions."</p>
<p>Delfina whistled from the floor, in front of Udo. "Look at you, Mr. Scientist all of a sudden."</p>
<p>Harry raised his bottle of spiked tomato juice in a mock cheer. "Well, come on, great communicator. Communicate."</p>
<p>"You're gonna make him self-conscious," Udo laughed.</p>
<p>"I don't think I've ever known a more self-conscious person as it is," said Wettle. He was on the floor. McInnis had almost suspected he was asleep, except that there had been no snoring or sudden sputter.</p>
<p>McInnis waited until they were all done, as he always did. Amelia almost didn't realize he was doing it. When she did, she flushed brilliantly. "I, uh. I wasn't going to interrupt you, sir."</p>
<p>Harry shook his head. "We'll learn her eventually. Now!" He clinked glasses with Ibanez, who hadn't entirely seen it coming. "Let's hear it. Whatever it is."</p>
<p>"He's gonna tell us why we're so great," Udo sighed. "And it's going to be something along the lines of 'the power was inside of you all along, because a god put it there'."</p>
<p>"I'm going to break every bottle in this room," Lillian spat, "if that's the final fucking answer."</p>
<p>"Luckily," McInnis murmured, "it is not."</p>
<p>That got their attention, and, for a change, no more of their guff.</p>
<p>"Our friends, the Victims, were not imbued with chaos. That was a reductive view. They were the recipients of <em>freedom.</em> Freedom from the rules governing others. Even the laws of physics, the conservation of mass and energy."</p>
<p>"Uh huh," said Lillian.</p>
<p>"Why, then, should we say that we were imbued with <em>powers?</em>"</p>
<p>"Power is the opposite of…" Harry frowned. "Yeah, it's not really, is it?"</p>
<p>"Power opposes freedom," said Udo.</p>
<p>"I mean," Delfina frowned. "We <em>try</em> not to."</p>
<p>"If not power," said Amelia, who was looking rapidly back and forth between them and struggling to keep up with the repartee, "then what?"</p>
<p>"To my mind," said McInnis, "and I'm ashamed not to have considered this earlier—"</p>
<p>"Get on with it!" Harry, Delfina and Lillian shouted in a single voice. Amelia's blush worsened by a shade. Wettle rubbed his ears.</p>
<p>"We've suggested that the opposite of <em>freedoms,</em> the absence of limitation, might be <em>responsibilities.</em> Perhaps more properly, <em>obligations.</em> Is there not a major qualitative difference between these two poles?"</p>
<p>Lillian opened her mouth. As it always did, it stayed open. But no sound came out.</p>
<p>"Are you saying…?" Udo trailed off.</p>
<p>"Are you saying we don't…" Harry shook his head. "No, bullshit. Lillian remembers everything."</p>
<p>"Is that a power?" McInnis asked. "Or a burden?"</p>
<p>"Ask my fucking pharmacist," Lillian snapped.</p>
<p>"But all the stuff I did," Udo protested. "The micamancy. It can't just…"</p>
<p>He waited for her to continue.</p>
<p>Her orange eyes were wide and bright as headlights. "It <em>can't</em> have just been <em>me.</em>"</p>
<p>Delfina settled between Udo's legs, and leaned back to make upside-down eye contact. "I mean… why not?"</p>
<p>The thaumaturge was speechless.</p>
<p>"Responsibility," Harry mused. "breeds… what?"</p>
<p>"Breeding," Lillian grinned. "There had to be something causing it."</p>
<p>"It's not really such a surprise, is it?" Amelia was still making eye contact with each of them, in a rough cycle around the room. "To think all that happened was just competent people, rising to the occasion?"</p>
<p>"That's my cue," McInnis smiled, and he stood up.</p>
<p>"Don't you dare spring that shit on us and jet, Allan," Delfina half-shouted. Udo, mouth still hanging open, closed her knees playfully around the other woman's neck. "Glurk. You're not going anywhere," she finished in a frog's voice.</p>
<p>"I have nowhere to be but here," he agreed. He headed for the refrigerator rather than the door. "Udo, if I may?"</p>
<p>She nodded wordlessly, gape gradually resolving into a smile.</p>
<p>McInnis returned to the group, sat down, gave them each a polite nod, then stuck the bottle in his mouth, twisted, and spat out the cap.</p>
<p>It landed in Wettle's hair.</p>
<p>"Learned it from a friend," McInnis explained as the room exploded in laughter.</p>
<p>One of the worst occupational hazards attending on burning the night oil was the spectre of Karen Elstrom haunting your doorway.</p>
<p>Eileen was finishing up a code base update at her desk. She hadn't left the room for any purpose but to use the attached facilities all shift; even a trip to the cafeteria was an unnecessary distraction, as she had a microwave on a stand and a crate of pot noodles in a cupboard. As the Site's chief nerd, it made no contrast with the respect accorded her position.</p>
<p>Being mid-slurp when the avatar of impeccable taste insinuated itself into the frame, picture perfect, still left her feeling a little ashamed.</p>
<p>She finished shovelling the noodles down, paper towelled her mouth off, and said: "What?"</p>
<p>"Enjoying your bachelorhood?" Elstrom teased. "Bachelorettehood?" She affected a pouting frown. "Funny how that isn't a word, isn't it? Almost like it's not a state we're meant to move through."</p>
<p>"Buzz off." Eileen looked back at her terminal. She hadn't checked the ticketing system in a while… nothing. Well, of course there was nothing.</p>
<p>Two thirds of the Site was already asleep, or at least off duty.</p>
<p>"Did you get my memo from earlier?" the other woman persisted. "About DR-RHETORIC?"</p>
<p>Eileen sighed. Elstrom's memo contained an itemized list of requests from the O5 Council, all intended to ensure the long-term sustainability of their collective act of torture…</p>
<p>She actually couldn't think of a better term for it. "Yeah. Got that. I'll read it tomorrow."</p>
<p>Elstrom didn't detach herself, and Eileen couldn't imagine getting real work done with her silhouette vamping it up like that, so she did what she did only when at the utmost limit of her options.</p>
<p>She checked her email.</p>
<p>There was only one new message, from a fellow night owl. It was short and to the point.</p>
<div class="email">
<div class="tofrom">
<p><strong>To:</strong> <span class="wiki-email">ten.34|raaskiev_e#ten.34|raaskiev_e</span><br/>
<strong>From:</strong> <span class="wiki-email">ten.34|ykslokos_d#ten.34|ykslokos_d</span><br/>
<strong>Date:</strong> 14/09/2019<br/>
<strong>Subject:</strong> You up? I am!</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Eileen,</p>
<p>I've just had the most phenomenal idea. You're going to love it. You're going to love me for having it.</p>
<p>Meet me at my place as soon as you get this.</p>
<p>Bring a towel.</p>
<p>The password is…</p>
<p>Well, you know what the password is. That's kind of the point, isn't it?</p>
<p>— Daniil</p>
</div>
<p>She sat there for a moment, stunned.</p>
<p>She looked at the pot noodle.</p>
<p>She looked at her keyboard.</p>
<p>She looked at the ceiling.</p>
<p>"What's wrong?"</p>
<p>She looked up.</p>
<p>Elstrom had finally entered the room. She was looking down at Eileen with what could have been, on someone else, an expression of genuine concern. "You look—"</p>
<p>"Busy?" Eileen snapped. "Do I look busy, Karen? Is that what's got you confused? You should try it some time."</p>
<p>The other woman's expression seemed to melt, and then re-form itself. A mask of a mask looked down at her, and nodded. "Sorry for giving a shit, Eileen. Enjoy your alone time."</p>
<p>She stalked out with a stiffness like her legs were shot through with iron rebar, without closing the door behind her.</p>
<p>So Eileen got up, paused on her side of the threshold for a moment, then closed it herself.</p>
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<h2 id="toc11"><span>15 September</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><span style="color: #990011">Kettle & Stony Point First Nation</span>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>McInnis arrived early. <em>Not that he ever arrives late,</em> but it was still a nice gesture nevertheless.</p>
<p>The ASC was waiting in the parking lot of the Kettle and Stony Point Cultural & Administration Centre, a long and low building with stone, brick, and wood trimmings. There was a sign out front, featuring a turtle adorned with the four colours of the Chippewa. The turtle was a symbol of North America, what many of the First Nations called Turtle Island, a living space to be shared and protected. He'd heard a few non-native academics employing the term in their works, even invoking it to acknowledge the ancestral owners of the land on which they lived and worked. Some called it the first step to a new arrangement.</p>
<p>The ASC wasn't so optimistic.</p>
<p>"Bad news," he said as the Director climbed out of his car. He knew better than to complain that McInnis hadn't employed a chauffeur. At any rate, humility at these talks could sometimes go a long way. "Nexology never got back to us."</p>
<p>The draft proposal for new terms between Site-43 and the reserves making up Nexus-94 had been drafted by the ASC himself, so he took personal umbrage that it had apparently been filed under 'read later' by the Foundation's supposed authorities on all matters Nexus. Of course, he allowed none of that to show on his face, in his mannerisms, or in his language.</p>
<p>McInnis shrugged. "Oh, well. I suppose that makes this easier."</p>
<p>The ASC frowned. "Not in a way I'm particularly happy with."</p>
<p>To his shock, the Director clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't see why not. We're going to walk in there, renew our commitments, and give them every damn thing they asked for."</p>
<p>The ASC stared at him.</p>
<p>McInnis stared back.</p>
<p>The ASC laughed, and they entered the centre together, arms around each others' shoulders.</p>
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<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facility-dossier-reliquary-area-27">Reliquary Area-27</a>: Ottawa, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Brenda hadn't expected to have anything common with Yossarian Leiner.</p>
<p>The Assistant Director of the Department of Tactical Theology resided beneath a cathedral, and he wore a yarmulke on his head. Then again, he had a remit to fight gods — not to kill them unless necessary, as that went against the Foundation's containment ethos, though nobody in the department ever tried too hard to shake that popular image. It did go hard, and they knew it.</p>
<p>But whether he praised gods, fought them, or killed them, she'd expected their meeting to reveal an essential incompatibility of worldview.</p>
<p>Luckily, open-mindedness was the central tenet of hers.</p>
<p>"A Zoroastrian angel!" Leiner exclaimed. "Do you have any idea how rare that is?"</p>
<p>She nodded. "Yeah. Once in a lifetime sort of thing."</p>
<p>He shook his head. "Once in a billion lifetimes, more like. I've never seen one."</p>
<p>"Well," and she gestured at his hat with her chin, "wrong tribe, right?"</p>
<p>He laughed. "That's true. Not really a true believer either, though, are you?" He suddenly looked very serious, worried even. "You're not actually a Mormon, right? It would have showed up in your file somewhere."</p>
<p>"I'm not actually an anything." She sighed. "I'm the Métis daughter of two Mazdayasna faithful, and even the miracles I was born to can't be bothered to show up for me."</p>
<p>"I'm a Jewish man living under a Catholic basilica," he reminded her. "Have you considered branching out?" He reached under his desk and produced a thick stack of paper, and began separating it into several less thick stacks. "We've got a lot of open files that someone of your expertise could help with. Dr. Nass says he'd like to see more cooperation between TactTheo and TheoTelo, and I agree. Getting you on a consult seems like a good start."</p>
<p>She glanced at the files, one by one. "Daeva," she said. "Mekhane, and… wow." She chuckled. "That one's a stretch. You really think…?"</p>
<p>Leiner nodded. "We've been getting a lot of strange reports from fishing ships in the Mediterranean. There's definitely something calling out. Looking for someone to talk to."</p>
<p>"Relatable. Hmm." She gave the other two files a cursory look, and nodded. "Can I take these home with me?"</p>
<p>"In a secure case, but certainly." Leiner stacked the dossiers back up again. "A lot of what we do here is a long shot, but the consequences for not trying can be very extreme. TactTheo sees more Veil-threatening SCP objects than any other Department. Lots of Keters." Extremely difficult to contain. "An Apollyon," world-ending, "once or twice."</p>
<p>"What about Veil-breaking? Any Tiamats?" she asked, with a grin.</p>
<p>"God forbid," he laughed.</p>
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<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><span style="color: #990011">Kettle Point</span>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>There was a stooped old man waiting on the porch when the ASC arrived. One hand was resting on his cane, and the other raised in silent greeting.</p>
<p>The ASC raised a hand of his own, and unlocked the front door with the other.</p>
<p>He'd been in this house less and less as the years rolled past him. It was a fiction to be maintained, like any other, but not a particularly attractive one. Foundation regulations meant that he couldn't actually live on the res, with the people he was representing; any residence occupied by someone at Clearance Level 4 had to be secure, and as far out of sight and mind as was feasible. The fact that he was a public figure made no difference. The little house was smart, and well-kept, but it didn't feel at all like home.</p>
<p>Zwist sat down at the kitchen table, and the ASC went for the fridge. There was fresh lemonade inside, and nothing else. He didn't have a housekeeper. He wondered what Overwatch would have thought about his definition of 'secure', given it included allowing the locals to keep a front door key.</p>
<p>He poured two glasses, and sat down across from the old man. Zwist took the glass eagerly, and the ASC smiled as he watched the first glass empty in record time. It was warm outside, and even immortals could sweat.</p>
<p>Some of them, anyway.</p>
<p>He stood up to retrieve the jug from the fridge, while Zwist began to speak. "I must say this is the most pleasant introduction I've had to one of your lot. The rest are all…"</p>
<p>He shook his head.</p>
<p>The ASC put the jug down on the table, and sat again. "Big personalities," he said.</p>
<p>Zwist nodded. "And they never shut up."</p>
<p>The ASC chuckled. "They're talkers. Most of them aren't listeners. But you only need a few of those to make a difference." He poured Zwist a second glass, and then raised his own. They clinked the rims together, drank together, and then made eye contact.</p>
<p>"I think it's my day for listening," said Zwist. "I'm something of a talker myself, as I'm sure you know."</p>
<p>"It's come up."</p>
<p>Zwist smiled ruefully. "I have a tendency to ramble, and lecture. But Allan tells me you might have a unique perspective on our common dilemma, and I should very much like to hear it."</p>
<p>The ASC leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs and clasped his hands over his thigh. "Do you know how Site-43 came to be situated where it is?"</p>
<p>The old man shook his head.</p>
<p>"In 1942, the federal government made an insultingly low offer to buy the land above, for the purposes of constructing a military base. Camp Ipperwash. The people who had lived on that land refused. The land was taken anyway, and the camp built. It was promised that when the war had ended, everything would be returned. This did not occur."</p>
<p>"Power rarely accepts curtailment," Zwist nodded. "And never curtails itself."</p>
<p>"The stolen reserve became a provincial park. In 1995, the people occupied that park to raise awareness. A man was shot and killed by the provincial police. There was a media furor, then an inquiry. The government crafted an agreement for recompense — that's what they called it, an 'agreement'. It would not surprise you to hear that the people did not agree."</p>
<p>The old man's bushy eyebrows rose a little, then fell again, in acknowledgement.</p>
<p>"These people know a lot about cycles, Mr. Zwist. Since time immemorial they have understood the cycles of the land and its creatures. The advent of the French, the British, the Canadians and the Foundation, these things were ferocious shocks to the system, but they still fit the schema. Everything turns. It was understood that the attention lavished on this place during the war would lapse almost immediately, and might not resume for a generation. When it came down to it, we were forced to give history a push before the cycle swung 'round again. That lasted for a moment, and then the gyre wound off as it always does."</p>
<p>Zwist frowned. "You're making it sound like this inhumane treatment is just a symptom of an impersonal force. I should think you'd be the last one to relieve your government of its obligations."</p>
<p>The ASC shook his head. "That isn't what I mean at all. They are each responsible for their actions. We are all responsible for what we know, and what we do not know. What we witness, and do not witness. What we choose to see, and where we choose to remain blind. But we are all caught up in something bigger than ourselves. Something composed of the whole of us. An individual human being might believe it is wrong to take someone's home away from them, and more wrong to never give it back. They might believe everyone deserves to drink clean water, and have their roads maintained, and be allowed to travel wherever they will along those roads. But to be willing to actually do something in defence of these beliefs? That is uncommon. We are all inertial creatures."</p>
<p>Zwist sipped at his lemonade. "So what the others experience as a cycle of order and chaos…"</p>
<p>"We see as a cycle of action and inaction. They impose their order, and we act, and they react. They withdraw without admitting defeat, and let the matter lie, and we wait for the next chance. We live our lives. They live theirs. We watch them, and they are ignorant of us. And in the absence of a solution, it swings around again. We present them with what they call chaos, and they attempt to rationalize it again. And again they fail. As they have always failed. As they will always fail."</p>
<p>"You think so?" Zwist turned the glass on the table, in quarter rotations. "You think order is destined to lose out to chaos?"</p>
<p>"I'm not sure you've grasped my meaning." The ASC smiled. "I'm saying order and chaos are the wrong way to look at it. It isn't a question of power versus random chance. It isn't even responsibility against freedom — not on the wider scale. This is a conflict between our urges to do something for ourselves, and to do something for others. To do something <em>to</em> ourselves, and others. The fundamental question of society. Who advances farthest? Us, or them?"</p>
<p>"When the answer," Zwist said, "should be <em>all of us.</em>"</p>
<p>The ASC nodded. "And that's why the gyres keep turning, Mr. Zwist. Not because one has never beaten the other. Because they have never been made to turn <em>together.</em> The cycle doesn't have to end. It has to <em>change.</em>"</p>
<p>Zwist considered. After a moment, he raised his glass. "To change."</p>
<p>The second <em>clink</em> sounded brighter, somehow.</p>
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<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Imrich hadn't left the Site for what felt like months.</p>
<p>He enjoyed the way the half-closed system worked.</p>
<p>There were variables coming in and going out every day, of course, but compared to even a small urbanized area like Grand Bend, Site-43 was predictable.</p>
<p>The math was simple.</p>
<p>To the extent that any of the math was simple anymore.</p>
<p>Still, they were making strides in that area. He'd been surprised, very surprised, to find that William Wettle was good for anything, but the replication studies were at this point dovetailing with his own research to produce what might become, in a few more months, a comprehensive roadmap for dealing with the uneven and changeable terrain of their increasingly wobbly baseline.</p>
<p>He could have used a little fresh air now and then. But that was how long projects went.</p>
<p>The sun would still be out there when he was done. In fact, finishing the project might be the only way he could assure that the sun would still be out there.</p>
<p>He was all the way into his dormitory, the door closed behind him and his notepad on the counter, before he realized something was wrong. Even without doing the math, he could tell that there were more lines converging in here than there should have been.</p>
<p>This dorm was his asylum from the web of possibility. One line in, one line out.</p>
<p>He stood in the main room and said, feeling both ridiculous and affronted, asked "Who's there?"</p>
<p>The door to his bedroom clicked open, and he made eye contact with the man who walked out, and suddenly all desire to leave bled out of him.</p>
<p>The man was grey-haired and pleasant, dressed in a light autumn jacket and casual clothes.<br/>
His eyes were mesmerizing.</p>
<p>A blonde woman he'd never seen before was with him.</p>
<p>The man walked up to Imrich and extended a hand. "Good evening, Mr. Sýkora. My name is Kyle."</p>
<p>Imrich accepted the handshake without meaning to. "What are you doing in my room?"</p>
<p>Kyle looked over his shoulder at the woman. "Would you like to tell him, Julia?"</p>
<p>Julia was dressed for the office, but ornamental rather than practical. Her voice, however, was hard and serious. "We're here to make you an offer, Imrich."</p>
<p>"An offer I can't refuse?"</p>
<p>She laughed. The man laughed with her. Imrich hated them instantly.</p>
<p>"Why would you want to refuse? We know all about you, of course. The man who can predict anything, even when nothing is predictable. What an asset you'll be. To someone."</p>
<p>"You'd be wasted on the Foundation," Kyle smiled. "They won't be making it out of the present troubles intact, I'm afraid. And your talents are a poor fit for their goals, anyway. They're only interested in anticipating threats to the <em>status quo.</em> We have rather more lofty goals." He was still holding Imrich's hand. "How would you like to stop merely predicting the future, Mr. Sýkora, and start <em>making it?</em>"</p>
<p>"I don't think I would like that very much at all," said Imrich. He was proud of how easily the words came, even under Kyle's intense compulsive glare.</p>
<p>"That's a shame," said Julia.</p>
<p>"Definitely a shame," Kyle agreed.</p>
<p>"Well," the woman sighed, "every great man needs a push, to make history."</p>
<p>Kyle nodded at her without taking his eyes off Imrich. "We've paid well for the push, anyway. Might as well get our money's worth."</p>
<p>Julia snapped her fingers, and Roger Pensak walked out of Imrich's bedroom.</p>
<p>"Bet you didn't see this coming," he smirked.</p>
<p>The Foundation called any organization with any relation to the anomalous that wasn't the Foundation a "Group of Interest." It was a term specifically chosen for its connotations, both in the specific and general cases. Specifically, it meant the Foundation was watching each and every GoI. In general, it meant that anyone whose actions impacted the Veil of Normalcy was operating in the Foundation's field of interest. It was a way of claiming the whole anomalous world as their backyard, and all anomalous activity as their bailiwick.</p>
<p>The Groups of Interest Research Group, which typically abbreviated the first three words for obvious reasons, was headquartered at Site-55 in Boston, Massachusetts and headed by a researcher named Justine Everwood. The first thing Everwood said was "Call me Jay." The second was "Call me 'they'." And they smiled, because that was meant to be funny, because it rhymed.</p>
<p>When Ilse had gone into the incinerator room, using 'they' as a singular pronoun had still been generally considered a grammatical error. But given that a woman with a PhD had still been generally considered a socialization error, she found it easy to make this adjustment.</p>
<p>And anyone with a sense of humour that corny had more in common with Ilse than most.</p>
<p>"I suppose you're interviewing everybody," she said.</p>
<p>Everwood nodded. "Everybody who's had any contact with the <em>alte</em> or <em>neuer giftschreiber.</em> Did I pronounce those right?"</p>
<p>"Pretty close," Ilse smiled, and then she said both terms precisely.</p>
<p>Everwood repeated the corrections aloud, and Ilse nodded. She noticed that the GoI expert was holding a tablet, but not typing on it, and then realized this was because they only had one arm. The sleeve of their labcoat was tied off. <em>Must be voice activated.</em></p>
<p>"Okay," Everwood smiled. "You're Dutch, right? That's why you can pronounce it so easily."</p>
<p>"There's similarities," Ilse allowed, "but I can pronounce it so easily because I've got twice as much time as anyone else to figure things out."</p>
<p>"Fair enough," Everwood nodded. "Now, uh, please. Tell me about your encounter."</p>
<p>"It was my sister." Ilse shook her head. "Except it can't have been. She looked just like her — just like <em>me</em> — but there was something off about her affect. I wasn't in a good place, and wasn't thinking clearly, but in retrospect I'm sure she was just wearing my sister's appearance as a disguise."</p>
<p>"So, a <em>geistschreiber.</em>" Everwood didn't look to her for approval of that pronunciation. There was really only one way it could go.</p>
<p>"That's what I think. Yes."</p>
<p>"What did she want?"</p>
<p>"She wanted to know what made the deadline special." She paused. Everwood had an easy, unassuming nature that made it easy to talk to them, and Ilse had just potentially slipped up because of it. "You're cleared to know about those?"</p>
<p>Everwood smiled reassuringly. "Yes ma'am. They've brought me up to speed on all things 5243."</p>
<p>"Good. Okay. Good." Her focus was slipping. She'd need to do better. "Lys, the false Lys, wanted to know what made the deadline so special. So unstable. We didn't have a term for them yet, so I called them tangents. I felt they were subordinate to baseline. That's what I told her, and in the end, I was right."</p>
<p>"Uh huh." Everwood was one of the few people Ilse had met who could say that word without it sounding condescending. "And you're sure this was in the deadline, not baseline?" They suddenly reeled back a little, and Ilse wondered if they were slapping their forehead with their phantom limb. "Obviously, or the tangents wouldn't have come up. Okay, that's fascinating. I haven't heard about these people leaping from timeline to timeline before. You're a very special person, Dr. Reynders. I mean, your situation is very… uh." Everwood was blushing fiercely as they tried to walk back their <em>faux pas.</em></p>
<p>Ilse returned the earlier favour of a reassuring smile. "Thank you. And yes, it's strange. Does it suggest anything to you?"</p>
<p>Everwood tapped the tablet against their hip. "Could tie in to the references some of the others have made to escaping the apocalypse when they trigger it. Maybe the power to create these dead timelines was something the Uncontained and Unyielding could always do, and it got incorporated into the Breach when it killed them."</p>
<p>Ilse whistled. "Now <em>that</em> is a theory. Something to ask them about. Bravo."</p>
<p>Everwood's grateful smile was almost shy. "Thanks. Yeah, I'll look into it. Did she say anything else?"</p>
<p>Ilse almost didn't tell them, but… <em>What the heck.</em> "She told me I was never getting out of this box."</p>
<p>Everwood's face fell. "Jeez. Wow. I'm sorry, Dr. Reynders. That's awful."</p>
<p>"Is it?" Reynders shrugged. "I think it's quite a hopeful thing."</p>
<p>Everwood's face went blank. "Hopeful how?"</p>
<p>Where Ilse was from, or rather <em>when,</em> women were not meant to grin. But she was more now than her origins would have implied. All of them were, including this one-armed wallflower with the startlingly fast uptake. "It means they don't know everything," she grinned. "I'm not as helpless as I look."</p>
<p>"You don't look helpless," Everwood grinned back. "But I bet you'd be no great shakes at mountain climbing."</p>
<p>"You climb mountains?" Reynders laughed, then suddenly wondered if she'd spoiled the moment.</p>
<p>"With one sleeve tied behind my back," Everwood laughed with her. "See? You're right. Looks really can be deceiving."</p>
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<h2 id="toc12"><span>16 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Ngo placed a tablet on the coffee table, and sat down. They'd brought in a rocking chair for her, which she found touching, considering the circumstances; Harry had told her she'd always had "the affect of an aunt," which she'd found marginally less touching, even if she couldn't quite find an angle to argue.</p>
<p>"That's it?" Ibanez picked up the tablet. "Man, I miss books. You used to be able to tell how much shit was in them by the thickness."</p>
<p>"It's still a good metric," Okorie hiccoughed. "It's how we know how much is in <em>you.</em>"</p>
<p>It wasn't clear whether anyone but Lillihammer got the joke, but she laughed loud enough for all of them anyway.</p>
<p>"I thought you'd be more upset." Ngo glanced from face to face. She'd seen each of them, save for Torosyan, more times than she could count without an appointment book. "Or, uh. Upset at all."</p>
<p>"What, just because you were spying on us?" Blank plucked the tablet out of Ibanez's fingers. The little woman made a big noise of protest, but she was already at least two thirds in the bag, and her reflexes were dulled. "That's old hat. We've been collecting spies like flies. Willie even dated one of them. In every reality."</p>
<p>"Except the apocalypse one," Wettle reminded him.</p>
<p>"That one doesn't count." Blank flicked through the files. "Anyway, it's not like we're idiots. Obviously your reports were going to Overwatch."</p>
<p>"Beyond obvious," Okorie agreed. Ngo wasn't totally sure the other woman still knew what was being referenced, but she took the affirmation anyway.</p>
<p>"It's just…" Ngo sighed, and folded her hands in her lap. No wonder they thought she was so matronly as to enjoy a rocking chair. The worst of it was, they weren't wrong. "I felt very guilty about it, for a very long time. But it was what was expected of me. So I did it anyway."</p>
<p>McInnis nodded. "We've all done what was expected of us. That's how we've learned to set our own expectations."</p>
<p>"Still, big dick move." Ibanez swatted over her head, catching the tablet and pulling it back down out of Blank's hands. So, not so dulled perhaps. "Coming clean to the secret cabal. Whycome?"</p>
<p>"This is a secret cabal?" Torosyan asked. She looked startled.</p>
<p>Wettle pointed at her. His head was invisible under the coffee table. "New Wettle!" he shouted.<br/>
Lillihammer pointed at her. "New Wettle!"</p>
<p>"I like her better than the old Wettle," said Blank.</p>
<p>She furrowed her brow, considered, then winked at him. He choked on his drink.</p>
<p>Ngo waited to see if anyone else was going to intercede before answering the question. "It just… seems to <em>me,</em> that you've got it all figured out. It wasn't Overwatch that brought back baseline. It wasn't the TAD. And it wasn't Karen Elstrom, either." She just barely restrained herself from adding a descriptive expletive between the woman's names.</p>
<p>McInnis raised a hand. "In her own way, Dr. Elstrom is doing what she feels is right. Everyone in this room has that in common with her. And happily, at this facility, we are not outnumbered."</p>
<p>"Everywhere else, on the other hand," Blank sighed.</p>
<p>Torosyan looked at Ngo. "I haven't been here long," she said. "Are they always like this?"</p>
<p>"Like what?"</p>
<p>"Just… saying whatever comes into their heads, and assuming it'll work out okay?"</p>
<p>Ngo laughed. "Yes. And so far, they haven't been wrong."</p>
<p>"Planning to narc us out, technician?" Lillihammer trilled.</p>
<p>Torosyan smiled sheepishly. "Seems like you're the rats already. Gnawing on the wires. Scurrying beneath the boards." She made an illustrative motion with her hands.</p>
<p>Ibanez made an even more illustrative motion at her in response.</p>
<p>"We could perhaps do with a little more discretion," McInnis admitted. "Particularly given the uncertain road ahead."</p>
<p>Ngo frowned. "You brought them both back. You restored the proper course of reality. What could possibly still be ahead?"</p>
<p>"Another deadline," Lillihammer sighed.</p>
<p>Her frown deepened. "Won't those be over, now that…? No?"</p>
<p>The archivist was shaking his head. "One more. Definitely at least one more."</p>
<p>"At least and at most," said Lillihammer. She hiccoughed. Okorie hiccoughed back at her, and they both laughed.</p>
<p>"I don't understand." Ngo once again scanned each of their faces for an explanation, and noticed Torosyan doing the same. "Why do you think there's going to be one more?"</p>
<p>"Because of Rydderech." Lillihammer hiccoughed again. "The last warning he gave me was number six out of seven. He's got outside context vision, somehow, because he's weird, so odds are there's still one more bad future in the pipeline."</p>
<p>"I see."</p>
<p>They drank in companionable silence for a while. Okorie elbowed her to ask what she was drinking. Ngo told her: "Sinh Tố."</p>
<p>"Sounds exotic." The other woman's eyes were wide, and glowing. "What's it mean?"</p>
<p>"Fruit smoothie," Ngo told her, and the entire room exploded.</p>
<p>Metaphorically speaking.</p>
<p>She put the glass down on the coffee table, just as Ibanez discarded the tablet. They met with a dull little <em>clink.</em> "Now," said Ngo, "I understand that most of you are drunk right now—"</p>
<p>"I'm not drunk!" Lillihammer protested. "I am <em>plastered.</em>"</p>
<p>Ngo nodded in acknowledgement. "I was just wondering, ah… why you all seem so upbeat. About this. About everything. If you think it isn't even <em>over.</em>"</p>
<p>Wettle's voice drifted up from beneath the table. "Sounds like a tomorrow problem."</p>
<p>"And fuck tomorrow," Blank agreed.</p>
<p>Lillian raised her glass. "Fuck tomorrow!"</p>
<p>Cheers all around.</p>
<p>"Seems like tempting fate," Ngo observed.</p>
<p>Lillian snorted. "Well, I'm not living out my golden years in <em>fear,</em> Nhung, so <em>double fuck fate</em> if it can't take a joke."</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc13"><span>17 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Udo saw there was a message on the inter-Site system as soon as she woke up, and groaned inwardly. It would be her mother again. Age hadn't dulled the parental instinct for interference.</p>
<p>She dressed at leisure, gently stirring the air in her room as she did so, filling the air with red. It danced to her whims, as it always did. Her whims alone, if they'd understood the Director's epiphany about responsibility correctly.</p>
<p>She still marvelled that she could have done even a fraction of the things she'd done on her own power, but the others had already accepted it as fact. She felt a certain way about that. She was still looking for a name for the emotion.</p>
<p>It was certainly more development than most people's characters saw in their early adulthood, she thought as she stepped into the bathroom and turned on the lights. She allowed the <em>vim harenae</em> to lift her long hair up in braids, fanning it out to its full and prodigious length. "God," she said out loud. "It's like four feet fucking long." It grew twice, maybe three times as fast as other people's hair did, undoubtedly one of the many symptoms of her thaumaturgical heritage.</p>
<p>Well, she had her doubts, actually. But she wasn't entertaining them this early in the morning, even if that night she'd dreamed of the desert again, and met a self which was not <em>her</em> self beneath the still-spreading cloud. She'd thought the cloud would disappear after the last deadline, exorcised by her revelation beneath the grey sky, but apparently she'd been wrong.</p>
<p>She was seized with a sudden urge to chop the hair off, all of it, right down to the scalp, as she had five times before. Make it an even half-dozen.</p>
<p>And why not?</p>
<p>Why not keep swimming against the tide that carried her forward?</p>
<div class="udoflashback">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc14"><span><span style="color: #ff950e">2016</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc15"><span>8 September</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Dougall leapt to his feet when she entered the room. "Thank god. Thank god."</p>
<p>"I'm in no mood to thank any gods. Especially not for this." Udo sat down at the interrogation table, and indicated that he should join her. He stood there a moment longer, staring intently, then obeyed the directive.</p>
<p>"They told me you didn't want to see me." She couldn't tell if the look of relief on his face was genuine or not. In all the years that it passed since she seen him last, she'd never been able to figure out whether any of what they'd shared have been real or not. "I'm glad they were wrong."</p>
<p>"They weren't wrong." Udo sat there in silence for a moment, long enough for him to look her over, see that there was nothing but academic interest in her eyes. "I only came here because there's still something you can do for me. Something I need to know."</p>
<p>"Why are you being like this?" He was attempting to look hurt. "What's wrong?"</p>
<p>She wasn't going to give him an inch. "For starters, Bernie Del Olmo and Adrijan Zlatá are dead. You want to tell me what you know about that?"</p>
<p>Dougall looked bewildered. Perhaps he even was. "Dead? When did that happen?"</p>
<p>"Years ago. While you were dead, too. I understand that's been explained to you, so I don't want to go over any ground that's already been covered. Who were those two men to you?"</p>
<p>"Udo." He placed his hands on the table and reached out to her. She glanced down at them, but kept her own hands at her sides. "Aren't you even glad that I'm okay?"</p>
<p>She shook her head. "You're not okay. You're dead. You've been dead for fourteen years. And when this conversation is over, you'll be dead again. So if there's anything you want to tell me, now would be the time." Before he could say anything, she clarified, "about what I just asked you. Nothing else."</p>
<p>He chewed his bottom lip for a while, then nodded. "If that's how you want to play it, fine. Del Olmo and Zlatá are… <em>were</em> cryptomancers. <em>Giftschreiber,</em> though of a different sort."</p>
<p>"And so were you." She hadn't believed when it had first been suggested. But it hadn't taken her long to come around, with the twin powers of retro- and introspection</p>
<p>"I am," he agreed, with deliberate emphasis on the present tense. "And if the others are dead, all the more reason to keep me alive. What we were doing was vital. It still needs to be done."</p>
<p>"And what was that?"</p>
<p>"Destabilizing the cults, from the inside." He finally stopped making the sad puppy face he'd been making, as he warmed to his subject. "There isn't just one, you see. There's—"</p>
<p>"We know," she said flatly. "Go on."</p>
<p>He frowned. "If you know, then you know they're oppositional. Chaos and order. <em>Neuer</em> and <em>Alte.</em> One doing what they've always done, one doing what the <em>schriftsteller</em> used to do, before they all died. They're playing a sick game with the human race, Udo. And we can't let either of them win."</p>
<p>"So you were, what? Their go-between?</p>
<p>"That's right." He was nodding rapidly, as though excited she appeared to be buying what he was selling. "It wasn't safe for them to interact. The cults they were infiltrating would have figured it out. But not if they only talked to me. Because of my Talent."</p>
<p>"Except it wasn't a Talent. You weren't really a thaumaturge at all. How did you become a <em>geistschreiber,</em> Dougall?"</p>
<p>He shrugged. "I took a gap year for a Euro tour. Went to Austria. Fell in with a weird crowd." He smiled almost wistfully. "I used to be big into that whole 'fuck the power' thing. Got in way over my head. Met some folks who really could fuck the power, so the power could never unfuck itself. They taught me everything I know. And I didn't use it wisely, and the Foundation found out. Assumed I was just an unregistered Type Blue, since nobody'd ever heard of a <em>geistschreiber</em> before, and they put me to work. But I never forgot what I'd seen. And I came to realize what it meant. And that I could do something about it."</p>
<p>"And did you?"</p>
<p>He blinked. "What?"</p>
<p>"Did you do anything about it? Besides getting your friends killed?"</p>
<p>He shook his head. "You don't understand. It was a delicate thing. Can't push too hard. Can't go too fast. That game they're playing? It's the longest long game that's ever been played. And we're in the long haul with them."</p>
<p>"Not anymore."</p>
<p>His eyes widened. "What's that supposed to mean?"</p>
<p>"It means game over is maybe two or three turns from now. We're all out of time for slow and steady. And we've wasted far too much of the time we used to have on trying to figure out what had happened to you, when it turned out t didn't even matter." She made no effort to keep the bitterness out of her voice.</p>
<p>His eyes were shining now. "Didn't even matter? Is that how you feel?"</p>
<p>She nodded. "You know what I think, Dougall? I think you weren't really trying."</p>
<p>He stood up again. "I beg your pardon?"</p>
<p>She remained seated. "I think you liked your cushy job, and your unobservant girlfriend, and taking advantage of the people who worked for you, admired you, even…"</p>
<p>There was a very intense expression on his face now. "Even?"</p>
<p>Now she stood up. "You don't get to hear the rest of that. You didn't earn it. And it's over now anyway."</p>
<p>"It doesn't have to be." He came halfway around the table to join her. "I can still help you. Let me help you, rabbit."</p>
<p>She could have slapped him. She could have killed him, actually. Quite easily. She'd once recreated his entire body out of sand and bone meal. She could have turned him into a sorry pile of slurry, just as she had the <em>Bonhomme</em> in dreamspace.</p>
<p>But there was a single reagent she needed, if she was going to do that, and she found she didn't have it.</p>
<p>She would have needed to give a shit.</p>
<p>She turned, and headed for the door.</p>
<p>"Udo?" He was pleading now.</p>
<p>She reached for the door controls.</p>
<p>"Could you tell Phil something for me? Could you at least do that?"</p>
<p>It was too close a parallel. She had the irrational urge to break the pattern before it formed. She didn't answer, but this time she did wait.</p>
<p>"Tell him I love him," Dougall half-whispered.</p>
<p>She sighed. "If he doesn't already know, then it wouldn't mean anything."</p>
<p>He was still trying to speak as she opened the door, walked out, and closed it behind her.</p>
<p>That was the thing about <em>giftschreiber.</em></p>
<p>The thing they'd never understood.</p>
<p>Words could have power.</p>
<p>But only when they meant something.</p>
</div>
<p>She stood there for a moment, looking at herself, at her eyes shining back at her in the mirror, and slowly she spiralled down the sand, letting her locks settle against her back and the tops of her legs again.</p>
<p>She brushed her teeth, pulled on her pants, and performed the single most difficult feat of her now long and storied career of overcoming insurmountable odds.</p>
<p>She called her mother back.</p>
<p>Actions, in the final analysis, meant far, far more than words.</p>
<p>Ibanez turned on her heel and walked in the opposite direction four times. But because that was an even number, she ended up pointing at her destination, and by dint of mathematics, finally reached it.</p>
<p>She didn't knock.</p>
<p>She'd already peeked at the schedule, and it was open for the next three hours.</p>
<p>Ngo looked up in surprise as her door opened. "Hey, Chief. What's up?"</p>
<p>Ibanez closed the door behind her, and stood there for a moment, hands closing and opening at her sides. "I'm looking for a consult."</p>
<p>"Of course." The psychologist put her tablet aside, and folded her hands in front of her. "What kind?"</p>
<p>"Psych."</p>
<p>"Makes sense," Ngo smiled. "Is this for a subject in containment?"</p>
<p>"Not… as such."</p>
<p>The other woman posed a question with the angle of her head.</p>
<p>Ibanez answered by walking to the couch, and sitting down.</p>
<p>"Oh!" Ngo stood up, grabbed her clipboard from on top of the filing cabinet, and moved around the desk to pull up a chair. "I see. What made you change your mind?"</p>
<p>Ibanez made eye contact, and held it. "<em>I did.</em>"</p>
<div class="Ngo">
<p><strong>Annual Psychological Reviews: 2019</strong></p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> Delfina M. Ibanez (Chief, Pursuit and Suppression Section, Site-43)</p>
<p><strong>Officer of Record:</strong> Dr. Nhung Ngo (Chair, Psychology and Parapsychology Section, Site-43)</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Chief Ibanez:</strong> I've heard it said that I know a thing or two about loss.</p>
</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><span style="color: #990011">Site-01</span>: Undisclosed Location</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>"Are you ready?"</p>
<p>She nodded.</p>
<p>The double doors opened as they approached in lockstep. The Council Chamber was pitch black, as always. Three lights were lit: Three, Eight, and Thirteen. The Governor, the Advisor, and the Mediator. Her sponsor, Scout's, and his.</p>
<p>"Director," the Governor spoke first. As the Overseer responsible for rules and regulations, he was an obvious fit for the role of chairperson in the absence of the Chair himself. "And Dr. Elstrom. We've not had the pleasure."</p>
<p>"Sir," Karen nodded. Even in the dark, McInnis could feel her standing stiffly at attention beside her. Strength he could lean on, metaphorically.</p>
<p>"You've done us a tremendous service, as you well know." The Advisor's respect was palpably begrudging. "We've read all the reports and debriefings. It's something of a shock to think how far off the rails everything could have gotten, without anyone recognizing it."</p>
<p>"I suspect Director Xyank realized it," McInnis said. "And chose to wait and see if things shook out on their own."</p>
<p>The Mediator was always the easiest silhouette to identify, even without the glowing nameplate. Their body language never shifted out of neutral. "I would imagine he had faith you would see us through, Allan. As did all of us."</p>
<p>"If I may, sirs?" Karen asked.</p>
<p>"Of course," the Governor responded.</p>
<p>"Faith is a good start, but only if action follows."</p>
<p>The room was deathly quiet for a moment.</p>
<p>"I had assumed this meeting was a victory lap," the Advisor grumbled. "Have we been hooked into another harangue? Is the ghost of Vivian Scout here in the room with us?"</p>
<p>"One of the many things we've learned from SCP-5243," McInnis smiled, "is that hauntings can be recursive. I would like to think my predecessor never fully left."</p>
<p>"What are we about to argue about?" the Governor sighed.</p>
<p>"Debate," the Mediator gently chided him.</p>
<p>Karen cracked her knuckles. It was all McInnis could do not to grin at the sound. "It's been a few decades. We believe, with respect, that it's been a long enough interval that the D-class personnel question really ought to be re-opened."</p>
<p>There was a whirring in the dark, and a single bright light appeared just off centre of the boardroom's horseshoe-shaped table. The Archivist's nameplate blinked into life.</p>
<p>The Chair's followed. Then the Oracle. The Combatant, the Operator, the Humanist. The silhouettes of the combined O5 Council arrayed around them in an unbroken line. They were surrounded. Outnumbered. Profoundly outclassed.</p>
<p>McInnis turned to smile at Karen.</p>
<p>She did the same.</p>
<p>And neither of them needed to see the other to know it.</p>
<p>"Shall we begin?" McInnis asked.</p>
<p>There was a rumbling from the Chair, but the Director hadn't been addressing him, and Karen spoke first.</p>
<p>"With pleasure, sir."</p>
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<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<div class="Zaman">
<p><strong>2019 Personnel Review</strong></p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> William W. Wettle (Deputy Chair, Replication Studies SubSection, Site-43)</p>
<p><strong>Officer of Record:</strong> Noor Zaman (Chief, Hiring and Regulation Section, Site-43)</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> You've had a busy year.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Have I?</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> By your standards.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> What's that supposed to mean?</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> Your SubSection has done more work than ever. You've taken on new staff. Done a lot of publication. You're pulling your weight, plus.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Plus what?</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> I meant you're pulling more than just your weight.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Oh. Well.</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Some days my weight is kind of a lot, though.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> Still. It's been a great boon to the overall project.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Project?</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> The Foundation. The Veil. The preservation of normalcy.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Oh. Sure. That stuff.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> Director McInnis assures me that although the various implementations are top secret, the work you and your assistants do is materially contributing to the continued survival of mankind at large.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Oh. Yeah. That's pretty good, isn't it?</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> It's certainly not bad.</p>
<p><em><Audio event consistent with the shuffling of papers.></em></p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> On the other hand…</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> There's always an other hand.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> No, I've only got two. See?</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> Little joke.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> I didn't notice.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> Okay. So, that other hand. The studies you've published have been important, and I'm seeing only good reviews, but you've left an enormous amount of work unfinished. Projects half-done. Projects abandoned. Some budgeted and never even begun.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Most of those were boring.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> That's not a very scientific criteria.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Harry would say I'm not a very scientist.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> I'm sure he wouldn't say it that way.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Yeah, he's a lot smarter than me. Thanks for the reminder. You can go back to reading your laundry list, now.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> Alright. Even given your unfortunate proclivity for bad luck, you've caused a tremendous amount of property damage this year alone.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> I like how you said 'enormous' the first time, and 'tremendous' the second time. You should have found a synonym for 'amount', though. Repetition is my thing, not yours.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> Most of your collaborators outside of Replication Studies have given you extremely low ratings for cooperation and academic fellowship.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Not very cooperative and fellowship…<em>ish,</em> of them.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> I've had to open a second HR file on you. The second is dedicated entirely to interpersonal complaints. Nobody at the Site has accrued more of them than you.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Is there an award for that?</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> Dr. Wettle, do you not see the point I'm trying to make?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Not really. You must be kind of bad at your job.</p>
<p><em><Audio event consistent with the shuffling of papers.></em></p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> I've got your personnel reviews going back all the way to the mid-nineties. You know what they say?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> That it's a good thing I drink so much milk?</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> What?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Calcium.</p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> William, on every metric not related in some manner to SCP-5243, you're essentially the same man today that you were when you first hired on at Site-333. Don't you think it's about time you… I don't know.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> You don't know? Does that mean I can go?</p>
<p><em><Chief Zaman sighs.></em></p>
<p><strong>Chief Zaman:</strong> Isn't it about time you got out of that rut? Changed up your routine? Attempted to actually grow, as a person?</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wettle:</strong> Have you guys considered replacing the vending machines with an honour system? I could show you some serious personal growth, if that's what you want.</p>
</div>
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<p><strong><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011">Interstate 10</span>: Outside Pensacola, Florida, United States of America</span></strong></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>She laughed as she read the final line. "That was good! That was <em>really,</em> really good."</p>
<p>And Alis leaned through the gap between the seats again, to kiss him.</p>
<p>"You're not mad?"</p>
<p>"What about?"</p>
<p>A transport truck roared past them, and the windows shook. Wettle heard something fall over in the trunk of his car. Probably something that would leak.</p>
<p>He didn't care. "Fixing the Breach. You told me not to."</p>
<p>She leaned back on the bench seat again, and regarded him sadly. "You put it off for as long as you could. That's all I could have asked. Maybe we'll be ready, now."</p>
<p>"Ready?" He shifted, trying to get more comfortable. Bucket seats were never designed to be straddled. "Ready for what?"</p>
<p>"Anything."</p>
<p>"Hmm." He rolled his shoulders, and winced at the series of pops and cracks that resulted. "You mean that since Thing One and Thing Two are back, everything's going to get worse from this point on?"</p>
<p>She shook her head. It wasn't the only thing that shook. "Not <em>everything.</em>"</p>
<p>Damn near his entire body popped and cracked when she leaned forward again and pulled him over the centre console, and into the back seat with her.</p>
<p>But he didn't mind.</p>
<p>Harry had been wrong about a second thing.</p>
<p>Wettle's responsibility wasn't suffering.</p>
<p>It was endurance.</p>
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<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Grand Cove</strong></span><strong>: Grand Bend, Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>There was still grease on Flora's face when she walked into the kitchen. Gallo ran a paper towel under the faucet, and before she could even say 'Hello', he was wiping it off. She made a little screech of protest, and for a moment he could see his little girl again, inhabiting the woman she'd become.</p>
<p>He opened the trashbin and disposed of the dirty paper. "Really getting into your work, huh?"<br/>
She smiled, and kissed him on the cheek. She walked around the kitchen island to take up a stool as he washed his hands. "F-B is in a right state," she said. "Grampa was telling them for years those bearings wouldn't last as long as the specs said, but Bremmel wrote the specs, and you can't tell that guy <em>anything.</em>"</p>
<p>"Uh huh." Gallo picked up the chopping board from where it sat vertical beside the fridge, and laid it down flat on the counter.</p>
<p>"I can't believe they didn't make our new uniforms out of vinyl. You spill something on them, and it's over. Off to the laundry, and it won't come back the same. The fit shifts. It's ridiculous."</p>
<p>"Does sound ridiculous," he agreed as he opened the fridge again to rummage around in the crisper. Roasted vegetables tonight, he thought.</p>
<p>"I know why Grampa never wanted to give up his vest." She spun on the stool's rotating seat. "Nothing sticks to those things."</p>
<p>"Maybe you can get them reinstated," Gallo suggested. He pulled a chopping knife out of the top drawer. "Or just wear one yourself, once you're Chief."</p>
<p>She laughed. "What makes you think I'm going to be Chief?"</p>
<p>"Just a hunch."</p>
<p>"Well, you can hold your hunches. Amelia, Chief Torosyan, she's great. God, she's smart. And funny. And she's so nice."</p>
<p>"Sounds like somebody's got a crush." Gallo began dicing a tomato he'd just picked fresh from the garden.</p>
<p>Flora snorted. "You ought to see her and Deering. They make such a cute couple." He thought he detected an undercurrent of artificiality in this construction, and wasn't disappointed when the resolution came. "Hey, how did you and mom meet? You never told me."</p>
<p>Gallo paused, then began pulling stalks of celery out of their plastic bag. "Your grandpa introduced us. He said, and I think I'm remembering this correctly, 'If I don't fix you a date, you'll never do it yourself'. Then he called me a lazy shit."</p>
<p>She burst out laughing. "That's my grandpa alright. The man who could fix <em>anything.</em>"</p>
<p>Gallo glanced over his shoulder at her, smiling. "Yeah. It must be genetic."</p>
<p>He didn't say his father would have been proud of her, but he didn't have to. The man himself had said it often enough.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Site-43</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>Lillian read the restored, thoroughly naïve 001 file once, and decided she didn't care for it. It started off with a clinical preamble:</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Description:</strong> SCP-001-A and SCP-001-B are entities resembling a pair of physically identical elderly male human beings:</p>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">SCP-001-A</span> produces semantic effects consistent with the concept of disorder in a radius around its person. It has been known by the following epithets throughout human history: the Uncontained, the Quarry, the Falcon, the Libertine, the Perpetrator, the Vandal, the Key;</p>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">SCP-001-B</span> produces semantic effects consistent with the concept of order in a radius around its person. It has been known by the following epithets throughout human history: the Unyielding, the Huntsman, the Falconer, the Servant, the Jailor, the Corrector, the Lock.</p>
<p>So long as both entities remain in close proximity to each other, their local effects are mutually exclusive.</p>
</div>
<p>It then went on, in Harry's florid style, to become a drama athwart space and time with outrageous implications for the human race. But that wasn't really her <em>thing.</em> It didn't tickle her fancy. So she set it aside. Maybe she'd give it another chance when the revisions were posted to the database.</p>
<p>The others were scheduling interviews with the Uns. They had questions about metaphysics, history, and the future of containment. The answers would be scrutinized at the most minute level, because of course neither brother was anything remotely like a reliable narrator. Lillian would read the interviews, once, because she liked to know things.</p>
<p>But she wouldn't linger on them.</p>
<p>As far as she was concerned, the gods were as good as dead.</p>
<p>She'd killed one aspect in her mind. She'd consulted on the killing of several others. She'd done an end run around the Uncontained, and turned a curse that the Unyielding had placed on her mind into a tool to use against both of them. She'd sussed out every secret they kept which she cared to know. They were a solved problem. They just didn't know it yet.</p>
<p>Because she was the memory of their fivefold failure. The archive of five universes where they hadn't won.</p>
<p>What hope did they have in this one?</p>
<p>Her long-term projects were all dealt with. The antimemetics groups would keep plugging away without her regular input. Wheeler would find a new boojum to hunt, and be hunted by. Bernie was as much at rest as he would ever be. Euler's fight… well. That was in the future.</p>
<p>She picked up her deck of cognitocatalytic agents, began shuffling it in her hands, and grinned to herself.</p>
<p>Today, her desk was clear.</p>
<p>A world of possibilities.</p>
<p>And when they had all played out, she knew she'd still be standing.</p>
<p>Not alone.</p>
<p>But certainly taller than the rest.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h2 id="toc16"><span>18 September</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><span style="color: #990011"><strong>Grand Cove</strong></span><strong>: Grand Bend, Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
<hr/></div>
<p>The sun was shining on Grand Bend. There were storm clouds all around them, but a little pocket of light beamed down on the neat row of cottages as Harry approached down the sidewalk. He could have gotten a car — there was one in his name at the subway's parking garage — but he wanted the time to think. To prepare.</p>
<p>Not, however, to decide whether or not to turn around and go home.</p>
<p>He'd be moving forwards only, from now on.</p>
<p>He stood before the bungalow in Grand Cove, hair hanging loose over the jacket they'd shared in a land beyond time, itself hanging loose over his shoulders. He took a deep breath of the clean summer air, and what started as a smile threatened to transform into a giddy giggle if he didn't do something else with the energy. So he raised his hand, and he knocked.</p>
<p>She opened the door almost immediately. She was smaller than he remembered, and rounder, and her once flawless skin now had wrinkles around the eyes, the mouth, and across the forehead. She wasn't wearing her glasses, and her hair was a tangled mess.</p>
<p>In short, she was beautiful.</p>
<p>He opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn't come. Which was fine, really, because she stepped over the threshold and buried her head in his chest.</p>
<p>They stood there like that in a timeless moment, embracing with such ferocity that it had to be putting serious strain on the electromagnetic fields of their atoms. If he could have pulled her as close as he wanted to, they would have obliterated all of Lambton County in a thermonuclear blast. His heart felt primed to explode already. In an instant, everything had changed. Nothing else mattered.</p>
<p>"Melissa," he finally managed. "I love you."</p>
<p>"You'd fucking better," she mumbled into his shirt. She was laughing, or maybe there was another reason why she was shaking like a reed in the wind. His cheeks were burning, and it had nothing to do with the sun. "I love you too."</p>
<p>She drew him back through the door, step by step, as they held on to each other like their lives depended on it. Perhaps they did.</p>
<p>"Are we dancing?" he asked her.</p>
<p>"Not anymore."</p>
<p>He waited until the door was closed behind them before sweeping her off her feet.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Time Flat">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/58-time-flat">Time Flat</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="The Breach Goes On: Deadlined">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub">The Breach Goes On: Deadlined</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Underlogue">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/60-underlogue">Underlogue</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/59-the-foreseeable-future">The Foreseeable Future</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/59-the-foreseeable-future">https://scpwiki.com/59-the-foreseeable-future</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>This page quotes William Butler Yeats, "The Second Coming," 1919, in the public domain.</p>
<p>Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:</p>
<p>Philip Deering: "Twitter 365 Project - Day 55" and "Tokyo" by Richard Giles, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076</a></p>
<p>Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023</a></p>
<p>Noè and Flora Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822">https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822</a> and<br/>
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992">https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992</a></p>
<p>Daniil Sokolsky: "Brett - 08-08-08" and "Waterpitts, 29-09-12" by Brett Jordan, both released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625">https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842">https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842</a></p>
<p>Imogen Tarrow: "Teacher Leader Conference 2 August 2012" courtesy US Department of Education, released CC BY 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/48445211@N06/7733033618">https://www.flickr.com/photos/48445211@N06/7733033618</a></p>
<p>Amelia Torosyan: "Shopping!" and "Weezie on the Subway" by Richard Giles, released CC BY-SA 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/5067224818">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/5067224818</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4246835894">https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4246835894</a></p>
<p>Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:<br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470">https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470</a></p>
<p>William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260">https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260</a></p>
<p>Marion Wheeler: Untitled sketches by WasteButterscotch810, by default CC BY-SA 3.0: <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/SCP/comments/t6g7tz/marion_wheeler_sketches_bc_i_reread_there_is_no">https://www.reddit.com/r/SCP/comments/t6g7tz/marion_wheeler_sketches_bc_i_reread_there_is_no</a></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Everything!<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736644372" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[=]]
**The Foreseeable Future**
Where are you going?
[[image http://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/]]
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[=]]
+ The Foreseeable Future
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
+ ##990011|2019##
++ 22 July
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
At its uttermost base, it was an engineering problem.
They still didn't have any magic translocation or duplication machines.
What they did have was time, six Survivors, and one Nascimbeni.
The puzzle never stood a chance.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 10 August
----
[[/=]]
He was in his office loo, drying his hands, when he heard the phone ring. The voice on the other end was a little strained, and just the faintest bit Austrian. "Director McInnis."
"Mr. Zwist."
"It's been a long time since I called this line. I wonder, is it the same telephone?"
"I'm afraid not. The technology has been hardened considerably since Dr. Scout occupied this office. But it //is// the same office." He looked down. "The same desk, as well. Not the same chair."
"Chairs are one of the few things to have improved over the last few decades."
"You'll hear no argument from me."
"Yes, you're a famously agreeable fellow. That's the only reason I agreed to this communication."
McInnis walked around the edge of the desk, and sat down. "I understand we've been testing the boundaries of your patience, of late."
"It isn't a matter of patience, Director. I merely refuse to become too… involved. But my debt to your predecessor has not yet been paid, and I know you to be an honourable man. I doubt I will suffer very much in the course of a single telephone call. What did you wish to discuss?"
McInnis glanced up at the framed //objet d'art.// "You know that I was one of Dr. Scout's apprentices."
"As was Dr. Blank."
"Yes. He trusted us to carry on his legacy. He knew his time was limited, and he used it well. He taught us nearly everything he knew. We have done precious little with it."
"Reading between the lines, as I try to do, this would seem to be inaccurate." The strain in the old man's voice came through more clearly now. "I have the distinct impression that you and yours have saved the entire world several times over the last two decades."
"Saved the world as it is. Would you call that a great feat? I wouldn't."
"Billions would. Most of them haven't the luxury of judging the quality of their lives. They are content merely to continue living."
"But I am not." McInnis turned back to face his desk, and tried to imagine the old cryptomancer sitting across from him. "I find myself needing to pass on what I've learned. Give others the opportunity Dr. Scout afforded me. I have tried, and failed, to honour him in this fashion."
"Why do you believe you have failed?" Zwist sounded surprised.
"Wynn Rydderech sacrificed his life for the Good Work. Vivian sacrificed his career. I've sacrificed //nothing.// There is no hill for me to die on. I prefer to live, at the bottom of a hole. Vivian dedicated the latter part of his life to finding successors, and mentoring them. We aren't doing that. I made a single, solitary effort in that regard, and I've lost him," his throat caught, just for an instant, "and I can feel myself resisting the idea of starting again. Harry—"
"Who have you lost?" Zwist interrupted.
"My assistant. A young man named Zulfikar. He was killed by the //giftschreiber.//"
"I'm surprised that would be enough to sour you on the prospect of passing on what you have learned. That isn't the impression I got of you from Vivian at all."
McInnis blinked. If they'd been meeting face to face, Zwist could have read him like a large print book. "You discussed me?"
"Of course. He said you were driven. Intelligent. Conscientious. Frighteningly observant. He felt confident you would do justice to his cause."
"Well, he lived for a long, long time. It's little surprise that he would be wrong at least once."
"I don't believe he's wrong. I believe you're at a low ebb, after a long project, and being unfair to yourself. When the hurt has faded, you will try again. You //must.//"
"I don't know that I have it in me. I'm starting to feel my age."
"Age has nothing to do with it. You will find your commitment again. You will carry that weight. You are a man of many burdens, and none can bear them but you."
He shook his head, pointlessly. "Do you think perhaps you might be projecting? I understand you haven't taken an apprentice in years. Perhaps decades."
Now the old man sounded cross. "We weren't talking about me."
"Weren't we?"
Silence on the line.
"I am… surprised. Pleasantly or unpleasantly, I do not know."
"Oh?"
"Vivian spoke so highly of your cleverness. I did not expect to find that he was engaging in critical understatement."
"It has been my experience that people are not often fond of receiving advice, but rarely shy away from giving it." McInnis smiled. "Vivian once told me this: one fact is information. Two facts are an opportunity."
[!-- [[=image Zwist_McInnis_Burdens.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 8 September
----
[[/=]]
It was Amelia's first Breach.
It was the first Breach without Chief Nascimbeni. There were people from the Department of Temporal Anomalies, the Temporal Anomalies Department, and something called the Chronometrics Division — which seemed to put everyone in the former two groups on edge — observing, and plenty of predictions of doom had been mooted.
If there really was some immeasurable //something// to the seven members of Sampi-5243 that allowed them to excel at what they did, and retain their personhood if the timeline shifted, then they might be in for a lot of trouble. It was possible that Wirth, and Markey, and Gwilherm, Mukami and Radcliffe might refuse to acknowledge Amelia's promotion and interact with her as they were scripted to. There had been suggestions that Nascimbeni's son Gallo, or even his granddaughter Flora, should take his place in the protocols. Perhaps whatever he had was genetic, though the other members of Sampi-5243 had been quick to point out that both relatives predated the Breach, so they almost certainly hadn't inherited his special relationship with it.
//The other members of Sampi-5243.// The thought filled her with a kind of pride.
The kind that could nestle comfortably side by side in her breast with the sensation of mortal terror.
She reached her mark at the appointed time, placing her feet directly over top of the copperplate writing ("On your left."), obscuring it… and there he was, with the slamming of flip-flopped footsteps. A young man, younger even than she was, barrelling over to see what was what. "What's going on?" he shouted. "We heard explosions?"
She shook her head, and spoke in what she hoped would parse as a dead man's voice. "Don't know. Best guess: thaumic overflow and recondicity." It was kind of nice, she thought, that this precise moment was preserved for posterity. Nascimbeni's best guess had been exactly correct. "The tanks are blowing, and—"
That was where her lines ended, for now. And Wirth's life ended just a few seconds after.
A violent //crack// as Verne, SCP-6643, reached out of the vibrating pipe-hell and claimed the young researcher. Another as it pulled him deeper into the chaos, which she assumed came from his spine. He made a small, sad noise as he went, but she was quite sure he was dead before the coils rolled him out of view.
Then — and this had absolutely not been anywhere in the conprocs or description she'd read — the tentacle //came back,// its fat orange marker tip hanging inches from her face, and she felt the most astonishing sense of //being seen// before a roar and a rush of wind from the airlock sucked it back out of view, into a cloud of glittering sparks.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_05_Amelia_Verne.jpg]]
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[[/=]]
That wasn't the only deviation from the usual course of events, but it was the only unexpected one.
The alterations they'd made to Security and Containment hadn't quite put it back where it belonged, though they'd preserved the change which spared the Uncontained his brilliant fate.
The alterations to Applied Occultism, on the other hand…
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
Agents Yancy and O rescued the blistered beast from its badly damaged, but no longer destroyed, interview room on the second sublevel, and escorted it back to its home on the fourth. The legend on the chamber door was now perfectly legible: SCP-001.
The Sampis met at the elevator in the heart of H&S, and rode down together.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
//<Subject in containment, re-evaluation pending, is waiting the centre of its chamber. It appears to be very excited.>//
//<Dir. McInnis, Chief Ibanez, and Drs. Blank, Lillihammer, Okorie and Wettle enter.>//
//<Subject claps.>//
**Subject:** Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome back to the end!
**Dir. McInnis:** You're quite right about that.
**Subject:** We have some time for supervillain-style gloating, if you'll indulge me. I don't have a speech written this time, but I can ad-lib something.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** You do love the sound of your own voice.
**Subject:** And why not? I'm a rock star. I always have been. There's been books, songs, whole genres of art dedicated to phenomena I set in motion. I'm quite a thing. Yeats even wrote a poem about me once! You know Yeats?
**Dr. Blank:** Let me guess.
**Subject:** "Turning and turning in the widening gyre..."
**Dr. Blank:** "The falcon cannot —"
**Dr. Lillihammer:** Nobody cares.
**Chief Ibanez:** It's a pretty great poem, though.
**Dir. McInnis:** That's about you, then, is it? I can't tell if you're being facetious or not.
**Subject:** I never jest about my influence. Haven't you wondered what was knocking down your walls, shutting down your systems, shattering your mirrors? It was me. It's always been me. I am entropy. I am disorder in the system.
**Dr. Blank:** "Things fall apart. The centre cannot hold."
**Chief Ibanez:** "Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world."
**Subject:** I never liked that part. Nothing I do is 'mere'.
**Chief Ibanez:** There anything in this poem about how you get your ass kicked by a janitor and an egghead?
//<Dr. Okorie leaves the chamber, smiling.>//
**Subject:** I don't think so. It's been a while since I read it. What egghead? I assume the janitor is that lovely gentleman with the idiot box from the last run-through. How's he doing, by the way?
**Dr. Blank:** He's in a coma.
**Subject:** He'll be happy to hear that.
**Dr. Blank:** Yeah, there's nothing worse than being trapped in an endless cycle, is there? You'd know.
//<Silence on recording.>//
**Subject:** I don't know why I'm bothering to talk to you. I'm returned, you'll all be dead soon, and I'll have to wait a decade and a half for your doppelgangers to appear.
**Dr. Blank:** Resurrection sickness really is a thing, huh? Or is your biological clock just not that accurate? It's 2019, buddy.
//<Silence on recording.>//
**Subject:** What?
**Dr. McInnis:** You've been in containment for seventy-six years. And you're never getting out.
**Dr. Lillihammer:** I thought maybe its perception of time would be a bit skewed. It can't even tell when the timeline changes.
**Dr. Wettle:** That could be dangerous. Imagine all the potentialities it can see.
**Subject:** You're bluffing. It's 2002, and I'm about to wake up all your sleeping demons.
**Dr. Blank:** We're not bluffing, we're stalling.
//<Dr. Okorie returns, with a second subject in tow.>//
**Dr. Okorie:** For a dramatic reveal!
**Dr. Blank:** Took you long enough, Udo.
**Dr. Okorie:** Some of us have too much dignity to run.
**Second Subject:** And some of us have learned to take things one step at a time.
//Silence on recording.//
**First Subject:** Terrific.
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
[[div class="udoflashback"]]
[[=]]
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**One hour earlier**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
//It wasn't precisely irritating, but it did make her feel... well, the way she'd felt back in England. The thing she liked least was how god-damned predictable it always was.//
//"How's the doctorate coming along?" 001-B asked as Udo unracked her esomat suit, already shaking her head.//
She stared at the figure in shock. It was him. It was really him.
She hadn't seen him in seventeen years. Hadn't even been able to //conceptualize// him.
She'd been right.
//"Slow going," she admitted. Assembling the suit was a complicated procedure, but with her companion's help it was never a very time-consuming one. "We're so busy up here, it's not leaving me much dissertation time."//
//"I'm very impressed." 001-B smiled at her as she pulled on her rubber-soled boots, and smiled at him in spite of her irritation; he had the affect of a doting uncle. “Increasing your mastery. Far too many people improve themselves only to the point where comfort and ease is assured. You have that now; you've always had it, really. With the company from the cradle to the grave, and yet you strive always to be better. Admirable."//
She forced herself to go through the motions. Make it happen the way it had happened. Trust that her body knew the steps, as her mind raced every which way, plus loose.
//"Not better." She leaned on the transparent wall of the containment cell and shrugged, getting a feel for the suit before checking the seal on her gloves.// Bzzt. //There was static electricity on her fingertips; that was a new one. "Best. Can't become a Section Chair without a PhD or an MD." She essayed what she hoped was a confident grin.//
//001-B zipped up the back of her suit, quick and precise. "You have ambition," he remarked. "That's also good." The fit was snug and solid.//
//"Alright," she said. "Let's do this."//
//Udo sighed as the cell door cycled and she walked into her cramped and very dangerous workspace. She could feel a halo of static around her legs in the spacious suit, and it began to cling; she was glad she'd shaved her legs this morning. It still bothered her that 001-B didn't wear a suit while in the containment cell, but that decision was well above her very low paygrade. She certainly wouldn't have said no to a static-free evening, herself...//
//It was difficult to focus on what happened next, when a great many things fought for dominance over a few short moments in time. 001-B opened a hood on the orphic pipe, and reached inside; the world erupted in emergency red, and a synthesized wail filled her ears; the tiles beneath her feet began to warp, then melted into a gummy ceramic mass//, except they didn't; //green and purple lightning arced up out of the pipe,// except it didn't; //it raced along 001-B's arms, and he began to shake,// except he didn't; //she stepped back, and felt the soles of her suit remaining where they were,// except they didn't; //a bright and brilliant light poured out of the pipe, and the hood disintegrated in a flash of white heat,// except it didn't; //she realized the containment cell was compromised, and realized further that she wouldn't be able to reach the outer chamber door before the entire space was a ball of superheated plasma, and that this was everything working precisely to spec,// except it wasn't; //001-B turned to face her, spasming wildly, and punched the door controls with one hand while keeping the other firm on the pipe,// except he didn't; //he shouted “GO!” as the transparent half-moon door cycled open,// but none of that actually happened; //she cried "NO!" in response as he pushed her roughly through and then hammered at the controls again,// but really they were both just standing there, 001-B stock still, regarding what ought to have been his end with obvious confusion; //he thrust both hands deep into the raging heart of lux, disappearing into it, and she realized he was buying her a few final seconds,// and she could see this just as if it were happening before her, though nothing at all was happening; //her need to survive handily overpowered her sacrificial instinct, fully the opposite of what 001-B had experienced, and she ran to the divider door; she unlocked it — and a violent explosion of green static burned her fingertips black as the control panel fried; she bolted blindly through; she locked the door behind her; she unlocked the exterior airlock, waited an eternity for it to cycle, then rushed headlong into the hallway as it slammed shut.// Except, of course, she did none of that. She simply stood there, and stared at him.
After a moment, he turned and stared back at her.
"Welcome," she whispered, and her throat caught.
"What?" the barrel-chested old man said, eyes flitting back and forth wildly.
She removed her helmet, unzipped her suit, stepped out of it, retrieved her glasses from the locker, and cleared her throat.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_06_Okorie_Welcome.jpg]]
"Welcome back to baseline."
[!-- [[=image Okorie_Unyielding.jpg]] --]
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Second Subject:** Brother.
**First Subject:** I really thought I had it, this time.
**Second Subject:** You nearly did. Better luck next time.
[!-- [[=image Brothers.jpg]] --]
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
Ibanez got the call on her way back up the elevator, and reached him with time to spare.
"You wanted to see how it ended, didn't you?" she whispered. "Had to make sure we were okay. Sentimental bastard."
She took a deep breath.
"Yeah. We got 'em."
[[=]]
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++ 9 September
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
The change came when it always did.
She was holding his hand when it finally happened.
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[[/=]]
[[div style="border:solid 1px #999999; background:#F0EDC1; padding-left:12px; padding-right:12px; padding-top:6px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
[[=]]
++++ NOTICE FROM THE OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR, SITE-43
[[/=]]
[[f>image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/11-turnover/OD.png]]
Noè Nascimbeni, Chief Emeritus of the Janitorial and Maintenance Section of Site-43, passed away in his sleep at precisely 18:26:53 on September the 9th, 2019. He was responsible for the construction of Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-D, the maintenance of Site-43 in its entirety for forty-seven years, and the salvation of the human race on no fewer than five occasions. He is survived by his son, Gallo, his granddaughter, Flora, and predeceased by his wife, Lena.
He is also survived by Delfina Ibanez, Chief of Pursuit and Suppression; Harold R. Blank, Chair of Archives and Revision; Lillian S. Lillihammer, Chair of Memetics and Countermemetics; Udo A. Okorie, Chief of Applied Occultism; Allan J. McInnis, Director; and William W. Wettle, Deputy Chair of Replication Studies.
He will never be forgotten.
[[>]]
-- McInnis, Allan J. (Director, Site-43)
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
It was a full house.
They'd intended to hold the funeral in the chapel, as with Zlatá, but a quick survey determined that practically the entire Site intended to show. Nascimbeni had thought he hadn't made many friends, but almost half a century of keeping their home together and in good working order had apparently made an impression.
And not all the attendees were from Site-43; in the front row of the massive auditorium, packed nearly to capacity, the new Director of Site-36 sat chewing his beard and trying not to cry. Ibanez had taken Epsilon-43, the "Day Trippers," to pick him up personally; otherwise he probably would have pulled rank and commandeered a plane. Phil Deering sat beside him on the right, holding back tears, but not very well; Doug stayed on his mirror at the door, none of his scars moving.
Banerjee had put on his old J&M uniform for the occasion.
Flora, seated to his left, was already wearing hers.
McInnis had, as his friends had suspected, begun composing the eulogy early. He had a very efficient mind like that. But he'd had an extra year to work on it, to ponder how he might memorialize one of his oldest and most fractious relationships.
He gestured at the urn on its stand on the platform, and began to speak.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_08_McInnis_Eulogy.jpg]]
[[div class="mcinnis"]]
This man was a friend of mine.
That shouldn't necessarily mean anything to you. You have friends of your own, and I don't know all of them. I would understand what it means to you that they are your friends, of course, but friendship is a thing with import that cannot be fully conveyed beyond its bounds. I can tell you that I worked with Noè Nascimbeni for over forty years, and you might understand that fact academically, but you would not understand how the weight of those years is settling on me now that I know their full number, that the number will rise no further. I cannot make you feel my regret and sorrow at his passing, my guilt for the moments when I fell short in my duties as his friend, the pleasure I took in knowing that despite our differences, I had his respect, and the impulse it gave me to try and deserve it.
You may not have known he was my friend. You may not have known that I have ever had one. I am not given to overt expressions of affection. I do not advertise my more complex emotions. I am the face of this facility, and to a certain extent that means I wear a mask. A mask of calm, of certitude, of cryptic neutrality. I have only once stood before you and stated, as I am stating now, that I feel this loss as a personal one. It is no coincidence that the first time I did so, it was in eulogy of the finest man I had ever known.
Noè was not the finest man I have ever known.
I was not the finest man he had ever known. We were not always good to each other. We did not always have the other's respect. On countless occasions, I was a better leader to him than a friend. Many times, he was a poor subordinate. On occasion, a poor companion. We did violence to each other, though we never came to blows. We took things from each other, though the power differential meant that what I lost, I got back, and what he lost…
He lost more time with you, Gallo, and you, Flora, because of me. Because of a need I judged greater than yours, because of a duty I valued above my friendship to your father, your grandfather. I will never know what he might have done with that time, had I allowed him the luxury of choice. I know that what he did instead was the grandest possible expression of what he had striven for all his life: he ensured the safety and stability of all those in his care. Most often, that lucky cadre numbered just over one thousand souls. A few times, every soul of the planet Earth owed its survival to his mastery of his trade, and the generous dimensions of his heart.
I had in my power a great man, and I bent him to a great purpose. That is who I am, and what I do. I am still doing it to others. I will not relent. I will spend you, if you must be spent, because there is a secret and terrible cost to the survival of our race.
This is not a world which rewards valour, selflessness and sacrifice in equal proportion. It makes fuel of us, and we burn up before the destination is in view. We do not have the comfort of knowing that our good intentions and best efforts will achieve our lofty aims, and we will never know for an honest fact that humanity at large has been saved.
Because there will always be a next threat, and another, and yet more. But it //is// a tragedy each and every time our ranks are thinned by a new calamity. Our battles are chosen for us, and from time to time, they take us, and the fight is not always good. Our work is not always Good. Ours is not always the side of the angels.
What sort of man allows himself to be so abused?
Forced down a path of another's choosing. Stolen away from his family. Put to work in defence of the indefensible. No recompense appropriate to the effort expended. No light at the end of the tunnel, only more tunnel, and more, and more, narrowing to a point, and then then oblivion. What kind of man was my friend, that he would allow these things to be done to him?
Not a coward. Not a hermit. Not a monster.
He was an engineer.
Engineers are dreamers, and he dared to dream as none had ever dreamed before. He dreamed you into being, from nothing, in the darkest of all possible hours, time and again. You were his ideal, and he realized you. You were the future, and he was your futurist. It was his plan that you should be here now, though he is not. That you should do what you believe is right, as he did. That you should do what all engineers must do: improve in increments on the former design. His template was sound, but there is room for improvement. Greater sacrifices are yet to come. Any of us may be called upon to enact them. Perhaps all of us.
Because we must be dreamers, too. That is what he would have wanted. And he was my friend, so I want that as well. I am your Director, and my authority here is absolute. As I mistreated him, I turn now to mistreat you. I give you no options. I make you a challenge that you must accept, and you will rise to it, and you will succeed:
Be better than he was. Be far better than I have been. Be the very best. Because that is what he expects of you, and you owe him your very existence.
I will not allow you to let him down.
Excel, in his memory, as your children will excel in yours.
That is his charge. I will not release you of it.
Speak today in his memory.
Walk tomorrow in his footsteps.
I will not say goodbye. As always, my dear friend, you are merely just ahead.
Lead on.
[[/div]]
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[[/=]]
The program suggested time would be set aside for short personal remarks.
Half of the technicians ended up giving full speeches instead.
The funeral dissolved into a wake so organically that they hardly even noticed it had happened.
It was, in a way, their campfire on the sands translated over time, space, and context.
[[=]]
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[[/=]]
It was probably just coincidence that Ibanez found herself side by side with Polyxeni Mataxas as the funeral crowd shuffled out. She didn't like to think that what she did next was premeditated. It was better if the question had come off the cuff.
They were walking to R&E, in the rough direction of the new Spectrometry and Spectremetry offices. Polly was keeping very quiet, probably waiting for Ibanez to explain what the escort meant.
"What happens when people die?" Ibanez finally asked, and felt like a small child for doing so. The fact that she was over a foot shorter than the woman she was asking didn't help.
To her credit, Polly didn't react with surprise or confusion. "Depends on a lot of factors. Were you looking for the complete rundown?"
"I don't know. I just…" She shrugged. "I don't know a lot about ghosts. Which is funny, considering."
"Considering?"
"Considering I just spent seventeen years fighting them."
Polly nodded. "Well, those were a very specific sort of ghost. Recursive apparitions. Repeating the events that led up to their deaths. What?"
The light that had gone on in Ibanez's head had apparently shone out through her eyes. Shades of Udo Okorie. "Repeating the events leading up to their deaths. Just struck me as funny. We're all sort of doing that, from a timeline perspective."
"Bit morbid. I dig it."
They laughed.
Unlike in Zevala, it felt right to laugh.
This had been a tragedy, too, but it had also been a triumph.
"But obviously that isn't the only way to go," Polly continued. "It's not even a common one, actually. If there's one thing we've thoroughly established in all the years we've been examining postmortem phenomena, it's that there really must be something very special about the human soul."
"Because of all the different ways it can manifest after death."
"Right." They were into R&E now. All around them, researchers were finding their offices and techs were getting ready to fix all the things that had been broken during the Breach, which could safely have waited until now. Amelia would be giving them their orders. "It can be as simple as manipulating objects the subject had a close connection with. Whispering to loved ones. Affecting electric light fixtures. Radio broadcasts, sometimes; we're still working on that one, there's a lot of moving parts. Some take corporeal form, some just leave a lingering sense of presence."
"Like Wirth in the bathroom of AAF-D."
"Right. Usually that sort of thing is associated with unresolved trauma. The old chestnut about ghosts being people who left things undone, unsaid or whatever has some basis in fact, evidential fact I mean, but it's also not the most common way these things express."
"What is? What's the most common kind of ghost?"
"Everything we've seen suggests that the link between the worlds of the living and the dead needs to go both ways. They need to want to come back, and they need to be wanted, for the manifestation to be at its strongest. We're talking about normal, every-day people here, of course. Anomalous beings of all sorts have all sorts of weird caveats."
Now they were in the large lounge space connecting Polly's office to her father's, and the various rooms they'd set up all their equipment in. "What does it mean when someone doesn't come back?"
Polly sat down on the nearest chair. "Most people don't come back. Spectres are outliers."
Ibanez remained standing. "Sure, but why?"
"I suppose most people end up at peace."
Ibanez scowled. "That can't be right. Death is almost always ugly. People don't want to die."
"That isn't the same as not wanting to stay dead. Can I ask, is there a specific reason you're thinking about this now?"
She looked away. "Nothing I can talk about."
"So, it's a clearance thing."
"Sure."
"Well, I can talk your ear off all day about ghosts and ghouls, but if you want specific information you'll have to loop me in on, well. The specifics."
"I understand." Ibanez stood up straight, the meeting already over in her mind. "Thanks, Polly."
"So that's a no, then."
"For now."
"Let me know if you change your mind."
Ibanez smiled at her, half feeling it. "That's the good thing about ghosts. They're already dead. They'll keep."
The other woman smiled back, very sadly. "Not necessarily true."
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Polyxeni.jpg]] --]
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++ 11 September
----
[[/=]]
[[div class="muddle"]]
The Hall of Portraits is located in the Habitation and Sustenance Section, a long stretch of empty wall where two sets of dorms set their backs to the same corridor. It is lined with portraits commissioned by a variety of sources, all of them depicting past luminaries of Site-43. Vivian Scout and Wynn Rydderech, the founding Directors, enjoy obvious pride of place. Professional renderings of the eight acknowledged victims of SCP-5243 (Romolo Ambrogi, Bernabé Del Olmo, Janet Gwilherm, David Markey, Ana Mukami, Stewart Radcliffe, Reuben Wirth and Adrijan Zlatá) supplement the more amateur commemoration undertaken by the mural at the AAF-D approach. Storied personnel such as Martin Strauss, the first Chief of Security and Containment, or Gedeon Van Rompay, longest-serving Chief of Pursuit and Suppression, make up the bulk of the gallery, though there are plenty of humbler, short-term members of personnel admitted to this hall of the fallen; agents lost in the line of duty, such as Sandrine Holt and Lewis Bosch, or slain technicians like Charles Carter, Sergey Vanchev and Paul Nicolescu (the latter two only after considerable debate by their surviving peers). The lack of too many cataclysms at Site-43, or at least ones that took, has so far restricted this catalogue of loss to a single memorial way.
Knock wood.
[[>]]
-- Blank, //Lines in a Muddle//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
Flora held her father, and he held her back. They stared at the latest entry in the portrait gallery; it was a fine rendering, not quite photorealistic, but perfectly evocative of the man and what he represented. Not only to the people he'd worked with, but to her.
The strength in his arms.
The wisdom in the lines on his face.
She could almost smell his aftershave.
Her grandfather.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_58_17_Nascimbeni_Portrait.jpg]]
"What's with the vest?" her father croaked. He cleared his throat, and blinked a few times, rapidly. "I thought they all wear jumpsuits now."
"They do, now," the Mobile Task Forces chief agreed. Flora hadn't yet had the courage to ask what the woman's relationship with her grandfather had been. There was a ferocity in her eyes that was frightening, though her smile was friendly. "But he hated those fucking jumpsuits, and between you and me?" Ibanez pulled at the fabric covering her stomach, and it pulled everything else along with it. "I hate them too. Your grandpa was a good old fashioned vest-and-toolbelt man, so that's how we're going to remember him."
Flora glanced over at the other seven people who were standing behind Ibanez. Her grandfather's friends, or so she'd been told. She only had the faintest idea who they were, even after months of training for her new career. But she supposed she would have time to find out.
If he'd thought them worth confiding in, they had to be very special indeed.
[!-- [[=image Nascimbeni_Portrait.jpg]] --]
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++ 12 September
----
[[/=]]
The Survivors had come to think of the temporal experts as a monolithic interest block; despite differences in purview, their counsel was almost always in accord. McInnis was nevertheless not expecting Alice Forth to show up for his meeting with Thaddeus Xyank.
"I'm not taking his place," she explained. "I'm going to all of his scheduled meetings, to see if he shows up for any of them."
"Am I to infer from this," McInnis asked, "that you've been unable to contact Director Xyank of late?"
Forth looked genuinely worried. He didn't think he'd seen her genuinely worried before; the subject matter of their previous meetings had always been distressing, but then, this was likely to be the case for any meeting Forth was forced to attend outside of her own facility. "Yes," she said. "Thad has been a no-show at all his most recent appointments."
McInnis frowned. "Is it conceivable something has happened to him?" He realized why it was a silly question soon as he'd asked it, but it would have been impolite to preempt or interrupt her answer.
"If something happened to him," she said, "there's no reason it would affect a temporally contiguous block of appointments. Thad is a time traveller. Practically //the// time traveller. He doesn't show up linearly. His schedule's a mess. But nevertheless…"
"Well, that's somewhat frustrating." McInnis tented his fingertips. "I've been hoping to make him account for his department's actions during the fourth of our five deadlines. I have a brief from Overwatch on the matter. Director Xyank has nevertheless been rescheduling our meetings for months. Or rather, his office has."
If anything, Forth looked more troubled now. Forth paused. "You don't think…?"
He waited for her to say it.
"You don't think this has anything to do with that business with Placeholder, do you?"
Placeholder McDoctorate had been extensively interrogated since the Sampis had returned to what they'd been calling baseline temporality. It was known to a high degree of certainty that he had been and was still a loyal, if eccentric, member of Foundation staff. He would remain under surveillance, but little was expected to be gleaned from this. If the man who had chased them from deadline to deadline to deadline — potentially backwards — was the same man as the Site-87 pataphysicist, McInnis couldn't imagine what kind of experiences the future had in store, to change him so.
Perhaps Thaddeus Xyank knew. Perhaps he'd made the changes himself.
"I don't think we can speculate about that," he said, "with the information we have at present. But we do have to consider it a possibility."
She shook her head in dismay. "God knows I've had my personal disagreements with Thad, but I never thought… You're right. It's not a productive topic of conversation right now." Her frown deepened. "TAD itself has been giving me the runaround too. Do you think it's possible…"
"I certainly hope not. It would be cause for serious anxiety if the multiversal temporal department were unable to account for the where and whenabouts of its own Director."
They both sat there for a moment, thinking it through.
"Really makes you wonder about that deadline stuff, doesn't it?" Forth said, finally. "It was extremely, extremely rash, what he did. Potentially disastrous."
McInnis affected a look of unconcern. "I'm certain there's an excellent explanation."
"Right." Forth didn't look so sure. "Well, then, I hope we get to hear it someday."
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Every few hours of each working day, Lillian arrived in the Salt Mines to announce the closure of yet another plot hole. Today she started with "You know why we never realized the Uncontained wasn't in its chamber, but Bernie upstairs was actually interviewing it? Even though that should have been fucking obvious?"
"No. That's been pissing me off," Harry admitted. "Please explain."
"Who was ever actually looking into it?"
So it was to be Q&A, then. //Fine.// "Just us and the TAD."
"And the TAD is weird, so just us."
"Right."
"Us, which is to say--"
"The Unyielding." The beast beyond the Breach. The spirit in the Survivors, and now also in the flesh. He slapped his head. "Christ, are you suggesting--"
"We never figured out how to bring it back because //its brother wouldn't let us.//"
Harry reeled, and his chair wheeled back. "Then why do we understand now? Why did we only understand just before we brought them back?"
"Because before that, if we knew we could reverse the annihilation, we wouldn't have brought //both// of them back. Just the Uncontained. We didn't even know the Unyielding existed, because it became antimemetic."
"I bet the Breach did that," Harry mused. "Since the Breach was also the Uncontained. Didn't want us knowing it had a brother. //Christ,//" he repeated. "Did we just go through almost two decades of hell because one of them was petty, and the other couldn't use its fucking words?"
"Worse." Lillian plucked a cup off the water cooler dispenser. "I think those two decades of hell //were// its fucking words."
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++ 13 September
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[[/=]]
"What do you think happens when people die?"
Corbin shrugged. "Probably nothing."
"What?"
The theologian's office had gone through a lot of changes in the preceding weeks. Most of the little totems of her career had been cleaned out. It was as though she were compartmentalizing her own faith. "Probably nothing," she repeated. "They probably just die."
Ibanez frowned. "That's not a very theological argument."
Corbin threw up her arms. "What do you want from me? Nothing's ever as interesting as you think it is. Life doesn't arrange itself into the most narratively satisfying configuration."
"Okay, but I mean. There's ghosts. We have an entire Section dedicated to ghosts."
"Echoes," Corbin shrugged again. She was shrugging in response to most things, lately. "Life energy lingering on after the life is spent." She pushed her glasses against the orbits of her eyes, and leaned forward as though delivering a final summation. "Here's what I think //life// is, Chief: nothing very much interesting happens, and then you cease to exist. Death is the cessation of banality. Why should it not also be banal?"
Ibanez was beginning to regret having even sat down. "This feels like it's about something else."
"Yeah. It's my new thesis statement." Corbin pulled a packet of cigarettes out of her desk drawer, and a lighter with it. "Nothing matters, and nobody cares."
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Phil wrinkled his nose as he glanced over the data. "This is weird."
Behind the Chief's desk — her desk — Amelia asked: "What's weird?"
Phil dropped the tablet on the blotter in front of her. "Just did the numbers on the loading racks, and… I'm pretty sure these are the same numbers from last year."
Flora, standing beside him, attempted to look impressed. It was the nice thing to do. "You remember last year's numbers?"
"I've watched them go higher every September. It's been like a death clock for the universe, tick tock tick. I'm almost certain this was the depressing tally I saw last year. No," and he turned to face the mirror now, "I'm not getting senile. This is real. This hasn't //changed.//"
"Do you have your numbers, Flora? I can compare them too."
"Right here!" She handed over her own tablet, and clasped her hands behind her as she stepped back again. "I did the whole list."
Phil turned to the mirror again, and Flora thought for a moment he might punch it.
Amelia whistled. "You were only supposed to do the first set. That's, like, three shifts of work you've blown through."
She gave the Chief her most innocent expression. "Oops?"
"You don't need to prove yourself." Phil leaned on the tallest of Amelia's file cabinets — they'd been Flora's grandfather's before — and the tension around his eyes showed the strain of ignoring whatever the reflection gremlin was telling him. "Everyone knows you're here on merit."
She sighed. "No, I'm not. I mean, I'm above requirements, but that's not what got me here. You know that."
Phil shook his head. "We all owe the Chief a lot. I'm really sorry about what happened, Flora."
"Thanks," she said, past the lump in her throat.
"'A lot'." Amelia repeated.
Phil glanced at her. "Hmm?"
"'A lot' doesn't really seem to cover it." Amelia tapped Flora's tablet. "Phil, all of these numbers are the same as last year, too."
"You're not serious."
Flora looked back and forth between them. "What does that mean?"
Amelia was tapping on her own tablet, now. "I'm calling Chief Veiksaar. To compare."
"Guys? What does that mean?"
Phil looked stunned. "You know how we told you the containment damage goes up by a set amount every year?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, //this year it didn't.//"
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Veiksaar's numbers confirmed it.
The death march was ended, just short of the finish line.
Noè Nascimbeni's friends had just effectuated, in his name and with a lot of his data, the single most important repair in the history of Site-43.
They only wished he was still around to help them with the next one.
The scale was a fair bit grander.
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[[/=]]
Ever since the quantum superposition incident in 2002, Ibanez was scheduled to check in with Xinyi Du and confirm that the DUAL Core had been returned to spec after the Breach. She'd never relinquished that role to Pensak, and anyway this time she had something she wanted to discuss.
She found him not in the control room, but at the Core's base. Staring up at it in awe.
She joined him. "Do you ever think about life after death?"
He didn't turn to look at her. "Think about it? I've modelled it."
"In the DUAL Core?"
He nodded. "Sure. We've constructed and deconstructed quantum consciousnesses before."
"That's not the same." She frowned. "I hope?"
Now he did look at her. "Why do you hope?"
"Because I hope you're not telling me you've created, and then murdered, //life// in your weird spinning computer."
He shrugged. "They're quantum. They were never really created, and they never really died. It's a simulation. A prediction. It takes a ton of energy to actually create something, but it takes a whole lot more to draw all the conclusions you'd get from doing so without… actually doing so. That's what the Core does. When it works."
"And what have you learned from that?"
"That consciousness obeys the First Law of Thermodynamics."
Despite everything, she was still at least a little bit engineer. "Energy is never lost?"
"That's right. It just goes somewhere else. It just changes //form.// Every consciousness termination program has resulted in a net zero energy loss. We don't necessarily know what that //means,// on an individual component level, but it suggests that just like how the body just becomes something different when you die, so too does the mind. The dead are alive around us." He gestured. "Maybe not right here, right now. Maybe all the way across the universe. But some element of them survives, forever."
She snorted. "You sound like you believe in ghosts. More than Corbin does."
"I believe in //legacy.// I believe that actions carry repercussions, and existence iterates endlessly." He looked up at the Core again. "My father and I designed and built this thing. Chief Nascimbeni helped. Quite a lot, though my father would never have acknowledged it."
"I heard something about that."
"The Core has evolved far beyond its initial parameters. Almost nothing of its original mainframe, superstructure, or software hasn't been Ship of Theseus'd away at some point. But I can still see the implications of the Chief's design philosophy in the structural members. I can still read my dad's theories in the quantum code. They're both still in there."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_09_Du_Du.jpg]]
It was a nice thought. "The entire universe was in there, at one point or another."
He smiled. "Then it probably still is. Is that a comforting thought?"
It took her a moment to decide, but she eventually decided that it was.
The Core spun on.
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[[/=]]
Aeronwen wasn't the mirror image of her mother, but McInnis could still see the resemblance. Something in the press of the lips, and a devilish glint in the eye. Still, her social graces were obviously superior. She was standing when he entered, and she didn't sit down until he had.
"Congratulations on your promotion," he said smoothly. "I hope your mother is well."
"Kicking up hell back home," the young Mountie smiled. "You would think she was the first person ever to retire. She'll have reorganized my entire house by the end of the year."
"My sympathies. Is this a formal occasion, Chief Superintendent? Our first official meeting?"
Couch nodded. "Yes, and also no. I'm not sure I see the point of over-formalizing our interactions. There was a distance between your lot and mine that, honestly, I've never understood." She sat back in her chair; it was bigger and more comfortable-looking than her mother's had been, from what little McInnis could recall from his first visit to this office, a long, long time ago. "Lingering personal feuds, I think. I know she didn't comport herself well when she was in your house, and…" She looked away, and McInnis realized she was looking at a framed photograph. It was facing away from him. "Well. Your predecessor may not have been on his best behaviour in this office, either."
"I concede the possibility."
"So then." Couch clasped her hands together, and rested them on the desk. "Let's start the new era right. I was thinking we might formulate an agreement, you and I."
"What did you have in mind?"
"An official apology from OSAT for the unpleasantness in 1969 and 2003, and a resolution to continue working together for the maintenance of what you call the Veil." He saw nothing but honesty in her dark brown eyes. "Particularly in light of Dr. Okorie's cooperation with the previous administration, I think we can enter into a new relationship characterized by amicable relations, and a sharing of resources. I know you're already well-established, but I should think acquiring the cooperation of the federal government, and its police force, might be a fine feather in your cap. What do you think?"
He considered it.
Out of courtesy.
He stood. "I haven't got a cap, Chief Superintendent. My predecessor did. And were he not predeceased, I think he would tell you in no uncertain terms where you could stick that feather, and it wouldn't be anywhere near his head."
//Though it might be in close proximity to yours,// he didn't say as her face turned the same shade of crimson as her uniform.
He was, after all, a diplomat.
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++ 14 September
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[[/=]]
Anyone else would have had serious trouble getting clearance, but the Survivors were a set apart. It wasn't going to take her very long. She only had one question.
"Is there an afterlife?" Ibanez asked.
The Uncontained glanced across the containment chamber at his brother. The Unyielding smiled, and nodded at her. "Of course. After, and after, and after, and before and before and before."
"More before than after," the Uncontained added with a grin, "I'm afraid."
[!-- [[=image Ibanez_Unyielding_Uncontained.jpg]] --]
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[[/=]]
Brenda Corbin didn't put her feet up on the Chairs and Chiefs boardroom table, but McInnis could see that she very much wanted to. Even having to get it back from themselves secondhand via recorded debriefings, the Survivors had acquired several duplicate lifetimes of insight into their fellow members of personnel.
It was just the three of them, for now. McInnis would share whatever was learned with the others in due course, and there would likely be followup appointments, but for now he preferred to omit the interruptions and grandstanding his friends brought to every meeting.
"So," he said. "You've read the file, and our debriefings. What do you think of the present security assessment of our guests?"
"I think it sucks," said Corbin.
Nass rolled his eyes, but nodded. "We knew they were dangerous before. But this? This is something else entirely."
The Uncontained and Unyielding apparently had a fascinating relationship with causality. Though the timeline had now been fully restored, and one might reasonably have expected that every possible connection between what Harry was trying to get everyone to call "the Brothers Un" had already been made, that was inexplicably not the case. A haze of confusion had apparently hung over everything relating to them since the first Breach, such that they were only now all catching up. McInnis wondered if this was the universe abhorring a contradiction.
"They caused the Breach. Or, one of them did." Corbin had a cigarette in her fingers, and she twirled it absent-mindedly. "And now they inhabit it. And, uh, you guys. Which is obviously awkward."
McInnis inclined his head in acknowledgement.
"We'll obviously need to wait until next year to know if the Unyielding's influence on you and the other taskforce members is permanent," said Nass. "But given that the Victims still materialize and run through the motions despite the fact that their possessor is presently alive and well, I would imagine you'll be carrying that baggage permanently."
"It is not such a heavy burden," McInnis murmured.
Then he blinked.
"What?" said Corbin.
"I will explain at a later date." He shook his head. "I'll have to confer with the others first."
Corbin's expression soured. "Information only flows one way, huh."
Nass glared at her. "Brenda."
She shrugged.
McInnis leaned forward, elbows on the table, steepling and unsteepling his fingers to distract himself from the intrusive thought. "Have you made any progress on the origins of these creatures?"
"Sort of." Brenda took a moment to collect her thoughts. "Udo and I have been conferring since the whole thing with the //Bonhomme,// and… well. You read that report?"
McInnis nodded.
"A splintered sleep deity. That's our best guess. Doesn't seem too much of a stretch to suggest that our fourth floor guests are chaos and order deities, subjected to the same process by the forces of the Breach."
"But from what you told me," Nass said to her, "5281-D believed his primordial form had been //created// before it was shattered. As in, there was a conscious decision made to concretize the concept of sleep. Do we suspect something similar here?"
Corbin shrugged again. "Dunno. Could be. Udo thinks there might be some materials in the Wanderers' Library that might help, but, well. You know." The Library, an extradimensional hub of knowledge defended from incursion by the militant Serpent's Hand order, did not admit Foundation personnel under any circumstances.
"Future directions, then." McInnis sat back. "Their origins can wait for Dr. Blank's revision of the 001 file. For now, I put this final question to you: what might be the source of their powers?"
The two theologians looked at each other. Nass nodded, and Corbin spoke.
"If they really are deities representing formerly impersonal natural and/or socio-cultural forces, then I would expect they have absolutely no power resident in their persons."
McInnis raised a brow. "Where might said power instead reside, then, doctor?"
Corbin grinned at him. "It comes from the rest of us, collectively. Same with all power. Director."
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[[/=]]
"Of course, you know what //that// means."
McInnis made an open-handed gesture for Azzopardi to continue. He was eager to finish these briefings, and test his hypothesis with the others.
His meeting with the two remaining temporal experts had mostly consisted of telling them what Corbin and Nass had just told him. The future-woman had immediately seized on it, and was presently shaking whatever he'd found to death with gusto. "If you possess the powers given you by the Unyielding, Director, you might be a repository of energies not wholly originating in baseline temporality!"
McInnis frowned. "Explain?"
It was Forth who finished the thought, to Azzopardi's obvious impatience. "You and your people have been getting more and more efficient with each passing year. That's not what we'd expect from a single infused charge of potential. Sure, it might be a cumulative thing — your natural capabilities build on the unnatural, and you improve yourselves that way. No offence, but that's not what I think is happening here. I agree with… //Danica.//"
"Who believes…?" McInnis prompted. He wasn't used to having to prompt twice. Forth wasn't the least bit eccentric or scatterbrained, but her new //de facto// opposite number more than made up for those deficiencies.
Azzopardi took back the reins. "I believe you have the potentiality of your selves, infused with this esoteric energy, from //each deadline.//"
McInnis blinked. "But the deadlines are… //dead.//"
"Bit four-dimensional of you, Al."
Forth mouthed the word 'Al' in surprise.
Azzopardi continued. "Think of your genius in the glass box. Is she still in the box? Of course she's still in the box." She smiled apologetically. "Uh. She's practically a compilation of her various selves, now. She's lived through all of those experiences. And the fact that Dr. Lillihammer remembers everything, still…"
"The //point// is," Forth sighed, "I very much suspect the six of you truly are your best possible selves right now, with the foreign strength invested in you."
McInnis wanted to disagree. It seemed a disappointing conclusion to their long sequence of travails, to hear that what they thought were their accomplishments had really been a power struggle between two eldritch entities, of which they were merely pawns.
But he didn't disagree.
Because Azzopardi beat him to it.
[!-- [[=image Xyank, Forth, Azzopardi.jpg]] --]
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"Can we get a moratorium on these meetings?" Lillian groused. "I don't mind being social, but holy shit, is my life just an endless series of debriefings now, or what?"
McInnis always stood on these occasions, but something moved him to take a chair for the first time. He fought the urge to straddle it backwards, like a guidance counsellor; at times the Survivors seemed not unlike a gaggle of immature college freshmen.
He banished the spectre of O5-8 and -13, laughing at him, and chose to channel Scout instead.
It had never been the wrong choice before.
"Friends," he said. "I think I might have cracked the code of our unusual capabilities, since the first Breach. I thought I might run the hypothesis past you, and solicit opinions."
Delfina whistled from the floor, in front of Udo. "Look at you, Mr. Scientist all of a sudden."
Harry raised his bottle of spiked tomato juice in a mock cheer. "Well, come on, great communicator. Communicate."
"You're gonna make him self-conscious," Udo laughed.
"I don't think I've ever known a more self-conscious person as it is," said Wettle. He was on the floor. McInnis had almost suspected he was asleep, except that there had been no snoring or sudden sputter.
McInnis waited until they were all done, as he always did. Amelia almost didn't realize he was doing it. When she did, she flushed brilliantly. "I, uh. I wasn't going to interrupt you, sir."
Harry shook his head. "We'll learn her eventually. Now!" He clinked glasses with Ibanez, who hadn't entirely seen it coming. "Let's hear it. Whatever it is."
"He's gonna tell us why we're so great," Udo sighed. "And it's going to be something along the lines of 'the power was inside of you all along, because a god put it there'."
"I'm going to break every bottle in this room," Lillian spat, "if that's the final fucking answer."
"Luckily," McInnis murmured, "it is not."
That got their attention, and, for a change, no more of their guff.
"Our friends, the Victims, were not imbued with chaos. That was a reductive view. They were the recipients of //freedom.// Freedom from the rules governing others. Even the laws of physics, the conservation of mass and energy."
"Uh huh," said Lillian.
"Why, then, should we say that we were imbued with //powers?//"
"Power is the opposite of…" Harry frowned. "Yeah, it's not really, is it?"
"Power opposes freedom," said Udo.
"I mean," Delfina frowned. "We //try// not to."
"If not power," said Amelia, who was looking rapidly back and forth between them and struggling to keep up with the repartee, "then what?"
"To my mind," said McInnis, "and I'm ashamed not to have considered this earlier—"
"Get on with it!" Harry, Delfina and Lillian shouted in a single voice. Amelia's blush worsened by a shade. Wettle rubbed his ears.
"We've suggested that the opposite of //freedoms,// the absence of limitation, might be //responsibilities.// Perhaps more properly, //obligations.// Is there not a major qualitative difference between these two poles?"
Lillian opened her mouth. As it always did, it stayed open. But no sound came out.
"Are you saying…?" Udo trailed off.
"Are you saying we don't…" Harry shook his head. "No, bullshit. Lillian remembers everything."
"Is that a power?" McInnis asked. "Or a burden?"
"Ask my fucking pharmacist," Lillian snapped.
"But all the stuff I did," Udo protested. "The micamancy. It can't just…"
He waited for her to continue.
Her orange eyes were wide and bright as headlights. "It //can't// have just been //me.//"
Delfina settled between Udo's legs, and leaned back to make upside-down eye contact. "I mean… why not?"
The thaumaturge was speechless.
"Responsibility," Harry mused. "breeds… what?"
"Breeding," Lillian grinned. "There had to be something causing it."
"It's not really such a surprise, is it?" Amelia was still making eye contact with each of them, in a rough cycle around the room. "To think all that happened was just competent people, rising to the occasion?"
"That's my cue," McInnis smiled, and he stood up.
"Don't you dare spring that shit on us and jet, Allan," Delfina half-shouted. Udo, mouth still hanging open, closed her knees playfully around the other woman's neck. "Glurk. You're not going anywhere," she finished in a frog's voice.
"I have nowhere to be but here," he agreed. He headed for the refrigerator rather than the door. "Udo, if I may?"
She nodded wordlessly, gape gradually resolving into a smile.
McInnis returned to the group, sat down, gave them each a polite nod, then stuck the bottle in his mouth, twisted, and spat out the cap.
It landed in Wettle's hair.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_10_McInnis_Beer.jpg]]
"Learned it from a friend," McInnis explained as the room exploded in laughter.
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[[/=]]
One of the worst occupational hazards attending on burning the night oil was the spectre of Karen Elstrom haunting your doorway.
Eileen was finishing up a code base update at her desk. She hadn't left the room for any purpose but to use the attached facilities all shift; even a trip to the cafeteria was an unnecessary distraction, as she had a microwave on a stand and a crate of pot noodles in a cupboard. As the Site's chief nerd, it made no contrast with the respect accorded her position.
Being mid-slurp when the avatar of impeccable taste insinuated itself into the frame, picture perfect, still left her feeling a little ashamed.
She finished shovelling the noodles down, paper towelled her mouth off, and said: "What?"
"Enjoying your bachelorhood?" Elstrom teased. "Bachelorettehood?" She affected a pouting frown. "Funny how that isn't a word, isn't it? Almost like it's not a state we're meant to move through."
"Buzz off." Eileen looked back at her terminal. She hadn't checked the ticketing system in a while… nothing. Well, of course there was nothing.
Two thirds of the Site was already asleep, or at least off duty.
"Did you get my memo from earlier?" the other woman persisted. "About DR-RHETORIC?"
Eileen sighed. Elstrom's memo contained an itemized list of requests from the O5 Council, all intended to ensure the long-term sustainability of their collective act of torture…
She actually couldn't think of a better term for it. "Yeah. Got that. I'll read it tomorrow."
Elstrom didn't detach herself, and Eileen couldn't imagine getting real work done with her silhouette vamping it up like that, so she did what she did only when at the utmost limit of her options.
She checked her email.
There was only one new message, from a fellow night owl. It was short and to the point.
[[div class="email"]]
[[div class="tofrom"]]
**To:** [email protected]
**From:** [email protected]
**Date:** 14/09/2019
**Subject:** You up? I am!
[[/div]]
----
Eileen,
I've just had the most phenomenal idea. You're going to love it. You're going to love me for having it.
Meet me at my place as soon as you get this.
Bring a towel.
The password is...
Well, you know what the password is. That's kind of the point, isn't it?
-- Daniil
[[/div]]
She sat there for a moment, stunned.
She looked at the pot noodle.
She looked at her keyboard.
She looked at the ceiling.
"What's wrong?"
She looked up.
Elstrom had finally entered the room. She was looking down at Eileen with what could have been, on someone else, an expression of genuine concern. "You look—"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_11_Veiksaar_Snap.jpg]]
"Busy?" Eileen snapped. "Do I look busy, Karen? Is that what's got you confused? You should try it some time."
The other woman's expression seemed to melt, and then re-form itself. A mask of a mask looked down at her, and nodded. "Sorry for giving a shit, Eileen. Enjoy your alone time."
She stalked out with a stiffness like her legs were shot through with iron rebar, without closing the door behind her.
So Eileen got up, paused on her side of the threshold for a moment, then closed it herself.
[!-- [[=image Veiksaar_Guilt.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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++ 15 September
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**##990011|Kettle & Stony Point First Nation##: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
McInnis arrived early. //Not that he ever arrives late,// but it was still a nice gesture nevertheless.
The ASC was waiting in the parking lot of the Kettle and Stony Point Cultural & Administration Centre, a long and low building with stone, brick, and wood trimmings. There was a sign out front, featuring a turtle adorned with the four colours of the Chippewa. The turtle was a symbol of North America, what many of the First Nations called Turtle Island, a living space to be shared and protected. He'd heard a few non-native academics employing the term in their works, even invoking it to acknowledge the ancestral owners of the land on which they lived and worked. Some called it the first step to a new arrangement.
The ASC wasn't so optimistic.
"Bad news," he said as the Director climbed out of his car. He knew better than to complain that McInnis hadn't employed a chauffeur. At any rate, humility at these talks could sometimes go a long way. "Nexology never got back to us."
The draft proposal for new terms between Site-43 and the reserves making up Nexus-94 had been drafted by the ASC himself, so he took personal umbrage that it had apparently been filed under 'read later' by the Foundation's supposed authorities on all matters Nexus. Of course, he allowed none of that to show on his face, in his mannerisms, or in his language.
McInnis shrugged. "Oh, well. I suppose that makes this easier."
The ASC frowned. "Not in a way I'm particularly happy with."
To his shock, the Director clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't see why not. We're going to walk in there, renew our commitments, and give them every damn thing they asked for."
The ASC stared at him.
McInnis stared back.
The ASC laughed, and they entered the centre together, arms around each others' shoulders.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_13_ASC_McInnis.jpg]]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facility-dossier-reliquary-area-27 Reliquary Area-27]: Ottawa, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Brenda hadn't expected to have anything common with Yossarian Leiner.
The Assistant Director of the Department of Tactical Theology resided beneath a cathedral, and he wore a yarmulke on his head. Then again, he had a remit to fight gods — not to kill them unless necessary, as that went against the Foundation's containment ethos, though nobody in the department ever tried too hard to shake that popular image. It did go hard, and they knew it.
But whether he praised gods, fought them, or killed them, she'd expected their meeting to reveal an essential incompatibility of worldview.
Luckily, open-mindedness was the central tenet of hers.
"A Zoroastrian angel!" Leiner exclaimed. "Do you have any idea how rare that is?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Once in a lifetime sort of thing."
He shook his head. "Once in a billion lifetimes, more like. I've never seen one."
"Well," and she gestured at his hat with her chin, "wrong tribe, right?"
He laughed. "That's true. Not really a true believer either, though, are you?" He suddenly looked very serious, worried even. "You're not actually a Mormon, right? It would have showed up in your file somewhere."
"I'm not actually an anything." She sighed. "I'm the Métis daughter of two Mazdayasna faithful, and even the miracles I was born to can't be bothered to show up for me."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_03_Corbin_Tactical.jpg]]
"I'm a Jewish man living under a Catholic basilica," he reminded her. "Have you considered branching out?" He reached under his desk and produced a thick stack of paper, and began separating it into several less thick stacks. "We've got a lot of open files that someone of your expertise could help with. Dr. Nass says he'd like to see more cooperation between TactTheo and TheoTelo, and I agree. Getting you on a consult seems like a good start."
She glanced at the files, one by one. "Daeva," she said. "Mekhane, and… wow." She chuckled. "That one's a stretch. You really think…?"
Leiner nodded. "We've been getting a lot of strange reports from fishing ships in the Mediterranean. There's definitely something calling out. Looking for someone to talk to."
"Relatable. Hmm." She gave the other two files a cursory look, and nodded. "Can I take these home with me?"
"In a secure case, but certainly." Leiner stacked the dossiers back up again. "A lot of what we do here is a long shot, but the consequences for not trying can be very extreme. TactTheo sees more Veil-threatening SCP objects than any other Department. Lots of Keters." Extremely difficult to contain. "An Apollyon," world-ending, "once or twice."
"What about Veil-breaking? Any Tiamats?" she asked, with a grin.
"God forbid," he laughed.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**##990011|Kettle Point##: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
There was a stooped old man waiting on the porch when the ASC arrived. One hand was resting on his cane, and the other raised in silent greeting.
The ASC raised a hand of his own, and unlocked the front door with the other.
He'd been in this house less and less as the years rolled past him. It was a fiction to be maintained, like any other, but not a particularly attractive one. Foundation regulations meant that he couldn't actually live on the res, with the people he was representing; any residence occupied by someone at Clearance Level 4 had to be secure, and as far out of sight and mind as was feasible. The fact that he was a public figure made no difference. The little house was smart, and well-kept, but it didn't feel at all like home.
Zwist sat down at the kitchen table, and the ASC went for the fridge. There was fresh lemonade inside, and nothing else. He didn't have a housekeeper. He wondered what Overwatch would have thought about his definition of 'secure', given it included allowing the locals to keep a front door key.
He poured two glasses, and sat down across from the old man. Zwist took the glass eagerly, and the ASC smiled as he watched the first glass empty in record time. It was warm outside, and even immortals could sweat.
Some of them, anyway.
He stood up to retrieve the jug from the fridge, while Zwist began to speak. "I must say this is the most pleasant introduction I've had to one of your lot. The rest are all…"
He shook his head.
The ASC put the jug down on the table, and sat again. "Big personalities," he said.
Zwist nodded. "And they never shut up."
The ASC chuckled. "They're talkers. Most of them aren't listeners. But you only need a few of those to make a difference." He poured Zwist a second glass, and then raised his own. They clinked the rims together, drank together, and then made eye contact.
"I think it's my day for listening," said Zwist. "I'm something of a talker myself, as I'm sure you know."
"It's come up."
Zwist smiled ruefully. "I have a tendency to ramble, and lecture. But Allan tells me you might have a unique perspective on our common dilemma, and I should very much like to hear it."
The ASC leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs and clasped his hands over his thigh. "Do you know how Site-43 came to be situated where it is?"
The old man shook his head.
"In 1942, the federal government made an insultingly low offer to buy the land above, for the purposes of constructing a military base. Camp Ipperwash. The people who had lived on that land refused. The land was taken anyway, and the camp built. It was promised that when the war had ended, everything would be returned. This did not occur."
"Power rarely accepts curtailment," Zwist nodded. "And never curtails itself."
"The stolen reserve became a provincial park. In 1995, the people occupied that park to raise awareness. A man was shot and killed by the provincial police. There was a media furor, then an inquiry. The government crafted an agreement for recompense — that's what they called it, an 'agreement'. It would not surprise you to hear that the people did not agree."
The old man's bushy eyebrows rose a little, then fell again, in acknowledgement.
"These people know a lot about cycles, Mr. Zwist. Since time immemorial they have understood the cycles of the land and its creatures. The advent of the French, the British, the Canadians and the Foundation, these things were ferocious shocks to the system, but they still fit the schema. Everything turns. It was understood that the attention lavished on this place during the war would lapse almost immediately, and might not resume for a generation. When it came down to it, we were forced to give history a push before the cycle swung 'round again. That lasted for a moment, and then the gyre wound off as it always does."
Zwist frowned. "You're making it sound like this inhumane treatment is just a symptom of an impersonal force. I should think you'd be the last one to relieve your government of its obligations."
The ASC shook his head. "That isn't what I mean at all. They are each responsible for their actions. We are all responsible for what we know, and what we do not know. What we witness, and do not witness. What we choose to see, and where we choose to remain blind. But we are all caught up in something bigger than ourselves. Something composed of the whole of us. An individual human being might believe it is wrong to take someone's home away from them, and more wrong to never give it back. They might believe everyone deserves to drink clean water, and have their roads maintained, and be allowed to travel wherever they will along those roads. But to be willing to actually do something in defence of these beliefs? That is uncommon. We are all inertial creatures."
Zwist sipped at his lemonade. "So what the others experience as a cycle of order and chaos…"
"We see as a cycle of action and inaction. They impose their order, and we act, and they react. They withdraw without admitting defeat, and let the matter lie, and we wait for the next chance. We live our lives. They live theirs. We watch them, and they are ignorant of us. And in the absence of a solution, it swings around again. We present them with what they call chaos, and they attempt to rationalize it again. And again they fail. As they have always failed. As they will always fail."
"You think so?" Zwist turned the glass on the table, in quarter rotations. "You think order is destined to lose out to chaos?"
"I'm not sure you've grasped my meaning." The ASC smiled. "I'm saying order and chaos are the wrong way to look at it. It isn't a question of power versus random chance. It isn't even responsibility against freedom — not on the wider scale. This is a conflict between our urges to do something for ourselves, and to do something for others. To do something //to// ourselves, and others. The fundamental question of society. Who advances farthest? Us, or them?"
"When the answer," Zwist said, "should be //all of us.//"
The ASC nodded. "And that's why the gyres keep turning, Mr. Zwist. Not because one has never beaten the other. Because they have never been made to turn //together.// The cycle doesn't have to end. It has to //change.//"
Zwist considered. After a moment, he raised his glass. "To change."
The second //clink// sounded brighter, somehow.
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Imrich hadn't left the Site for what felt like months.
He enjoyed the way the half-closed system worked.
There were variables coming in and going out every day, of course, but compared to even a small urbanized area like Grand Bend, Site-43 was predictable.
The math was simple.
To the extent that any of the math was simple anymore.
Still, they were making strides in that area. He'd been surprised, very surprised, to find that William Wettle was good for anything, but the replication studies were at this point dovetailing with his own research to produce what might become, in a few more months, a comprehensive roadmap for dealing with the uneven and changeable terrain of their increasingly wobbly baseline.
He could have used a little fresh air now and then. But that was how long projects went.
The sun would still be out there when he was done. In fact, finishing the project might be the only way he could assure that the sun would still be out there.
He was all the way into his dormitory, the door closed behind him and his notepad on the counter, before he realized something was wrong. Even without doing the math, he could tell that there were more lines converging in here than there should have been.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_14_Sykora_Kidnapped.jpg]]
This dorm was his asylum from the web of possibility. One line in, one line out.
He stood in the main room and said, feeling both ridiculous and affronted, asked "Who's there?"
The door to his bedroom clicked open, and he made eye contact with the man who walked out, and suddenly all desire to leave bled out of him.
The man was grey-haired and pleasant, dressed in a light autumn jacket and casual clothes.
His eyes were mesmerizing.
A blonde woman he'd never seen before was with him.
The man walked up to Imrich and extended a hand. "Good evening, Mr. Sýkora. My name is Kyle."
Imrich accepted the handshake without meaning to. "What are you doing in my room?"
Kyle looked over his shoulder at the woman. "Would you like to tell him, Julia?"
Julia was dressed for the office, but ornamental rather than practical. Her voice, however, was hard and serious. "We're here to make you an offer, Imrich."
"An offer I can't refuse?"
She laughed. The man laughed with her. Imrich hated them instantly.
"Why would you want to refuse? We know all about you, of course. The man who can predict anything, even when nothing is predictable. What an asset you'll be. To someone."
"You'd be wasted on the Foundation," Kyle smiled. "They won't be making it out of the present troubles intact, I'm afraid. And your talents are a poor fit for their goals, anyway. They're only interested in anticipating threats to the //status quo.// We have rather more lofty goals." He was still holding Imrich's hand. "How would you like to stop merely predicting the future, Mr. Sýkora, and start //making it?//"
"I don't think I would like that very much at all," said Imrich. He was proud of how easily the words came, even under Kyle's intense compulsive glare.
"That's a shame," said Julia.
"Definitely a shame," Kyle agreed.
"Well," the woman sighed, "every great man needs a push, to make history."
Kyle nodded at her without taking his eyes off Imrich. "We've paid well for the push, anyway. Might as well get our money's worth."
Julia snapped her fingers, and Roger Pensak walked out of Imrich's bedroom.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_04_Pensak_Smirk.jpg]]
"Bet you didn't see this coming," he smirked.
[!-- [[=image Keil_Kijek_Tarrow.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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[[/=]]
The Foundation called any organization with any relation to the anomalous that wasn't the Foundation a "Group of Interest." It was a term specifically chosen for its connotations, both in the specific and general cases. Specifically, it meant the Foundation was watching each and every GoI. In general, it meant that anyone whose actions impacted the Veil of Normalcy was operating in the Foundation's field of interest. It was a way of claiming the whole anomalous world as their backyard, and all anomalous activity as their bailiwick.
The Groups of Interest Research Group, which typically abbreviated the first three words for obvious reasons, was headquartered at Site-55 in Boston, Massachusetts and headed by a researcher named Justine Everwood. The first thing Everwood said was "Call me Jay." The second was "Call me 'they'." And they smiled, because that was meant to be funny, because it rhymed.
When Ilse had gone into the incinerator room, using 'they' as a singular pronoun had still been generally considered a grammatical error. But given that a woman with a PhD had still been generally considered a socialization error, she found it easy to make this adjustment.
And anyone with a sense of humour that corny had more in common with Ilse than most.
"I suppose you're interviewing everybody," she said.
Everwood nodded. "Everybody who's had any contact with the //alte// or //neuer giftschreiber.// Did I pronounce those right?"
"Pretty close," Ilse smiled, and then she said both terms precisely.
Everwood repeated the corrections aloud, and Ilse nodded. She noticed that the GoI expert was holding a tablet, but not typing on it, and then realized this was because they only had one arm. The sleeve of their labcoat was tied off. //Must be voice activated.//
"Okay," Everwood smiled. "You're Dutch, right? That's why you can pronounce it so easily."
"There's similarities," Ilse allowed, "but I can pronounce it so easily because I've got twice as much time as anyone else to figure things out."
"Fair enough," Everwood nodded. "Now, uh, please. Tell me about your encounter."
"It was my sister." Ilse shook her head. "Except it can't have been. She looked just like her — just like //me// — but there was something off about her affect. I wasn't in a good place, and wasn't thinking clearly, but in retrospect I'm sure she was just wearing my sister's appearance as a disguise."
"So, a //geistschreiber.//" Everwood didn't look to her for approval of that pronunciation. There was really only one way it could go.
"That's what I think. Yes."
"What did she want?"
"She wanted to know what made the deadline special." She paused. Everwood had an easy, unassuming nature that made it easy to talk to them, and Ilse had just potentially slipped up because of it. "You're cleared to know about those?"
Everwood smiled reassuringly. "Yes ma'am. They've brought me up to speed on all things 5243."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_15_Reynders_Everwood.jpg]]
"Good. Okay. Good." Her focus was slipping. She'd need to do better. "Lys, the false Lys, wanted to know what made the deadline so special. So unstable. We didn't have a term for them yet, so I called them tangents. I felt they were subordinate to baseline. That's what I told her, and in the end, I was right."
"Uh huh." Everwood was one of the few people Ilse had met who could say that word without it sounding condescending. "And you're sure this was in the deadline, not baseline?" They suddenly reeled back a little, and Ilse wondered if they were slapping their forehead with their phantom limb. "Obviously, or the tangents wouldn't have come up. Okay, that's fascinating. I haven't heard about these people leaping from timeline to timeline before. You're a very special person, Dr. Reynders. I mean, your situation is very… uh." Everwood was blushing fiercely as they tried to walk back their //faux pas.//
Ilse returned the earlier favour of a reassuring smile. "Thank you. And yes, it's strange. Does it suggest anything to you?"
Everwood tapped the tablet against their hip. "Could tie in to the references some of the others have made to escaping the apocalypse when they trigger it. Maybe the power to create these dead timelines was something the Uncontained and Unyielding could always do, and it got incorporated into the Breach when it killed them."
Ilse whistled. "Now //that// is a theory. Something to ask them about. Bravo."
Everwood's grateful smile was almost shy. "Thanks. Yeah, I'll look into it. Did she say anything else?"
Ilse almost didn't tell them, but… //What the heck.// "She told me I was never getting out of this box."
Everwood's face fell. "Jeez. Wow. I'm sorry, Dr. Reynders. That's awful."
"Is it?" Reynders shrugged. "I think it's quite a hopeful thing."
Everwood's face went blank. "Hopeful how?"
Where Ilse was from, or rather //when,// women were not meant to grin. But she was more now than her origins would have implied. All of them were, including this one-armed wallflower with the startlingly fast uptake. "It means they don't know everything," she grinned. "I'm not as helpless as I look."
"You don't look helpless," Everwood grinned back. "But I bet you'd be no great shakes at mountain climbing."
"You climb mountains?" Reynders laughed, then suddenly wondered if she'd spoiled the moment.
"With one sleeve tied behind my back," Everwood laughed with her. "See? You're right. Looks really can be deceiving."
[[=]]
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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++ 16 September
----
[[/=]]
Ngo placed a tablet on the coffee table, and sat down. They'd brought in a rocking chair for her, which she found touching, considering the circumstances; Harry had told her she'd always had "the affect of an aunt," which she'd found marginally less touching, even if she couldn't quite find an angle to argue.
"That's it?" Ibanez picked up the tablet. "Man, I miss books. You used to be able to tell how much shit was in them by the thickness."
"It's still a good metric," Okorie hiccoughed. "It's how we know how much is in //you.//"
It wasn't clear whether anyone but Lillihammer got the joke, but she laughed loud enough for all of them anyway.
"I thought you'd be more upset." Ngo glanced from face to face. She'd seen each of them, save for Torosyan, more times than she could count without an appointment book. "Or, uh. Upset at all."
"What, just because you were spying on us?" Blank plucked the tablet out of Ibanez's fingers. The little woman made a big noise of protest, but she was already at least two thirds in the bag, and her reflexes were dulled. "That's old hat. We've been collecting spies like flies. Willie even dated one of them. In every reality."
"Except the apocalypse one," Wettle reminded him.
"That one doesn't count." Blank flicked through the files. "Anyway, it's not like we're idiots. Obviously your reports were going to Overwatch."
"Beyond obvious," Okorie agreed. Ngo wasn't totally sure the other woman still knew what was being referenced, but she took the affirmation anyway.
"It's just…" Ngo sighed, and folded her hands in her lap. No wonder they thought she was so matronly as to enjoy a rocking chair. The worst of it was, they weren't wrong. "I felt very guilty about it, for a very long time. But it was what was expected of me. So I did it anyway."
McInnis nodded. "We've all done what was expected of us. That's how we've learned to set our own expectations."
"Still, big dick move." Ibanez swatted over her head, catching the tablet and pulling it back down out of Blank's hands. So, not so dulled perhaps. "Coming clean to the secret cabal. Whycome?"
"This is a secret cabal?" Torosyan asked. She looked startled.
Wettle pointed at her. His head was invisible under the coffee table. "New Wettle!" he shouted.
Lillihammer pointed at her. "New Wettle!"
"I like her better than the old Wettle," said Blank.
She furrowed her brow, considered, then winked at him. He choked on his drink.
Ngo waited to see if anyone else was going to intercede before answering the question. "It just… seems to //me,// that you've got it all figured out. It wasn't Overwatch that brought back baseline. It wasn't the TAD. And it wasn't Karen Elstrom, either." She just barely restrained herself from adding a descriptive expletive between the woman's names.
McInnis raised a hand. "In her own way, Dr. Elstrom is doing what she feels is right. Everyone in this room has that in common with her. And happily, at this facility, we are not outnumbered."
"Everywhere else, on the other hand," Blank sighed.
Torosyan looked at Ngo. "I haven't been here long," she said. "Are they always like this?"
"Like what?"
"Just… saying whatever comes into their heads, and assuming it'll work out okay?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_16_Ngo_Grateful.jpg]]
Ngo laughed. "Yes. And so far, they haven't been wrong."
"Planning to narc us out, technician?" Lillihammer trilled.
Torosyan smiled sheepishly. "Seems like you're the rats already. Gnawing on the wires. Scurrying beneath the boards." She made an illustrative motion with her hands.
Ibanez made an even more illustrative motion at her in response.
"We could perhaps do with a little more discretion," McInnis admitted. "Particularly given the uncertain road ahead."
Ngo frowned. "You brought them both back. You restored the proper course of reality. What could possibly still be ahead?"
"Another deadline," Lillihammer sighed.
Her frown deepened. "Won't those be over, now that…? No?"
The archivist was shaking his head. "One more. Definitely at least one more."
"At least and at most," said Lillihammer. She hiccoughed. Okorie hiccoughed back at her, and they both laughed.
"I don't understand." Ngo once again scanned each of their faces for an explanation, and noticed Torosyan doing the same. "Why do you think there's going to be one more?"
"Because of Rydderech." Lillihammer hiccoughed again. "The last warning he gave me was number six out of seven. He's got outside context vision, somehow, because he's weird, so odds are there's still one more bad future in the pipeline."
"I see."
They drank in companionable silence for a while. Okorie elbowed her to ask what she was drinking. Ngo told her: "Sinh Tố."
"Sounds exotic." The other woman's eyes were wide, and glowing. "What's it mean?"
"Fruit smoothie," Ngo told her, and the entire room exploded.
Metaphorically speaking.
She put the glass down on the coffee table, just as Ibanez discarded the tablet. They met with a dull little //clink.// "Now," said Ngo, "I understand that most of you are drunk right now—"
"I'm not drunk!" Lillihammer protested. "I am //plastered.//"
Ngo nodded in acknowledgement. "I was just wondering, ah… why you all seem so upbeat. About this. About everything. If you think it isn't even //over.//"
Wettle's voice drifted up from beneath the table. "Sounds like a tomorrow problem."
"And fuck tomorrow," Blank agreed.
Lillian raised her glass. "Fuck tomorrow!"
Cheers all around.
"Seems like tempting fate," Ngo observed.
Lillian snorted. "Well, I'm not living out my golden years in //fear,// Nhung, so //double fuck fate// if it can't take a joke."
[!-- [[=image Survivors.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
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++ 17 September
----
[[/=]]
Udo saw there was a message on the inter-Site system as soon as she woke up, and groaned inwardly. It would be her mother again. Age hadn't dulled the parental instinct for interference.
She dressed at leisure, gently stirring the air in her room as she did so, filling the air with red. It danced to her whims, as it always did. Her whims alone, if they'd understood the Director's epiphany about responsibility correctly.
She still marvelled that she could have done even a fraction of the things she'd done on her own power, but the others had already accepted it as fact. She felt a certain way about that. She was still looking for a name for the emotion.
It was certainly more development than most people's characters saw in their early adulthood, she thought as she stepped into the bathroom and turned on the lights. She allowed the //vim harenae// to lift her long hair up in braids, fanning it out to its full and prodigious length. "God," she said out loud. "It's like four feet fucking long." It grew twice, maybe three times as fast as other people's hair did, undoubtedly one of the many symptoms of her thaumaturgical heritage.
Well, she had her doubts, actually. But she wasn't entertaining them this early in the morning, even if that night she'd dreamed of the desert again, and met a self which was not //her// self beneath the still-spreading cloud. She'd thought the cloud would disappear after the last deadline, exorcised by her revelation beneath the grey sky, but apparently she'd been wrong.
She was seized with a sudden urge to chop the hair off, all of it, right down to the scalp, as she had five times before. Make it an even half-dozen.
And why not?
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_17_Okorie_Hair.jpg]]
Why not keep swimming against the tide that carried her forward?
[[div class="udoflashback"]]
[[=]]
+ ##FF950E|2016##
++ 8 September
----
[[/=]]
Dougall leapt to his feet when she entered the room. "Thank god. Thank god."
"I'm in no mood to thank any gods. Especially not for this." Udo sat down at the interrogation table, and indicated that he should join her. He stood there a moment longer, staring intently, then obeyed the directive.
"They told me you didn't want to see me." She couldn't tell if the look of relief on his face was genuine or not. In all the years that it passed since she seen him last, she'd never been able to figure out whether any of what they'd shared have been real or not. "I'm glad they were wrong."
"They weren't wrong." Udo sat there in silence for a moment, long enough for him to look her over, see that there was nothing but academic interest in her eyes. "I only came here because there's still something you can do for me. Something I need to know."
"Why are you being like this?" He was attempting to look hurt. "What's wrong?"
She wasn't going to give him an inch. "For starters, Bernie Del Olmo and Adrijan Zlatá are dead. You want to tell me what you know about that?"
Dougall looked bewildered. Perhaps he even was. "Dead? When did that happen?"
"Years ago. While you were dead, too. I understand that's been explained to you, so I don't want to go over any ground that's already been covered. Who were those two men to you?"
"Udo." He placed his hands on the table and reached out to her. She glanced down at them, but kept her own hands at her sides. "Aren't you even glad that I'm okay?"
She shook her head. "You're not okay. You're dead. You've been dead for fourteen years. And when this conversation is over, you'll be dead again. So if there's anything you want to tell me, now would be the time." Before he could say anything, she clarified, "about what I just asked you. Nothing else."
He chewed his bottom lip for a while, then nodded. "If that's how you want to play it, fine. Del Olmo and Zlatá are… //were// cryptomancers. //Giftschreiber,// though of a different sort."
"And so were you." She hadn't believed when it had first been suggested. But it hadn't taken her long to come around, with the twin powers of retro- and introspection
"I am," he agreed, with deliberate emphasis on the present tense. "And if the others are dead, all the more reason to keep me alive. What we were doing was vital. It still needs to be done."
"And what was that?"
"Destabilizing the cults, from the inside." He finally stopped making the sad puppy face he'd been making, as he warmed to his subject. "There isn't just one, you see. There's—"
"We know," she said flatly. "Go on."
He frowned. "If you know, then you know they're oppositional. Chaos and order. //Neuer// and //Alte.// One doing what they've always done, one doing what the //schriftsteller// used to do, before they all died. They're playing a sick game with the human race, Udo. And we can't let either of them win."
"So you were, what? Their go-between?
"That's right." He was nodding rapidly, as though excited she appeared to be buying what he was selling. "It wasn't safe for them to interact. The cults they were infiltrating would have figured it out. But not if they only talked to me. Because of my Talent."
"Except it wasn't a Talent. You weren't really a thaumaturge at all. How did you become a //geistschreiber,// Dougall?"
He shrugged. "I took a gap year for a Euro tour. Went to Austria. Fell in with a weird crowd." He smiled almost wistfully. "I used to be big into that whole 'fuck the power' thing. Got in way over my head. Met some folks who really could fuck the power, so the power could never unfuck itself. They taught me everything I know. And I didn't use it wisely, and the Foundation found out. Assumed I was just an unregistered Type Blue, since nobody'd ever heard of a //geistschreiber// before, and they put me to work. But I never forgot what I'd seen. And I came to realize what it meant. And that I could do something about it."
"And did you?"
He blinked. "What?"
"Did you do anything about it? Besides getting your friends killed?"
He shook his head. "You don't understand. It was a delicate thing. Can't push too hard. Can't go too fast. That game they're playing? It's the longest long game that's ever been played. And we're in the long haul with them."
"Not anymore."
His eyes widened. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means game over is maybe two or three turns from now. We're all out of time for slow and steady. And we've wasted far too much of the time we used to have on trying to figure out what had happened to you, when it turned out t didn't even matter." She made no effort to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
His eyes were shining now. "Didn't even matter? Is that how you feel?"
She nodded. "You know what I think, Dougall? I think you weren't really trying."
He stood up again. "I beg your pardon?"
She remained seated. "I think you liked your cushy job, and your unobservant girlfriend, and taking advantage of the people who worked for you, admired you, even…"
There was a very intense expression on his face now. "Even?"
Now she stood up. "You don't get to hear the rest of that. You didn't earn it. And it's over now anyway."
"It doesn't have to be." He came halfway around the table to join her. "I can still help you. Let me help you, rabbit."
She could have slapped him. She could have killed him, actually. Quite easily. She'd once recreated his entire body out of sand and bone meal. She could have turned him into a sorry pile of slurry, just as she had the //Bonhomme// in dreamspace.
But there was a single reagent she needed, if she was going to do that, and she found she didn't have it.
She would have needed to give a shit.
She turned, and headed for the door.
"Udo?" He was pleading now.
She reached for the door controls.
"Could you tell Phil something for me? Could you at least do that?"
It was too close a parallel. She had the irrational urge to break the pattern before it formed. She didn't answer, but this time she did wait.
"Tell him I love him," Dougall half-whispered.
She sighed. "If he doesn't already know, then it wouldn't mean anything."
He was still trying to speak as she opened the door, walked out, and closed it behind her.
That was the thing about //giftschreiber.//
The thing they'd never understood.
Words could have power.
But only when they meant something.
[[/div]]
She stood there for a moment, looking at herself, at her eyes shining back at her in the mirror, and slowly she spiralled down the sand, letting her locks settle against her back and the tops of her legs again.
She brushed her teeth, pulled on her pants, and performed the single most difficult feat of her now long and storied career of overcoming insurmountable odds.
She called her mother back.
Actions, in the final analysis, meant far, far more than words.
[!-- [[=image Okorie_Hair.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
Ibanez turned on her heel and walked in the opposite direction four times. But because that was an even number, she ended up pointing at her destination, and by dint of mathematics, finally reached it.
She didn't knock.
She'd already peeked at the schedule, and it was open for the next three hours.
Ngo looked up in surprise as her door opened. "Hey, Chief. What's up?"
Ibanez closed the door behind her, and stood there for a moment, hands closing and opening at her sides. "I'm looking for a consult."
"Of course." The psychologist put her tablet aside, and folded her hands in front of her. "What kind?"
"Psych."
"Makes sense," Ngo smiled. "Is this for a subject in containment?"
"Not… as such."
The other woman posed a question with the angle of her head.
Ibanez answered by walking to the couch, and sitting down.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_18_Ibanez_Couch.jpg]]
"Oh!" Ngo stood up, grabbed her clipboard from on top of the filing cabinet, and moved around the desk to pull up a chair. "I see. What made you change your mind?"
Ibanez made eye contact, and held it. "//I did.//"
[!-- [[=image Ngo_Ibanez_Redux.jpg]] --]
[[div class="Ngo"]]
**Annual Psychological Reviews: 2019**
**Subject:** Delfina M. Ibanez (Chief, Pursuit and Suppression Section, Site-43)
**Officer of Record:** Dr. Nhung Ngo (Chair, Psychology and Parapsychology Section, Site-43)
----
**Chief Ibanez:** I've heard it said that I know a thing or two about loss.
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**##990011|Site-01##: Undisclosed Location**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
"Are you ready?"
She nodded.
The double doors opened as they approached in lockstep. The Council Chamber was pitch black, as always. Three lights were lit: Three, Eight, and Thirteen. The Governor, the Advisor, and the Mediator. Her sponsor, Scout's, and his.
"Director," the Governor spoke first. As the Overseer responsible for rules and regulations, he was an obvious fit for the role of chairperson in the absence of the Chair himself. "And Dr. Elstrom. We've not had the pleasure."
"Sir," Karen nodded. Even in the dark, McInnis could feel her standing stiffly at attention beside her. Strength he could lean on, metaphorically.
"You've done us a tremendous service, as you well know." The Advisor's respect was palpably begrudging. "We've read all the reports and debriefings. It's something of a shock to think how far off the rails everything could have gotten, without anyone recognizing it."
"I suspect Director Xyank realized it," McInnis said. "And chose to wait and see if things shook out on their own."
The Mediator was always the easiest silhouette to identify, even without the glowing nameplate. Their body language never shifted out of neutral. "I would imagine he had faith you would see us through, Allan. As did all of us."
"If I may, sirs?" Karen asked.
"Of course," the Governor responded.
"Faith is a good start, but only if action follows."
The room was deathly quiet for a moment.
"I had assumed this meeting was a victory lap," the Advisor grumbled. "Have we been hooked into another harangue? Is the ghost of Vivian Scout here in the room with us?"
"One of the many things we've learned from SCP-5243," McInnis smiled, "is that hauntings can be recursive. I would like to think my predecessor never fully left."
"What are we about to argue about?" the Governor sighed.
"Debate," the Mediator gently chided him.
Karen cracked her knuckles. It was all McInnis could do not to grin at the sound. "It's been a few decades. We believe, with respect, that it's been a long enough interval that the D-class personnel question really ought to be re-opened."
There was a whirring in the dark, and a single bright light appeared just off centre of the boardroom's horseshoe-shaped table. The Archivist's nameplate blinked into life.
The Chair's followed. Then the Oracle. The Combatant, the Operator, the Humanist. The silhouettes of the combined O5 Council arrayed around them in an unbroken line. They were surrounded. Outnumbered. Profoundly outclassed.
McInnis turned to smile at Karen.
She did the same.
And neither of them needed to see the other to know it.
"Shall we begin?" McInnis asked.
There was a rumbling from the Chair, but the Director hadn't been addressing him, and Karen spoke first.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_19_McInnis_Elstrom.jpg]]
"With pleasure, sir."
[!-- [[=image McInnis_Elstrom_O5-8.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
[[div class="Zaman"]]
**2019 Personnel Review**
**Subject:** William W. Wettle (Deputy Chair, Replication Studies SubSection, Site-43)
**Officer of Record:** Noor Zaman (Chief, Hiring and Regulation Section, Site-43)
----
**Chief Zaman:** You've had a busy year.
**Dr. Wettle:** Have I?
**Chief Zaman:** By your standards.
**Dr. Wettle:** What's that supposed to mean?
**Chief Zaman:** Your SubSection has done more work than ever. You've taken on new staff. Done a lot of publication. You're pulling your weight, plus.
**Dr. Wettle:** Plus what?
**Chief Zaman:** I meant you're pulling more than just your weight.
**Dr. Wettle:** Oh. Well.
//<Silence on recording.>//
**Dr. Wettle:** Some days my weight is kind of a lot, though.
**Chief Zaman:** Still. It's been a great boon to the overall project.
**Dr. Wettle:** Project?
**Chief Zaman:** The Foundation. The Veil. The preservation of normalcy.
**Dr. Wettle:** Oh. Sure. That stuff.
**Chief Zaman:** Director McInnis assures me that although the various implementations are top secret, the work you and your assistants do is materially contributing to the continued survival of mankind at large.
**Dr. Wettle:** Oh. Yeah. That's pretty good, isn't it?
**Chief Zaman:** It's certainly not bad.
//<Audio event consistent with the shuffling of papers.>//
**Chief Zaman:** On the other hand…
**Dr. Wettle:** There's always an other hand.
**Chief Zaman:** No, I've only got two. See?
//<Silence on recording.>//
**Chief Zaman:** Little joke.
**Dr. Wettle:** I didn't notice.
**Chief Zaman:** Okay. So, that other hand. The studies you've published have been important, and I'm seeing only good reviews, but you've left an enormous amount of work unfinished. Projects half-done. Projects abandoned. Some budgeted and never even begun.
**Dr. Wettle:** Most of those were boring.
**Chief Zaman:** That's not a very scientific criteria.
**Dr. Wettle:** Harry would say I'm not a very scientist.
**Chief Zaman:** I'm sure he wouldn't say it that way.
**Dr. Wettle:** Yeah, he's a lot smarter than me. Thanks for the reminder. You can go back to reading your laundry list, now.
**Chief Zaman:** Alright. Even given your unfortunate proclivity for bad luck, you've caused a tremendous amount of property damage this year alone.
**Dr. Wettle:** I like how you said 'enormous' the first time, and 'tremendous' the second time. You should have found a synonym for 'amount', though. Repetition is my thing, not yours.
**Chief Zaman:** Most of your collaborators outside of Replication Studies have given you extremely low ratings for cooperation and academic fellowship.
**Dr. Wettle:** Not very cooperative and fellowship…//ish,// of them.
**Chief Zaman:** I've had to open a second HR file on you. The second is dedicated entirely to interpersonal complaints. Nobody at the Site has accrued more of them than you.
**Dr. Wettle:** Is there an award for that?
**Chief Zaman:** Dr. Wettle, do you not see the point I'm trying to make?
**Dr. Wettle:** Not really. You must be kind of bad at your job.
//<Audio event consistent with the shuffling of papers.>//
**Chief Zaman:** I've got your personnel reviews going back all the way to the mid-nineties. You know what they say?
**Dr. Wettle:** That it's a good thing I drink so much milk?
**Chief Zaman:** What?
**Dr. Wettle:** Calcium.
**Chief Zaman:** William, on every metric not related in some manner to SCP-5243, you're essentially the same man today that you were when you first hired on at Site-333. Don't you think it's about time you… I don't know.
**Dr. Wettle:** You don't know? Does that mean I can go?
//<Chief Zaman sighs.>//
**Chief Zaman:** Isn't it about time you got out of that rut? Changed up your routine? Attempted to actually grow, as a person?
//<Silence on recording.>//
**Dr. Wettle:** Have you guys considered replacing the vending machines with an honour system? I could show you some serious personal growth, if that's what you want.
[[/div]]
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_20_Wettle_Review.jpg]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
**[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|Interstate 10##: Outside Pensacola, Florida, United States of America**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
She laughed as she read the final line. "That was good! That was //really,// really good."
And Alis leaned through the gap between the seats again, to kiss him.
"You're not mad?"
"What about?"
A transport truck roared past them, and the windows shook. Wettle heard something fall over in the trunk of his car. Probably something that would leak.
He didn't care. "Fixing the Breach. You told me not to."
She leaned back on the bench seat again, and regarded him sadly. "You put it off for as long as you could. That's all I could have asked. Maybe we'll be ready, now."
"Ready?" He shifted, trying to get more comfortable. Bucket seats were never designed to be straddled. "Ready for what?"
"Anything."
"Hmm." He rolled his shoulders, and winced at the series of pops and cracks that resulted. "You mean that since Thing One and Thing Two are back, everything's going to get worse from this point on?"
She shook her head. It wasn't the only thing that shook. "Not //everything.//"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_16B_Alis_Goodbye.jpg]]
Damn near his entire body popped and cracked when she leaned forward again and pulled him over the centre console, and into the back seat with her.
But he didn't mind.
Harry had been wrong about a second thing.
Wettle's responsibility wasn't suffering.
It was endurance.
[!-- [[=image Alis_Goodbye.jpg]] --]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Grand Cove##: Grand Bend, Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
There was still grease on Flora's face when she walked into the kitchen. Gallo ran a paper towel under the faucet, and before she could even say 'Hello', he was wiping it off. She made a little screech of protest, and for a moment he could see his little girl again, inhabiting the woman she'd become.
He opened the trashbin and disposed of the dirty paper. "Really getting into your work, huh?"
She smiled, and kissed him on the cheek. She walked around the kitchen island to take up a stool as he washed his hands. "F-B is in a right state," she said. "Grampa was telling them for years those bearings wouldn't last as long as the specs said, but Bremmel wrote the specs, and you can't tell that guy //anything.//"
"Uh huh." Gallo picked up the chopping board from where it sat vertical beside the fridge, and laid it down flat on the counter.
"I can't believe they didn't make our new uniforms out of vinyl. You spill something on them, and it's over. Off to the laundry, and it won't come back the same. The fit shifts. It's ridiculous."
"Does sound ridiculous," he agreed as he opened the fridge again to rummage around in the crisper. Roasted vegetables tonight, he thought.
"I know why Grampa never wanted to give up his vest." She spun on the stool's rotating seat. "Nothing sticks to those things."
"Maybe you can get them reinstated," Gallo suggested. He pulled a chopping knife out of the top drawer. "Or just wear one yourself, once you're Chief."
She laughed. "What makes you think I'm going to be Chief?"
"Just a hunch."
"Well, you can hold your hunches. Amelia, Chief Torosyan, she's great. God, she's smart. And funny. And she's so nice."
"Sounds like somebody's got a crush." Gallo began dicing a tomato he'd just picked fresh from the garden.
Flora snorted. "You ought to see her and Deering. They make such a cute couple." He thought he detected an undercurrent of artificiality in this construction, and wasn't disappointed when the resolution came. "Hey, how did you and mom meet? You never told me."
Gallo paused, then began pulling stalks of celery out of their plastic bag. "Your grandpa introduced us. He said, and I think I'm remembering this correctly, 'If I don't fix you a date, you'll never do it yourself'. Then he called me a lazy shit."
She burst out laughing. "That's my grandpa alright. The man who could fix //anything.//"
Gallo glanced over his shoulder at her, smiling. "Yeah. It must be genetic."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_21_Nascimbenis.jpg]]
He didn't say his father would have been proud of her, but he didn't have to. The man himself had said it often enough.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Site-43]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
Lillian read the restored, thoroughly naïve 001 file once, and decided she didn't care for it. It started off with a clinical preamble:
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Description:** SCP-001-A and SCP-001-B are entities resembling a pair of physically identical elderly male human beings:
__SCP-001-A__ produces semantic effects consistent with the concept of disorder in a radius around its person. It has been known by the following epithets throughout human history: the Uncontained, the Quarry, the Falcon, the Libertine, the Perpetrator, the Vandal, the Key;
__SCP-001-B__ produces semantic effects consistent with the concept of order in a radius around its person. It has been known by the following epithets throughout human history: the Unyielding, the Huntsman, the Falconer, the Servant, the Jailor, the Corrector, the Lock.
So long as both entities remain in close proximity to each other, their local effects are mutually exclusive.
[[/div]]
It then went on, in Harry's florid style, to become a drama athwart space and time with outrageous implications for the human race. But that wasn't really her //thing.// It didn't tickle her fancy. So she set it aside. Maybe she'd give it another chance when the revisions were posted to the database.
The others were scheduling interviews with the Uns. They had questions about metaphysics, history, and the future of containment. The answers would be scrutinized at the most minute level, because of course neither brother was anything remotely like a reliable narrator. Lillian would read the interviews, once, because she liked to know things.
But she wouldn't linger on them.
As far as she was concerned, the gods were as good as dead.
She'd killed one aspect in her mind. She'd consulted on the killing of several others. She'd done an end run around the Uncontained, and turned a curse that the Unyielding had placed on her mind into a tool to use against both of them. She'd sussed out every secret they kept which she cared to know. They were a solved problem. They just didn't know it yet.
Because she was the memory of their fivefold failure. The archive of five universes where they hadn't won.
What hope did they have in this one?
Her long-term projects were all dealt with. The antimemetics groups would keep plugging away without her regular input. Wheeler would find a new boojum to hunt, and be hunted by. Bernie was as much at rest as he would ever be. Euler's fight… well. That was in the future.
She picked up her deck of cognitocatalytic agents, began shuffling it in her hands, and grinned to herself.
Today, her desk was clear.
A world of possibilities.
And when they had all played out, she knew she'd still be standing.
Not alone.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_22_Lillian_Tall.jpg]]
But certainly taller than the rest.
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
++ 18 September
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]##990011|**Grand Cove##: Grand Bend, Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
----
[[/=]]
The sun was shining on Grand Bend. There were storm clouds all around them, but a little pocket of light beamed down on the neat row of cottages as Harry approached down the sidewalk. He could have gotten a car — there was one in his name at the subway's parking garage — but he wanted the time to think. To prepare.
Not, however, to decide whether or not to turn around and go home.
He'd be moving forwards only, from now on.
He stood before the bungalow in Grand Cove, hair hanging loose over the jacket they'd shared in a land beyond time, itself hanging loose over his shoulders. He took a deep breath of the clean summer air, and what started as a smile threatened to transform into a giddy giggle if he didn't do something else with the energy. So he raised his hand, and he knocked.
She opened the door almost immediately. She was smaller than he remembered, and rounder, and her once flawless skin now had wrinkles around the eyes, the mouth, and across the forehead. She wasn't wearing her glasses, and her hair was a tangled mess.
In short, she was beautiful.
He opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn't come. Which was fine, really, because she stepped over the threshold and buried her head in his chest.
They stood there like that in a timeless moment, embracing with such ferocity that it had to be putting serious strain on the electromagnetic fields of their atoms. If he could have pulled her as close as he wanted to, they would have obliterated all of Lambton County in a thermonuclear blast. His heart felt primed to explode already. In an instant, everything had changed. Nothing else mattered.
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/59-the-foreseeable-future/DL_59_23_B_and_B_Recommission.jpg]]
"Melissa," he finally managed. "I love you."
"You'd fucking better," she mumbled into his shirt. She was laughing, or maybe there was another reason why she was shaking like a reed in the wind. His cheeks were burning, and it had nothing to do with the sun. "I love you too."
She drew him back through the door, step by step, as they held on to each other like their lives depended on it. Perhaps they did.
"Are we dancing?" he asked her.
"Not anymore."
He waited until the door was closed behind them before sweeping her off her feet.
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/58-time-flat | previous-title=Time Flat
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/60-underlogue | next-title=Underlogue
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub | hub-title=The Breach Goes On: Deadlined
]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
[[<]]
This page quotes William Butler Yeats, "The Second Coming," 1919, in the public domain.
Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:
Philip Deering: "Twitter 365 Project - Day 55" and "Tokyo" by Richard Giles, both released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/3305638389
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4224690076
Allan McInnis: "Harsh" by Jeremy Jenum, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenumfamily/10382904023
Noè and Flora Nascimbeni: "Dario" by Monica Arellano-Ongpin, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/maong/7513654822 and
"abdul" by Davidlohr Bueso, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/54829270@N00/5733944992
Daniil Sokolsky: "Brett - 08-08-08" and "Waterpitts, 29-09-12" by Brett Jordan, both released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/2743871625
https://www.flickr.com/photos/x1brett/8052877842
Imogen Tarrow: "Teacher Leader Conference 2 August 2012" courtesy US Department of Education, released CC BY 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/48445211@N06/7733033618
Amelia Torosyan: "Shopping!" and "Weezie on the Subway" by Richard Giles, released CC BY-SA 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/5067224818
https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgiles/4246835894
Eileen Veiksaar: "Claudia's Revenge" and "side" by rochelle hartman, both released CC BY 2.0:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/475773689
https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinfoilraccoon/4626047470
William Wettle: "Scruffy self-portrait" by Nic McPhee, released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/26406919@N00/2189606260
Marion Wheeler: Untitled sketches by WasteButterscotch810, by default CC BY-SA 3.0: https://www.reddit.com/r/SCP/comments/t6g7tz/marion_wheeler_sketches_bc_i_reread_there_is_no
> **Filename:** Everything!
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-10-08T23:26:00
|
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"director-mcinnis",
"doctor-blank",
"doctor-elstrom",
"doctor-everwood",
"doctor-lillihammer",
"doctor-okorie",
"doctor-reynders",
"doctor-sokolsky",
"doctor-wettle",
"fantasy",
"giftschreiber",
"illustrated",
"on-guard-43",
"philip-deering",
"science-fiction",
"slice-of-life",
"tactical-theology",
"tale",
"thad-xyank",
"thilo-zwist",
"yossarian-leiner"
] |
The Foreseeable Future - SCP Foundation
| 39
|
[
"secure-facility-dossier-reliquary-area-27",
"58-time-flat",
"deadlined-hub",
"60-underlogue",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"deadlined-hub",
"welcome-to-delta-t",
"tactical-theology-hub"
] |
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"http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"
] |
1457026602
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/59-the-foreseeable-future
|
|
60-underlogue
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
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<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
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to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
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<p><strong>Underlogue</strong><br/>
And firmly portals shutter.</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank">More by this author!</a></strong></p>
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<h1 id="toc0"><span>Underlogue</span></h1>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="Asterisk43.png" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #990011">1941</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>8 September</span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"><strong><a href="http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43">Ipperwash Provincial Park</a>: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada</strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>He had felt rather more welcome in the caves.</p>
<p>There, the sense that the past was alive and watching him had only been superstitious terror. Here, he knew it to be fact.</p>
<p>Vivian Scout tread the path with care, galoshes further pulverizing the rough gravel but spared the extra crunch of frost or leaves, though both would soon litter the forest. Not that it was much of a forest; Ipperwash Provincial Park covered something like fifty hectares, but in long-denuded Ontario that wasn't enough to boast more than a few large copses of trees. He was moving through one of them now, and although he couldn't see it, he had an entire company's worth of company.</p>
<p>Somewhere to his right, Martin Strauss had his rifle raised. To Strauss's right, there would be another. And another, and another, all of them ringing around to meet again at Scout's left. And the ring was closing.</p>
<p>He heard his quarry before he saw it. A low, pained groan, and then a wet snuffling. Someone was very badly injured. Possibly dying. But he didn't quicken his pace, because he knew something of what he approached.</p>
<p>He passed an old, gnarled maple, and there it was. The spitting image of the old man presently stabilized beneath a kilometre of soil and rock, back at Outpost-43. This one had visible gashes across his workman's shirt, and blood all over his loose beige pants. He was leaning against a tree, and he was cursing, crying, and perhaps even laughing, all at the same time.</p>
<p>"Hello," said Scout.</p>
<p>And the old man, with a speed Scout would never have predicted given his state, leapt to his feet and raised a finger. Not in warning, or in accusation. This was an attack.</p>
<p>But Scout had been prepared, and forewarned, and he struck first. "I am the catalyst of master-strokes and follies," he said, and the old man staggered away in shock, clutching at his head and scraping his back on the bark of the tree behind him. "I am the jolliest of all possible jollies."</p>
<p>The old man slid to the forest floor again, leaving a trail of new blood and tattered fabric on the bark to mark his passing. "He told you?" It was a rasp of disbelief and rage, mixed in equal proportion. "He <em>told you?!</em>"</p>
<p>When Scout was certain his quarry was paralyzed, panting in the dirt, he motioned for the medic to emerge from the bushes and tend to the wounds. "I have always preferred a family of choice," he told the prone half-god. "Since Abel and Cain, a covenant has always proven stronger than an accident of birth."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc3"><span><span style="color: #990011">1942</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc4"><span>3 April</span></h2>
<hr/></div>
<p>Scout and Rydderech stood at the edge of the pit, looking down into the future. It struck Ilse Reynders as an oddly mixed portent.</p>
<p><em>And that's why most scientists don't start out with degrees in literature.</em></p>
<p>She approached the Co-Directors, and resisted the urge to come between them and join the embrace. They were close, all three, but there were appearances to consider. The workmen down below would already be plenty confused to see her surveying the dig as though she were the equal of either man.</p>
<p>Scout heard her first, because Rydderech was always at least half out of mental focus. He glanced back, smiled, and ushered her closer. "Come see the marvellous mess they're making on our behalf."</p>
<p>Rydderech glanced at her with the equivalent of a smile in his eyes as she moved to stand beside Scout, and then the three of them took in the limestone quarry that had not existed until two days ago. "Strange birthday gift to give yourself," she said.</p>
<p>Scout chuckled. "I intend to make it the finest gift of all. Because we'll be sharing it with each other."</p>
<p>"Construction's going well on the shoreline," she reported with a tone of dull obligation. She didn't care for the logistics of putting the place together. She was already thinking about the work they would do when their facilities were finished. She'd finally have all the time in the world to pursue her own interests, on the Foundation's dime. "AAF-A should be operational before you even get started down there."</p>
<p>"I was just telling Wynn," Scout said, "that we won't be digging much farther after all. They've just discovered the tip of another cave."</p>
<p>She raised her eyebrows. "Like the ones by the shore?"</p>
<p>"Very much like them, yes."</p>
<p>Rydderech rumbled to life. "Those troublesome cats, no doubt."</p>
<p>"Now," Scout chided. "They were here first. We're only visitors."</p>
<p>"Long-term visitors, though," Reynders reminded him. "You know that as soon as we get these abatement plants up and running, they're never going to be able to stop."</p>
<p>"Never is a long time," Scout mused.</p>
<p>"That makes no grammatical sense," said Rydderech. Scout squeezed his shoulder, then dropped his hand down to find his jacket pocket. They'd been embracing a little too long for appearances' sake as it was.</p>
<p>They watched the diggers dig for a while. Reynders used the time to collect her thoughts. She wasn't sure what the other two were doing; anticipating, she supposed. They'd all been working up to this for years.</p>
<p>Finally, she put it plainly. "Is this a mistake?"</p>
<p>Both men looked down at her. "What do you mean?" Scout asked.</p>
<p>"You know what I mean, Vivian."</p>
<p>Rydderech sighed. "The brothers?"</p>
<p>"There are two things we three must do," Scout reminded them, "and this is the only course of action that can satisfy both. Wynn's predictions tell us that without these refineries, which cannot be built so deep and vast and effective anywhere else on Earth, we will all be drowned in occult sewage by the turn of the next century."</p>
<p>"Wynn's predictions," she agreed, "and <em>my</em> calculations."</p>
<p>Scout nodded. "I expect you to calculate us all out of this conundrum, Ilse. But you will need to do it here, because we need an excuse to put down roots in this park, and there is no other to hand at present."</p>
<p>"I know that," she frowned. "Obviously I know that. They have to stay secret. We need to keep them locked up, and it's not safe to move them far. Given what they can do."</p>
<p>"I'm more worried about the one," said Rydderech, "than the other. The other might have his uses."</p>
<p>"Don't be too quick to assume common cause," Scout reminded him.</p>
<p>The barrel-chested chemist scoffed. "Right. The last time I did something as foolish as that, I acquired you. I'd be a fool to trust those instincts ever again."</p>
<p>Scout reached down and squeezed Rydderech's hand. They were going to have to learn to be more circumspect, Ilse knew, in the coming days. But for now, in the light, on the threshold, the possibilities were more fluid.</p>
<p>"But you understand my concern," Ilse pressed. "We're going to be sitting on a bomb. No, two bombs. Two bombs that keep each other in check. What happens if something upsets that balance?"</p>
<p>"I suppose," Scout said, "we shall all be killed."</p>
<p>They stared at him, Ilse and Rydderech both.</p>
<p>He laughed. "But I suspect a more permanent arrangement will be found, before too long."</p>
<p>"We're getting pretty long in the tooth," Rydderech sighed.</p>
<p>Scout replaced his arm around his partner's shoulders, then put his other arm around Ilse's. They weren't looking at the hole in the ground anymore. They weren't looking at the horizon, either. They were looking at each other.</p>
<p>"I didn't say we would be the ones to find it."</p>
<div class="mcinnis">
<p>What do you do when the war is over?</p>
<p>Opinions vary, and the variances are invariably determined by the extent of one's optimism. "Prepare for the next war," the most pragmatic or most bloodthirsty will say. "Pick up the pieces," the realists and the weary will plead. "Make it the last one," the optimists and the foolhardy will agree.</p>
<p>The Forgotten War is over, and its sequel looms already on the horizon. What are we to be, in the interim? Warriors, builders, or dreamers? Monsters, healers, or fools?</p>
<p>There is an answer, easy to speak, but difficult to live by. It is that we need not be any single one of those things, each or all of us, at any one time. Even as our opponents mass for a renewed assault, there is room to dream. To reinvent. To arm ourselves. There is a place for every permutation of human experience in every conflict, because now more than ever we understand that every drop of blood spilled, every word spoken in anger, injures us all. There can be no reconciliation not driven from seven billion different points of view at once. The next war will be fought in the hearts and minds of every sapient being on this planet, and it will only be forgotten if all of us lose.</p>
<p>We at the SCP Foundation have the potential to become a guiding light of civilization, understanding, and mercy. In the meantime we will fight, because needs must. We will learn, because we will be called upon to teach. And we will defend the principles which have informed science, magic, and the arts for as long as our race has been capable of complex thought.</p>
<p>If we do not do these things, someone else will need to take up that torch. And it will be my sincerest hope that they are able to defeat us, and that we will be magnanimous in defeat. I believe that we can lead. I will dedicate what remains of my life to preparing us for that role. But if I am wrong, I am confident that the peoples of the Earth will grow beyond the confines of our rigid, self-serving morality, and find a better way together.</p>
<p>Because barring another apocalypse, the next war will only be the last if everyone wins.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Dir. Allan J. McInnis, <em>A Loyal Heresy, and the Path Ahead</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="okorie">
<p>One of the first principles of thaumaturgy is that calling a thing by its proper name gives you power over it.</p>
<p>Which is a funny thing to hear, when you're already using a euphemism for <em>magic.</em> Maybe that's the reason why the Foundation — and the Global Occult Coalition, with its Type Blues — have fallen so far behind every other set of occult practitioners behind the Veil. We're not willing to admit what we are. We're afraid of sounding silly, suspicious of majesty, repelled by whimsy. Those we oppose are not held back by such hang-ups. They're honest with themselves, and with us. We could learn a lot from that.</p>
<p>I'm not proposing we rename acroamatic abatement to 'magic gunk treatment'. I'm not suggesting we all start wearing pointed hats. But it does seem to me like this identity crisis is just a symptom of a wider malaise of self-denial within the Foundation. We keep a straight face in the face of the world's nonsense, as though we're afraid that if we acknowledge the absurdity, we'll be dragged down to its level. We pave over the paradisiacal beauty of creation with our clinical coldness, because we believe…</p>
<p>Ah. Well, that's a problem.</p>
<p>We hide behind euphemism and complication because we believe that gives us power over the things we describe. The more sterile our terminology, the stronger we feel. And that's not right, is it? We're only lying to each other. Our authority is only a blind. We're cowering behind it. And if the things we're observing suddenly turn on us, we won't be prepared to fight back, or even to run, because we'll be too caught up in the web of tangled frameworks we've built around ourselves to even move.</p>
<p>Our failure to acknowledge our true selves might feel like a warm blanket, but it's actually a cocoon. We'll need to break out of it, if we're going to evolve.</p>
<p>If we're not going to evolve, we're simply going to die. And if the magic were to die with us?</p>
<p>I can conceive of no greater crime.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Dr. Udo Okorie, <em>The Talented You</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="wettle">
<p>[clever introduction goes here]</p>
<p>And that's just the beginning! Your exciting career in Replication Studies will take you from one end of science to the other. You didn't know that science has ends? Well, it does! It ends right where the last unproven studies are sitting. Until they're proven, the frontier can't be pushed further. That's what we do. We show that the guesses our colleagues have made — they call them 'hypotheses', because nobody likes telling their family they <em>guess</em> for a living — are potentially right, or definitely wrong. Until we've done that, nothing in all the fancy journals in the world can be fairly called knowledge. It's just theorizing and hearsay.</p>
<p>You will be mocked for treading in the footsteps of others. You will be mocked for retracing your own steps. You will not be respected, because they will say that all you do is cover the same ground, over and over, and never deviate from the course by a single inch.</p>
<p>And you will explain to them, as only you can — because only you can be said to have ever really proven a single thing! —that <em>that is how paths are made</em>.</p>
<p>We are the layers of the roads that lead to the future. That's a pretty good consolation for having to constantly reiterate the past, don't you think?</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Dr. William Wettle, <em>Replication Studies: Replication Studies</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="ibanez">
<p>I'm an atheist.</p>
<p>That means something different at the Foundation. We know fully well that gods exist. I once kicked one in her face, and watched her choke to death on her own fucking nose. Searching the word 'religious' on SCiPnet gives almost five hundred results, and that number is only so low because most of the world's god-litter hasn't yet been researched well enough to justify opening a full file. Theology and Teleology tell me that there's enough material on objects and persons emitting or consuming Akiva radiation, the body odour of the gods, to fill an entire parallel database. Gods exist, and I am painfully aware of this fact, just as some of them are even more painfully aware that I do.</p>
<p>But that doesn't mean I have to <em>believe</em> in them.</p>
<p>I have colleagues — HR has asked me to remove all references to their names — who I can see with my own eyes, but don't believe in. I don't believe in much, actually. You won't catch me looking up at the stars and dreaming about powers beyond my ken. If they want my attention, they can come down here and explain themselves to me. If they're not going to make the effort, then why should I?</p>
<p>But this creates a complication, in my field. Because I have it on good authority, though this is also not something I would ever waste my own time confirming, that the word 'sacrifice' means 'to make something sacred'. And I am in the business of sacrifice.</p>
<p>My family is dead. My village is dead. A great many of my friends have died since then. I wouldn't say that any of them were sacrificed; I would say that they were murdered, butchered, and sometimes defiled. But I have sacrificed on their behalf. I have sacrificed the memory of what was done to them, and my all-consuming desire to avenge. I have sacrificed the part of me that wants to break down and cry at each memory of injustice, wasteful hatred and pointless destruction. I have sacrificed my own suffering. I hold all of these things as sacred, and I have burnt them all to cinders, as an offering to one ideal.</p>
<p>That we are ourselves in the image of gods, and burdened with all the responsibility that brings.</p>
<p>We could scour the Earth of life. We could change the way every living human being thinks. We could put them all in cages, or turn them against each other. They are objectively subject to our whims. We've learned more than enough in the past hundred years to treat this planet, and all its multiversal permutations, like a sandbox at our feet. I could burn my footprint into every bad actor who ever lived, and make them know that it was mine, and make them know what they did to deserve it.</p>
<p>But I won't. Not precisely.</p>
<p>Because the capacity to do a thing, if it's a bad thing, comes with the responsibility not to. Because you can't solve a systemic problem by killing everyone who makes it worse. Because if something is sacred to you, you're supposed to take it seriously. Don't use it as an excuse to fulfill your most sadomasochistic impulses. Don't use it to punish yourself. Don't use it as justification for going on a tear.</p>
<p>There are always people in this world who need to die. I've killed a lot of them. I'm going to kill a whole lot more.</p>
<p>But I'm going to be able to explain, when it's done, why I did it.</p>
<p>Name me a single god who can do the same.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Chief Delfina Ibanez, reflective journal</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lillihammer">
<p>I remember everything.</p>
<p>Nobody's supposed to remember everything. The human brain is the best discriminating machine in the world. It can select and discard the information in its reach at speeds faster than lightning, using all manner of nested and interacting criteria. The only limit on our capacity for understanding is the inevitable wear and tear of age. For a time, we are all capable of turning the things we remember into the things our children, and their children, will remember even more strongly.</p>
<p>But it's no blessing to have your entire past be an open book. Every brilliant insight, every moment of magic, every tender memory is made the equal of every slight, every mundane event, every tragedy. If I quit my job today and moved to Hollywood, I would instantly become the world's most famous actress, because I can make myself feel any emotion just by running through the right suite of memories. (Plus, I'm just that gorgeous.) I can feel the way I felt every time I wanted to smack someone, or kiss someone, or that most rare of all things for me, be more like someone. It's all there. And I can state with certainty that the reason the rest of you don't have this power, the reason it doesn't come standard, is that most of the things that happen to you over the course of your life, suck.</p>
<p>There are plenty of memories I would be happy to part with. I would love to forget the spiders, for example. I could make do with an edited version of my whole life up until around the turn of the millennium, and then a less comprehensively but even more selectively edited version of what came after. But if you gave me that opportunity, I think I would have to hate you for it, because I'd have to let it pass.</p>
<p>Because my memories, good and bad, are what make me who I am. And I like who I am. The bad things that have happened have made me better. The good things… have made me better, too. There must be some sort of experiential converter nestled deep in the human psyche, to achieve that remarkable effect. If you let it, it will turn even your worst moments into energy, or armour, or fascinating personality quirks. I'll never know whether I would want what I want, love what I love, or hate what I hate, if I didn't have six different versions of me competing for space in this single, admittedly very large and impressive, framework.</p>
<p>My best friend tells me he put this idea in my head when he made me watch <em>Star Trek V</em> fifty years ago. I refuse to believe that I learned anything from <em>Star Trek V.</em></p>
<p>The seven of us who endured the variegated horrors of the five SCP-5243 deadlines went through hell, and came back, and were baked into something more solid and firm by the flames. I've always had the impression that the others felt that time was wasted. That they gained nothing. That because they forgot what had happened, it essentially <em>hadn't.</em></p>
<p>But I remember every single thing I ever saw any of them do, across six very different worlds, in the most trying and transformational times of their entire lives.</p>
<p>And I have no explanation for how this might work, at least not one I could prove, and then kick down the ladder to Wettle for replication.</p>
<p>But I can state with absolute certainty — and given my unique mental chemistry, my absolute certainty is worlds more absolute than any other — that there was nothing at all wasteful about our years in the pressure cooker. That in some way, the incredible things my friends did in there have informed the incredible people they are today. That some intangible element of their persistent personhoods, having once crossed a boundary none may cross, found a way to cross back over again.</p>
<p>They are the memories of all their past selves. Their character is what every possible version of themselves did in the dark.</p>
<p>And I am privileged to have known them, in all their multiversal multitude.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Dr. Lillian Lillihammer, <em>Words, and How to Break Them</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="nascimbeni">
<p>Machines aren't substitutes for people.</p>
<p>It isn't a question of making better machines. If a thing can do a job better than a person, you should be finding better people instead, or better yet, making them yourself. I'm not talking about clones. I'm talking about training, and keeping the people you train supplied with the best tools money can buy. The best, not the most expensive. A lot of managers don't know there's a difference between those two things, because their bosses should have found better people, too.</p>
<p>A workplace is only as good as its workers. They're not only as good as their training and tools, but there's definitely a multiplier involved. The thing is, a cash investment can get you good manuals and equipment, but only investing your time and energy can get you good people. That's why so many managers would rather replace the human element with something they can plug and play, and then forget.</p>
<p>But machines get worse with use. The most amazing thing about human beings is that they only get better. They're self-upgrading. They produce their own replacements. They iterate on themselves. They make each other better. By the time you've got machines that can do all that, you haven't got machines at all, but humans made out of nuts and bolts. And humans, flesh and blood, will have invented them. A machine wouldn't know where to start, because machines don't dream. People do.</p>
<p>Sometimes, like me, they dream about machines. But it's not so that some day they won't have to work anymore, at least, not usually. We dream about machines because they can help us do more, faster, better and on a larger scale. Be the best possible versions of ourselves. Spend more time on the things that elevate us as a species.</p>
<p>I don't want a machine to do everything for me. I want to putter around tightening rivets, or shifting bags of concrete powder, or sometimes even sweeping a floor. Because that's how we know that the world is real. That's how we know our environments, the spaces we make in our images, and when we commune with them through productive work, we come to know ourselves.</p>
<p>Never give up on your people. They will surprise you. They will love you. They may even some day save you. But most important of all, they are you. All of us are rowing a single boat across a long lake, even if we can't always agree which direction the shore is in. The experience would not be improved if you replaced the rowers with a diesel engine. It's not about <em>getting there</em> at all costs. It's not about being <em>done.</em> There is nothing in the world that is sadder than an ending! Nothing happens after.</p>
<p>The destination doesn't matter. Most of us won't see it. But we'll take the ride together, even though almost everyone has to get off eventually, because it's the journey that makes the difference. It's the journey that changes you. If you haven't changed, it's because you haven't gone anywhere, and vice versa. If you're never going to go and see it for yourself, there might as well not be a shore at all. Anything worth knowing is worth discovering in person.</p>
<p>In the simplest terms, people are machines for learning about themselves. And in a pinch, they're the only machines you'll ever really need.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Noè Nascimbeni, memorandum to the new Chief of Janitorial and Maintenance</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="muddle">
<p>How do we get out of this hole we've dug ourselves into?</p>
<p>It isn't ours. The home we've built here certainly is, and it's sunk so far out of sight that it's unlikely to trouble any lingering spirits or creatures of myth that might still be hanging about, in the absence of the peoples they were once tethered to. But things out of sight and out of mind still have the capacity to harm, as the parable of the geistschreiber amply demonstrates. The land above Site-43 was stolen from human beings, and their descendants may only rarely descend to witness its hallowed halls. That the Site which defiles the subterrane of Ipperwash Park has been sanctified by blood further complicates the picture. It is a symbol of imposition — and why not? The SCP Foundation is no stranger to acts of callous will — and a symbol of sacrifice, too. It is a nation and an organization in microcosm. It is a parcel of unresolved contradictions.</p>
<p>It is also a living, working environment, and as such it is constantly changing. It is old enough to have shuttered wings (two of them, only one of which has ever exploded), and new enough to have recently opened ones. It replaces its skin cells (the protective membranes and sheathing) and its capillaries (the personnel pool) no more or less rapidly than does a human body. It has wrinkles and battle scars and stretch marks and analogues to all the other eccentricities of age. It did not choose the manner of its birth, and it has been shaped by considerations often alien to those who signed its birth certificate. These anthropomorphic musings lead us back to the question which opened this final discursion: whither Site-43?</p>
<p>It has stood, or rather crouched in the shadows, for eighty years. A generation. Three generations have lived, worked, and sometimes died in its borne. It belongs to all of them, but they cannot be all consulted on its fate. Neither can the evictees who made unwilling way for its construction, and it's an open question whether they would prefer it to make way for them in turn; given a choice between the SCP Foundation and the Canadian federal government, the Chippewas of Kettle Point would find themselves, like us, between a rock and a hard place. There exists no pat, easy answer to this conundrum.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Dr. Harold Blank, <em>Lines in a Muddle: A Cultural History of Site-43</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>He tabbed over to the other file. It was no different from any other keystroke, but she must have sensed it anyway, because there she was again. At his shoulder, and leaning over. Her breath on his neck, her pulse in his ears. Both of them reading the words they had written together.</p>
<div class="lines">
<p>The world has been saved from this location, many times. It has also been threatened. In other worlds, Site-43 has been both epicentre of apocalypse and last redoubt of humanity's ragged remainder. It has known a drama unlike any other on this Earth, or others like it. It has been an active player in that drama, whilst simultaneously the stage.</p>
<p>But it is more than even that. It is an ethos, and a telos too: a promise to do better each tomorrow than was done today, an ideal to which others might aspire. Were all the Foundation like Site-43, the world might be a kinder, gentler place. Or perhaps it would already have ended entirely. There is no easy means to test either theory.</p>
<p>The passing of the years will test them both, a strenuous trial for all involved. Will the humanistic concerns first expressed by Vivian Scout, Wynn Rydderech and Ilse Reynders thrive in the light above, or die down here in the dark? Will the worst fears of Izaak Okorie, Arik Euler and Ilse Reynders again be proven prescient, or will their selfless examples set the tone for an era of service to humanity? Or will the reality fall somewhere in between, fall short of the potential inhabiting this historical moment, trading dreams and nightmares for an endless night far less fanciful, less pregnant with meaning, less ripe with possibility?</p>
<p>That will not be defined by the shape of Site-43. Not the length of its halls, the depth of its foundations or the breadth of its superstructure. It will be defined by people, the people who have already defined the shape of the place which has done so much to shape them, their experiences and their options for further growth. It might be that these people are able to craft a compromise that satisfies all of the above considerations: the demands of history, practicality, humanity, and justice. It might be that they can resolve the contradictions inherent in our duty to secure, contain, and protect. It might even be that they can find an answer to the question which ended the previous volume, and will frame all the content of the next: where do we go from here?</p>
<p>It may transpire that we go no further.</p>
<p>It may even transpire that we turn back.</p>
<p>From where we now stand, we can see no clear road ahead.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>— Drs. Harold Blank and Melissa Bradbury, "Forward,"<br/>
in <em>Crossing the Lines: Subverting Common Practice at Site-43</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>She began murmuring in his ear. He transcribed without missing a beat, or a single syllable. When she paused, he murmured back. She nodded, and the touch was nearly as electric as the words.</p>
<p>"But it is our opinion that together, we will nevertheless find a way to move forward, as always so far we have. Despite danger and darkness, in euphoric and triumphant <em>spite</em> of the threat of despair. And that when we have taken that path, others will follow behind, or better, walk alongside. And that there will be no destination, only the endless drive into the unknown, which will make of us what we make of it, to the peril and profit of all."</p>
<p>It was a truth, at long last, far stranger than fiction.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="The Foreseeable Future">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/59-the-foreseeable-future">The Foreseeable Future</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="The Breach Goes On: Deadlined">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub">The Breach Goes On: Deadlined</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Fin">
<p><a href="/">Fin</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<p>Cite this page as:</p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/60-underlogue">Underlogue</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/60-underlogue">https://scpwiki.com/60-underlogue</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:</p>
<p>Ilse Reynders: "Practicing that blank stare" and "Quinn working" by Quinn Dombrowski, both released CC BY-SA 2.0: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529">https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529</a> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028">https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028</a></p>
<p>Vivian Scout and Wynn Rydderech (p. 100, 325, 456, 547, 626, 816): "State Electricity Commission, Group of Four Men, Victoria, May 1940,” two images, courtesy State Electricity Commission of Australia, public domain:<br/>
<a href="https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547629">https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547629</a><br/>
<a href="https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547640">https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547640</a></p>
<p>Vivian Scout (p. 456, 626, 816) is additionally based on "Photograph - Presentation of Phar Lap's Melbourne Cup, Flemington Racecourse, Victoria, 4 Nov 1930," courtesy Museums Victoria, in the public domain: <a href="https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1742444">https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1742444</a></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Everything!<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735469573" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[=]]
**Underlogue**
And firmly portals shutter.
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
[[/=]]
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+ Underlogue
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[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
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+ ##990011|1941##
++ 8 September
[[span style="font-family: BauhausLTDemi; font-size: 120%;"]]**[http://www.scpwiki.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-43 Ipperwash Provincial Park]: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
----
He had felt rather more welcome in the caves.
There, the sense that the past was alive and watching him had only been superstitious terror. Here, he knew it to be fact.
Vivian Scout tread the path with care, galoshes further pulverizing the rough gravel but spared the extra crunch of frost or leaves, though both would soon litter the forest. Not that it was much of a forest; Ipperwash Provincial Park covered something like fifty hectares, but in long-denuded Ontario that wasn't enough to boast more than a few large copses of trees. He was moving through one of them now, and although he couldn't see it, he had an entire company's worth of company.
Somewhere to his right, Martin Strauss had his rifle raised. To Strauss's right, there would be another. And another, and another, all of them ringing around to meet again at Scout's left. And the ring was closing.
He heard his quarry before he saw it. A low, pained groan, and then a wet snuffling. Someone was very badly injured. Possibly dying. But he didn't quicken his pace, because he knew something of what he approached.
He passed an old, gnarled maple, and there it was. The spitting image of the old man presently stabilized beneath a kilometre of soil and rock, back at Outpost-43. This one had visible gashes across his workman's shirt, and blood all over his loose beige pants. He was leaning against a tree, and he was cursing, crying, and perhaps even laughing, all at the same time.
"Hello," said Scout.
And the old man, with a speed Scout would never have predicted given his state, leapt to his feet and raised a finger. Not in warning, or in accusation. This was an attack.
But Scout had been prepared, and forewarned, and he struck first. "I am the catalyst of master-strokes and follies," he said, and the old man staggered away in shock, clutching at his head and scraping his back on the bark of the tree behind him. "I am the jolliest of all possible jollies."
The old man slid to the forest floor again, leaving a trail of new blood and tattered fabric on the bark to mark his passing. "He told you?" It was a rasp of disbelief and rage, mixed in equal proportion. "He //told you?!//"
When Scout was certain his quarry was paralyzed, panting in the dirt, he motioned for the medic to emerge from the bushes and tend to the wounds. "I have always preferred a family of choice," he told the prone half-god. "Since Abel and Cain, a covenant has always proven stronger than an accident of birth."
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+ ##990011|1942##
++ 3 April
----
[[/=]]
Scout and Rydderech stood at the edge of the pit, looking down into the future. It struck Ilse Reynders as an oddly mixed portent.
//And that's why most scientists don't start out with degrees in literature.//
She approached the Co-Directors, and resisted the urge to come between them and join the embrace. They were close, all three, but there were appearances to consider. The workmen down below would already be plenty confused to see her surveying the dig as though she were the equal of either man.
Scout heard her first, because Rydderech was always at least half out of mental focus. He glanced back, smiled, and ushered her closer. "Come see the marvellous mess they're making on our behalf."
Rydderech glanced at her with the equivalent of a smile in his eyes as she moved to stand beside Scout, and then the three of them took in the limestone quarry that had not existed until two days ago. "Strange birthday gift to give yourself," she said.
Scout chuckled. "I intend to make it the finest gift of all. Because we'll be sharing it with each other."
"Construction's going well on the shoreline," she reported with a tone of dull obligation. She didn't care for the logistics of putting the place together. She was already thinking about the work they would do when their facilities were finished. She'd finally have all the time in the world to pursue her own interests, on the Foundation's dime. "AAF-A should be operational before you even get started down there."
"I was just telling Wynn," Scout said, "that we won't be digging much farther after all. They've just discovered the tip of another cave."
She raised her eyebrows. "Like the ones by the shore?"
"Very much like them, yes."
Rydderech rumbled to life. "Those troublesome cats, no doubt."
"Now," Scout chided. "They were here first. We're only visitors."
"Long-term visitors, though," Reynders reminded him. "You know that as soon as we get these abatement plants up and running, they're never going to be able to stop."
"Never is a long time," Scout mused.
"That makes no grammatical sense," said Rydderech. Scout squeezed his shoulder, then dropped his hand down to find his jacket pocket. They'd been embracing a little too long for appearances' sake as it was.
They watched the diggers dig for a while. Reynders used the time to collect her thoughts. She wasn't sure what the other two were doing; anticipating, she supposed. They'd all been working up to this for years.
Finally, she put it plainly. "Is this a mistake?"
Both men looked down at her. "What do you mean?" Scout asked.
"You know what I mean, Vivian."
Rydderech sighed. "The brothers?"
"There are two things we three must do," Scout reminded them, "and this is the only course of action that can satisfy both. Wynn's predictions tell us that without these refineries, which cannot be built so deep and vast and effective anywhere else on Earth, we will all be drowned in occult sewage by the turn of the next century."
"Wynn's predictions," she agreed, "and //my// calculations."
Scout nodded. "I expect you to calculate us all out of this conundrum, Ilse. But you will need to do it here, because we need an excuse to put down roots in this park, and there is no other to hand at present."
"I know that," she frowned. "Obviously I know that. They have to stay secret. We need to keep them locked up, and it's not safe to move them far. Given what they can do."
"I'm more worried about the one," said Rydderech, "than the other. The other might have his uses."
"Don't be too quick to assume common cause," Scout reminded him.
The barrel-chested chemist scoffed. "Right. The last time I did something as foolish as that, I acquired you. I'd be a fool to trust those instincts ever again."
Scout reached down and squeezed Rydderech's hand. They were going to have to learn to be more circumspect, Ilse knew, in the coming days. But for now, in the light, on the threshold, the possibilities were more fluid.
"But you understand my concern," Ilse pressed. "We're going to be sitting on a bomb. No, two bombs. Two bombs that keep each other in check. What happens if something upsets that balance?"
"I suppose," Scout said, "we shall all be killed."
They stared at him, Ilse and Rydderech both.
He laughed. "But I suspect a more permanent arrangement will be found, before too long."
"We're getting pretty long in the tooth," Rydderech sighed.
Scout replaced his arm around his partner's shoulders, then put his other arm around Ilse's. They weren't looking at the hole in the ground anymore. They weren't looking at the horizon, either. They were looking at each other.
"I didn't say we would be the ones to find it."
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/60-underlogue/DL_60_01_Founders.jpg]]
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[[div class="mcinnis"]]
What do you do when the war is over?
Opinions vary, and the variances are invariably determined by the extent of one's optimism. "Prepare for the next war," the most pragmatic or most bloodthirsty will say. "Pick up the pieces," the realists and the weary will plead. "Make it the last one," the optimists and the foolhardy will agree.
The Forgotten War is over, and its sequel looms already on the horizon. What are we to be, in the interim? Warriors, builders, or dreamers? Monsters, healers, or fools?
There is an answer, easy to speak, but difficult to live by. It is that we need not be any single one of those things, each or all of us, at any one time. Even as our opponents mass for a renewed assault, there is room to dream. To reinvent. To arm ourselves. There is a place for every permutation of human experience in every conflict, because now more than ever we understand that every drop of blood spilled, every word spoken in anger, injures us all. There can be no reconciliation not driven from seven billion different points of view at once. The next war will be fought in the hearts and minds of every sapient being on this planet, and it will only be forgotten if all of us lose.
We at the SCP Foundation have the potential to become a guiding light of civilization, understanding, and mercy. In the meantime we will fight, because needs must. We will learn, because we will be called upon to teach. And we will defend the principles which have informed science, magic, and the arts for as long as our race has been capable of complex thought.
If we do not do these things, someone else will need to take up that torch. And it will be my sincerest hope that they are able to defeat us, and that we will be magnanimous in defeat. I believe that we can lead. I will dedicate what remains of my life to preparing us for that role. But if I am wrong, I am confident that the peoples of the Earth will grow beyond the confines of our rigid, self-serving morality, and find a better way together.
Because barring another apocalypse, the next war will only be the last if everyone wins.
[[>]]
-- Dir. Allan J. McInnis, //A Loyal Heresy, and the Path Ahead//
[[/>]]
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[[div class="okorie"]]
One of the first principles of thaumaturgy is that calling a thing by its proper name gives you power over it.
Which is a funny thing to hear, when you're already using a euphemism for //magic.// Maybe that's the reason why the Foundation — and the Global Occult Coalition, with its Type Blues — have fallen so far behind every other set of occult practitioners behind the Veil. We're not willing to admit what we are. We're afraid of sounding silly, suspicious of majesty, repelled by whimsy. Those we oppose are not held back by such hang-ups. They're honest with themselves, and with us. We could learn a lot from that.
I'm not proposing we rename acroamatic abatement to 'magic gunk treatment'. I'm not suggesting we all start wearing pointed hats. But it does seem to me like this identity crisis is just a symptom of a wider malaise of self-denial within the Foundation. We keep a straight face in the face of the world's nonsense, as though we're afraid that if we acknowledge the absurdity, we'll be dragged down to its level. We pave over the paradisiacal beauty of creation with our clinical coldness, because we believe…
Ah. Well, that's a problem.
We hide behind euphemism and complication because we believe that gives us power over the things we describe. The more sterile our terminology, the stronger we feel. And that's not right, is it? We're only lying to each other. Our authority is only a blind. We're cowering behind it. And if the things we're observing suddenly turn on us, we won't be prepared to fight back, or even to run, because we'll be too caught up in the web of tangled frameworks we've built around ourselves to even move.
Our failure to acknowledge our true selves might feel like a warm blanket, but it's actually a cocoon. We'll need to break out of it, if we're going to evolve.
If we're not going to evolve, we're simply going to die. And if the magic were to die with us?
I can conceive of no greater crime.
[[>]]
-- Dr. Udo Okorie, //The Talented You//
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[[div class="wettle"]]
[clever introduction goes here]
And that's just the beginning! Your exciting career in Replication Studies will take you from one end of science to the other. You didn't know that science has ends? Well, it does! It ends right where the last unproven studies are sitting. Until they're proven, the frontier can't be pushed further. That's what we do. We show that the guesses our colleagues have made — they call them 'hypotheses', because nobody likes telling their family they //guess// for a living — are potentially right, or definitely wrong. Until we've done that, nothing in all the fancy journals in the world can be fairly called knowledge. It's just theorizing and hearsay.
You will be mocked for treading in the footsteps of others. You will be mocked for retracing your own steps. You will not be respected, because they will say that all you do is cover the same ground, over and over, and never deviate from the course by a single inch.
And you will explain to them, as only you can — because only you can be said to have ever really proven a single thing! —that //that is how paths are made//.
We are the layers of the roads that lead to the future. That's a pretty good consolation for having to constantly reiterate the past, don't you think?
[[>]]
-- Dr. William Wettle, //Replication Studies: Replication Studies//
[[/>]]
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[[div class="ibanez"]]
I'm an atheist.
That means something different at the Foundation. We know fully well that gods exist. I once kicked one in her face, and watched her choke to death on her own fucking nose. Searching the word 'religious' on SCiPnet gives almost five hundred results, and that number is only so low because most of the world's god-litter hasn't yet been researched well enough to justify opening a full file. Theology and Teleology tell me that there's enough material on objects and persons emitting or consuming Akiva radiation, the body odour of the gods, to fill an entire parallel database. Gods exist, and I am painfully aware of this fact, just as some of them are even more painfully aware that I do.
But that doesn't mean I have to //believe// in them.
I have colleagues — HR has asked me to remove all references to their names — who I can see with my own eyes, but don't believe in. I don't believe in much, actually. You won't catch me looking up at the stars and dreaming about powers beyond my ken. If they want my attention, they can come down here and explain themselves to me. If they're not going to make the effort, then why should I?
But this creates a complication, in my field. Because I have it on good authority, though this is also not something I would ever waste my own time confirming, that the word 'sacrifice' means 'to make something sacred'. And I am in the business of sacrifice.
My family is dead. My village is dead. A great many of my friends have died since then. I wouldn't say that any of them were sacrificed; I would say that they were murdered, butchered, and sometimes defiled. But I have sacrificed on their behalf. I have sacrificed the memory of what was done to them, and my all-consuming desire to avenge. I have sacrificed the part of me that wants to break down and cry at each memory of injustice, wasteful hatred and pointless destruction. I have sacrificed my own suffering. I hold all of these things as sacred, and I have burnt them all to cinders, as an offering to one ideal.
That we are ourselves in the image of gods, and burdened with all the responsibility that brings.
We could scour the Earth of life. We could change the way every living human being thinks. We could put them all in cages, or turn them against each other. They are objectively subject to our whims. We've learned more than enough in the past hundred years to treat this planet, and all its multiversal permutations, like a sandbox at our feet. I could burn my footprint into every bad actor who ever lived, and make them know that it was mine, and make them know what they did to deserve it.
But I won't. Not precisely.
Because the capacity to do a thing, if it's a bad thing, comes with the responsibility not to. Because you can't solve a systemic problem by killing everyone who makes it worse. Because if something is sacred to you, you're supposed to take it seriously. Don't use it as an excuse to fulfill your most sadomasochistic impulses. Don't use it to punish yourself. Don't use it as justification for going on a tear.
There are always people in this world who need to die. I've killed a lot of them. I'm going to kill a whole lot more.
But I'm going to be able to explain, when it's done, why I did it.
Name me a single god who can do the same.
[[>]]
-- Chief Delfina Ibanez, reflective journal
[[/>]]
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[[div class="lillihammer"]]
I remember everything.
Nobody's supposed to remember everything. The human brain is the best discriminating machine in the world. It can select and discard the information in its reach at speeds faster than lightning, using all manner of nested and interacting criteria. The only limit on our capacity for understanding is the inevitable wear and tear of age. For a time, we are all capable of turning the things we remember into the things our children, and their children, will remember even more strongly.
But it's no blessing to have your entire past be an open book. Every brilliant insight, every moment of magic, every tender memory is made the equal of every slight, every mundane event, every tragedy. If I quit my job today and moved to Hollywood, I would instantly become the world's most famous actress, because I can make myself feel any emotion just by running through the right suite of memories. (Plus, I'm just that gorgeous.) I can feel the way I felt every time I wanted to smack someone, or kiss someone, or that most rare of all things for me, be more like someone. It's all there. And I can state with certainty that the reason the rest of you don't have this power, the reason it doesn't come standard, is that most of the things that happen to you over the course of your life, suck.
There are plenty of memories I would be happy to part with. I would love to forget the spiders, for example. I could make do with an edited version of my whole life up until around the turn of the millennium, and then a less comprehensively but even more selectively edited version of what came after. But if you gave me that opportunity, I think I would have to hate you for it, because I'd have to let it pass.
Because my memories, good and bad, are what make me who I am. And I like who I am. The bad things that have happened have made me better. The good things… have made me better, too. There must be some sort of experiential converter nestled deep in the human psyche, to achieve that remarkable effect. If you let it, it will turn even your worst moments into energy, or armour, or fascinating personality quirks. I'll never know whether I would want what I want, love what I love, or hate what I hate, if I didn't have six different versions of me competing for space in this single, admittedly very large and impressive, framework.
My best friend tells me he put this idea in my head when he made me watch //Star Trek V// fifty years ago. I refuse to believe that I learned anything from //Star Trek V.//
The seven of us who endured the variegated horrors of the five SCP-5243 deadlines went through hell, and came back, and were baked into something more solid and firm by the flames. I've always had the impression that the others felt that time was wasted. That they gained nothing. That because they forgot what had happened, it essentially //hadn't.//
But I remember every single thing I ever saw any of them do, across six very different worlds, in the most trying and transformational times of their entire lives.
And I have no explanation for how this might work, at least not one I could prove, and then kick down the ladder to Wettle for replication.
But I can state with absolute certainty — and given my unique mental chemistry, my absolute certainty is worlds more absolute than any other — that there was nothing at all wasteful about our years in the pressure cooker. That in some way, the incredible things my friends did in there have informed the incredible people they are today. That some intangible element of their persistent personhoods, having once crossed a boundary none may cross, found a way to cross back over again.
They are the memories of all their past selves. Their character is what every possible version of themselves did in the dark.
And I am privileged to have known them, in all their multiversal multitude.
[[>]]
-- Dr. Lillian Lillihammer, //Words, and How to Break Them//
[[/>]]
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[[div class="nascimbeni"]]
Machines aren't substitutes for people.
It isn't a question of making better machines. If a thing can do a job better than a person, you should be finding better people instead, or better yet, making them yourself. I'm not talking about clones. I'm talking about training, and keeping the people you train supplied with the best tools money can buy. The best, not the most expensive. A lot of managers don't know there's a difference between those two things, because their bosses should have found better people, too.
A workplace is only as good as its workers. They're not only as good as their training and tools, but there's definitely a multiplier involved. The thing is, a cash investment can get you good manuals and equipment, but only investing your time and energy can get you good people. That's why so many managers would rather replace the human element with something they can plug and play, and then forget.
But machines get worse with use. The most amazing thing about human beings is that they only get better. They're self-upgrading. They produce their own replacements. They iterate on themselves. They make each other better. By the time you've got machines that can do all that, you haven't got machines at all, but humans made out of nuts and bolts. And humans, flesh and blood, will have invented them. A machine wouldn't know where to start, because machines don't dream. People do.
Sometimes, like me, they dream about machines. But it's not so that some day they won't have to work anymore, at least, not usually. We dream about machines because they can help us do more, faster, better and on a larger scale. Be the best possible versions of ourselves. Spend more time on the things that elevate us as a species.
I don't want a machine to do everything for me. I want to putter around tightening rivets, or shifting bags of concrete powder, or sometimes even sweeping a floor. Because that's how we know that the world is real. That's how we know our environments, the spaces we make in our images, and when we commune with them through productive work, we come to know ourselves.
Never give up on your people. They will surprise you. They will love you. They may even some day save you. But most important of all, they are you. All of us are rowing a single boat across a long lake, even if we can't always agree which direction the shore is in. The experience would not be improved if you replaced the rowers with a diesel engine. It's not about //getting there// at all costs. It's not about being //done.// There is nothing in the world that is sadder than an ending! Nothing happens after.
The destination doesn't matter. Most of us won't see it. But we'll take the ride together, even though almost everyone has to get off eventually, because it's the journey that makes the difference. It's the journey that changes you. If you haven't changed, it's because you haven't gone anywhere, and vice versa. If you're never going to go and see it for yourself, there might as well not be a shore at all. Anything worth knowing is worth discovering in person.
In the simplest terms, people are machines for learning about themselves. And in a pinch, they're the only machines you'll ever really need.
[[>]]
-- Noè Nascimbeni, memorandum to the new Chief of Janitorial and Maintenance
[[/>]]
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[[div class="muddle"]]
How do we get out of this hole we've dug ourselves into?
It isn't ours. The home we've built here certainly is, and it's sunk so far out of sight that it's unlikely to trouble any lingering spirits or creatures of myth that might still be hanging about, in the absence of the peoples they were once tethered to. But things out of sight and out of mind still have the capacity to harm, as the parable of the geistschreiber amply demonstrates. The land above Site-43 was stolen from human beings, and their descendants may only rarely descend to witness its hallowed halls. That the Site which defiles the subterrane of Ipperwash Park has been sanctified by blood further complicates the picture. It is a symbol of imposition — and why not? The SCP Foundation is no stranger to acts of callous will — and a symbol of sacrifice, too. It is a nation and an organization in microcosm. It is a parcel of unresolved contradictions.
It is also a living, working environment, and as such it is constantly changing. It is old enough to have shuttered wings (two of them, only one of which has ever exploded), and new enough to have recently opened ones. It replaces its skin cells (the protective membranes and sheathing) and its capillaries (the personnel pool) no more or less rapidly than does a human body. It has wrinkles and battle scars and stretch marks and analogues to all the other eccentricities of age. It did not choose the manner of its birth, and it has been shaped by considerations often alien to those who signed its birth certificate. These anthropomorphic musings lead us back to the question which opened this final discursion: whither Site-43?
It has stood, or rather crouched in the shadows, for eighty years. A generation. Three generations have lived, worked, and sometimes died in its borne. It belongs to all of them, but they cannot be all consulted on its fate. Neither can the evictees who made unwilling way for its construction, and it's an open question whether they would prefer it to make way for them in turn; given a choice between the SCP Foundation and the Canadian federal government, the Chippewas of Kettle Point would find themselves, like us, between a rock and a hard place. There exists no pat, easy answer to this conundrum.
[[>]]
-- Dr. Harold Blank, //Lines in a Muddle: A Cultural History of Site-43//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
He tabbed over to the other file. It was no different from any other keystroke, but she must have sensed it anyway, because there she was again. At his shoulder, and leaning over. Her breath on his neck, her pulse in his ears. Both of them reading the words they had written together.
[[div class="lines"]]
The world has been saved from this location, many times. It has also been threatened. In other worlds, Site-43 has been both epicentre of apocalypse and last redoubt of humanity's ragged remainder. It has known a drama unlike any other on this Earth, or others like it. It has been an active player in that drama, whilst simultaneously the stage.
But it is more than even that. It is an ethos, and a telos too: a promise to do better each tomorrow than was done today, an ideal to which others might aspire. Were all the Foundation like Site-43, the world might be a kinder, gentler place. Or perhaps it would already have ended entirely. There is no easy means to test either theory.
The passing of the years will test them both, a strenuous trial for all involved. Will the humanistic concerns first expressed by Vivian Scout, Wynn Rydderech and Ilse Reynders thrive in the light above, or die down here in the dark? Will the worst fears of Izaak Okorie, Arik Euler and Ilse Reynders again be proven prescient, or will their selfless examples set the tone for an era of service to humanity? Or will the reality fall somewhere in between, fall short of the potential inhabiting this historical moment, trading dreams and nightmares for an endless night far less fanciful, less pregnant with meaning, less ripe with possibility?
That will not be defined by the shape of Site-43. Not the length of its halls, the depth of its foundations or the breadth of its superstructure. It will be defined by people, the people who have already defined the shape of the place which has done so much to shape them, their experiences and their options for further growth. It might be that these people are able to craft a compromise that satisfies all of the above considerations: the demands of history, practicality, humanity, and justice. It might be that they can resolve the contradictions inherent in our duty to secure, contain, and protect. It might even be that they can find an answer to the question which ended the previous volume, and will frame all the content of the next: where do we go from here?
It may transpire that we go no further.
It may even transpire that we turn back.
From where we now stand, we can see no clear road ahead.
[[>]]
-- Drs. Harold Blank and Melissa Bradbury, "Forward,"
in //Crossing the Lines: Subverting Common Practice at Site-43//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
She began murmuring in his ear. He transcribed without missing a beat, or a single syllable. When she paused, he murmured back. She nodded, and the touch was nearly as electric as the words.
"But it is our opinion that together, we will nevertheless find a way to move forward, as always so far we have. Despite danger and darkness, in euphoric and triumphant //spite// of the threat of despair. And that when we have taken that path, others will follow behind, or better, walk alongside. And that there will be no destination, only the endless drive into the unknown, which will make of us what we make of it, to the peril and profit of all."
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
It was a truth, at long last, far stranger than fiction.
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/59-the-foreseeable-future | previous-title=The Foreseeable Future
| next-url=/ | next-title=Fin
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/deadlined-hub | hub-title=The Breach Goes On: Deadlined
]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
[[<]]
Illustrations in this series use reference material created with DAZ studio. Images of the following characters utilized the following photographic references as well:
Ilse Reynders: "Practicing that blank stare" and "Quinn working" by Quinn Dombrowski, both released CC BY-SA 2.0: https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/3608370529 https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/1509808028
Vivian Scout and Wynn Rydderech (p. 100, 325, 456, 547, 626, 816): "State Electricity Commission, Group of Four Men, Victoria, May 1940,” two images, courtesy State Electricity Commission of Australia, public domain:
https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547629
https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1547640
Vivian Scout (p. 456, 626, 816) is additionally based on "Photograph - Presentation of Phar Lap's Melbourne Cup, Flemington Racecourse, Victoria, 4 Nov 1930," courtesy Museums Victoria, in the public domain: https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1742444
> **Filename:** Everything!
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-10-11T00:23:00
|
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Underlogue - SCP Foundation
| 42
|
[
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[
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/60-underlogue
|
|
a-betamax-suicide-note
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
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<p>SOMMES-NOUS DEVENUS MAGNIFIQUES?</p>
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<p style="text-align: center;">Monarchs and Maestros - Chapter 3</p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;">⚠️ <strong>Content Warning:</strong> Body horror, gore, depiction and discussion of suicide.</p>
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<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/montagueetc">▸ More by this Author ◂</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;">⚠️ content warning ↑</p>
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<p>A Betamax Suicide Note</p>
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<p><a href="/monarchs-and-maestros">Monarchs and Maestros Hub</a> » A Betamax Suicide Note</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h2 id="toc0"><span>April 4th, 2005</span></h2>
<h3 id="toc1"><span><a href="/locations-of-interest#backdoor-soho">Backdoor SoHo</a></span></h3>
</div>
<p>Secreted away in her private workshop, The Builder was assembling a living collage.</p>
<p>It was female and bare-chested, breasts supplanted by the lawn mower engine she'd shoved through its sternum. Its hair was tangled copper wire, its arms were absences, and its torso, centauresque, smoothly extended from the far side of a 18th-century mahogany table. The skin and muscle of the left side of its stomach had been pulled back like the hood of a car, exposing its steaming organs to the afternoon light.</p>
<p>The Builder frowned and squinted into the meat of it. High school anatomy really didn't prepare you for how much <em>stuff</em> there was in people. It was beautiful, in a way. Red and white wrapped around bursts of glistening, vivid color. Yes, it was beautiful. And really goddamn tricky to work with. The Builder reached backward with a wooden arm, puppet-jointed and goreslick. With her sleeves rolled all the way up, you could see the line where the geometry of her prostheses met with the scarred flesh of her forearms.</p>
<p>"Pliers," she said. Her assistant, a quiet, young man with a violently violet crew cut named Aubergine, passed her the pliers. She reached in and, untroubled by viscera, pushed aside a bit of intestine with one hand to fret at the delicate machinery she'd installed inside. When she twisted a bit of metal about, the collage opened solid black eyes and made a sound like birdsong crossed with a chainsaw's roar. The Builder's frown deepened.</p>
<p>A tall, dark woman wearing stylish clothes and a pale mask was watching her work. She was lounging on a nearby table saw, leaned against it casually with her hand placed dangerously close to the blade.</p>
<p>She said, "Try turning that counterclockwise."</p>
<p>The Builder turned the pliers counterclockwise. This time, when the collage's eyes opened they were solid white, and it made no sound at all. It still wasn't the response she was looking for, but it was a marked improvement.</p>
<p>This sort of work — biomechanical collaging, amateur experimental surgery, an abomination against God and nature, whatever you wanted to call it — had never been The Director's field of expertise. She'd always been best at providing guidance. Management. <em>Direction.</em> It was why she was there.</p>
<p>At the start, The Director had told their bright-eyed volunteer to <tt>stay alive</tt>. So long as she was nearby and didn't give it a new direction, the collage wouldn't die on The Builder's table. Which was good, because she hardly remembered anything from high school anatomy.</p>
<p>The Builder held an organ — <em>a kidney, maybe?</em> — to the light. "Does this look important to you?" she asked.</p>
<img alt="dotted-line-brown.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/a-betamax-suicide-note/dotted-line-brown.png"/>
<p>She was still wrist-deep in its guts and about to finish — <em>not</em> an innuendo, thanks — when the workshop's buzzer sounded. The Builder wiped the back of her hand against her forehead, carelessly smearing red blood into the black of her cropped hair, the bronze of her skin.</p>
<p>"Can you go downstairs and get the door?" she asked. Aubergine nodded and started picking his way through the half-finished projects that littered her workspace.</p>
<p>The Director tilted her head quizzically, her mask's expression a coy, black-lipped smile. "Expecting more company?"</p>
<p>"It's The Janitor." The Builder carefully picked up a suture needle with her lacquered fingertips and began stitching the artpiece closed. "I had it collect some weird bones for the collage. I'm surprised it got them all so quickly."</p>
<p>"Hm." The Director drummed her fingers on the sawblade's edge, restless and uninjured. The Builder knew how sharp these things could be. "That thing has upsetting wrists. It's dangerous."</p>
<p>The Builder spared The Director an appraising glance. "I keep forgetting how recently you joined," she said. "If I were you? I wouldn't worry about it. The Janitor's designed to be harmless to us."</p>
<p>"Designed," echoed The Director. "The rumors are true, then?"</p>
<p>For as long as there'd been an art movement associated with the letters A, W, C, and Y, there had always been a Critic. And as long as there'd been a Critic, there'd been an clique within the clique, an inner circle of anartists handpicked by the Critic of their time to lead the community to greater heights. It was a paradox that a group like theirs would have such an ingrained, unquestionable hierarchy at its core — but then, paradoxes had always been part of the point.</p>
<p>Little was known about the first Critic, that mad iconoclast who started it all. Even his name and face had been forgotten by time. Even his body of work — every piece of art he'd ever made — was lost. Every piece but one.</p>
<p>"Depends on the rumor," The Builder said cryptically. "Not that I'd know."</p>
<p>Two men entered the room. It was Aubergine and someone that wasn't The Janitor. He looked like an oversized dandelion seed; pale and gangly, with a big brown afro. The man carried a well-loved sketchbook under one arm and was holding a video tape with the other.</p>
<p>In lieu of greeting, he wiped a smidge of indigo paint from the corner of his mouth and asked, "Where's your Betamax player?"</p>
<p>"Nice to see you too, Painter." The Builder's gaze didn't stray from her work as she knotted the suture closed. "I think I left it in the junk pile. What do you need it for?"</p>
<p>"The Clipper sent me this tape he found. I hear it's killer stuff. Barely anyone's seen it yet."</p>
<p>"Don't tell me it's another snuff film. Those are getting old."</p>
<p>"It's… not <em>not</em> a snuff film."</p>
<p>The Director pushed herself up to full standing, leaning heavily on the sawblade. "Don't you already have a Betamax?" she asked.</p>
<p>The Critic, they all knew, was a little obsessed with the VHS's less-successful sibling. Whenever someone joined the "inner circle" he'd give them a Betamax player along with their definitive article. In a far corner of the chamber, The Painter was already pawing through a pile of discarded objects. A bag of nails, a partially-disassembled blowtorch, an inside-out Furby — each was cast aside as he searched.</p>
<p>The Painter ducked his head and muttered, "Sold it to an analog witch. It's gone." The Director and The Builder shared a knowing look.</p>
<p>The Builder grinned. "It's full of paint, isn't it? I keep telling you acrylics aren't a good recording medium, man."</p>
<p>"FOUND IT," said The Painter, overloud. He lifted a battered Betamax player from the pile. "SO. Where's your TV?"</p>
<p>"Under the couch."</p>
<p>Aubergine said, "I'll get it."</p>
<p>As The Painter and Aubergine went about unrolling and inflating her television, The Builder wiped her hands clean of gore, fingers clacking like drumsticks. She looked at the collage. It wasn't finished yet, but it was getting close. Soon, The Janitor would be arriving with a bundle of bones — strange bones, long and flexible, from animals without names. She was going to attach them to the collage's temples and fan them out like antlers, like TV antennae. The bones would take in whatever signals they touched and coalesce them together into obscure clusters in its chest, then sink them down to burn in the pit of its stomach. Sound and fire beneath its skin, illuminating it from the inside.</p>
<p>Across the room, The Painter pushed the Betamax tape into place. The inflatable television burst to life.</p>
<div class="blockquote" style="border: 4px solid #4D3A28;">
<p>A title card, in comic sans: <em>LES TITRES SEMBLENT PLUS SIGNIFIANT EN FRANÇAIS</em></p>
<p>The recording opens on an empty stage, lights dimmed. The susurrus of an audience, out-of-frame, runs beneath.</p>
<p>Lights go up. The theater quiets. The viewer now sees a huge canvas laid across the back wall, end to end. A woman enters, stage right. She is wearing a white sleeveless dress. Her hair is long and unbraided. It is difficult to describe her further; the poor video quality abstracts her body. Her face is an indistinct haze. She bows once to the audience, dipping her head low, and begins.</p>
<p>The woman turns and extends her arm, palm outstretched. A long, thin tendril of skin peels off her arm, twisting languidly through the air, unbloodied. The tendril melts into the canvas, leaving behind a beige coil on its surface. Her arm twists and more thin tendrils of skin peel away. She sweeps out her leg, foot pointed like a ballerina, and tendrils curve out of this part of her, too. She continues on like this, moving through a strange, slow dance, bits of skin gently pulling away in some impossible breeze to become pigment.</p>
<p>Then she starts to bleed.</p>
<p>She doesn't falter, at first. Her blood flows, yes, but it flows up. Ribbons of blood follow ribbons of flesh in elongated helixes, introducing shades of crimson to the canvas. Her dress remains clean and unmarked, even as new wounds open like flowers across her body.</p>
<p>The painting that forms on the canvas is difficult to make sense of, splotchy and impressionistic. But something is growing there, in the empty spaces, an image in the process of being born. The woman stumbles for the first time and a single mote of red stains the edge of her dress.</p>
<p>She stumbles again. And again. Her movements grow less refined, overtaken by a split-open, frantic energy. Graceful ribbons become urgent splatters and splashes. She nearly falls and throws an entire finger, popping it against the canvas like a water balloon. Blood seeps through her dress.</p>
<p>In the thick grain of the video, her face is unreadable. Perhaps she holds an expression of serene acceptance, or perhaps hers is pained and ugly. In this way, she too becomes a canvas. The viewer paints emotion on to her.</p>
<p>Bleeding profusely and missing chunks of herself, the woman reaches her limit. She stumbles, stumbles, then topples like an overturned tree, collapsing into a pool of her heart's own blood. She is dead. Her painting is unfinished. The audience erupts into ecstatic applause.</p>
<p>Cut to black.</p>
<p>After several moments of nothingness, the screen says: <em><a href="/are-we-cool-yet-hub">SOMMES-NOUS DEVENUS MAGNIFIQUES?</a></em></p>
</div>
<p>Once it was clear that nothing was left on the tape, Aubergine switched off the television and yanked out the plug. It made a pitiful little whistling sound as it began to deflate, slumping over to one side. The Builder's assistant flopped back onto the ratty couch, around which the group had congregated to watch the sanguine performance. The Painter sniffed noisily and swabbed away little dribbles of turquoise paint from his tear ducts.</p>
<p>"That was beautiful," he said, voice cracking like splintered wood.</p>
<p>"Yeah," agreed The Builder. "Like something from a Mónica Rojas <a href="/sarkicism-hub">fleshcrafting</a> exhibition."</p>
<p>"That was such a load of <em>horseshit</em>," retorted The Director. Both of The Builder's eyebrows shot up. She'd never heard The Director speak so acrimoniously — the other woman always seemed so in control of her emotions. Beneath her ever-smiling mask, The Director's arms were crossed, fists clenched in opposite sleeves.</p>
<p>"Damn," said The Painter. "Who pissed in your paint mug?"</p>
<p>"That video," snapped The Director, "was a slap in our collective face. The exact kind of petty garbage I've come to expect from— Only <em>Ruiz Duchamp</em> would try to win an argument by <em>killing herself</em>."</p>
<p>Aubergine leaned close to The Builder and whispered, "Is this going to go on for a while?"</p>
<p>"Our discussions tend to," The Builder replied honestly.</p>
<p>"I'll go get lunch, then. You want me to pick you up anything?"</p>
<p>"Can you grab me a bag of woodchips? I've been craving them all day."</p>
<p>"Sure."</p>
<p>The Builder's eyes automatically tracked Aubergine's route through the debris of the workshop as he departed — he was getting better at navigating the space. Soon, she wouldn't have to worry about her assistant getting himself horribly maimed; this was very good news.</p>
<p>It was then, when she was turning back to the conversation, that she noticed it: a number of long and ancient bones had been carefully, precariously stacked like an inverted house of cards on top of the Betamax player. She hadn't noticed it before. None of them had. Someone had walked in and painstakingly arranged the bones right in front of their eyes without being perceived.</p>
<p>The Builder smothered the urge to look about herself. She knew it'd be useless.</p>
<p>The Director was saying, "—went to theater school together. We had a lot of arguments about what artists owe to their art, among other things. Didn't get along."</p>
<p>"You still haven't explained why Duchamp's video has you so riled up," interjected The Builder.</p>
<p>The Director pressed her fingertips to her mask's forehead, as if attempting to massage her temples through the pallid shell of it. "Did Duchamp do anything to the tape? Any kind of exploit to keep it from being copied?"</p>
<p>"Something like that," nodded The Painter. "Clipper told me he tried to make a digital version for his personal library and it bluescreened his laptop. How'd you know?"</p>
<p>"Because this tape is targeted at <em>us</em> — at The Critic, his well-documented Betamax fixation, and everyone directly associated with him. It's a statement, directly addressed to the anartist community: she's saying that she's more dedicated to her art than we are. More willing to give everything for it — because now she <em>has</em>."</p>
<p>"So, what," said The Builder. "She's saying 'I'm a truer artist because I hurt myself instead of other people'? What does it matter? Pain is pain, no matter the source."</p>
<p>"Uh." The Painter plucked a thin paintbrush from somewhere in his hair to scratch at the inside of his ear. "I think she was saying she's got more personal commitment — and artists like us don't have nearly enough."</p>
<p>"Exactly," gritted out The Director. "As if living a long life and devoting it — all of it — to art isn't meaningful. As if dying isn't <em>easy</em>. Anyone can do it. People kill themselves every day. She's not special."</p>
<p><strong>AND YOU ARE?</strong></p>
<p>Everyone turned. The slumbering TV had rewoken, blaring electric blue as it righted itself, still unplugged, before them. There were words on the screen, and a voice was behind them. A woman's voice, stretched across the rack of static until it became something cacophonous, inhuman. A radio scream. The tower of bones wobbled, unsettled.</p>
<p><strong>DOES HURTING PEOPLE MAKE YOU SPECIAL? DOES IT MAKE YOUR ART REAL?</strong></p>
<p>"Did you turn the TV back on?"</p>
<p>"Girl, you know I didn't—"</p>
<p><strong>BECAUSE IT DOESN'T. YOU'RE NOT SPECIAL.</strong></p>
<p>"Well, turn it off! Jesus, my <em>ears</em>—"</p>
<p><strong>YOU'RE NOT A REAL ARTIST.</strong></p>
<p><em>"I'm trying!"</em></p>
<p><strong>AND YOU'RE NOT COOL.</strong></p>
<p><tt>"BE QUIET!"</tt></p>
<p>The television collapsed in on itself, silenced by The Director's command and exhaling stale air. For a fraction of a moment, the room was suffocatingly silent. Time stretched. Then the bones came thundering to the ground.</p>
<img alt="dotted-line-brown.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/a-betamax-suicide-note/dotted-line-brown.png"/>
<p>The man the SoHo anart community knew as Aubergine slouched in an alleyway and plugged a number he knew by heart into his burner phone.</p>
<p>"Agent Tangerine, reporting," he said. "I found Duchamp." He paused. "Dead, sir." Pause. "Not sure. I saw a video of the event, not an actual body. It didn't say when it was recorded." Pause. "No, sir. Going by the reactions, I'm sure it was real. These people would know if it was a hoax." Pause. "Best case scenario? We probably have a week or so until shit hits the fan. Worst case could be hours. And this is just a hunch, but—" He looked up. Storm clouds were gathering over Backdoor SoHo, bearing down on the city like colossal anvils waiting to fall. "It's going to be a bad one. I can feel it."</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<p><a href="/">To Be Continued</a></p>
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<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<p>Cite this page as:</p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/a-betamax-suicide-note">A Betamax Suicide Note</a>" by MontagueETC, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-betamax-suicide-note">https://scpwiki.com/a-betamax-suicide-note</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> ABPN-Thumbnail.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/montagueetc" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5525011); return false;"><img alt="MontagueETC" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=5525011&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043869" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=5525011)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/montagueetc" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5525011); return false;">MontagueETC</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Derivative of:</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> ED-Beta-Recordclip.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> tpemail<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:ED-Beta-Recordclip.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> dotted-line-brown.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/montagueetc" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5525011); return false;"><img alt="MontagueETC" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=5525011&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043869" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=5525011)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/montagueetc" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5525011); return false;">MontagueETC</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Derivative of:</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Scissors<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <a href="https://thenounproject.com/alexander.wiefel/">Alexander Wiefel</a><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://thenounproject.com/icon/scissors-50641/">The Noun Project</a></p>
</blockquote>
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</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=SOMMES-NOUS DEVENUS MAGNIFIQUES?
]]
=====
[[div style="display: none;"]]
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a>
| name=ABSN-Thumbnail.png
| caption=THUMBNAIL
| width=100%
| align=center]]
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:much-cool">:scp-wiki:theme:much-cool</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:toggle-sidebar">:scp-wiki:component:toggle-sidebar</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:fade-in">:scp-wiki:component:fade-in</a> speed=1]]
[[module css]]
#page-content .info-container {
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.meta-title{
border-color: #4D3A28;
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[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-ayers">:scp-wiki:component:info-ayers</a>
|lang=en
|page=a-betamax-suicide-note
|authorPage=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/montagueetc
|comments=
= Monarchs and Maestros - Chapter 3
----
= ⚠️ **Content Warning:** Body horror, gore, depiction and discussion of suicide.
]]
= ⚠️ content warning ↑
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[=]]
[[div class="meta-title"]]
A Betamax Suicide Note
[[/div]]
[[div class="pseudocrumbs"]]
[[[monarchs-and-maestros|Monarchs and Maestros Hub]]] >> A Betamax Suicide Note
[[/div]]
@@ @@
++ April 4th, 2005
+++ [[[/locations-of-interest#backdoor-soho | Backdoor SoHo]]]
[[/=]]
Secreted away in her private workshop, The Builder was assembling a living collage.
It was female and bare-chested, breasts supplanted by the lawn mower engine she'd shoved through its sternum. Its hair was tangled copper wire, its arms were absences, and its torso, centauresque, smoothly extended from the far side of a 18th-century mahogany table. The skin and muscle of the left side of its stomach had been pulled back like the hood of a car, exposing its steaming organs to the afternoon light.
The Builder frowned and squinted into the meat of it. High school anatomy really didn't prepare you for how much //stuff// there was in people. It was beautiful, in a way. Red and white wrapped around bursts of glistening, vivid color. Yes, it was beautiful. And really goddamn tricky to work with. The Builder reached backward with a wooden arm, puppet-jointed and goreslick. With her sleeves rolled all the way up, you could see the line where the geometry of her prostheses met with the scarred flesh of her forearms.
"Pliers," she said. Her assistant, a quiet, young man with a violently violet crew cut named Aubergine, passed her the pliers. She reached in and, untroubled by viscera, pushed aside a bit of intestine with one hand to fret at the delicate machinery she'd installed inside. When she twisted a bit of metal about, the collage opened solid black eyes and made a sound like birdsong crossed with a chainsaw's roar. The Builder's frown deepened.
A tall, dark woman wearing stylish clothes and a pale mask was watching her work. She was lounging on a nearby table saw, leaned against it casually with her hand placed dangerously close to the blade.
She said, "Try turning that counterclockwise."
The Builder turned the pliers counterclockwise. This time, when the collage's eyes opened they were solid white, and it made no sound at all. It still wasn't the response she was looking for, but it was a marked improvement.
This sort of work -- biomechanical collaging, amateur experimental surgery, an abomination against God and nature, whatever you wanted to call it -- had never been The Director's field of expertise. She'd always been best at providing guidance. Management. //Direction.// It was why she was there.
At the start, The Director had told their bright-eyed volunteer to {{stay alive}}. So long as she was nearby and didn't give it a new direction, the collage wouldn't die on The Builder's table. Which was good, because she hardly remembered anything from high school anatomy.
The Builder held an organ -- //a kidney, maybe?// -- to the light. "Does this look important to you?" she asked.
[[image dotted-line-brown.png]]
She was still wrist-deep in its guts and about to finish -- //not// an innuendo, thanks -- when the workshop's buzzer sounded. The Builder wiped the back of her hand against her forehead, carelessly smearing red blood into the black of her cropped hair, the bronze of her skin.
"Can you go downstairs and get the door?" she asked. Aubergine nodded and started picking his way through the half-finished projects that littered her workspace.
The Director tilted her head quizzically, her mask's expression a coy, black-lipped smile. "Expecting more company?"
"It's The Janitor." The Builder carefully picked up a suture needle with her lacquered fingertips and began stitching the artpiece closed. "I had it collect some weird bones for the collage. I'm surprised it got them all so quickly."
"Hm." The Director drummed her fingers on the sawblade's edge, restless and uninjured. The Builder knew how sharp these things could be. "That thing has upsetting wrists. It's dangerous."
The Builder spared The Director an appraising glance. "I keep forgetting how recently you joined," she said. "If I were you? I wouldn't worry about it. The Janitor's designed to be harmless to us."
"Designed," echoed The Director. "The rumors are true, then?"
For as long as there'd been an art movement associated with the letters A, W, C, and Y, there had always been a Critic. And as long as there'd been a Critic, there'd been an clique within the clique, an inner circle of anartists handpicked by the Critic of their time to lead the community to greater heights. It was a paradox that a group like theirs would have such an ingrained, unquestionable hierarchy at its core -- but then, paradoxes had always been part of the point.
Little was known about the first Critic, that mad iconoclast who started it all. Even his name and face had been forgotten by time. Even his body of work -- every piece of art he'd ever made -- was lost. Every piece but one.
"Depends on the rumor," The Builder said cryptically. "Not that I'd know."
Two men entered the room. It was Aubergine and someone that wasn't The Janitor. He looked like an oversized dandelion seed; pale and gangly, with a big brown afro. The man carried a well-loved sketchbook under one arm and was holding a video tape with the other.
In lieu of greeting, he wiped a smidge of indigo paint from the corner of his mouth and asked, "Where's your Betamax player?"
"Nice to see you too, Painter." The Builder's gaze didn't stray from her work as she knotted the suture closed. "I think I left it in the junk pile. What do you need it for?"
"The Clipper sent me this tape he found. I hear it's killer stuff. Barely anyone's seen it yet."
"Don't tell me it's another snuff film. Those are getting old."
"It's... not //not// a snuff film."
The Director pushed herself up to full standing, leaning heavily on the sawblade. "Don't you already have a Betamax?" she asked.
The Critic, they all knew, was a little obsessed with the VHS's less-successful sibling. Whenever someone joined the "inner circle" he'd give them a Betamax player along with their definitive article. In a far corner of the chamber, The Painter was already pawing through a pile of discarded objects. A bag of nails, a partially-disassembled blowtorch, an inside-out Furby -- each was cast aside as he searched.
The Painter ducked his head and muttered, "Sold it to an analog witch. It's gone." The Director and The Builder shared a knowing look.
The Builder grinned. "It's full of paint, isn't it? I keep telling you acrylics aren't a good recording medium, man."
"FOUND IT," said The Painter, overloud. He lifted a battered Betamax player from the pile. "SO. Where's your TV?"
"Under the couch."
Aubergine said, "I'll get it."
As The Painter and Aubergine went about unrolling and inflating her television, The Builder wiped her hands clean of gore, fingers clacking like drumsticks. She looked at the collage. It wasn't finished yet, but it was getting close. Soon, The Janitor would be arriving with a bundle of bones -- strange bones, long and flexible, from animals without names. She was going to attach them to the collage's temples and fan them out like antlers, like TV antennae. The bones would take in whatever signals they touched and coalesce them together into obscure clusters in its chest, then sink them down to burn in the pit of its stomach. Sound and fire beneath its skin, illuminating it from the inside.
Across the room, The Painter pushed the Betamax tape into place. The inflatable television burst to life.
[[div class="blockquote" style="border: 4px solid #4D3A28;"]]
A title card, in comic sans: //LES TITRES SEMBLENT PLUS SIGNIFIANT EN FRANÇAIS//
The recording opens on an empty stage, lights dimmed. The susurrus of an audience, out-of-frame, runs beneath.
Lights go up. The theater quiets. The viewer now sees a huge canvas laid across the back wall, end to end. A woman enters, stage right. She is wearing a white sleeveless dress. Her hair is long and unbraided. It is difficult to describe her further; the poor video quality abstracts her body. Her face is an indistinct haze. She bows once to the audience, dipping her head low, and begins.
The woman turns and extends her arm, palm outstretched. A long, thin tendril of skin peels off her arm, twisting languidly through the air, unbloodied. The tendril melts into the canvas, leaving behind a beige coil on its surface. Her arm twists and more thin tendrils of skin peel away. She sweeps out her leg, foot pointed like a ballerina, and tendrils curve out of this part of her, too. She continues on like this, moving through a strange, slow dance, bits of skin gently pulling away in some impossible breeze to become pigment.
Then she starts to bleed.
She doesn't falter, at first. Her blood flows, yes, but it flows up. Ribbons of blood follow ribbons of flesh in elongated helixes, introducing shades of crimson to the canvas. Her dress remains clean and unmarked, even as new wounds open like flowers across her body.
The painting that forms on the canvas is difficult to make sense of, splotchy and impressionistic. But something is growing there, in the empty spaces, an image in the process of being born. The woman stumbles for the first time and a single mote of red stains the edge of her dress.
She stumbles again. And again. Her movements grow less refined, overtaken by a split-open, frantic energy. Graceful ribbons become urgent splatters and splashes. She nearly falls and throws an entire finger, popping it against the canvas like a water balloon. Blood seeps through her dress.
In the thick grain of the video, her face is unreadable. Perhaps she holds an expression of serene acceptance, or perhaps hers is pained and ugly. In this way, she too becomes a canvas. The viewer paints emotion on to her.
Bleeding profusely and missing chunks of herself, the woman reaches her limit. She stumbles, stumbles, then topples like an overturned tree, collapsing into a pool of her heart's own blood. She is dead. Her painting is unfinished. The audience erupts into ecstatic applause.
Cut to black.
After several moments of nothingness, the screen says: //[[[are-we-cool-yet-hub | SOMMES-NOUS DEVENUS MAGNIFIQUES?]]]//
[[/div]]
Once it was clear that nothing was left on the tape, Aubergine switched off the television and yanked out the plug. It made a pitiful little whistling sound as it began to deflate, slumping over to one side. The Builder's assistant flopped back onto the ratty couch, around which the group had congregated to watch the sanguine performance. The Painter sniffed noisily and swabbed away little dribbles of turquoise paint from his tear ducts.
"That was beautiful," he said, voice cracking like splintered wood.
"Yeah," agreed The Builder. "Like something from a Mónica Rojas [[[sarkicism-hub | fleshcrafting]]] exhibition."
"That was such a load of //horseshit//," retorted The Director. Both of The Builder's eyebrows shot up. She'd never heard The Director speak so acrimoniously -- the other woman always seemed so in control of her emotions. Beneath her ever-smiling mask, The Director's arms were crossed, fists clenched in opposite sleeves.
"Damn," said The Painter. "Who pissed in your paint mug?"
"That video," snapped The Director, "was a slap in our collective face. The exact kind of petty garbage I've come to expect from-- Only //Ruiz Duchamp// would try to win an argument by //killing herself//."
Aubergine leaned close to The Builder and whispered, "Is this going to go on for a while?"
"Our discussions tend to," The Builder replied honestly.
"I'll go get lunch, then. You want me to pick you up anything?"
"Can you grab me a bag of woodchips? I've been craving them all day."
"Sure."
The Builder's eyes automatically tracked Aubergine's route through the debris of the workshop as he departed -- he was getting better at navigating the space. Soon, she wouldn't have to worry about her assistant getting himself horribly maimed; this was very good news.
It was then, when she was turning back to the conversation, that she noticed it: a number of long and ancient bones had been carefully, precariously stacked like an inverted house of cards on top of the Betamax player. She hadn't noticed it before. None of them had. Someone had walked in and painstakingly arranged the bones right in front of their eyes without being perceived.
The Builder smothered the urge to look about herself. She knew it'd be useless.
The Director was saying, "--went to theater school together. We had a lot of arguments about what artists owe to their art, among other things. Didn't get along."
"You still haven't explained why Duchamp's video has you so riled up," interjected The Builder.
The Director pressed her fingertips to her mask's forehead, as if attempting to massage her temples through the pallid shell of it. "Did Duchamp do anything to the tape? Any kind of exploit to keep it from being copied?"
"Something like that," nodded The Painter. "Clipper told me he tried to make a digital version for his personal library and it bluescreened his laptop. How'd you know?"
"Because this tape is targeted at //us// -- at The Critic, his well-documented Betamax fixation, and everyone directly associated with him. It's a statement, directly addressed to the anartist community: she's saying that she's more dedicated to her art than we are. More willing to give everything for it -- because now she //has//."
"So, what," said The Builder. "She's saying 'I'm a truer artist because I hurt myself instead of other people'? What does it matter? Pain is pain, no matter the source."
"Uh." The Painter plucked a thin paintbrush from somewhere in his hair to scratch at the inside of his ear. "I think she was saying she's got more personal commitment -- and artists like us don't have nearly enough."
"Exactly," gritted out The Director. "As if living a long life and devoting it -- all of it -- to art isn't meaningful. As if dying isn't //easy//. Anyone can do it. People kill themselves every day. She's not special."
**AND YOU ARE?**
Everyone turned. The slumbering TV had rewoken, blaring electric blue as it righted itself, still unplugged, before them. There were words on the screen, and a voice was behind them. A woman's voice, stretched across the rack of static until it became something cacophonous, inhuman. A radio scream. The tower of bones wobbled, unsettled.
**DOES HURTING PEOPLE MAKE YOU SPECIAL? DOES IT MAKE YOUR ART REAL?**
"Did you turn the TV back on?"
"Girl, you know I didn't--"
**BECAUSE IT DOESN'T. YOU'RE NOT SPECIAL.**
"Well, turn it off! Jesus, my //ears//--"
**YOU'RE NOT A REAL ARTIST.**
//"I'm trying!"//
**AND YOU'RE NOT COOL.**
{{"BE QUIET!"}}
The television collapsed in on itself, silenced by The Director's command and exhaling stale air. For a fraction of a moment, the room was suffocatingly silent. Time stretched. Then the bones came thundering to the ground.
[[image dotted-line-brown.png]]
The man the SoHo anart community knew as Aubergine slouched in an alleyway and plugged a number he knew by heart into his burner phone.
"Agent Tangerine, reporting," he said. "I found Duchamp." He paused. "Dead, sir." Pause. "Not sure. I saw a video of the event, not an actual body. It didn't say when it was recorded." Pause. "No, sir. Going by the reactions, I'm sure it was real. These people would know if it was a hoax." Pause. "Best case scenario? We probably have a week or so until shit hits the fan. Worst case could be hours. And this is just a hunch, but--" He looked up. Storm clouds were gathering over Backdoor SoHo, bearing down on the city like colossal anvils waiting to fall. "It's going to be a bad one. I can feel it."
@@ @@
[[=]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=/six-codas | previous-title=Six Codas
| next-url=/ | next-title=To Be Continued
| hub-url=/monarchs-and-maestros | hub-title=Monarchs and Maestros
]]
----
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:wikimodule">:scp-wiki:component:wikimodule</a> |normal= --]]]
----
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
> **Filename:** ABPN-Thumbnail.png
> **Author:** [[*user MontagueETC]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Derivative of:**
> ----
> **Name:** ED-Beta-Recordclip.jpg
> **Author:** tpemail
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** [[[https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:ED-Beta-Recordclip.jpg | Wikimedia Commons]]]
=====
> **Filename:** dotted-line-brown.png
> **Author:** [[*user MontagueETC]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Derivative of:**
> ----
> **Name:** Scissors
> **Author:** [[[https://thenounproject.com/alexander.wiefel/ | Alexander Wiefel]]]
> **License:** CC BY 3.0
> **Source Link:** [[[https://thenounproject.com/icon/scissors-50641/ | The Noun Project]]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-11-03T12:40:00
|
[
"are-we-cool-yet",
"backdoor-soho",
"body-horror",
"horror",
"ruiz-duchamp",
"tale"
] |
A Betamax Suicide Note - SCP Foundation
| 22
|
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"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/a-betamax-suicide-note/dotted-line-brown.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/a-betamax-suicide-note/dotted-line-brown.png"
] |
1457269018
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-betamax-suicide-note
|
|
a-bus-ride-to-nowhere
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>I breathe out as I wake up and look at my phone, rubbing my eyes and trying to make out what the time is.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong><em>06:20</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>My head lies down on the pillow again, and the phone lies on my chest as I try to get another minute of sleep, but it doesn't help. I feel the empty gaping hole in my chest and how my body aches. I look at the display again, waiting for the clock to strike.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong><em>06:25</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>My body slowly rises out of the sofa, groaning while I put my clothes on, and picking up my belongings that are always with me. The gaping hole in my chest is covered, and I breathe out. I feel a need to eat, but this meat sack of a body can barely drag itself up, so I sit there instead, just waiting.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong><em>06:30</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>I look over at the hall, thinking that I need to take care of myself in some way. My body drags itself up, slowly walking towards the bathroom and looking at myself in the mirror. <em>My hair is a mess</em>, I think to myself before I look down into the faucet. I look at my display and look at the time again, realizing that I don't have time to prepare and barely put on some deodorant. I go into the hall and put on my shoes, tying them together, even though they'll probably get untied later on. I put on my jacket and grab my bag and put it over my shoulder, waiting for the clock to strike.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong><em>06:35</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>As the clock strikes at that time, I take my leave, opening up the door that leads out of my apartment and wandering towards my bus stop, hoping that I'll reach it in time. I zip up my jacket, and my body shivers as the wind strikes me in the freezing cold and dark morning. The lamps looming over the streets light up everything around me and show me a clear path ahead.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong><em>06:40</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>The void and pain remain within my body with every step I take. The wind only intensifies the pain as it pierces my face. My body tries to sink into my jacket, but it doesn't help. The snow covers up my legs, and slosh is heard as my boots drag across the ground. The snow and slosh add weight to my steps, and I feel myself wandering slower.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong><em>06:45</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>I finally reach the stop and stand there looking over at the buildings standing to the opposite me. Some are dilapidated, some are not. It's an old town. Cars drive past me, and I look at the people within as they go past me. Most of them look indifferent, their faces giving off a sense of mundanity.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong><em>06:50</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>After a minute, the bus arrives, and I enter quickly, scanning my card by the entrance and looking around at all the occupied seats. An uncomfortable aura spreads around as I look around, hoping that I won't have to sit down next to someone. I walk past the halfway point and see that most of the seats are occupied. The ache deepens into me, as if it were a cut that would never vanish. I try to find a seat next to someone, but it feels as if everyone is the same, as if they were one person. I take a seat, and my body tenses up as I clench my legs together, trying not to be close to the other individual at all.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong><em>06:55</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>More people wander onboard, the thuds of their steps turning louder and louder as they walk past me trying to find seats of their own. I open up the bag and look into it. There's a book as well as a computer inside it. For a moment I consider picking up the book, but I don't, staring into the seat again. It's silent, for the moment.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong><em>07:00</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>Yet again, more people hop on, and my body feels as if it can't move, as if I was strapped to the chair. The only things that can move are my eyes, which are flicking from one spot to another. The heat from everyone can be felt as it crawls around on me, and I feel myself turn more and more uncomfortable. I try to breathe, but it feels more and more difficult, as if I were grasping upon the last pockets of air.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong><em>07:05</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>The inside of the bus feels as if it is crushing me and everyone else within the bus is adding onto it, every moment feeling tighter and tighter. My body clenches together more and more and more as if everything around me could kill me, that it <strong>WOULD</strong> kill me. Whispering, laughter, and talking are heard from around me, and I feel myself sitting completely still, trying to ignore it all, but it burrows into my head, and I can't ignore it, no matter how much I'd like to.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong><em>07:10</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><em>Only a bit more.</em> That is what I think to myself. The chime of the bus is a dissonant sound, piercing into my head. It keeps on pounding, and I feel immense pain in my temples. It feels as if this trip has no end in sight, where every moment is stretching further and further. It's a personal hell.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong><em>07:15</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>A worried feeling strikes me as the crushing feelings strike me down. What if the person next to me is glancing over at me? What would they think of me? Would they think of me as a mess? They probably would. I look like a mess. I feel like a mess. Sometimes I wonder if people around me can see if something is wrong—see this gaping hole within me that grows and grows, vacuuming everything within me, turning me into a statue.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong><em>07:20</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>The engine rumbles and roars beneath. I feel a light headache striking me as all of the sounds gather together, turning into a nightmarish cacophony, never ending. My eyes try to flick over at the pair of eyes next to me, but I can't. I'm frozen, and there is nothing here that could thaw me out.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong><em>07:25</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>As the bus takes its swings and turns, the bus feels as if it's going to fall over. The wind is intensifying everything I have felt before. I wish that I just stayed home. I want to stop being tired. I want to stay home.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size:200%;"><strong><em>LET ME GO HOME</em></strong></span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<p><strong><em>07:30</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<p>I hear the bus say the name of my stop. For a moment, it feels like respite, that this pain will be over. I look over at the clock within the bus. It says <strong><em>07:34</em></strong>. The bus whirs as it makes its last turns, and it feels as if I'm thawing out. It feels as if I can finally move again. As it stops, everyone starts getting off, and I follow along. I feel myself lighten up and my body relaxes as I walk out. I take a moment to breathe, looking at the terminal. The hole is still in my chest, and it still aches. The pain remains, as it always has, but at least I can hope that it will get better.</p>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[=]]
I breathe out as I wake up and look at my phone, rubbing my eyes and trying to make out what the time is.
@@ @@
**//06:20//**
@@ @@
My head lies down on the pillow again, and the phone lies on my chest as I try to get another minute of sleep, but it doesn't help. I feel the empty gaping hole in my chest and how my body aches. I look at the display again, waiting for the clock to strike.
@@ @@
**//06:25//**
@@ @@
My body slowly rises out of the sofa, groaning while I put my clothes on, and picking up my belongings that are always with me. The gaping hole in my chest is covered, and I breathe out. I feel a need to eat, but this meat sack of a body can barely drag itself up, so I sit there instead, just waiting.
@@ @@
**//06:30//**
@@ @@
I look over at the hall, thinking that I need to take care of myself in some way. My body drags itself up, slowly walking towards the bathroom and looking at myself in the mirror. //My hair is a mess//, I think to myself before I look down into the faucet. I look at my display and look at the time again, realizing that I don't have time to prepare and barely put on some deodorant. I go into the hall and put on my shoes, tying them together, even though they'll probably get untied later on. I put on my jacket and grab my bag and put it over my shoulder, waiting for the clock to strike.
@@ @@
**//06:35//**
@@ @@
As the clock strikes at that time, I take my leave, opening up the door that leads out of my apartment and wandering towards my bus stop, hoping that I'll reach it in time. I zip up my jacket, and my body shivers as the wind strikes me in the freezing cold and dark morning. The lamps looming over the streets light up everything around me and show me a clear path ahead.
@@ @@
**//06:40//**
@@ @@
The void and pain remain within my body with every step I take. The wind only intensifies the pain as it pierces my face. My body tries to sink into my jacket, but it doesn't help. The snow covers up my legs, and slosh is heard as my boots drag across the ground. The snow and slosh add weight to my steps, and I feel myself wandering slower.
@@ @@
**//06:45//**
@@ @@
I finally reach the stop and stand there looking over at the buildings standing to the opposite me. Some are dilapidated, some are not. It's an old town. Cars drive past me, and I look at the people within as they go past me. Most of them look indifferent, their faces giving off a sense of mundanity.
@@ @@
**//06:50//**
@@ @@
After a minute, the bus arrives, and I enter quickly, scanning my card by the entrance and looking around at all the occupied seats. An uncomfortable aura spreads around as I look around, hoping that I won't have to sit down next to someone. I walk past the halfway point and see that most of the seats are occupied. The ache deepens into me, as if it were a cut that would never vanish. I try to find a seat next to someone, but it feels as if everyone is the same, as if they were one person. I take a seat, and my body tenses up as I clench my legs together, trying not to be close to the other individual at all.
@@ @@
**//06:55//**
@@ @@
More people wander onboard, the thuds of their steps turning louder and louder as they walk past me trying to find seats of their own. I open up the bag and look into it. There's a book as well as a computer inside it. For a moment I consider picking up the book, but I don't, staring into the seat again. It's silent, for the moment.
@@ @@
**//07:00//**
@@ @@
Yet again, more people hop on, and my body feels as if it can't move, as if I was strapped to the chair. The only things that can move are my eyes, which are flicking from one spot to another. The heat from everyone can be felt as it crawls around on me, and I feel myself turn more and more uncomfortable. I try to breathe, but it feels more and more difficult, as if I were grasping upon the last pockets of air.
@@ @@
**//07:05//**
@@ @@
The inside of the bus feels as if it is crushing me and everyone else within the bus is adding onto it, every moment feeling tighter and tighter. My body clenches together more and more and more as if everything around me could kill me, that it **WOULD** kill me. Whispering, laughter, and talking are heard from around me, and I feel myself sitting completely still, trying to ignore it all, but it burrows into my head, and I can't ignore it, no matter how much I'd like to.
@@ @@
**//07:10//**
@@ @@
//Only a bit more.// That is what I think to myself. The chime of the bus is a dissonant sound, piercing into my head. It keeps on pounding, and I feel immense pain in my temples. It feels as if this trip has no end in sight, where every moment is stretching further and further. It's a personal hell.
@@ @@
@@ @@
**//07:15//**
@@ @@
@@ @@
A worried feeling strikes me as the crushing feelings strike me down. What if the person next to me is glancing over at me? What would they think of me? Would they think of me as a mess? They probably would. I look like a mess. I feel like a mess. Sometimes I wonder if people around me can see if something is wrong—see this gaping hole within me that grows and grows, vacuuming everything within me, turning me into a statue.
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
**//07:20//**
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
The engine rumbles and roars beneath. I feel a light headache striking me as all of the sounds gather together, turning into a nightmarish cacophony, never ending. My eyes try to flick over at the pair of eyes next to me, but I can't. I'm frozen, and there is nothing here that could thaw me out.
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
**//07:25//**
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
As the bus takes its swings and turns, the bus feels as if it's going to fall over. The wind is intensifying everything I have felt before. I wish that I just stayed home. I want to stop being tired. I want to stay home.
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[size 200%]]**//LET ME GO HOME//**[[/size]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
**//07:30//**
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
I hear the bus say the name of my stop. For a moment, it feels like respite, that this pain will be over. I look over at the clock within the bus. It says **//07:34//**. The bus whirs as it makes its last turns, and it feels as if I'm thawing out. It feels as if I can finally move again. As it stops, everyone starts getting off, and I follow along. I feel myself lighten up and my body relaxes as I walk out. I take a moment to breathe, looking at the terminal. The hole is still in my chest, and it still aches. The pain remains, as it always has, but at least I can hope that it will get better.
[[/=]]
|
2024-09-30T14:11:00
|
[
"bittersweet",
"first-person",
"no-dialogue",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
A Bus Ride to Nowhere - SCP Foundation
| 12
|
[] |
[] |
[] |
1456954443
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-bus-ride-to-nowhere
|
|
a-clean-slate
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>“We know what you did. Luckily for you, she’ll never have to. Room 001, Ethics Committee Chambers. You’re expected at 15:00. Don’t make me wait.”</p>
<p>Each word reverberated within, bouncing around that thick skull of mine all morning. Whether I was sipping coffee, filing my recent report for the day or even just idling in place, those words rang true. I knew, I have always known, but now, they know too, and while that may not terrify you, it tore itself a massive nook to nestle inside of, residing deep inside of my conscience, my soul.</p>
<p>As I wandered down this grandiose hall, with the echoes of my every step penetrating my mind, I wondered what I’d be at the end of this. The heads of the Foundation’s greatest minds peering at me from their front row seats, all having been immortalized on those very walls that surround me now. Their eyes following my every move, almost as if even in their death, they’d hold the gavel.</p>
<p>Before I knew it, massive oak doors blocked my way. I’d say only uncertainty would lie beyond this point, but the words “Ethics Committee” were engraved in solid gold, reminding me exactly what would welcome me beyond these gates. If I could even consider myself welcomed.</p>
<p>I took a deep breath before entering, wishing the air would take me away; floating, but never to crash down again. The room was mostly barren: A simple conference room, ripped straight from the magazine for monochromatic office spaces. It was a room like the one I’d sit in, the one I wrote my articles in, the one I had called my second home. Could I truly be judged by the gods, when I was home? Or was I to be confronted by fellow men, colleagues who had sat in the exact same brand of chairs? I took my seat. Staring at nothing, wishing anything would appear for my mind to focus in on, something to keep it from wandering.</p>
<p>After an eternity had passed, and another had gone with it, a man entered opposite of me. Clad in red, their robe gliding across the floor with a large folder in hand. He took his place, tossing the file onto the desk, only peering up at me once the sound had escaped outwards.</p>
<p>“Dr. Huff, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>A question best left unanswered. My name best forgotten.</p>
<p>“I want you to know that you’re not the true subject of this meeting, Dr. Huff. Disciplinary measures aren’t to be decided by us, that’ll still await you. Really, all we want to know is why?”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>I hastily answered back. The file was there. He knows what I did, how I did it and yet even the smartest people in this institution couldn’t have figured out why? Each page in that folder provided the answer, laid it out clear as day.</p>
<p>“I thought it was quite clear why.”</p>
<p>His eyes met mine, before he led me down back to the desk. A singular post-it note breaking up the tan of the folder, reading “SCP-9832-EX”. My eyes presented the only escape out of my own mind, as he began to flip through the pages. It seemed endless. Page after page, glances of pictures, highlighter colors and red underlining. Each page offered an explanation, a window into my soul and ultimately, into hers too. Yet, it had all been drained away, ran through a machine of bureaucracy and launched straight back into my own world, the real world. The sound of papers rustling ringing in my ears.</p>
<p>“Well, I can guess why. My colleagues have made guesses as to why, but I want to hear it from you, Dr. Huff. This whole scheme of yours was incredibly well thought out. If anyone’s qualified to tell me why, it’s you. You really risked it all, and I am sure you had considered your options carefully. I know your work, after all. So, here we are. Why?”</p>
<div class="blockquote memoryBox">
<p>“Nana, it is going to be okay! You’ve always told me I needed to leave the nest. Grow up and explore the world, see the things I’ve always wanted to see. Now that I’ve found the opportunity to do just that, you want to tell me no?”</p>
<p>“It’s just so sudden. Who’s gonna look after me? God knows it won’t be Casper. If he is keeping to his word, he’s about seven years late. How do I know you’ll be any different? Please, just give me some time. You can’t leave now, I just need a few years, I promise. I’ll find a nice new home, where I won’t be alone. Just, don’t leave yet.”</p>
</div>
<p>“She needed to know she was not alone.”</p>
<p>“And by she, you’re referring to SCP-9832-EX-1, correct? Your reports were extensive, so I am sure you remember the item numbers.”</p>
<p>I couldn’t chirp back. My words were stuck and my voice had gone and left me. Looking for someone who had something to say, someone who deserved to strain it. All I could do in that moment was nod, my head sinking ever so slightly, peering down at a now open page. An all too familiar picture attached. Bold black letters covering her face.</p>
<p><em>It was her.</em></p>
<div class="blockquote memoryBox">
<p>“I am sick of you bringing Casper into this. You always end up making it about him, I am not him. I don’t give a fuck about Casper anymore, and I really don’t know why you still do. Am I not enough for you?”</p>
<p>“Of course you’re enough for me, don’t try to say I ever slighted you in life. You're all I've got, and yet you want to repay me the same way he did. Promises of monthly visits, daily calls and texts. Telling me that he was just around the corner, and that I would barely notice him gone. I have cared for you, and I just need you to be here and let me know we'll be okay. At my age, I can't go through this hurt again."</p>
<p>“We’re different. We’ve always been different, and you should know that better than anyone. How deep is his name buried in your text messages? It'd be lucky for you not to have to scroll to see his picture pop up.”</p>
<p>In that moment, a notification popped up. She’d reached for her phone, before I could even process what had happened. But as she set the phone back down, all that was left to see was her wallpaper. All of our smiles lighting the room. Her eyes shut, and only after three seconds would they re-open. The black display having retaken its place.</p>
<p>“I don’t even know what he sounds like anymore. How can I know you’ll be different. I need to know that, before I can let you go.”</p>
</div>
<p>“39 people. That’s how many were kept in Foundation care.”</p>
<p>He paused for a moment. Reaching for the file and having the pages flutter before me, before his fingers had settled down. Sighing, he returned the file to its place on the table, choosing to spin it my way. Having revealed barren halls and beds made up of cheap splintered wood. A bedside table, rotten and on the edge of collapse, held up a singular picture. A photo that I had held in my heart for so long, though I knew I wasn’t alone in that. It was the first thing to greet her after another unruly sleep.</p>
<p>“Let me rephrase. That’s how many people were kept in Foundation containment.”</p>
<p>I adjusted myself on the chair, wriggling around, trying to find a spot that didn’t seem to itch. Though my mind had been torturing me ever since I’d gotten that note, it felt like bliss compared to where I sat now. No matter how I positioned myself, jabs shot across my body.</p>
<p>“We had trusted you, Dr. Huff. The whole Foundation trusted you. Not only have you shattered your own standing, but that of all your colleagues who had followed in your footsteps. Your actions force our hand.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t mean to cause this much of a riot. I figured no one would ever have to know, and even if they did, it could all stay the way it has.”</p>
<p>He looked at me. There was something about that look, it wasn’t one of recognition or doubt. It was different, each passing second dragged on and on. As if our eyes had been locked together for life.</p>
<p>“You see the state of our facilities here. I’ve seen prisoners live greater than they did. And yet, you chose to let her live like this. How long was this supposed to go on for, Dr. Huff?”</p>
<p>“It was a temporary solution, I am sure I could have figured out something better. If you had just let me talk to the Director…”</p>
<p>Just then, all of his preconceptions, all of his doubt, all of his disappointment escaped his soul through his lungs, ringing through the room, amplified by my ears begging for my release.</p>
<p>“These people were kept here by your whim, Dr. Huff. You didn’t try to involve any of your superiors, you didn’t try to involve us or even the Director. No one was stopping you from seeking this conversation. Figure out a solution.”</p>
<p>“You know that would have not led anywhere, we’ve been caged up here ever since you hired us. She had no one else, you understand? Our family was pushing up daisies. I held no one captive, and certainly didn’t do anything that they wouldn’t have wanted. They all came with us, anomalous or non-anomalous, what does it matter?”</p>
<p>For once I asked the question. I needed to ask the questions. Just to be in the driver seat, let the mind cool. My veins were popping out of my neck, each pump of blood rushing throughout. He somehow remained perfectly still, however. Nothing would phase him, I am not sure anything even could. Adjusting his glasses, and intrinsically placed his finger between two pages. Without another look, he showed me its contents.</p>
<p><em>“Subjects appear to have access to kinetic memory retrieval. This being evident through their deeply rooted knowledge of Foundation contained assets, even after limited content with Foundation personnel.”</em></p>
<p>“You recognize that line, Doctor? The whole document is filled with this shit. If you wanted to try your hand at creative writing, you didn’t have to resort to this, you know?”</p>
<p>I picked up the folder. Barely being able to focus on the words ahead of me, as the pages trembled in my hands. Yet, the messages had been clear. Deeply ingrained in my mind, forged after weeks of planning.</p>
<p>“They don’t belong here, that’s what it is to us, Doctor. They deserve to live normal lives. You took that from them, and we have to bail you out. Try to give them the closest thing to normalcy, after all this time. Amnestic usage has been authorized, Dr. Huff. At their age, who knows how they’ll adjust. At least the slate will be wiped clean, and no one will have to remember the horrors you made them witness here.”</p>
<p>It was never about “why” at all. He was here to torture me in his own way. He knows, that I didn’t fear the disciplinary hearing. He knows, that I was aware of what the consequences might be. This is about her. They hate to pull the trigger from their crystal palace of inquiries and guidelines. It’s about their conscience, about how they can live with taking it all away from her. The only thing I still had, that wasn’t related to my work, it had to be gone.</p>
<div class="blockquote memoryBox">
<p>“Why don’t you just come with me then? You’re so worried about being alone. So worried about your baby boy leaving you, but you don’t want to do anything yourself to stop it. Why even argue it, Nana? You want to keep me from pursuing my dreams and goals, thinking only about yourself and the way Casper had fucked us over. For what? To judge me too?”</p>
<p>“I can’t move from here. This is home. It’s always been home to us. These pictures here are all I have. The floorboards still creak like when you two ran up and down the house. It’s like he never left. It’s like we are still together.”</p>
<p>“You gotta move on Nana. Why cherish the memories of someone who’d much rather see you dead? Come with me, and we’ll write our own chapter, okay? Please.”</p>
</div>
<p>“You can’t seriously be considering amnestics? They’ll be husks of their former selves. Hardly even be worth calling people after that, and you want to tell me it’s the best option?”</p>
<p>“It’s the only option we have. We sure as hell can’t keep them here Doctor. The board has made its decision, they’re owed to go back home. We’ve assigned them each a new address, they’ll be kept out of your reach. I hope it was worth it, Dr. Huff.”</p>
<div class="blockquote memoryBox">
<p>“Ryan, I don’t like this place. It’s nothing like home, please just take me back.”</p>
<p>“Nana, this is going to be our home now. Remember what I said, new chapter and all? You’ve just gotta accept that we can start here. It’s the only way I can see you and still keep my job, we both get what we want, isn’t that great? You’ll get to see me every day. That’s what we can have now, just like back then, okay?”</p>
<p>“I just want to go home, our house was all we had together.”</p>
<p>“Trust me, it’s going to be okay. I want us here, okay? I promise you’ll get used to it. I’ll make sure we can get some of the furniture moved in here and it’ll be just like back then, okay? It’ll be like our house in no time.”</p>
</div>
<p>“Only option? I can list five off the top of my head, and I am sure you all could name hundreds. You’re effectively killing them, and you tell me that’s the only ethical option you could consider? I know what this is.”</p>
<p>I raised myself off the chair. Looking down upon the man sat ahead of me. As his eyes began to roll upward, so too did mine come down to match.</p>
<p>“You wanted to send a message. You knew none of us could care about the consequences. Getting fired or shot, or whatever. But you know we cared about them.”</p>
<p>His hand raised itself up and down, fingers occasionally coming to tap the table.</p>
<p>“That’s not what this is about, Doctor. You know…”</p>
<p>“I know this is bullshit, and deep inside you must know that too.”</p>
<p>From one second to the next, the room grew mute. Not a hairpin would dare to drop to the floor. I sat myself back down, waiting to hear a sign of life from the man clad in red.</p>
<p>“You’re released Doctor. You’re free to go. The Disciplinary Committee will hear your case shortly.”</p>
<div class="blockquote memoryBox">
<p>“Nana, what will I be when I grow up?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, Schnucki, what would you like to be?”</p>
<p>“Hmm… I want to help people.”</p>
<p>“Oh, so a superhero? I think I’ve got a costume somewhere around the attic…”</p>
<p>“Nana… I mean like in real life. Maybe I can be a doctor or a scientist.”</p>
<p>“Oh, aren’t you an ambitious young man? Well, whatever you end up being, I couldn’t be prouder of you. You and Casper are going to do great things. But if you get to wear a lab coat, you better let me see you and take lots of pictures, okay?”</p>
<p>“Of course Nana. I’ll make you proud! Can the picture go up on the fridge?”</p>
<p>“I’ll even frame it.”</p>
</div>
<p>I was free to go. Free to leave. Free to go back to my life, or whatever may be left of it. Walk back out those doors, back out that hall. Walk back. But that’s what I can do. She couldn’t walk back those doors, back through those halls and back to her home. She couldn’t hear those floorboards creak, hear our laughter down the hall or watch me come down that stage.</p>
<p>She was once able to see it all, no matter where, no matter when. She could sit down, and live it all again.</p>
<p>Those memories were all she had.</p>
<p>And now her eyes close to nothing.</p>
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<p>"<a href="/a-clean-slate">A Clean Slate</a>" by Not Noodles, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-clean-slate">https://scpwiki.com/a-clean-slate</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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“We know what you did. Luckily for you, she’ll never have to. Room 001, Ethics Committee Chambers. You’re expected at 15:00. Don’t make me wait.”
Each word reverberated within, bouncing around that thick skull of mine all morning. Whether I was sipping coffee, filing my recent report for the day or even just idling in place, those words rang true. I knew, I have always known, but now, they know too, and while that may not terrify you, it tore itself a massive nook to nestle inside of, residing deep inside of my conscience, my soul.
As I wandered down this grandiose hall, with the echoes of my every step penetrating my mind, I wondered what I’d be at the end of this. The heads of the Foundation’s greatest minds peering at me from their front row seats, all having been immortalized on those very walls that surround me now. Their eyes following my every move, almost as if even in their death, they’d hold the gavel.
Before I knew it, massive oak doors blocked my way. I’d say only uncertainty would lie beyond this point, but the words “Ethics Committee” were engraved in solid gold, reminding me exactly what would welcome me beyond these gates. If I could even consider myself welcomed.
I took a deep breath before entering, wishing the air would take me away; floating, but never to crash down again. The room was mostly barren: A simple conference room, ripped straight from the magazine for monochromatic office spaces. It was a room like the one I’d sit in, the one I wrote my articles in, the one I had called my second home. Could I truly be judged by the gods, when I was home? Or was I to be confronted by fellow men, colleagues who had sat in the exact same brand of chairs? I took my seat. Staring at nothing, wishing anything would appear for my mind to focus in on, something to keep it from wandering.
After an eternity had passed, and another had gone with it, a man entered opposite of me. Clad in red, their robe gliding across the floor with a large folder in hand. He took his place, tossing the file onto the desk, only peering up at me once the sound had escaped outwards.
“Dr. Huff, isn’t it?”
A question best left unanswered. My name best forgotten.
“I want you to know that you’re not the true subject of this meeting, Dr. Huff. Disciplinary measures aren’t to be decided by us, that’ll still await you. Really, all we want to know is why?”
“Why?”
I hastily answered back. The file was there. He knows what I did, how I did it and yet even the smartest people in this institution couldn’t have figured out why? Each page in that folder provided the answer, laid it out clear as day.
“I thought it was quite clear why.”
His eyes met mine, before he led me down back to the desk. A singular post-it note breaking up the tan of the folder, reading “SCP-9832-EX”. My eyes presented the only escape out of my own mind, as he began to flip through the pages. It seemed endless. Page after page, glances of pictures, highlighter colors and red underlining. Each page offered an explanation, a window into my soul and ultimately, into hers too. Yet, it had all been drained away, ran through a machine of bureaucracy and launched straight back into my own world, the real world. The sound of papers rustling ringing in my ears.
“Well, I can guess why. My colleagues have made guesses as to why, but I want to hear it from you, Dr. Huff. This whole scheme of yours was incredibly well thought out. If anyone’s qualified to tell me why, it’s you. You really risked it all, and I am sure you had considered your options carefully. I know your work, after all. So, here we are. Why?”
[[div class="blockquote memoryBox"]]
“Nana, it is going to be okay! You’ve always told me I needed to leave the nest. Grow up and explore the world, see the things I’ve always wanted to see. Now that I’ve found the opportunity to do just that, you want to tell me no?”
“It’s just so sudden. Who’s gonna look after me? God knows it won’t be Casper. If he is keeping to his word, he’s about seven years late. How do I know you’ll be any different? Please, just give me some time. You can’t leave now, I just need a few years, I promise. I’ll find a nice new home, where I won’t be alone. Just, don’t leave yet.”
[[/div]]
“She needed to know she was not alone.”
“And by she, you’re referring to SCP-9832-EX-1, correct? Your reports were extensive, so I am sure you remember the item numbers.”
I couldn’t chirp back. My words were stuck and my voice had gone and left me. Looking for someone who had something to say, someone who deserved to strain it. All I could do in that moment was nod, my head sinking ever so slightly, peering down at a now open page. An all too familiar picture attached. Bold black letters covering her face.
//It was her.//
[[div class="blockquote memoryBox"]]
“I am sick of you bringing Casper into this. You always end up making it about him, I am not him. I don’t give a fuck about Casper anymore, and I really don’t know why you still do. Am I not enough for you?”
“Of course you’re enough for me, don’t try to say I ever slighted you in life. You're all I've got, and yet you want to repay me the same way he did. Promises of monthly visits, daily calls and texts. Telling me that he was just around the corner, and that I would barely notice him gone. I have cared for you, and I just need you to be here and let me know we'll be okay. At my age, I can't go through this hurt again."
“We’re different. We’ve always been different, and you should know that better than anyone. How deep is his name buried in your text messages? It'd be lucky for you not to have to scroll to see his picture pop up.”
In that moment, a notification popped up. She’d reached for her phone, before I could even process what had happened. But as she set the phone back down, all that was left to see was her wallpaper. All of our smiles lighting the room. Her eyes shut, and only after three seconds would they re-open. The black display having retaken its place.
“I don’t even know what he sounds like anymore. How can I know you’ll be different. I need to know that, before I can let you go.”
[[/div]]
“39 people. That’s how many were kept in Foundation care.”
He paused for a moment. Reaching for the file and having the pages flutter before me, before his fingers had settled down. Sighing, he returned the file to its place on the table, choosing to spin it my way. Having revealed barren halls and beds made up of cheap splintered wood. A bedside table, rotten and on the edge of collapse, held up a singular picture. A photo that I had held in my heart for so long, though I knew I wasn’t alone in that. It was the first thing to greet her after another unruly sleep.
“Let me rephrase. That’s how many people were kept in Foundation containment.”
I adjusted myself on the chair, wriggling around, trying to find a spot that didn’t seem to itch. Though my mind had been torturing me ever since I’d gotten that note, it felt like bliss compared to where I sat now. No matter how I positioned myself, jabs shot across my body.
“We had trusted you, Dr. Huff. The whole Foundation trusted you. Not only have you shattered your own standing, but that of all your colleagues who had followed in your footsteps. Your actions force our hand.”
“I didn’t mean to cause this much of a riot. I figured no one would ever have to know, and even if they did, it could all stay the way it has.”
He looked at me. There was something about that look, it wasn’t one of recognition or doubt. It was different, each passing second dragged on and on. As if our eyes had been locked together for life.
“You see the state of our facilities here. I’ve seen prisoners live greater than they did. And yet, you chose to let her live like this. How long was this supposed to go on for, Dr. Huff?”
“It was a temporary solution, I am sure I could have figured out something better. If you had just let me talk to the Director…”
Just then, all of his preconceptions, all of his doubt, all of his disappointment escaped his soul through his lungs, ringing through the room, amplified by my ears begging for my release.
“These people were kept here by your whim, Dr. Huff. You didn’t try to involve any of your superiors, you didn’t try to involve us or even the Director. No one was stopping you from seeking this conversation. Figure out a solution.”
“You know that would have not led anywhere, we’ve been caged up here ever since you hired us. She had no one else, you understand? Our family was pushing up daisies. I held no one captive, and certainly didn’t do anything that they wouldn’t have wanted. They all came with us, anomalous or non-anomalous, what does it matter?”
For once I asked the question. I needed to ask the questions. Just to be in the driver seat, let the mind cool. My veins were popping out of my neck, each pump of blood rushing throughout. He somehow remained perfectly still, however. Nothing would phase him, I am not sure anything even could. Adjusting his glasses, and intrinsically placed his finger between two pages. Without another look, he showed me its contents.
//“Subjects appear to have access to kinetic memory retrieval. This being evident through their deeply rooted knowledge of Foundation contained assets, even after limited content with Foundation personnel.”//
“You recognize that line, Doctor? The whole document is filled with this shit. If you wanted to try your hand at creative writing, you didn’t have to resort to this, you know?”
I picked up the folder. Barely being able to focus on the words ahead of me, as the pages trembled in my hands. Yet, the messages had been clear. Deeply ingrained in my mind, forged after weeks of planning.
“They don’t belong here, that’s what it is to us, Doctor. They deserve to live normal lives. You took that from them, and we have to bail you out. Try to give them the closest thing to normalcy, after all this time. Amnestic usage has been authorized, Dr. Huff. At their age, who knows how they’ll adjust. At least the slate will be wiped clean, and no one will have to remember the horrors you made them witness here.”
It was never about “why” at all. He was here to torture me in his own way. He knows, that I didn’t fear the disciplinary hearing. He knows, that I was aware of what the consequences might be. This is about her. They hate to pull the trigger from their crystal palace of inquiries and guidelines. It’s about their conscience, about how they can live with taking it all away from her. The only thing I still had, that wasn’t related to my work, it had to be gone.
[[div class="blockquote memoryBox"]]
“Why don’t you just come with me then? You’re so worried about being alone. So worried about your baby boy leaving you, but you don’t want to do anything yourself to stop it. Why even argue it, Nana? You want to keep me from pursuing my dreams and goals, thinking only about yourself and the way Casper had fucked us over. For what? To judge me too?”
“I can’t move from here. This is home. It’s always been home to us. These pictures here are all I have. The floorboards still creak like when you two ran up and down the house. It’s like he never left. It’s like we are still together.”
“You gotta move on Nana. Why cherish the memories of someone who’d much rather see you dead? Come with me, and we’ll write our own chapter, okay? Please.”
[[/div]]
“You can’t seriously be considering amnestics? They’ll be husks of their former selves. Hardly even be worth calling people after that, and you want to tell me it’s the best option?”
“It’s the only option we have. We sure as hell can’t keep them here Doctor. The board has made its decision, they’re owed to go back home. We’ve assigned them each a new address, they’ll be kept out of your reach. I hope it was worth it, Dr. Huff.”
[[div class="blockquote memoryBox"]]
“Ryan, I don’t like this place. It’s nothing like home, please just take me back.”
“Nana, this is going to be our home now. Remember what I said, new chapter and all? You’ve just gotta accept that we can start here. It’s the only way I can see you and still keep my job, we both get what we want, isn’t that great? You’ll get to see me every day. That’s what we can have now, just like back then, okay?”
“I just want to go home, our house was all we had together.”
“Trust me, it’s going to be okay. I want us here, okay? I promise you’ll get used to it. I’ll make sure we can get some of the furniture moved in here and it’ll be just like back then, okay? It’ll be like our house in no time.”
[[/div]]
“Only option? I can list five off the top of my head, and I am sure you all could name hundreds. You’re effectively killing them, and you tell me that’s the only ethical option you could consider? I know what this is.”
I raised myself off the chair. Looking down upon the man sat ahead of me. As his eyes began to roll upward, so too did mine come down to match.
“You wanted to send a message. You knew none of us could care about the consequences. Getting fired or shot, or whatever. But you know we cared about them.”
His hand raised itself up and down, fingers occasionally coming to tap the table.
“That’s not what this is about, Doctor. You know…”
“I know this is bullshit, and deep inside you must know that too.”
From one second to the next, the room grew mute. Not a hairpin would dare to drop to the floor. I sat myself back down, waiting to hear a sign of life from the man clad in red.
“You’re released Doctor. You’re free to go. The Disciplinary Committee will hear your case shortly.”
[[div class="blockquote memoryBox"]]
“Nana, what will I be when I grow up?”
“I don’t know, Schnucki, what would you like to be?”
“Hmm… I want to help people.”
“Oh, so a superhero? I think I’ve got a costume somewhere around the attic...”
“Nana... I mean like in real life. Maybe I can be a doctor or a scientist.”
“Oh, aren’t you an ambitious young man? Well, whatever you end up being, I couldn’t be prouder of you. You and Casper are going to do great things. But if you get to wear a lab coat, you better let me see you and take lots of pictures, okay?”
“Of course Nana. I’ll make you proud! Can the picture go up on the fridge?”
“I’ll even frame it.”
[[/div]]
I was free to go. Free to leave. Free to go back to my life, or whatever may be left of it. Walk back out those doors, back out that hall. Walk back. But that’s what I can do. She couldn’t walk back those doors, back through those halls and back to her home. She couldn’t hear those floorboards creak, hear our laughter down the hall or watch me come down that stage.
She was once able to see it all, no matter where, no matter when. She could sit down, and live it all again.
Those memories were all she had.
And now her eyes close to nothing.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-08-16T22:00:00
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[
"tale"
] |
A Clean Slate - SCP Foundation
| 11
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[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
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1456333338
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-clean-slate
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a-fish-saves-the-day-in-this-one
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<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>You have been unemployed for exactly two hours, and you have decided it's the worst thing that's ever happened to you. Sure, you hated that job, but it was a <em>job</em>. It was a routine, it was a purpose, but most importantly, it was a stable source of income. You exist in a capitalist world and you cannot exist anywhere else, sorry. You <em>must</em> pay bills and rent and taxes and for food and for clothes and for water and for everything.</p>
<p>And now you cannot do that. You have about a hundred and fifty dollars left in your account. Which is basically nothing. Ever since your lover left you, you've been pinching pennies. And sure, you can probably bounce back. But you're so fucking tired of bouncing back. Life will just keep shoving you down. You get back up just to get back down. It's a pointless cycle. No meaning, beyond hurting.</p>
<p>Scratch the earlier statement. Getting fired was not the worst thing that's ever happened to you. Being born was.</p>
<p>Sloth's Pit is a lot of things. It's a town. It's a community. It's a place full of shitty food. But it's most defining factor is the weirdness. Everyone knows the town was weird. Right now, it's raining fish. This is normal for everyone. The last couple Halloweens have been a clusterfuck (<a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/black-autumn-hub">Killer pumpkins</a>, <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rise-of-the-pit-sloth-hub">fucked up sloth thing</a>, <a href="https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/prevent-getting-sick/prevention.html#:~:text=In%20those%20situations%2C%20use%20as,sick%20or%20who%20tested%20positive.">COVID</a>). People moved on. July 4th. People moved on. People have died horrible deaths. People moved on. Supernatural is more natural than super now.</p>
<p>And that makes things even worse for you. Because your problems are so fucking <em>benign</em>. This has happened to millions of people, millions of times. Everyone's lost their job for unfair reasons, at some point. Everyone's gone through a bad break-up that's partially their own fault, at some point. This, this suffering, is normal. There is no greater meaning behind, no evil <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sandrewswann-s-proposal">deity pulling the strings</a> to cause you the most amount of pain. It's just life. This is the world we made. We dug this hole, and we might as well lay in it.</p>
<p>The thought always lingered in the back of your skull. You were always aware of its existence, but never spoke of it, careful not to stir it from its slumber. It is a sleeping bear and you've been softly treading around it your entire life. Aren't you tired of living life on the tips of your toes? Embrace the fear. Walk up to that bear and kick it awake.</p>
<p>There's a hunger deep within you. Not a physical hunger, though it has been a while since you've last ate. It's a hunger for change. Your life has been stagnant. You fall, you rise, you fall, nothing ever changes. You can make the change. You can hold your life in your hands, and you can finally let go. Sometimes, broken things can't be fixed.</p>
<p>Think of it as a long sleep. Rest your heavy eyelids. It'll be so easy, you know? The human body is a contradiction. Your femur is stronger than steel, but you can break your neck just by falling down some stairs. Your organs are a technical masterpiece, but if you lick the wrong doorknob, they become goop. Your vessel can be so easily destroyed.</p>
<p>Just step outside. No need for your umbrella, getting hit by a few falling fish is nothing compared to what's going to happen next. One foot in front of the other, yes, just like that. Throw away your phone, you won't need it where you're going. Out into the road. Lay down in the middle and wait. It's dark out and by the time the driver will see you, you'll already be roadkill. Go on, lay down, imagine that it's your be- AH, FUCKER</p>
<p><strong>For a brief moment, you think you see a figure next to you. A trout just landed on its head</strong></p>
<p>Motherfucking … Ahem. Where was I? Ah, right. Lay down, come on, we don't have al- ACH</p>
<p><strong>Again, the figure gets hit by a falling fish. A lake sturgeon, this time. The figure buckles and sways, clutching its head. You have the faint feeling something is wrong. The tone is off. Unfitting. A stranger writes your story.</strong></p>
<p>Shit, shit, shit, it's catching onto me. Hurry up! Hurry the fuck up and lay down and just die already! The story ends like this: You fucking die. You were born to die. Accept that, now lay down, feed me, before this stupid fucking town enforces the Rule of Thre- … Fuck.</p>
<p><strong>The figure slowly tilts its head up, catching a good look at the massive pike that's about to crush it. You step away in the nick of time as the figure is completely and utterly crushed underneath the bulk of the fish. Dead.</strong></p>
<p><strong>A false narrative, that's all it was. Your mind made it. You believed the world was cold and uncaring and cruel, and your mind made it so. It was not some natural occurring phenomena, it was a lie. The world is not cold. The world is not cruel. The world loves you. It exists for you. Oh, how it wishes it could flap its hand and fix everything in your life, but it can't. That's not how things work. Wouldn't make for a very satisfying story, would it? But it promises this. You will recover. You will rise above. You will be beaten and bruised, bloody and broken, but you'll be alive. You'll <em>win</em>. The world knows many things, many lies, many truths. It speaks every tongue that ever existed, even some that never did. It has lived every life that's ever been lived, and has died every death that's ever died. It has watched countless empires rise and fall. It has watched you from the moment you left the womb and the moment you'll enter your final resting place.</strong></p>
<p><strong>So believe it when it says this. You are stronger than you think you are. It loves you.</strong></p>
<p>The fish storm has passed. The locals have gathered around, gawking at the truly massive fish. You think you see one of the Plastic People poking the peculiar pike with a pair of prongs. No one is aware of the dead False-Narrator crushed underneath it, and they never will be. You take a deep breath. Okay. You've lost your job. You've gone through a bad break-up. Not the end of the world. You can bounce back. And sure, maybe you'll get knocked back down. But each time you fall, you get a little bit stronger. And one day, your feet will be firmly planted into the ground and you'll find that nothing will ever push you down again.</p>
<p>But first. You need to go fuckin' eat something, god damn you're hungry, like holy shit you're starvin'.</p>
<p>… Maybe some fish?</p>
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<p>"<a href="/a-fish-saves-the-day-in-this-one">A Fish Saves The Day In This One</a>" by Vicar of Self, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-fish-saves-the-day-in-this-one">https://scpwiki.com/a-fish-saves-the-day-in-this-one</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
You have been unemployed for exactly two hours, and you have decided it's the worst thing that's ever happened to you. Sure, you hated that job, but it was a //job//. It was a routine, it was a purpose, but most importantly, it was a stable source of income. You exist in a capitalist world and you cannot exist anywhere else, sorry. You //must// pay bills and rent and taxes and for food and for clothes and for water and for everything.
And now you cannot do that. You have about a hundred and fifty dollars left in your account. Which is basically nothing. Ever since your lover left you, you've been pinching pennies. And sure, you can probably bounce back. But you're so fucking tired of bouncing back. Life will just keep shoving you down. You get back up just to get back down. It's a pointless cycle. No meaning, beyond hurting.
Scratch the earlier statement. Getting fired was not the worst thing that's ever happened to you. Being born was.
Sloth's Pit is a lot of things. It's a town. It's a community. It's a place full of shitty food. But it's most defining factor is the weirdness. Everyone knows the town was weird. Right now, it's raining fish. This is normal for everyone. The last couple Halloweens have been a clusterfuck ([https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/black-autumn-hub Killer pumpkins], [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rise-of-the-pit-sloth-hub fucked up sloth thing], [https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/prevent-getting-sick/prevention.html#:~:text=In%20those%20situations%2C%20use%20as,sick%20or%20who%20tested%20positive. COVID]). People moved on. July 4th. People moved on. People have died horrible deaths. People moved on. Supernatural is more natural than super now.
And that makes things even worse for you. Because your problems are so fucking //benign//. This has happened to millions of people, millions of times. Everyone's lost their job for unfair reasons, at some point. Everyone's gone through a bad break-up that's partially their own fault, at some point. This, this suffering, is normal. There is no greater meaning behind, no evil [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sandrewswann-s-proposal deity pulling the strings] to cause you the most amount of pain. It's just life. This is the world we made. We dug this hole, and we might as well lay in it.
The thought always lingered in the back of your skull. You were always aware of its existence, but never spoke of it, careful not to stir it from its slumber. It is a sleeping bear and you've been softly treading around it your entire life. Aren't you tired of living life on the tips of your toes? Embrace the fear. Walk up to that bear and kick it awake.
There's a hunger deep within you. Not a physical hunger, though it has been a while since you've last ate. It's a hunger for change. Your life has been stagnant. You fall, you rise, you fall, nothing ever changes. You can make the change. You can hold your life in your hands, and you can finally let go. Sometimes, broken things can't be fixed.
Think of it as a long sleep. Rest your heavy eyelids. It'll be so easy, you know? The human body is a contradiction. Your femur is stronger than steel, but you can break your neck just by falling down some stairs. Your organs are a technical masterpiece, but if you lick the wrong doorknob, they become goop. Your vessel can be so easily destroyed.
Just step outside. No need for your umbrella, getting hit by a few falling fish is nothing compared to what's going to happen next. One foot in front of the other, yes, just like that. Throw away your phone, you won't need it where you're going. Out into the road. Lay down in the middle and wait. It's dark out and by the time the driver will see you, you'll already be roadkill. Go on, lay down, imagine that it's your be- AH, FUCKER
**For a brief moment, you think you see a figure next to you. A trout just landed on its head**
Motherfucking . . . Ahem. Where was I? Ah, right. Lay down, come on, we don't have al- ACH
**Again, the figure gets hit by a falling fish. A lake sturgeon, this time. The figure buckles and sways, clutching its head. You have the faint feeling something is wrong. The tone is off. Unfitting. A stranger writes your story.**
Shit, shit, shit, it's catching onto me. Hurry up! Hurry the fuck up and lay down and just die already! The story ends like this: You fucking die. You were born to die. Accept that, now lay down, feed me, before this stupid fucking town enforces the Rule of Thre- . . . Fuck.
**The figure slowly tilts its head up, catching a good look at the massive pike that's about to crush it. You step away in the nick of time as the figure is completely and utterly crushed underneath the bulk of the fish. Dead.**
**A false narrative, that's all it was. Your mind made it. You believed the world was cold and uncaring and cruel, and your mind made it so. It was not some natural occurring phenomena, it was a lie. The world is not cold. The world is not cruel. The world loves you. It exists for you. Oh, how it wishes it could flap its hand and fix everything in your life, but it can't. That's not how things work. Wouldn't make for a very satisfying story, would it? But it promises this. You will recover. You will rise above. You will be beaten and bruised, bloody and broken, but you'll be alive. You'll //win//. The world knows many things, many lies, many truths. It speaks every tongue that ever existed, even some that never did. It has lived every life that's ever been lived, and has died every death that's ever died. It has watched countless empires rise and fall. It has watched you from the moment you left the womb and the moment you'll enter your final resting place.**
**So believe it when it says this. You are stronger than you think you are. It loves you.**
The fish storm has passed. The locals have gathered around, gawking at the truly massive fish. You think you see one of the Plastic People poking the peculiar pike with a pair of prongs. No one is aware of the dead False-Narrator crushed underneath it, and they never will be. You take a deep breath. Okay. You've lost your job. You've gone through a bad break-up. Not the end of the world. You can bounce back. And sure, maybe you'll get knocked back down. But each time you fall, you get a little bit stronger. And one day, your feet will be firmly planted into the ground and you'll find that nothing will ever push you down again.
But first. You need to go fuckin' eat something, god damn you're hungry, like holy shit you're starvin'.
. . . Maybe some fish?
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-03-21T20:19:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"action",
"s&c-plastics",
"tale"
] |
A Fish Saves The Day In This One - SCP Foundation
| 27
|
[
"black-autumn-hub",
"rise-of-the-pit-sloth-hub",
"sandrewswann-s-proposal",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"the-s-c-plastics-hub"
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[] |
1453109823
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-fish-saves-the-day-in-this-one
|
|
a-girl-that-died
|
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<p><strong>A Girl That Died.</strong></p>
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<p><strong>Author:</strong> Doctor Scrappy</p>
<p><strong>Warning:</strong> Contains excessive violence & gore, and disgusting content. Discretion is advised!</p>
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<p>It stank. It reeked of feces and blood that she herself was responsible for. She lied in a puddle of her own feces and blood, and she didn’t care. Not any more.</p>
<p>It didn’t matter any more. Nothing mattered any more.</p>
<p>It had been, <em>what</em>, three, four, five months after it happened? Maybe even six. After daddy came home from work late at night, after mommy came home from work late at night, after little Armand had his third birthday. After everything went to shit.</p>
<p>She could still see it in front of her. <em>Oh, she can see it</em> so <em>clearly.</em></p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em><strong>The following is a message composed via consensus of the O5 Council.</strong></em></p>
</div>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><em>Oh, so clearly. Like somebody pressed a hot iron against her brain.</em> The memory brought only pain.</p>
<p>Ayesha pointed at the little screen, as they were huddled on the couch, bought at some yardsale ages ago, and she tried to comprehend the meaning of those words. <em>How so innocent.</em></p>
<p>A rat scurried by. Not a particularly large one, but it would suffice. She slowly crept onto the vermin, so silent, so careful in her every movement, she grabbed the rusty nail and, with a swing and a <em>splat</em>, got herself some dinner.</p>
<p>She inspected the rat; too risky not to. Her fingers bored their way through the fur, the skin and the flesh, until her fingertips were stained in red, her nails scratching against the bones of the vermin, while her eyes stared intently at the squishy innards, the blood trickling down the side of her palms.</p>
<p>Once she determined that the vermin was safe, she placed it into the pile mentally labeled as ’good ones’. Because the bad ones were not safe. The bad ones tasted <em>funny</em>.</p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em><strong>For those who are not currently aware of our existence, we represent the organization known as the SCP Foundation.</strong></em></p>
</div>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>A searing pain burned through her thoughts, the smell of her own blood and shit.</p>
<p><em>It was so quiet back then. Quiet with cars. Chirping of birds. Shower curtains.</em> No monsters under the bed. Only people on the streets. <em>Human</em> people. How she missed the sensation of water running down her body, the voice of another human in her ears, the laughter of her mother, the wailing of her brother, the warm embrace of her <em>father</em>.</p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em><strong>Our previous mission centered around the containment and study of anomalous objects, entities and other assorted phenomena. This mission was the focus of our organization for more than one-hundred years.</strong></em></p>
</div>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><em>Shadow people. In the dark. Snatching you away when you’re not careful.</em> A rumbling noise. It was her belly. Hungry, screaming for an ounce of whatever she could get her hands on, whatever scurried between the walls of what was once her home, too fast for the monsters to infect, yet too slow to escape her.</p>
<p>Between the walls, she was safe. Between the walls, there was warmth. There was comfort. Remnants of a life she remembers, yet cannot feel. That she longs for, yet so far. Because of the <em>people</em>. Outside.</p>
<p>Outside was bad. Monsters. Outside. <em>People.</em> Outside. Parents. Outside. She missed them dearly. A lift from father. A kiss from mother. A laugh from her brother.</p>
<p>Thoughts, mangled and twisted into some unshapen mass, incapable of taking form. Muddled by the world around her. Passing by as little more than memories. While she lay in a puddle of her own blood and feces.</p>
<p>Footsteps sounded. Outside. She kept her head down, low to the ground, as she hid underneath a table. Where all of them had dinner once.</p>
<p>The monster outside snarled an unimaginable snarl. Had teeth bigger than any animal, claws sharper than any knife. <em>She thought.</em></p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em><strong>Due to circumstances outside of our control, this directive has now changed.</strong></em></p>
</div>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>She made herself small under the table. Smaller than she already was. Her fists were clenched, her eyes shut tight. Tried to keep the monsters at bay. The stink of blood and feces did not fade.</p>
<p>And it suddenly went quiet. The monster had run away. Silence. An unbearable silence. <em>And then a voice rang out.</em></p>
<p><em>”Ayesha?”</em></p>
<p>Her heart pounded in her chest like never before. Her eyes widened. Her thoughts were clear.</p>
<p><em>”Ayesha, are you there?”</em></p>
<p>Someone tried to open the door. She couldn’t trust her ears. <em>I am dreaming,</em> she thought.</p>
<p><em>”Ayesha! Ayesha! Oh, God…”</em></p>
<p>There was pain in his voice. <em>Desperation.</em> Like there was nothing that mattered more than his only daughter.</p>
<p>”Da— Da—”</p>
<p>Her breath was a gasp. Outstretched arms grabbing for words, the so delicate fragments of human thought slipping away, overcome by an overwhelming sensation.</p>
<p><em>”Ayesha?”</em> the voice asked.</p>
<p>She stood up from under the table. She had difficulty standing upright.</p>
<p><em>”Ayesha?”</em> the voice asked again.</p>
<p>Then, with a movement of her lips, a flicker of her tongue, spit ran down her mouth, and it was so wet, so wet, and she didn’t care, so thirsty and hungry, full of fear, and she didn’t care, and everything reeked of her own blood and shit, the stink was so horrible, and she didn’t care. She didn’t care anymore.</p>
<p>”Daddy?”</p>
<p>Her words were humble, barely a whisper. A gust of wind in a hurricane, some dust in an old attic, a droplet of blood in the puddle that she lay in.</p>
<p><em>”Oh, my God. Ayesha! Ayesha!”</em></p>
<p>”Daddy! Daddy!”</p>
<p>She rushed to the door, her bare feet making wet, disgusting sounds in the puddles of her own blood and feces. And she didn’t care.</p>
<p>Finally she would be able to see her father again, finally able to be hugged again, the warm, soft feeling of a hug, <em>oh</em>, how she had forgotten such a feeling. The feeling of warmth. The feeling of happiness, being loved, looked out after, to be hugged again. The warm embrace of a <em>father</em>.</p>
<p>Her hand grasped the knob of the door firmly, her weak fingers barely able to clench, to hold onto the brass handle, rusted and corroded, broken by the outside world.</p>
<p>She twisted it just enough that there was a <em>click</em>. She opened it.</p>
<p>She could feel the wind breezing past her, drops of rain falling from the sky. And her father. At least, she thought. But what she found on the other side was not her father. It wasn’t even human at all.</p>
<p>In a moment’s notice, the blood-red hound lept at her, digging its sharp claws and teeth deep into her already scarred flesh.</p>
<p>She let out a bellowing screech, trying to fight against, push away, the monstrosity mauling at her, giving out the most horrifying of sounds imaginable.</p>
<p>Every tiniest of sensation, how the rows of teeth tore through her clothes, dug deep into her skin, piercing and cutting through the flesh, her muscles, tendons, ligaments, <em>like a knife through butter</em>, chunks of her own abdomen and innards landing on her, covering herself and the monster in her sickly warm blood, she could feel. The hundred pound monster that stepped on her arm and pinned it down against the floor, which did not care for the feces it burrowed itself in, crushed her tiny little appendage under its weight. She screamed.</p>
<p>The chunks of meat, haphazardly flying everywhere, squirming blood, it didn’t seem to eat any of it; it just tore and tore, until there was nothing left to tear through anymore, to maul, to hear <em>screaming</em>.</p>
<p>”Ayesha! Ayesha!” the abomination shouted from the top of its lungs, still in her father’s deep and caring voice.</p>
<p>More creatures emerged. <em>The laughter of her mother. The wailing of her brother. The voice of her father.</em></p>
<p><em>They joined in her father’s feast.</em></p>
<p>The creatures feasted on the carcass that was once a young girl. A girl with hopes, with dreams, with talents, with fears. Wiped out from the face of the earth, her death barely even a whisper. A scream with no one there to listen. They continued feasting.</p>
<p>It stank. It reeked of feces and blood that she herself was responsible for. She lay in a puddle of her own feces and blood, and she didn’t care. <em>Not any more.</em></p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
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<p><em><strong>Our new mission will be the <a href="/scp-5000">extermination of the human race</a>.</strong></em></p>
<p><em><strong>There will be no further communication.</strong></em></p>
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<p>"<a href="/a-girl-that-died">A Girl That Died.</a>" by Doctor Scrappy , from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-girl-that-died">https://scpwiki.com/a-girl-that-died</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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[[=]]
**A Girl That Died.**
[[/=]]
**Author:** Doctor Scrappy
**Warning:** Contains excessive violence & gore, and disgusting content. Discretion is advised!
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-cw">:scp-wiki:component:info-cw</a>]]
@@ @@
It stank. It reeked of feces and blood that she herself was responsible for. She lied in a puddle of her own feces and blood, and she didn’t care. Not any more.
It didn’t matter any more. Nothing mattered any more.
It had been, //what//, three, four, five months after it happened? Maybe even six. After daddy came home from work late at night, after mommy came home from work late at night, after little Armand had his third birthday. After everything went to shit.
She could still see it in front of her. //Oh, she can see it// so //clearly.//
------
> [[=]]
> //**The following is a message composed via consensus of the O5 Council.**//
> [[/=]]
------
//Oh, so clearly. Like somebody pressed a hot iron against her brain.// The memory brought only pain.
Ayesha pointed at the little screen, as they were huddled on the couch, bought at some yardsale ages ago, and she tried to comprehend the meaning of those words. //How so innocent.//
A rat scurried by. Not a particularly large one, but it would suffice. She slowly crept onto the vermin, so silent, so careful in her every movement, she grabbed the rusty nail and, with a swing and a //splat//, got herself some dinner.
She inspected the rat; too risky not to. Her fingers bored their way through the fur, the skin and the flesh, until her fingertips were stained in red, her nails scratching against the bones of the vermin, while her eyes stared intently at the squishy innards, the blood trickling down the side of her palms.
Once she determined that the vermin was safe, she placed it into the pile mentally labeled as ’good ones’. Because the bad ones were not safe. The bad ones tasted //funny//.
------
> [[=]]
> //**For those who are not currently aware of our existence, we represent the organization known as the SCP Foundation.**//
> [[/=]]
------
A searing pain burned through her thoughts, the smell of her own blood and shit.
//It was so quiet back then. Quiet with cars. Chirping of birds. Shower curtains.// No monsters under the bed. Only people on the streets. //Human// people. How she missed the sensation of water running down her body, the voice of another human in her ears, the laughter of her mother, the wailing of her brother, the warm embrace of her //father//.
------
> [[=]]
> //**Our previous mission centered around the containment and study of anomalous objects, entities and other assorted phenomena. This mission was the focus of our organization for more than one-hundred years.**//
> [[/=]]
------
//Shadow people. In the dark. Snatching you away when you’re not careful.// A rumbling noise. It was her belly. Hungry, screaming for an ounce of whatever she could get her hands on, whatever scurried between the walls of what was once her home, too fast for the monsters to infect, yet too slow to escape her.
Between the walls, she was safe. Between the walls, there was warmth. There was comfort. Remnants of a life she remembers, yet cannot feel. That she longs for, yet so far. Because of the //people//. Outside.
Outside was bad. Monsters. Outside. //People.// Outside. Parents. Outside. She missed them dearly. A lift from father. A kiss from mother. A laugh from her brother.
Thoughts, mangled and twisted into some unshapen mass, incapable of taking form. Muddled by the world around her. Passing by as little more than memories. While she lay in a puddle of her own blood and feces.
Footsteps sounded. Outside. She kept her head down, low to the ground, as she hid underneath a table. Where all of them had dinner once.
The monster outside snarled an unimaginable snarl. Had teeth bigger than any animal, claws sharper than any knife. //She thought.//
------
> [[=]]
> //**Due to circumstances outside of our control, this directive has now changed.**//
> [[/=]]
------
She made herself small under the table. Smaller than she already was. Her fists were clenched, her eyes shut tight. Tried to keep the monsters at bay. The stink of blood and feces did not fade.
And it suddenly went quiet. The monster had run away. Silence. An unbearable silence. //And then a voice rang out.//
//”Ayesha?”//
Her heart pounded in her chest like never before. Her eyes widened. Her thoughts were clear.
//”Ayesha, are you there?”//
Someone tried to open the door. She couldn’t trust her ears. //I am dreaming,// she thought.
//”Ayesha! Ayesha! Oh, God…”//
There was pain in his voice. //Desperation.// Like there was nothing that mattered more than his only daughter.
”Da-- Da--”
Her breath was a gasp. Outstretched arms grabbing for words, the so delicate fragments of human thought slipping away, overcome by an overwhelming sensation.
//”Ayesha?”// the voice asked.
She stood up from under the table. She had difficulty standing upright.
//”Ayesha?”// the voice asked again.
Then, with a movement of her lips, a flicker of her tongue, spit ran down her mouth, and it was so wet, so wet, and she didn’t care, so thirsty and hungry, full of fear, and she didn’t care, and everything reeked of her own blood and shit, the stink was so horrible, and she didn’t care. She didn’t care anymore.
”Daddy?”
Her words were humble, barely a whisper. A gust of wind in a hurricane, some dust in an old attic, a droplet of blood in the puddle that she lay in.
//”Oh, my God. Ayesha! Ayesha!”//
”Daddy! Daddy!”
She rushed to the door, her bare feet making wet, disgusting sounds in the puddles of her own blood and feces. And she didn’t care.
Finally she would be able to see her father again, finally able to be hugged again, the warm, soft feeling of a hug, //oh//, how she had forgotten such a feeling. The feeling of warmth. The feeling of happiness, being loved, looked out after, to be hugged again. The warm embrace of a //father//.
Her hand grasped the knob of the door firmly, her weak fingers barely able to clench, to hold onto the brass handle, rusted and corroded, broken by the outside world.
She twisted it just enough that there was a //click//. She opened it.
She could feel the wind breezing past her, drops of rain falling from the sky. And her father. At least, she thought. But what she found on the other side was not her father. It wasn’t even human at all.
In a moment’s notice, the blood-red hound lept at her, digging its sharp claws and teeth deep into her already scarred flesh.
She let out a bellowing screech, trying to fight against, push away, the monstrosity mauling at her, giving out the most horrifying of sounds imaginable.
Every tiniest of sensation, how the rows of teeth tore through her clothes, dug deep into her skin, piercing and cutting through the flesh, her muscles, tendons, ligaments, //like a knife through butter//, chunks of her own abdomen and innards landing on her, covering herself and the monster in her sickly warm blood, she could feel. The hundred pound monster that stepped on her arm and pinned it down against the floor, which did not care for the feces it burrowed itself in, crushed her tiny little appendage under its weight. She screamed.
The chunks of meat, haphazardly flying everywhere, squirming blood, it didn’t seem to eat any of it; it just tore and tore, until there was nothing left to tear through anymore, to maul, to hear //screaming//.
”Ayesha! Ayesha!” the abomination shouted from the top of its lungs, still in her father’s deep and caring voice.
More creatures emerged. //The laughter of her mother. The wailing of her brother. The voice of her father.//
//They joined in her father’s feast.//
The creatures feasted on the carcass that was once a young girl. A girl with hopes, with dreams, with talents, with fears. Wiped out from the face of the earth, her death barely even a whisper. A scream with no one there to listen. They continued feasting.
It stank. It reeked of feces and blood that she herself was responsible for. She lay in a puddle of her own feces and blood, and she didn’t care. //Not any more.//
------
> [[=]]
> //**Our new mission will be the [[[SCP-5000|extermination of the human race]]].**//
>
> //**There will be no further communication.**//
> [[/=]]
------
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-06-15T12:36:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"horror",
"murder-monster",
"post-apocalyptic",
"tale"
] |
A Girl That Died. - SCP Foundation
| 11
|
[
"scp-5000",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"scp-series-6-tales-edition",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition"
] |
[] |
1454063437
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-girl-that-died
|
|
a-merciful-end
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
I am a pitiful being, composed of guilt and obligation. I soldier on only for the sake of others…
<p>I cannot fathom a benevolent being placing us in a place rife with so much pain. Yet each day I awaken, I find myself still here; confounded by those who preach words of gratitude. Do they really think we exist in a realm of jubilation, of justice? Cruelty without reason is suffering. My whole life has been a search for reason, but the one answer I've needed above all else, the one that's eluded me all my years, is this. Why go on?</p>
<p>I meet the maddening dichotomy of the human experience with great scorn. When we are young we are naive, we are dumb. Once we realize the value our lost youth had, it is too late. And then as we age, we accumulate so many worries and traumas. We wish we could go back to a simpler time. We become nostalgic.</p>
<p>But as children, all we wanted was to grow up and have that agency over our lives, not realizing the terrible burden responsibility can be. It seems as if it gets harder to be happy, the older one gets.</p>
<p>Sometimes I question this pessimistic view, I try and correct myself. "Happiness isn't impossible, we just have more worries, more problems, less friends, as we age". Even my deluded platitudes meant to inspire hope are tainted by my longing for Gehenna.</p>
<p>Is this a mental phenomenon because of our predisposition to remember negative memories more strongly? A curse from our own survival instincts and perhaps a sign we were never meant to live as long as we do? Or is this really just a sign of how wicked the world we live in really is? Am I just falling apart and this is all just my distorted perception? Am I totally wrong about everything? Or am I right now, in the eye of the storm, the only one seeing clearly all the turmoil that surrounds us? Is there ever a day the storm will pass over me? That I will see the sun on the other side? Or is that just a lie one tells themself so they can soldier on? I don't know.</p>
<p>That uncertainty is the fuel for the embers of my <em>hate</em>, this constant emotional tug-of-war, this back and forth between trying to be happy and awaiting my end. I can take this consternation no more. I am tired. I'm more exhausted than if I ran a marathon. Tormented by the constant questioning of my hopeful thoughts by the hopeless, and vice versa. I just want peace, even if I must find it in death.</p>
<p>There is only one thing that can still bring solace: the vengeful wish that whoever put us on this planet is made to suffer as much as we have. After the ones who pretended to care left me, I was left with only this as my last desire. I accept my damnation. I step into the chamber for the last time.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/a-merciful-end">A Merciful End</a>" by PS9K , from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-merciful-end">https://scpwiki.com/a-merciful-end</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
I am a pitiful being, composed of guilt and obligation. I soldier on only for the sake of others...
I cannot fathom a benevolent being placing us in a place rife with so much pain. Yet each day I awaken, I find myself still here; confounded by those who preach words of gratitude. Do they really think we exist in a realm of jubilation, of justice? Cruelty without reason is suffering. My whole life has been a search for reason, but the one answer I've needed above all else, the one that's eluded me all my years, is this. Why go on?
I meet the maddening dichotomy of the human experience with great scorn. When we are young we are naive, we are dumb. Once we realize the value our lost youth had, it is too late. And then as we age, we accumulate so many worries and traumas. We wish we could go back to a simpler time. We become nostalgic.
But as children, all we wanted was to grow up and have that agency over our lives, not realizing the terrible burden responsibility can be. It seems as if it gets harder to be happy, the older one gets.
Sometimes I question this pessimistic view, I try and correct myself. "Happiness isn't impossible, we just have more worries, more problems, less friends, as we age". Even my deluded platitudes meant to inspire hope are tainted by my longing for Gehenna.
Is this a mental phenomenon because of our predisposition to remember negative memories more strongly? A curse from our own survival instincts and perhaps a sign we were never meant to live as long as we do? Or is this really just a sign of how wicked the world we live in really is? Am I just falling apart and this is all just my distorted perception? Am I totally wrong about everything? Or am I right now, in the eye of the storm, the only one seeing clearly all the turmoil that surrounds us? Is there ever a day the storm will pass over me? That I will see the sun on the other side? Or is that just a lie one tells themself so they can soldier on? I don't know.
That uncertainty is the fuel for the embers of my //hate//, this constant emotional tug-of-war, this back and forth between trying to be happy and awaiting my end. I can take this consternation no more. I am tired. I'm more exhausted than if I ran a marathon. Tormented by the constant questioning of my hopeful thoughts by the hopeless, and vice versa. I just want peace, even if I must find it in death.
There is only one thing that can still bring solace: the vengeful wish that whoever put us on this planet is made to suffer as much as we have. After the ones who pretended to care left me, I was left with only this as my last desire. I accept my damnation. I step into the chamber for the last time.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-08-05T01:40:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"first-person",
"no-dialogue",
"tale",
"wrathcon2024"
] |
A Merciful End - SCP Foundation
| 27
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1456085783
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-merciful-end
|
|
a-modest-proposal-for-a-revised-anomaly-classification-syste
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="border:solid 1px #999999; background:#f3f3f3; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<p>From: <span class="wiki-email">LCD.78.tenpics|hcsnum.divad#LCD.78.tenpics|hcsnum.divad</span><br/>
To: <span class="wiki-email">78.tenpics|scitsalpc-s.tsilgniliam#78.tenpics|scitsalpc-s.tsilgniliam</span><br/>
Subject: A modest proposal for a revised anomaly classification system</p>
<hr/>
<p>Dear all,</p>
<p>Like many of you, I have had difficulties in adjusting to the recent shift to ACS. The reforms to the Foundation’s classification system are long overdue and they have expanded our ability to describe the features of an anomaly, but this has come at the cost of both easy reference and linguistic cohesion. ACS terms on the whole have only partial thematic unity or contextual indication of their meaning, as if they are two incomplete systems merged together. This itself is an issue, but it masks a greater flaw underneath.</p>
<p>The true problem we are facing is not that the current ACS format is too complex - it is that it is not complex enough! We are still capable, on an institutional level, of understanding our own documentation and I will not stand for this miscarriage of justice! In the nearly 30 years I have been part of the Foundation, we have taken only timid, half-measure steps towards our great destiny of total incomprehensibility. I say this cowardice has gone on long enough! Long enough and no longer!</p>
<p>And so to address this crippling flaw in our organization, I propose the following: in order to sever the last remaining ties of ACS to functionality, we must cut it entirely from the English language and its purse of stolen words. We must engineer a language wholly focused on condensing the granularity of ACS information into the most informationally-dense and functionally-useless form possible.</p>
<p>My proposal for a Revised ACS will encode the exact specifications of an anomaly’s qualities and distinctive features in its morphology, providing granular detail that will be rendered utterly incoherent if it is mispronounced, misheard, mistyped, spoken with any sort of accent, subjected to ordinary sound changes, or otherwise changed in any way.</p>
<p>This proposal owes a great debt to Mr. John Quijada’s Ithkuil, and I offer Mr. Quijada my sincerest apologies for this inexpert bungling of his magnum opus. It is only fitting, for the purposes of destroying language’s function and purpose, that I fill the role of demiurge and create a lesser world of base matter in crude imitation of the truth.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc0"><span>Phonology</span></h3>
<p>I have chosen to keep the phonology and romanization of RACS within the boundaries of what is easily pronounced by English speakers and what can be easily typed on a standard keyboard, except in those cases where I have not.</p>
<div class="mobile">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="9">Consonants</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th></th>
<th>LAB</th>
<th>DEN</th>
<th>ALV</th>
<th>POA</th>
<th>PAL</th>
<th>VEL</th>
<th>UVU</th>
<th>GLO</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">NSL</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">m</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">n</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ŋ</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">STP</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">p / b</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">t / d</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">k / g</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">q</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ʔ</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">EJS</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">p'</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">t'</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">k'</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">AFF</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">t͡s / d͡z</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">t͡ʃ / d͡ʒ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">q͡χ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">EJA</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">t͡s'</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">FRC</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">f / v</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">θ / ð</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">s / z</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ʃ / ʒ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">x / ɣ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">APX</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">j</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">TRL</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ʙ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">r</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">LAT</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">l</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">LAF</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">t͡ɬ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">CLK</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ŋ!</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<p>While <r> is written here as the trilled /r/, but it is more appropriately described as a "whatever rhotic" and can be realized as /ɾ/, /ɹ/, /ʀ/, or any other variety as one sees fit.</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="4">Vowels</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td>Front</td>
<td>Central</td>
<td>Back</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Upper</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">i</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ɨ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">u</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>High Mid</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">e</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">o</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Mid</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ə̃</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Low Mid</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ɛ</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ɔ</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Low</td>
<td colspan="3" style="text-align: center;">a</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>The vowel inventory has been arranged so that, if you are more in line with the spirit of the IPA chart rather than the reality, they will be arranged in such a way to mimic the Foundation’s own sigil.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc1"><span>Romanization</span></h3>
<p>Revised ACS uses multiple romanization systems: sets A and B (With and without diacritics, respectively) are acceptable for casual usage and teaching materials, but not in keeping with the standards set forth by the Classification Committee. As such, the formal orthography of RACS will exclusively use symbols from the Latin Extended-B Unicode block.</p>
<p>As these charts are quite large, I have added them to collapsible blocks.</p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Romanization A - No Diacritics</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Close</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div class="mobile">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="9">Consonants</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th></th>
<th>LAB</th>
<th>DEN</th>
<th>ALV</th>
<th>POA</th>
<th>PAL</th>
<th>VEL</th>
<th>UVU</th>
<th>GLO</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">NSL</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">m</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">n</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ng</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">STP</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">p / b</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">t / d</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">k / g</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">q</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">'</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">EJS</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">p'</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">t'</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">k'</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">AFF</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ts / dz</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">c / j</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">qx</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">EJA</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ts'</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">FRC</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">f / v</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">th / dh</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">s / z</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">sh / zh</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">h:x:kh / gh</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">h</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">APX</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">hw / w</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">y</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">TRL</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">bb</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">r</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">LAT</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">l</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">LAF</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">tl</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">CLK</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ng!</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="4">Vowels</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td>Front</td>
<td>Central</td>
<td>Back</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Upper</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">i</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">eu</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">u</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>High Mid</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">e</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">o</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Mid</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">un</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Low Mid</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">eh</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">aw</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Low</td>
<td colspan="3" style="text-align: center;">a</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Romanization B - Diacritics</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Close</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div class="mobile">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="9">Consonants</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th></th>
<th>LAB</th>
<th>DEN</th>
<th>ALV</th>
<th>POA</th>
<th>PAL</th>
<th>VEL</th>
<th>UVU</th>
<th>GLO</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">NSL</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">m</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">n</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ň</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">STP</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">p / b</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">t / d</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">k / g</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">q</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">'</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">EJS</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">p'</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">t'</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">k'</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">AFF</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">c̥ / z̥</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">c / j</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">q̌</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">EJA</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">c̥'</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">FRC</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">f / v</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ṭ / ḍ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">s / z</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">š / ž</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">h:x / ǧ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">h</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">APX</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">w̏ / w</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">y</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">TRL</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">b̥</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">r</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">LAT</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">l</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">LAF</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ṱ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">CLK</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ň!</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="4">Vowels</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td>Front</td>
<td>Central</td>
<td>Back</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Upper</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">i</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ÿ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">u</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>High Mid</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">e</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">o</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Mid</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ą</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Low Mid</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">è</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ò</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Low</td>
<td colspan="3" style="text-align: center;">a</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Romanization C - Formal</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Close</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div class="mobile">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="9">Consonants</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th></th>
<th>LAB</th>
<th>DEN</th>
<th>ALV</th>
<th>POA</th>
<th>PAL</th>
<th>VEL</th>
<th>UVU</th>
<th>GLO</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">NSL</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ɯ</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ȵ</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ɲ</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">STP</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ȹ / Ƃ</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ȶ / ƍ</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ȼ / Ǥ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ȹ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ƾ</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">EJS</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ȹƾ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ȶƾ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ȼƾ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">AFF</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ʃ / Ƶ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ɔ / Ɉ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ƣ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">EJA</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ʃƾ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">FRC</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ƪ / Ɯ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ɵ / Ⱦ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ƒ / Ƹ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ƨ / ƶ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ʌ / ȝ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">APX</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ƕ / Ƿ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ɏ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">TRL</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ƀ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ƥ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">LAT</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ɨ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">LAF</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ƛ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;">CLK</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ƞ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="4">Vowels</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td>Front</td>
<td>Central</td>
<td>Back</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Upper</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ƚ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ƴ</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ɯ</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>High Mid</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ǣ</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ƽ</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Mid</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">Ʊ</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Low Mid</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ɇ</td>
<td></td>
<td style="text-align: center;">ȣ</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Low</td>
<td colspan="3" style="text-align: center;">ǝ</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>Practitioners of Revised ACS are encouraged to switch between systems A and B according to whatever aesthetic criteria they deem fit, save in formal situations.</p>
<p>It should also be noted that, if a consonant is followed by <y> or <w> it will be palatalized or labialized, respectively.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc2"><span>Slot 1 - Anomaly Status</span></h3>
<p>The anomaly’s current status is indicated by a consonant prefix. The glottal stop prefix for Contained anomalies is typically not written, as its purpose is to break up words</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="2">TABLE I</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Explained</td>
<td>ŋ!-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Neutralized in unspecified circumstances</td>
<td>hw-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Neutralized by the Foundation</td>
<td>tl-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Neutralized by another party</td>
<td>bb-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Neutralized by natural causes</td>
<td>qx-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Contained</td>
<td>(')</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc3"><span>Slot 2 - Primary Containment Class</span></h3>
<p>Primary containment class uses the standard 5-vowel system in a straightforward manner. If the anomaly has been neutralized or explained, use its prior classification.</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="3">TABLE II</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Safe</td>
<td>-a-</td>
<td>Passive containment measures</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Euclid</td>
<td>-i-</td>
<td>Active containment measures</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Keter</td>
<td>-u-</td>
<td>Active and adaptive containment measures</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Pending</td>
<td>-o-</td>
<td>Not yet classified</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Esoteric</td>
<td>-e-</td>
<td>Nonstandard classification</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc4"><span>Slot 3 - Object Tags</span></h3>
<p>The Slot 3 consonant cluster is derived from both our internal tagging system and the Coalition's serves as the root of the name; extended roots can become rather unwieldy, and so only the primary class root is required, and the additional consonants can be added as one sees fit for desired specificity, or dropped for ease of use.</p>
<p>Slot 3-1 is the Primary Class Tag, which designates the broad category of the anomaly. Four of the six will have a secondary class tag filling slot 3-2, while the other two skip directly to slot 3-3.</p>
<p>Epenthetic schwas or glottal stops may be inserted to break up particularly unruly clusters, even if this is against the spirit of the exercise.</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="2">TABLE III-A: Primary Classes</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Human</td>
<td>-ng-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Nonhuman</td>
<td>-m-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Artifact</td>
<td>-n-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Location</td>
<td>-l-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Phenomenon</td>
<td>-r-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Other</td>
<td>-š-</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="mobile">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="5">TABLE III-B: Secondary Classes</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Human</td>
<td>Nonhuman</td>
<td>Artifact</td>
<td>Location</td>
<td>-f-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Generic</td>
<td>Amphibian</td>
<td>Textual</td>
<td>Afterlife</td>
<td>-v-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Body Part</td>
<td>Arachnid</td>
<td>Computer</td>
<td>Airborne</td>
<td>-ṭ-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Theurgist</td>
<td>Avian</td>
<td>Weapon</td>
<td>Aquatic</td>
<td>-ḓ-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Thaumatoligist</td>
<td>Cephalopod</td>
<td>Game</td>
<td>Building</td>
<td>-s-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Oneiric</td>
<td>Crustacean</td>
<td>Instrument</td>
<td>City</td>
<td>-z-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Spectral</td>
<td>Dinosaur</td>
<td>Medical</td>
<td>Desert</td>
<td>-š-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Ontokinetic</td>
<td>Fish</td>
<td>Online</td>
<td>Dreamlands</td>
<td>-ḍ-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Cybernetic</td>
<td>Insect</td>
<td>Monetary</td>
<td>Extradimensional</td>
<td>-x-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Reanimated</td>
<td>Mammal</td>
<td>Art</td>
<td>Forest</td>
<td>-ǧ-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Hybrid</td>
<td>Reptile</td>
<td>Vehicle</td>
<td>Geological Formation</td>
<td>-p-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Animakinetic</td>
<td>Plant</td>
<td>Religious</td>
<td>Island</td>
<td>-b-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Psionic</td>
<td>Fungus</td>
<td>Clothing</td>
<td>Macroendonic Spatial Anomaly</td>
<td>-t-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Polymorphic</td>
<td>Pathogen</td>
<td>Toy</td>
<td>Moon</td>
<td>-d-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Host Specimen</td>
<td>Non-Autocthonous</td>
<td>Tool</td>
<td>Planet</td>
<td>-k-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Extraterrestrial</td>
<td>Extraterrestrial</td>
<td>Food</td>
<td>Ruins</td>
<td>-g-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Extradimensional</td>
<td>Extradimensional</td>
<td>Substance</td>
<td>Satellite</td>
<td>-q-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Temporally-Displaced</td>
<td>Temporally-Displaced</td>
<td>Mechanical</td>
<td>Sun</td>
<td>-'-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Prenatal Mutation</td>
<td>Former Human</td>
<td>Electronic</td>
<td>Structure</td>
<td>-r-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Postnatal Mutation</td>
<td>Ontological</td>
<td>Robotic</td>
<td>Subterranean</td>
<td>-rr-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Other</td>
<td>Other</td>
<td>Other</td>
<td>Other</td>
<td>Geminate preceding liquid</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<p>In cases where 3-2 and 3-3 are stops that share place of articulation but differ in voice, the consonant in 3-2 will shift to match that in 3-3.</p>
<div class="mobile">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="6">TABLE III-C: Threat Warnings</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Corrosive</td>
<td>-p-</td>
<td>Electromagnetic</td>
<td>-by-</td>
<td>Genetic Alteration</td>
<td>-k'-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Auditory</td>
<td>-t-</td>
<td>Abnormal behavior</td>
<td>-gy-</td>
<td>Communication</td>
<td>-q'-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Cognitive</td>
<td>-k-</td>
<td>Paralytic</td>
<td>-pw-</td>
<td>Gravitational</td>
<td>-ts-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Eschatological</td>
<td>-b-</td>
<td>Imperceptible</td>
<td>-tw-</td>
<td>Combustion</td>
<td>-ẓ-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Conscious Compulsion</td>
<td>-d-</td>
<td>Non-ionizing radiation</td>
<td>-kw-</td>
<td>Parathreat Creation</td>
<td>-c-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Unconscious Compulsion</td>
<td>-g-</td>
<td>Ionizing radiation</td>
<td>-bw-</td>
<td>Hallucinogenic</td>
<td>-j-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Memory</td>
<td>-q-</td>
<td>Memetic</td>
<td>-dw-</td>
<td>Carcinogenic</td>
<td>-cw-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Emotional</td>
<td>-py-</td>
<td>Nomenclative</td>
<td>-gw-</td>
<td>Toxic</td>
<td>-jw-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Composition Alteration</td>
<td>-ty-</td>
<td>Ecological</td>
<td>-p'-</td>
<td>Kinetic</td>
<td>-y-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Emotional</td>
<td>-ky-</td>
<td>Irregular Movement</td>
<td>-t'-</td>
<td>other</td>
<td>-w-</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc5"><span>Slot 4 - Threat Level</span></h3>
<p>The threat level tags do not feature any change from the existing Threat Level system, as even in the name of increased and unnecessary complexity I cannot bring myself to distort them.</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th>ACS Class</th>
<th>RACS Infix</th>
<th>Description</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>White</td>
<td>-ą-</td>
<td>Actively beneficial</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Green</td>
<td>-a-</td>
<td>No threat posed</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Blue</td>
<td>-e-</td>
<td>Potentially beneficial</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Yellow</td>
<td>-o-</td>
<td>Low risk</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Orange</td>
<td>-i-</td>
<td>High risk</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Red</td>
<td>-u-</td>
<td>Active threat</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Black</td>
<td>-ÿ-</td>
<td>Extreme danger</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc6"><span>Slot 5 - Secondary Containment Class</span></h3>
<p>This section will only cover secondary classes included as standard in the ACS documentation: if you would like other esoteric classes included, send me an email and I will add them to the table.</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="3">TABLE 5</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th>ACS Class</th>
<th>RACS Infix</th>
<th>Description</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Apollyon</td>
<td>-tca-</td>
<td>Containment impossible; mitigation only</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Archon</td>
<td>- je-</td>
<td>Poses greater threat if contained</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Cernunnos</td>
<td>-kwi-</td>
<td>Can be contained, but is not</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Decommissioned</td>
<td>-ǧÿ-</td>
<td>Self-explanatory</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Heimal</td>
<td>-ṭu-</td>
<td>2+ anomalies that contain each other</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Tiamat</td>
<td>-ẓo-</td>
<td>Requires Veil-breaking operation</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Ticonderoga</td>
<td>-qè-</td>
<td>Cannot be contained; containment not needed</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Thaumiel</td>
<td>-ngą-</td>
<td>Used to contain another anomaly</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Uncontained</td>
<td>-tsò-</td>
<td>Self-explanatory</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc7"><span>Slot 6 - Disruption Class</span></h3>
<p>The consonants used to indicate disruption class are irregularly derived from their existing names, so as to cause cognitive whiplash when moving from the randomly-selected Slot 5 components. Additionally, as Disruption Class operates on both a logarithmic scale and a horseshoes/handgrenades schema, the contents of this slot may change according to the attitudes of the speaker.</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="3">TABLE VI</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Dark</td>
<td>-d-</td>
<td>Effect measured in individual persons</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Vlam</td>
<td>-vl-</td>
<td>Localized effect; minor coverup required</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Keneq</td>
<td>-q-</td>
<td>Moderate-scale effect; significant coverup required</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Ekhi</td>
<td>-x-</td>
<td>Wide-scale effect; Veil-break near-guaranteed</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Amida</td>
<td>-mb-</td>
<td>Global-scale effect</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Unspecified</td>
<td>∅</td>
<td>N/A</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc8"><span>Slot 8 - Group of Interest Affiliation</span></h3>
<p>Do not be alarmed if you don’t recognize some of the listed names: I believe several of these entries to be entirely fictitious. As a show of good faith, I have maintained or approximated initials when possible. This is to promote confusion with those letters such as c and x that do not align with typical English usage. The letter ẃ is used only in this slot, and is pronounced /v/.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="mobile">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="6">TABLE VIII</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Accelerate the Future</td>
<td>-cf-</td>
<td>Gamers Against Weed</td>
<td>-gw-</td>
<td>Obskura</td>
<td>-skm-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Alexylva University</td>
<td>-lxy-</td>
<td>Giftschreiber</td>
<td>-ǧs-</td>
<td>Oneiroi Collective</td>
<td>-nr-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Ambrose Restaurants</td>
<td>-mbr-</td>
<td>Global Occult Coalition</td>
<td>-gk-</td>
<td>ORIA</td>
<td>-rkl-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Anderson Robotics</td>
<td>-ndr-</td>
<td>Goldbaker-Reinz</td>
<td>-gbr-</td>
<td>Parawatch</td>
<td>-pw-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Arcadia</td>
<td>-rkd-</td>
<td>Golden Hoard</td>
<td>-gh-</td>
<td>Pattern-Screamers</td>
<td>-pts-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Are We Cool Yet</td>
<td>-wky-</td>
<td>Greazeburger</td>
<td>-ǧb-</td>
<td>PENTAGRAM</td>
<td>-pgr-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>ASCI</td>
<td>-sc-</td>
<td>GRU-P</td>
<td>-gp-</td>
<td>Prometheus Labs</td>
<td>-pl-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Avelar Professional Products</td>
<td>-vl-</td>
<td>Herman Fuller</td>
<td>-hf-</td>
<td>Sapphire</td>
<td>-sf-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Black Queen</td>
<td>-bkw-</td>
<td>HMFSCP</td>
<td>-hm-</td>
<td>Scarlet King</td>
<td>-sk-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>British Supernatural Service</td>
<td>-bs-</td>
<td>H. Sapiens Sidhe</td>
<td>-sḍ-</td>
<td>Second Hytoth</td>
<td>-hṭ-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Broken God</td>
<td>-bg-</td>
<td>Horizon Initiative</td>
<td>-hzn-</td>
<td>Serpent’s Hand</td>
<td>-sh-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Chaos Insurgency</td>
<td>-ks-</td>
<td>ICSUT</td>
<td>-kst-</td>
<td>Shark Punching Center</td>
<td>-spc-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Chicago Spirit</td>
<td>-cs-</td>
<td>IJAMEA</td>
<td>-jm-</td>
<td>Silicon Nornir</td>
<td>-sn-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Children of Night</td>
<td>-cn-</td>
<td>Just Girly Things</td>
<td>-jg-</td>
<td>Sugarcomb Confectionaries</td>
<td>-sgr-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Children of the Torch</td>
<td>-ct-</td>
<td>Madao</td>
<td>-md-</td>
<td>Three Moons Initiative</td>
<td>-ṭm-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Class of 76</td>
<td>-cl-</td>
<td>Mages’ Academy</td>
<td>-mk-</td>
<td>Totleighsoft</td>
<td>-tl-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Cogwork Orthodoxy</td>
<td>-cgw-</td>
<td>Manna Charitable</td>
<td>-mf-</td>
<td>Unusual Incidents Unit</td>
<td>-fb-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Commission on Unusual Cargo</td>
<td>-cm-</td>
<td>Marshall, Carter, and Dark</td>
<td>-mcd-</td>
<td>Valravn Corporation</td>
<td>-vr-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Daevite Empire</td>
<td>-dv-</td>
<td>Maxwellism</td>
<td>-mxw-</td>
<td>Vikander-Kneed Technical Media</td>
<td>-vk-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Deer College</td>
<td>-dk-</td>
<td>Nalkan Cults</td>
<td>-nk-</td>
<td>Wanderers' Library</td>
<td>-ẃl-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Dr. Wondertainment</td>
<td>-dw-</td>
<td><strong><span style="color: green">nameless</span></strong></td>
<td>-nl-</td>
<td>Wandsmen</td>
<td>-ẃẓ-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Factory</td>
<td>-fk-</td>
<td>Nobody</td>
<td>-nd-</td>
<td>Wilsons Wildlife Solutions</td>
<td>-ẃs-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Fifthist Church</td>
<td>-fc-</td>
<td>Obearwatch</td>
<td>-bw-</td>
<td>Xia Anomalous Culture Group</td>
<td>-şy-</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h3 id="toc9"><span>Slot 7 - Affiliation Type</span></h3>
<p>This slot indicates the manner in which the anomaly is connected to the Group of Interest used in Slot 8. This is not a typo: I have presented these two slots in reverse order on purpose.</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="2">TABLE VII</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Generic connection</td>
<td>-a-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Actively used by or member of</td>
<td>-i-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Historically used by or member of</td>
<td>-u-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Possibly affiliated?</td>
<td>-e-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Technically or spuriously affiliated</td>
<td>-o-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Speaker wishes it was affiliated</td>
<td>-ÿ-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Affiliated but speaker wishes it wasn’t</td>
<td>-ą-</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc10"><span>Slot 9 - Plurality</span></h3>
<p>Plurality consists of two components: the grammatical number itself, and a descriptor that will specify the compositional makeup of the plural.</p>
<div class="mobile">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="8">TABLE IX</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><strong>Singular</strong></td>
<td>∅</td>
<td><strong>Dual</strong></td>
<td>-a-</td>
<td><strong>Trial</strong></td>
<td>-i-</td>
<td><strong>Plural</strong></td>
<td>-u-</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><strong>Associative</strong></td>
<td>-x</td>
<td colspan="6">Connected, separate</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><strong>Conjunctive</strong></td>
<td>-j</td>
<td colspan="6">Connected, inseparable</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><strong>Combative</strong></td>
<td>-ǧ</td>
<td colspan="6">In direct conflict with each other</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><strong>Identical</strong></td>
<td>-q</td>
<td colspan="6">Members are identical</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><strong>Fraternal</strong></td>
<td>-z</td>
<td colspan="6">Members are non-identical</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><strong>Fuzzy</strong></td>
<td>-š</td>
<td colspan="6">Resists categorization</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<h3 id="toc11"><span>Slot 10 - Database Number</span></h3>
<p>A full anomaly name can be quite a mouthful in Revised ACS, and so an abbreviated version may be derived from the numbers themselves. So as to not perpetuate the Foundation’s unfortunate history of mangled Kabbalah, I elected to forgo gematria and instead drew the consonantal number values from the Georgian numeral system, on aesthetic grounds. Several of these numerals will represent the wrong numbers, as I had to find replacements for vowels.</p>
<p>There is no zero value in the conversion: if the digit is a zero, it will be skipped, unless it happens to exist between two vowels, in which case it will become a glottal stop.</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th colspan="5">TABLE X</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th></th>
<th>10<sup>3</sup></th>
<th>10<sup>2</sup></th>
<th>10<sup>1</sup></th>
<th>10<sup>0</sup></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>1</td>
<td>c-</td>
<td>-ą-</td>
<td>-r-</td>
<td>-ą</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>2</td>
<td>ts-</td>
<td>-a-</td>
<td>-k’-</td>
<td>-a</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>3</td>
<td>dz-</td>
<td>-e-</td>
<td>-l-</td>
<td>-e</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>4</td>
<td>ts’-</td>
<td>-è-</td>
<td>-m-</td>
<td>-è</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>5</td>
<td>c’-</td>
<td>-o-</td>
<td>-n-</td>
<td>-o</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>6</td>
<td>x-</td>
<td>-ò-</td>
<td>-k-</td>
<td>-ò</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>7</td>
<td>q-</td>
<td>-i-</td>
<td>-ǧ-</td>
<td>-i</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>8</td>
<td>j-</td>
<td>-u-</td>
<td>-p’-</td>
<td>-u</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>9</td>
<td>h-</td>
<td>-ÿ-</td>
<td>-ž-</td>
<td>-ÿ</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>These abbreviated forms may be used on their own, or attached to the primary name.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc12"><span>Worked Example 1</span></h3>
<p>Let's use our good friend Lord Blackwood as a demonstration</p>
<ul>
<li>He is currently within our care; Slot 1 is an unwritten <strong>ʔ</strong></li>
<li>His standard classification is Safe; Slot 2 is <strong>a-</strong></li>
<li>While it is not a particularly flattering description, I think that Lord Blackwood qualifies as <strong>non-human (former human)</strong> - as he does not present an anomalous threat, we skip table III-C and end with a Slot 3 root of <strong>-mr-</strong></li>
<li>His threat level is Green; Slot 4 is <strong>-a-</strong></li>
<li>He does not have a secondary containment class; Slot 5 is skipped.</li>
<li>His scope of effect is limited to those he is speaking with, and thus Dark; Slot 6 is <strong>-d-</strong></li>
<li>He does have an affiliation with Her Majesty's Foundation for the Secure Containment of the Paranormal (or so it is said - I can't find it in his documentation, though everyone I've spoken to seems certain of it); Slot 8 is <strong>-hm-</strong></li>
<li>As the nature of Lord Blackwood's connection to the HMFSCP is unclear, if it exists to begin with, I will render Slot 7 as <strong>-a-</strong>, though I can see use cases for both <strong>-i-</strong> and <strong>-u-</strong>.</li>
<li>Since there is only one Lord Blackwood (who could possibly replace him?), Slot 9 is skipped.</li>
<li>With a database designation of 1867, Slot 10 turns into <strong>c-u-k-i</strong></li>
</ul>
<p>Putting it all together, Lord Blackwood's new designation is <strong>'amradahm-cuki</strong><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc13"><span>Further Examples</span></h3>
<p>Instead of just running through all the steps again, I'll provide some additional examples.</p>
<ul>
<li><a href="/scp-179">SCP-179</a> => 'amrąngą-ąǧÿ</li>
<li><a href="/scp-2316">SCP-2316</a> => 'urkiqacl-tserò</li>
<li><a href="/scp-4017">SCP-4017</a> => qxungšwuquhṭ-ts’ri</li>
<li><a href="/scp-6787">SCP-6787</a> => alsad-xip'i</li>
</ul>
<p>As you can see, the end results are both simple and elegant.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h3 id="toc14"><span>Concluding Notes</span></h3>
<p>Using this outline we can now classify every anomaly in our care with extreme granularity, reducing the amount of usable information in our document headers to zero. No longer will we be beholden to standards of comprehensibility, ease of pronunciation, or indicative nomenclature! We can now achieve informational security on a scale never before conceived by the Foundation, hiding vital information from our very own personnel!</p>
<p>Qapla’!<br/>
David Munsch<br/>
Director, Department of Constructed Languages<br/>
Site-87</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="discord">
<div class="messages-panel">
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<div class="message two">
<div class="body">
<div class="userblock">
<div class="user-name">Ross, Tamika</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:13 AM</div>
</div>
<div class="content">oh my god david<br/>
what did you do</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="message one">
<div class="body">
<div class="userblock">
<div class="user-name">Munsch, David</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:13 AM</div>
</div>
<div class="content">:)</div>
</div>
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<div class="message two">
<div class="body">
<div class="userblock">
<div class="user-name">Ross, Tamika</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:13 AM</div>
</div>
<div class="content">DAVID OH MY GOD WHAT DID YOU DO</div>
</div>
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<div class="message three">
<div class="body">
<div class="userblock">
<div class="user-name">LaRoche, Jesse</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:13 AM</div>
</div>
<div class="content">He went and did it, the absolute madman.</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="message four">
<div class="body">
<div class="userblock">
<div class="user-name">Wheeler, Doug</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:14 AM</div>
</div>
<div class="content">Toki ike confirmed?</div>
</div>
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<div class="message three">
<div class="body">
<div class="userblock">
<div class="user-name">LaRoche, Jesse</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:14 AM</div>
</div>
<div class="content">toki pi ike <em>suli</em></div>
</div>
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<div class="message four">
<div class="body">
<div class="userblock">
<div class="user-name">Wheeler, Doug</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:14 AM</div>
</div>
<div class="content">Mi olin</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="message one">
<div class="body">
<div class="userblock">
<div class="user-name">Munsch, David</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:14 AM</div>
</div>
<div class="content">Thank you! :D</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="message two">
<div class="body">
<div class="userblock">
<div class="user-name">Ross, Tamika</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:14 AM</div>
</div>
<div class="content">I hate that I like this.</div>
</div>
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<div class="message one">
<div class="body">
<div class="userblock">
<div class="user-name">Munsch, David</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:15 AM</div>
</div>
<div class="content">I promise I'll apologize to Mr. Quijada at the next LCC.</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="message three">
<div class="body">
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<div class="user-name">LaRoche, Jesse</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:15 AM</div>
</div>
<div class="content">This is great.<br/>
Fuck now I want to just run the database through it.<br/>
You just made a new memeohazard.</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="message two">
<div class="body">
<div class="userblock">
<div class="user-name">Ross, Tamika</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:16 AM</div>
</div>
<div class="content">I feel like this calls for a celebration.<br/>
Uncle Mike's work for everyone?</div>
</div>
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<div class="message one">
<div class="body">
<div class="userblock">
<div class="user-name">Munsch, David</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:16 AM</div>
</div>
<div class="content">Actually, I think we can write off a little visit to the Black Garden as a departmental expense.<br/>
We still have some money allotted for teambuilding and morale.</div>
</div>
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<div class="user-name">Wheeler, Doug</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:16 AM</div>
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<div class="content">Oh hell yeah.</div>
</div>
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<div class="user-name">LaRoche, Jesse</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:16 AM</div>
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<div class="content">Gods bless</div>
</div>
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<div class="user-name">Ross, Tamika</div>
<div class="msg-time">Today at 11:17 AM</div>
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<div class="content">I'll never say no to a free lunch. Meet you out front in 5.</div>
</div>
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<p>"<a href="/a-modest-proposal-for-a-revised-anomaly-classification-syste">A Modest Proposal for A Revised Anomaly Classification System</a>" by Djoric, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-modest-proposal-for-a-revised-anomaly-classification-syste">https://scpwiki.com/a-modest-proposal-for-a-revised-anomaly-classification-syste</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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[[div style="border:solid 1px #999999; background:#f3f3f3; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: A modest proposal for a revised anomaly classification system
-----
Dear all,
Like many of you, I have had difficulties in adjusting to the recent shift to ACS. The reforms to the Foundation’s classification system are long overdue and they have expanded our ability to describe the features of an anomaly, but this has come at the cost of both easy reference and linguistic cohesion. ACS terms on the whole have only partial thematic unity or contextual indication of their meaning, as if they are two incomplete systems merged together. This itself is an issue, but it masks a greater flaw underneath.
The true problem we are facing is not that the current ACS format is too complex - it is that it is not complex enough! We are still capable, on an institutional level, of understanding our own documentation and I will not stand for this miscarriage of justice! In the nearly 30 years I have been part of the Foundation, we have taken only timid, half-measure steps towards our great destiny of total incomprehensibility. I say this cowardice has gone on long enough! Long enough and no longer!
And so to address this crippling flaw in our organization, I propose the following: in order to sever the last remaining ties of ACS to functionality, we must cut it entirely from the English language and its purse of stolen words. We must engineer a language wholly focused on condensing the granularity of ACS information into the most informationally-dense and functionally-useless form possible.
My proposal for a Revised ACS will encode the exact specifications of an anomaly’s qualities and distinctive features in its morphology, providing granular detail that will be rendered utterly incoherent if it is mispronounced, misheard, mistyped, spoken with any sort of accent, subjected to ordinary sound changes, or otherwise changed in any way.
This proposal owes a great debt to Mr. John Quijada’s Ithkuil, and I offer Mr. Quijada my sincerest apologies for this inexpert bungling of his magnum opus. It is only fitting, for the purposes of destroying language’s function and purpose, that I fill the role of demiurge and create a lesser world of base matter in crude imitation of the truth.
@@ @@
+++ Phonology
I have chosen to keep the phonology and romanization of RACS within the boundaries of what is easily pronounced by English speakers and what can be easily typed on a standard keyboard, except in those cases where I have not.
[[div class="mobile"]]
||||||||||||||||||~ Consonants ||
||~ ||~ LAB ||~ DEN ||~ ALV ||~ POA ||~ PAL ||~ VEL ||~ UVU ||~ GLO ||
||= NSL ||= m || ||= n || || ||= ŋ || || ||
||= STP ||= p / b || ||= t / d || || ||= k / g ||= q ||= ʔ ||
||= EJS ||= p' ||= ||= t' ||= ||= ||= k' ||= ||= ||
||= AFF ||= ||= ||= t͡s / d͡z ||= t͡ʃ / d͡ʒ ||= ||= ||= q͡χ ||= ||
||= EJA ||= ||= ||= t͡s' ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= FRC ||= f / v ||= θ / ð ||= s / z ||= ʃ / ʒ ||= ||= x / ɣ ||= ||= ||
||= APX ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= j ||= ||= ||= ||
||= TRL ||= ʙ ||= ||= r ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= LAT ||= ||= ||= l ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= LAF ||= ||= ||= t͡ɬ ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= CLK ||= ||= ||= ŋ! ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
[[/div]]
While <r> is written here as the trilled /r/, but it is more appropriately described as a "whatever rhotic" and can be realized as /ɾ/, /ɹ/, /ʀ/, or any other variety as one sees fit.
||||||||~ Vowels ||
|| || Front || Central || Back ||
|| Upper ||= i ||= ɨ ||= u ||
|| High Mid ||= e || ||= o ||
|| Mid || ||= ə̃ || ||
|| Low Mid ||= ɛ || ||= ɔ ||
|| Low ||||||= a ||||
The vowel inventory has been arranged so that, if you are more in line with the spirit of the IPA chart rather than the reality, they will be arranged in such a way to mimic the Foundation’s own sigil.
@@ @@
+++ Romanization
Revised ACS uses multiple romanization systems: sets A and B (With and without diacritics, respectively) are acceptable for casual usage and teaching materials, but not in keeping with the standards set forth by the Classification Committee. As such, the formal orthography of RACS will exclusively use symbols from the Latin Extended-B Unicode block.
As these charts are quite large, I have added them to collapsible blocks.
[[collapsible show="+ Romanization A - No Diacritics" hide="- Close"]]
[[div class="mobile"]]
||||||||||||||||||~ Consonants ||
||~ ||~ LAB ||~ DEN ||~ ALV ||~ POA ||~ PAL ||~ VEL ||~ UVU ||~ GLO ||
||= NSL ||= m || ||= n || || ||= ng || || ||
||= STP ||= p / b || ||= t / d || || ||= k / g ||= q ||= ' ||
||= EJS ||= p' ||= ||= t' ||= ||= ||= k' ||= ||= ||
||= AFF ||= ||= ||= ts / dz||= c / j ||= ||= ||= qx||= ||
||= EJA ||= ||= ||= ts' ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= FRC ||= f / v ||= th / dh ||= s / z ||= sh / zh ||= ||= h:x:kh / gh ||= ||= h ||
||= APX ||= hw / w ||= ||= ||= ||= y ||= ||= ||= ||
||= TRL ||= bb ||= ||= r ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= LAT ||= ||= ||= l ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= LAF ||= ||= ||= tl ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= CLK ||= ||= ||= ng! ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
[[/div]]
||||||||~ Vowels ||
|| || Front || Central || Back ||
|| Upper ||= i ||= eu ||= u ||
|| High Mid ||= e || ||= o ||
|| Mid || ||= un || ||
|| Low Mid ||= eh || ||= aw ||
|| Low ||||||= a ||||
[[/collapsible]]
[[collapsible show="+ Romanization B - Diacritics" hide="- Close"]]
[[div class="mobile"]]
||||||||||||||||||~ Consonants ||
||~ ||~ LAB ||~ DEN ||~ ALV ||~ POA ||~ PAL ||~ VEL ||~ UVU ||~ GLO ||
||= NSL ||= m || ||= n || || ||= ň || || ||
||= STP ||= p / b || ||= t / d || || ||= k / g ||= q ||= ' ||
||= EJS ||= p' ||= ||= t' ||= ||= ||= k' ||= ||= ||
||= AFF ||= ||= ||= c̥ / z̥ ||= c / j ||= ||= ||= q̌ ||= ||
||= EJA ||= ||= ||= c̥' ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= FRC ||= f / v ||= ṭ / ḍ ||= s / z ||= š / ž ||= ||= h:x / ǧ ||= ||= h ||
||= APX ||= w̏ / w ||= ||= ||= ||= y ||= ||= ||= ||
||= TRL ||= b̥||= ||= r ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= LAT ||= ||= ||= l ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= LAF ||= ||= ||= ṱ ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= CLK ||= ||= ||= ň! ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
[[/div]]
||||||||~ Vowels ||
|| || Front || Central || Back ||
|| Upper ||= i ||= ÿ ||= u ||
|| High Mid ||= e || ||= o ||
|| Mid || ||= ą || ||
|| Low Mid ||= è || ||= ò ||
|| Low ||||||= a ||||
[[/collapsible]]
[[collapsible show="+ Romanization C - Formal" hide="- Close"]]
[[div class="mobile"]]
||||||||||||||||||~ Consonants ||
||~ ||~ LAB ||~ DEN ||~ ALV ||~ POA ||~ PAL ||~ VEL ||~ UVU ||~ GLO ||
||= NSL ||= Ɯ || ||= ȵ || || ||= Ɲ || || ||
||= STP ||= ȹ / Ƃ || ||= ȶ / ƍ || || ||= Ȼ / Ǥ ||= ȹ||= ƾ ||
||= EJS ||= ȹƾ ||= ||= ȶƾ ||= ||= ||= Ȼƾ ||= ||= ||
||= AFF ||= ||= ||= Ʃ / Ƶ ||= Ɔ / Ɉ ||= ||= ||= Ƣ ||= ||
||= EJA ||= ||= ||= Ʃƾ ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= FRC ||= ƪ / Ɯ ||= Ɵ / Ⱦ ||= ƒ / Ƹ ||= Ƨ / ƶ ||= ||= Ʌ / ȝ ||= ||= ||
||= APX ||= ƕ / Ƿ ||= ||= ||= ||= Ɏ ||= ||= ||= ||
||= TRL ||= ƀ ||= ||= ƥ ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= LAT ||= ||= ||= Ɨ ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= LAF ||= ||= ||= ƛ ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
||= CLK ||= ||= ||= Ƞ ||= ||= ||= ||= ||= ||
[[/div]]
||||||||~ Vowels ||
|| || Front || Central || Back ||
|| Upper ||= ƚ ||= ƴ ||= Ɯ ||
|| High Mid ||= ǣ || ||= Ƽ ||
|| Mid || ||= Ʊ || ||
|| Low Mid ||= ɇ || ||= ȣ ||
|| Low ||||||= ǝ ||||
[[/collapsible]]
Practitioners of Revised ACS are encouraged to switch between systems A and B according to whatever aesthetic criteria they deem fit, save in formal situations.
It should also be noted that, if a consonant is followed by <y> or <w> it will be palatalized or labialized, respectively.
@@ @@
+++ Slot 1 - Anomaly Status
The anomaly’s current status is indicated by a consonant prefix. The glottal stop prefix for Contained anomalies is typically not written, as its purpose is to break up words
||||~ TABLE I ||
|| Explained || ŋ!- ||
|| Neutralized in unspecified circumstances || hw- ||
|| Neutralized by the Foundation || tl- ||
|| Neutralized by another party || bb- ||
|| Neutralized by natural causes || qx- ||
||Contained || (') ||
@@ @@
+++ Slot 2 - Primary Containment Class
Primary containment class uses the standard 5-vowel system in a straightforward manner. If the anomaly has been neutralized or explained, use its prior classification.
||||||~ TABLE II ||
|| Safe || -a- || Passive containment measures ||
|| Euclid || -i- || Active containment measures ||
|| Keter || -u- || Active and adaptive containment measures ||
|| Pending || -o- || Not yet classified ||
|| Esoteric || -e- || Nonstandard classification ||
@@ @@
+++ Slot 3 - Object Tags
The Slot 3 consonant cluster is derived from both our internal tagging system and the Coalition's serves as the root of the name; extended roots can become rather unwieldy, and so only the primary class root is required, and the additional consonants can be added as one sees fit for desired specificity, or dropped for ease of use.
Slot 3-1 is the Primary Class Tag, which designates the broad category of the anomaly. Four of the six will have a secondary class tag filling slot 3-2, while the other two skip directly to slot 3-3.
Epenthetic schwas or glottal stops may be inserted to break up particularly unruly clusters, even if this is against the spirit of the exercise.
||||~ TABLE III-A: Primary Classes ||
|| Human || -ng- ||
|| Nonhuman || -m- ||
|| Artifact || -n- ||
|| Location || -l- ||
|| Phenomenon || -r- ||
|| Other || -š- ||
@@ @@
[[div class="mobile"]]
||||||||||~ TABLE III-B: Secondary Classes ||
|| Human || Nonhuman || Artifact || Location || -f- ||
|| Generic || Amphibian || Textual || Afterlife || -v- ||
|| Body Part || Arachnid || Computer || Airborne || -ṭ- ||
|| Theurgist || Avian || Weapon || Aquatic || -ḓ- ||
|| Thaumatoligist || Cephalopod || Game || Building || -s- ||
|| Oneiric || Crustacean || Instrument || City || -z- ||
|| Spectral || Dinosaur || Medical || Desert || -š- ||
|| Ontokinetic || Fish || Online || Dreamlands || -ḍ- ||
|| Cybernetic || Insect || Monetary || Extradimensional || -x- ||
|| Reanimated || Mammal || Art || Forest || -ǧ- ||
|| Hybrid || Reptile || Vehicle || Geological Formation || -p- ||
|| Animakinetic || Plant || Religious || Island || -b- ||
|| Psionic || Fungus || Clothing || Macroendonic Spatial Anomaly || -t- ||
|| Polymorphic || Pathogen || Toy || Moon || -d- ||
|| Host Specimen || Non-Autocthonous || Tool || Planet || -k- ||
|| Extraterrestrial || Extraterrestrial || Food || Ruins || -g- ||
|| Extradimensional || Extradimensional || Substance || Satellite || -q- ||
|| Temporally-Displaced || Temporally-Displaced || Mechanical || Sun || -'- ||
|| Prenatal Mutation || Former Human || Electronic || Structure || -r- ||
|| Postnatal Mutation || Ontological || Robotic || Subterranean || -rr- ||
|| Other || Other || Other || Other || Geminate preceding liquid ||
[[/div]]
In cases where 3-2 and 3-3 are stops that share place of articulation but differ in voice, the consonant in 3-2 will shift to match that in 3-3.
[[div class="mobile"]]
||||||||||||~ TABLE III-C: Threat Warnings ||
|| Corrosive || -p- || Electromagnetic || -by- || Genetic Alteration || -k'- ||
|| Auditory || -t- || Abnormal behavior || -gy- || Communication || -q'- ||
|| Cognitive || -k- || Paralytic || -pw- || Gravitational || -ts- ||
|| Eschatological || -b- || Imperceptible || -tw- || Combustion || -ẓ- ||
|| Conscious Compulsion ||-d-|| Non-ionizing radiation || -kw- || Parathreat Creation || -c- ||
|| Unconscious Compulsion || -g- || Ionizing radiation || -bw-|| Hallucinogenic || -j- ||
|| Memory || -q- || Memetic || -dw- || Carcinogenic || -cw- ||
|| Emotional || -py- || Nomenclative || -gw- || Toxic || -jw- ||
|| Composition Alteration || -ty- || Ecological || -p'- || Kinetic || -y- ||
|| Emotional || -ky- || Irregular Movement || -t'- || other || -w- ||
[[/div]]
@@ @@
+++ Slot 4 - Threat Level
The threat level tags do not feature any change from the existing Threat Level system, as even in the name of increased and unnecessary complexity I cannot bring myself to distort them.
||~ ACS Class ||~ RACS Infix ||~ Description ||
|| White || -ą- || Actively beneficial ||
|| Green || -a- || No threat posed ||
|| Blue || -e- || Potentially beneficial ||
|| Yellow || -o- || Low risk ||
|| Orange || -i- || High risk ||
|| Red || -u- || Active threat ||
|| Black || -ÿ- || Extreme danger ||
@@ @@
+++ Slot 5 - Secondary Containment Class
This section will only cover secondary classes included as standard in the ACS documentation: if you would like other esoteric classes included, send me an email and I will add them to the table.
||||||~ TABLE 5 ||
||~ ACS Class ||~ RACS Infix ||~ Description ||
|| Apollyon || -tca- || Containment impossible; mitigation only ||
|| Archon || - je- || Poses greater threat if contained ||
|| Cernunnos || -kwi- || Can be contained, but is not ||
|| Decommissioned || -ǧÿ- || Self-explanatory ||
|| Heimal || -ṭu- || 2+ anomalies that contain each other ||
|| Tiamat || -ẓo- || Requires Veil-breaking operation ||
|| Ticonderoga || -qè- || Cannot be contained; containment not needed ||
|| Thaumiel || -ngą- || Used to contain another anomaly ||
|| Uncontained || -tsò- || Self-explanatory ||
@@ @@
+++ Slot 6 - Disruption Class
The consonants used to indicate disruption class are irregularly derived from their existing names, so as to cause cognitive whiplash when moving from the randomly-selected Slot 5 components. Additionally, as Disruption Class operates on both a logarithmic scale and a horseshoes/handgrenades schema, the contents of this slot may change according to the attitudes of the speaker.
||||||~ TABLE VI ||
|| Dark || -d- || Effect measured in individual persons ||
|| Vlam || -vl- || Localized effect; minor coverup required ||
|| Keneq || -q- || Moderate-scale effect; significant coverup required ||
|| Ekhi || -x- || Wide-scale effect; Veil-break near-guaranteed ||
|| Amida || -mb- || Global-scale effect ||
|| Unspecified || ∅ || N/A ||
@@ @@
+++ Slot 8 - Group of Interest Affiliation
Do not be alarmed if you don’t recognize some of the listed names: I believe several of these entries to be entirely fictitious. As a show of good faith, I have maintained or approximated initials when possible. This is to promote confusion with those letters such as c and x that do not align with typical English usage. The letter ẃ is used only in this slot, and is pronounced /v/.
@@ @@
[[div class="mobile"]]
||||||||||||~ TABLE VIII ||
|| Accelerate the Future || -cf- || Gamers Against Weed || -gw- || Obskura || -skm- ||
|| Alexylva University || -lxy- || Giftschreiber || -ǧs- || Oneiroi Collective || -nr- ||
|| Ambrose Restaurants || -mbr- || Global Occult Coalition || -gk- || ORIA || -rkl- ||
|| Anderson Robotics || -ndr- || Goldbaker-Reinz || -gbr- || Parawatch || -pw- ||
|| Arcadia || -rkd- || Golden Hoard || -gh- || Pattern-Screamers || -pts- ||
|| Are We Cool Yet || -wky- || Greazeburger || -ǧb- || PENTAGRAM || -pgr- ||
|| ASCI || -sc- || GRU-P || -gp- || Prometheus Labs || -pl- ||
|| Avelar Professional Products || -vl- || Herman Fuller || -hf- || Sapphire || -sf- ||
|| Black Queen || -bkw- || HMFSCP || -hm- || Scarlet King || -sk- ||
|| British Supernatural Service || -bs- || H. Sapiens Sidhe || -sḍ- || Second Hytoth || -hṭ- ||
|| Broken God || -bg- || Horizon Initiative || -hzn- || Serpent’s Hand || -sh- ||
|| Chaos Insurgency || -ks- || ICSUT || -kst- || Shark Punching Center || -spc- ||
|| Chicago Spirit || -cs- || IJAMEA || -jm- || Silicon Nornir || -sn- ||
|| Children of Night || -cn- || Just Girly Things || -jg- || Sugarcomb Confectionaries || -sgr- ||
|| Children of the Torch || -ct- || Madao || -md- || Three Moons Initiative || -ṭm- ||
|| Class of 76 || -cl- || Mages’ Academy || -mk- || Totleighsoft || -tl- ||
|| Cogwork Orthodoxy || -cgw- || Manna Charitable || -mf- || Unusual Incidents Unit || -fb- ||
|| Commission on Unusual Cargo || -cm- || Marshall, Carter, and Dark || -mcd- || Valravn Corporation || -vr- ||
|| Daevite Empire || -dv- || Maxwellism || -mxw- || Vikander-Kneed Technical Media || -vk- ||
|| Deer College || -dk- || Nalkan Cults || -nk- || Wanderers' Library || -ẃl- ||
|| Dr. Wondertainment || -dw- || **##green|nameless##** || -nl- || Wandsmen || -ẃẓ- ||
|| Factory || -fk- || Nobody || -nd- || Wilsons Wildlife Solutions || -ẃs- ||
|| Fifthist Church || -fc- || Obearwatch || -bw- || Xia Anomalous Culture Group || -şy- ||
[[/div]]
@@ @@
+++ Slot 7 - Affiliation Type
This slot indicates the manner in which the anomaly is connected to the Group of Interest used in Slot 8. This is not a typo: I have presented these two slots in reverse order on purpose.
||||~ TABLE VII ||
|| Generic connection || -a- ||
|| Actively used by or member of || -i- ||
|| Historically used by or member of || -u- ||
|| Possibly affiliated? || -e- ||
|| Technically or spuriously affiliated || -o- ||
|| Speaker wishes it was affiliated || -ÿ- ||
|| Affiliated but speaker wishes it wasn’t || -ą- ||
@@ @@
+++ Slot 9 - Plurality
Plurality consists of two components: the grammatical number itself, and a descriptor that will specify the compositional makeup of the plural.
[[div class="mobile"]]
||||||||||||||||~ TABLE IX ||
|| **Singular** || ∅ || **Dual** || -a- || **Trial** || -i- || **Plural** || -u- ||
|| **Associative** || -x |||||||||||| Connected, separate ||
||**Conjunctive**|| -j |||||||||||| Connected, inseparable ||
|| **Combative** || -ǧ |||||||||||| In direct conflict with each other ||
|| **Identical** || -q |||||||||||| Members are identical ||
|| **Fraternal** || -z |||||||||||| Members are non-identical ||
|| **Fuzzy** || -š |||||||||||| Resists categorization ||
[[/div]]
@@ @@
+++ Slot 10 - Database Number
A full anomaly name can be quite a mouthful in Revised ACS, and so an abbreviated version may be derived from the numbers themselves. So as to not perpetuate the Foundation’s unfortunate history of mangled Kabbalah, I elected to forgo gematria and instead drew the consonantal number values from the Georgian numeral system, on aesthetic grounds. Several of these numerals will represent the wrong numbers, as I had to find replacements for vowels.
There is no zero value in the conversion: if the digit is a zero, it will be skipped, unless it happens to exist between two vowels, in which case it will become a glottal stop.
||||||||||~ TABLE X ||
||~ ||~ 10^^3^^ ||~ 10^^2^^ ||~ 10^^1^^ ||~ 10^^0^^ ||
|| 1 || c- || -ą- || -r- || -ą ||
|| 2 || ts- || -a- || -k’- || -a ||
|| 3 || dz- || -e- || -l- || -e ||
|| 4 || ts’- || -è- || -m- || -è ||
|| 5 || c’- || -o- || -n- || -o ||
|| 6 || x- || -ò- || -k- || -ò ||
|| 7 || q- || -i- || -ǧ- || -i ||
|| 8 || j- || -u- || -p’- || -u ||
|| 9 || h- || -ÿ- || -ž-|| -ÿ ||
These abbreviated forms may be used on their own, or attached to the primary name.
@@ @@
+++ Worked Example 1
Let's use our good friend Lord Blackwood as a demonstration
* He is currently within our care; Slot 1 is an unwritten **ʔ**
* His standard classification is Safe; Slot 2 is **a-**
* While it is not a particularly flattering description, I think that Lord Blackwood qualifies as **non-human (former human)** - as he does not present an anomalous threat, we skip table III-C and end with a Slot 3 root of **-mr-**
* His threat level is Green; Slot 4 is **-a-**
* He does not have a secondary containment class; Slot 5 is skipped.
* His scope of effect is limited to those he is speaking with, and thus Dark; Slot 6 is **-d-**
* He does have an affiliation with Her Majesty's Foundation for the Secure Containment of the Paranormal (or so it is said - I can't find it in his documentation, though everyone I've spoken to seems certain of it); Slot 8 is **-hm-**
* As the nature of Lord Blackwood's connection to the HMFSCP is unclear, if it exists to begin with, I will render Slot 7 as **-a-**, though I can see use cases for both **-i-** and **-u-**.
* Since there is only one Lord Blackwood (who could possibly replace him?), Slot 9 is skipped.
* With a database designation of 1867, Slot 10 turns into **c-u-k-i**
Putting it all together, Lord Blackwood's new designation is **'amradahm-cuki**
@@ @@
+++ Further Examples
Instead of just running through all the steps again, I'll provide some additional examples.
* [[[SCP-179]]] => 'amrąngą-ąǧÿ
* [[[SCP-2316]]] => 'urkiqacl-tserò
* [[[SCP-4017]]] => qxungšwuquhṭ-ts’ri
* [[[SCP-6787]]] => alsad-xip'i
As you can see, the end results are both simple and elegant.
@@ @@
+++ Concluding Notes
Using this outline we can now classify every anomaly in our care with extreme granularity, reducing the amount of usable information in our document headers to zero. No longer will we be beholden to standards of comprehensibility, ease of pronunciation, or indicative nomenclature! We can now achieve informational security on a scale never before conceived by the Foundation, hiding vital information from our very own personnel!
Qapla’!
David Munsch
Director, Department of Constructed Languages
Site-87
[[/div]]
------
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:discord-chat-source">:scp-wiki:component:discord-chat-source</a> |inc-start= --] ]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:discord-chat-source">:scp-wiki:component:discord-chat-source</a> |inc-msg-start= --]
|user-id=two
|username= Ross, Tamika
|msg-time= Today at 11:13 AM
]]
oh my god david
what did you do
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|user-id=one
|username= Munsch, David
|msg-time= Today at 11:13 AM
]]
:)
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|user-id=two
|username= Ross, Tamika
|msg-time= Today at 11:13 AM
]]
DAVID OH MY GOD WHAT DID YOU DO
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|user-id=three
|username= LaRoche, Jesse
|msg-time= Today at 11:13 AM
]]
He went and did it, the absolute madman.
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|user-id=four
|username= Wheeler, Doug
|msg-time= Today at 11:14 AM
]]
Toki ike confirmed?
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|user-id=three
|username= LaRoche, Jesse
|msg-time= Today at 11:14 AM
]]
toki pi ike //suli//
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|user-id=four
|username= Wheeler, Doug
|msg-time= Today at 11:14 AM
]]
Mi olin
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|user-id=one
|username= Munsch, David
|msg-time= Today at 11:14 AM
]]
Thank you! :D
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|user-id=two
|username= Ross, Tamika
|msg-time= Today at 11:14 AM
]]
I hate that I like this.
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|user-id=one
|username= Munsch, David
|msg-time= Today at 11:15 AM
]]
I promise I'll apologize to Mr. Quijada at the next LCC.
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|user-id=three
|username= LaRoche, Jesse
|msg-time= Today at 11:15 AM
]]
This is great.
Fuck now I want to just run the database through it.
You just made a new memeohazard.
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|user-id=two
|username= Ross, Tamika
|msg-time= Today at 11:16 AM
]]
I feel like this calls for a celebration.
Uncle Mike's work for everyone?
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|user-id=one
|username= Munsch, David
|msg-time= Today at 11:16 AM
]]
Actually, I think we can write off a little visit to the Black Garden as a departmental expense.
We still have some money allotted for teambuilding and morale.
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|user-id=four
|username= Wheeler, Doug
|msg-time= Today at 11:16 AM
]]
Oh hell yeah.
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|user-id=three
|username= LaRoche, Jesse
|msg-time= Today at 11:16 AM
]]
Gods bless
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|user-id=two
|username= Ross, Tamika
|msg-time= Today at 11:17 AM
]]
I'll never say no to a free lunch. Meet you out front in 5.
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> |author=Djoric]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-01-06T17:20:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"comedy",
"s&c-plastics",
"tale"
] |
A Modest Proposal for A Revised Anomaly Classification System - SCP Foundation
| 168
|
[
"scp-179",
"scp-2316",
"scp-4017",
"scp-6787",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"the-s-c-plastics-hub"
] |
[] |
1452077813
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-modest-proposal-for-a-revised-anomaly-classification-syste
|
|
a-murder-and-relief-in-the-dark
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>For someone once called the 'The Deathless Merchant of London', Percival Darke sure can die.</p>
</div>
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<div class="authorbox">
<div class="authorcontent">
<p><strong>Content Warning:</strong> Depictions of gore/injury, and mentions of cannibalism.</p>
<p>A Murder and Relief in the Dark by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/xexnoncores" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9159226); return false;"><img alt="xexnoncores" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=9159226&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736268944" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=9159226)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/xexnoncores" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9159226); return false;">xexnoncores</a></span></p>
</div>
</div>
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<div class="content-warning creditRate">⚠️ content warning <span class="content-warning-arrow"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
</div>
<p>A Murder and Relief in the Dark | <a href="/pierce-the-velvet">Pierce the Velvet</a> »</p>
<div class="fancytext">
<p style="text-align: center;"></p>
<p><span style="font-size:2.0em;">January 10th, 1998<br/></span></p>
<p>There is nothing hotter than indignation, than raw, furied humiliation impaled on a sword.</p>
<p>Percival Darke sucks in air through his teeth, gasping, choking, sputtering. All of it is iron, red-hot and screaming, and so it cleaves through his fangs with little remorse as his hand tremors towards his pager. Before collapsing again, he coughs up blood and straddles his legs to keep his head above the dirty floor, barely managing to press that little white button on the side.</p>
<p>It is cold, the first time in over a century he has been made aware of such a concept.</p>
<p>Scarlet soaks his wet eyeballs for a second, flooding them as blood continues to spill from his head with little restraint. To quell his boiling heart and the white-hot indignation he is fighting against, he spits it out on top of <em>her</em>, across her mangled cheek he had already lashed. On top of this dog, this disrespectful mongrel that managed to shove a blade into his chest and put a bullet into his spine. A machete, too—the nerve of her to use such a brutish weapon—but she missed the aorta by a few centimeters. A few crucial, precious centimeters.</p>
<p>He will have to dismember her later, deign her to hell by consuming her and denying whatever burial the prayer beads on her neck were pious for. For now though, he is content with the heavy footsteps tumbling down the stairwell, the sound of relief hopefully enveloping him soon.</p>
<p>Several voices shriek. His five bodyguards, all two decades loyal.</p>
<p>“Oh my god—!”</p>
<p>“Who let this happen?!”</p>
<p>“Sir Darke, can you stand—?!”</p>
<p>Their voices quickly cacophonize. He hisses as two reach for his arms.</p>
<p>“Shut up—!”</p>
<p>The tallest, Cecil, lifts him to his feet as he hacks out more red, wincing. Percival’s legs are completely limp, dangling like a cut ragdoll. The dead agent was a wonderful shot—she put a bullet straight in his third lumbar nerve.</p>
<p>“Ready the helicopter,” Cecil barks over a pulled out walkie-talkie. “Now!”</p>
<p>Percival groans as he’s hoisted up and flipped, slung over broad shoulders in what was actually not that painful of a support position. But god, was he a child? A pillaged maiden? A sack of potatoes?</p>
<p>“G-Gah—you insolent little—!”</p>
<p>He wants to curse, but all that whites his mind is a ripping pain. His nails dig into Cecil instead, all the way through kevlar plating.</p>
<p>“Charles! Alton! Come with me!” he says, showing no flinching himself. “Radio Sir Amos of the situation while I check with Addison on Iris!”</p>
<p><em>Iris,</em> Percival thinks. It’s the most lucid thought he’s had since being downed.</p>
<p>Oh no, the agent’s target was supposed to be her as well. Knowing these kinds of ants, they always came in pairs. Where was she? Was she safe?</p>
<p>“Find…Find…”</p>
<p>He hacks out more blood. There’s no limit on what his body can give when wounded—that was the unfortunate downside of being nearly perfectly invulnerable. His flesh was going to give and give until it healed, until it was stitching up spasming and raw.</p>
<p>Biting his lip as Cecil quickly ferries him up the stairs, he has to constrain himself from barking orders. He has to restrain his own mind from wandering pointlessly towards macabre ends and against the godly pedestal he placed his importance upon. Charles and Alton follow behind wordlessly while the other two begin undressing the offending body, flinging aside all matter of decorum or grace its god may have bequeathed it with. There was no time for Percival to admit how delightfully lacking it was in rigor mortis.</p>
<p>“Iris—” he manages to sputter.</p>
<p>“Addison, do you have copy on Iris’s location?” Cecil asks.</p>
<p>It’s a suffocating few seconds until the walkie-talkie static clears.</p>
<p>“Affirmative,” her voice rings out. “She’s being ferried up towards the helipad by Althea from the eleventh floor.</p>
<p>“Good,” Cecil affirms. “Have her prep the opioid and medical kits once she reaches her destination, and ready the ketamine patches for immediate use.”</p>
<p>There’s no room for a sigh of relief, but Percival takes it anyway. As he takes that overextension, his stomach collapses against the weight of a torn diaphragm. A cascade of phlegm quickly pours from his mouth, draining from his throat and sliding down his chin.</p>
<p>No god to thank for such luck except that of Fate for this. And even that is a slaughterhouse position.</p>
<p>His expression sticks haphazardly to his face as he’s thrust into sickly yellow light. It snaps as soon as he’s jostled around further by the twists and turns of rosy corridors, incandescence blotting out all sense of humor and manners. Had he been in any other situation not tinged by screeching nerve endings, he would have lamented how shoddy of a place this was to perform such a high-profile execution. This hotel was old, unfashionably behind the times in both decor and staff uniforms—it was chosen purely because of Amos’s nostalgia for its (admittedly wonderful) facilities, and nothing more.</p>
<p>At least have some style if you were sending someone to their grave, hm? He was supposed to be in London next week anyway. Couldn’t they have done this there?</p>
<p>The home advantage would have probably have not even gotten them through the front door though…</p>
<p>Hopefully these accommodations will not make too much of a terrible impression on Iris. This was her first business trip with him, the first time she was exposed to the sights of what her life was going to be like as his heir. How was she supposed to understand what she was deserving of in substandard lodgings like this? With paintings so disgusting rococo they practically bled chalk, and polyester carpets woven deceitfully to mimic cotton? <em>Where</em> was the Western European flare, the Napoleonic influences this great city built its foundation on?!</p>
<p>24/7 staff service was never enough to save tacky history and gaudy luxuriousness, even if their airhead customers swallowed it like pigs.</p>
<p>“Cecil,” Addison rings out. “Iris has been loaded into the helicopter. We’re waiting on Sir Percival’s arrival. Amos has confirmed that hired security are scouting the building and will levy deadly force against suspicious individuals.”</p>
<p>“And the auction?” he asks.</p>
<p>“The auction will continue unimpeded,” she responds.</p>
<p>“Perfect. We’re almost there,” Cecil grunts into his radio.</p>
<p>Percival balls his hands up into a fist. Augh, the warm wetness falling down his face was forcing him pallid. And his stomach so flat against Cecil’s jutting shoulder—</p>
<p>“You imbecile—”</p>
<p>A little bit of vomit burns his throat.</p>
<p>“Excuse me? Sir?”</p>
<p>“<em>Put me—put me—</em>”</p>
<p>Can’t breathe. The hydrochloric acid bubbles and sears down his windpipe. Percival gasps, shaking like a foal trying to hoist himself up towards uprightness. Alton and Charles hover around his face, too close for comfort in dizzying, nauseating fashion. Their black suits glut themselves too widely on his blurring vision.</p>
<p>“Back up!” he rasps at them, swiping before craning nervously back to Cecil. His lips shake as he motions frantically to a nearby chair, waving his arms like a chicken with its head cut off. Abasement burns as the standing three stare at each other for a second too long until the pressure ruptures and Percival heaves.</p>
<p>“Cecil!” Alton yells.</p>
<p>“Put him down, put him down!” Charles follows up. “For fuck’s sake—!”</p>
<p>“Ah—sir I’m sorry!” Cecil apologizes quickly, hurriedly slinging him off his back and into a little wooden chair. The smell of half-digested roast duck and <em>foie gras</em> stains the air with fatty intentions, sloughing lipids and rotting malfeasance. Percival vomits again, tears staining his eyes from the heat flooding his face, his pride breaking with every passing second.</p>
<p>“Do we need to bring the medical kit down here now?” Alton asks.</p>
<p>“That might be a good idea,” Charles says.</p>
<p>“We’re too close to the helicopter though,” Cecil replies. “We don’t know if there’s a danger still—”</p>
<p>“Do we look like idiots?” Alton quips. He points his finger in Cecil’s face as Percival groans.</p>
<p>“N-No,” Cecil stutters. “But we need to prioritize Sir Percival’s safety!”</p>
<p>“We do, but we also need to make sure he doesn’t drown in his own bodily fluids. That’ll be easier to do when he’s not so overtaken with pain.”</p>
<p>“Are you—Are you sure…?”</p>
<p>Both Charles and Alton nod as Percival grits his teeth. His head spins, the entire room shifting axises. Vertical, horizontal, downwards, backwards—gravity was warbling the ground and grinding concrete into his ears.</p>
<p>“<em>Silence…!</em>” he shrieks at them, his voice cavalcading higher than expected.</p>
<p>All three of them freeze. Pure terror carves into their faces, even behind their impossibly black shades. Their pupils shrink to pinpoint needles, anticipation folding over into paranoia, of what kind Percival does not care.</p>
<p>He huffs, his head wobbling back and forth before he forces steady eye contact with them. His normally white face has been completely engulfed in blood and bruises.</p>
<p>“…I need…just <em>two</em> things, you hear me?” he sibilants. All three stand to attention as he lumbers another breath, instinctively wishing he had a liter of morphine on him now.</p>
<p>“…I need you…to clean me up…and I need…to be out of here, quickly. Follow my orders <em>exactly</em>, without all this…idle chatter.”</p>
<p>“Cleaned up?” Cecil asks, balking.</p>
<p>Percival glares at him, both Alton and Charles following suit. The pair take out white handkerchiefs while Cecil’s face burns, watching them mop up blood off once smooth skin and yellow stains off starched cotton. It’s unnerving to everyone how dark and veined the bruising is, but Charles quickly throws down Percival’s hair to cover it up.</p>
<p>A broken vase being hidden away from onlookers, how deflatingly unglamorous. Percival supposes to himself that he is lucky that his hair has grown out enough to offer him such a luxury, but his ego spars with a sense of worry when Iris pops into his head again. What would she think?</p>
<p>What would she do seeing her high-held father so close to death? So disheveled, stinking of cadavers, so stained by human intentions?</p>
<p>Their blood was precious, irreplaceable. His first promise as he dragged her out of that ring of corpses torn apart as part of her inheritance ritual was that she would know only the spilled ichor of others, that she would not witness death’s hand until her contracted time came. March 14th, 1996—this was the day the world shook as its future heir was brought unto its undeserving flesh. Dragged out of an iron case, transfixed from burning coals, a body came out so small and with eyes bluer than any jewel or sky, destined to swallow it all.</p>
<p>And it was good, in all ways one could describe such a miracle.</p>
<p>She didn’t sound like she was hurt—but a part of Percival still felt like he had failed on that promise somewhere. That he was getting ready to fail Iris on the path her mind was supposed to take. Would she succeed if she thought of herself as any less than invincible? Anxiety was a disease that was for the masses beneath them—it was not a vice that he would entertain. And yet here he was, at the edge of life and death so—! So—!</p>
<p>“Sir, we should get going,” Charles says plainly, leaning up. “A G.O.C signal sent to the body downstairs was just decrypted, requesting mission status. It seems like they’ve set up reconnaissance a few blocks down.”</p>
<p>Percival holds out his arms to be lifted up once again, this time more gracefully. “Eliminate them at once…and have their lower halves loaded into my larder after they are dealt with. I want those bastards to know this…sting of theirs failed.”</p>
<p>Alton and Charles nod, Cecil biting his nails as Percival refuses to meet his gaze. The carrying pair snicker as they resume the route, Cecil falling behind.</p>
<p>“Sir—” he clamors.</p>
<p>Percival says nothing.</p>
<p>The carrying pair shoot him a look telling him to shut up until he catches up with them, his posture straight and tall.</p>
<p>“…Can I suggest that you save the hands of the woman downstairs, and any others we catch tonight? I recall that Miss Iris, uh, likes gnawing on the phalanxes of…”</p>
<p>He trails off with a loosening pace. Percival narrows his eyes at him, but eventually smiles.</p>
<p>“Wonderful idea Cecil,” he says with a sound that could be akin to a purr. “That slipped my mind in all of this chaos.”</p>
<p>“I’ll radio Temperance and Diana to—”</p>
<p>“We’re almost there,” Percival quips. “Do it…once I’m gone.”</p>
<p>It’s then when two massive doors swing open to reveal the starless night sky. Black helicopter blades roar, shearing heavy quakes into the ground and ears. Each rotation chops the senses, beckoning the city to bend to its knee.</p>
<p>“Sir!” Althea yells. She points to Iris buckled in the helicopter seat.</p>
<p>Percival beams, trying not to make any sudden movements. His heart swells, and he taps the pair carrying him to hurry. They oblige without hesitation while Cecil begins conversing with Althea.</p>
<p>“Steady—” Charles starts.</p>
<p>“Keep his thighs still,” Alton says. “Don’t let them move too far right.”</p>
<p>“Got it—oh, I see the med kit! I’ll get to that—”</p>
<p>Percival grunts as he’s shuffled in less gracefully than intended, but there’s no complaint as Charles unpeels three black patches from clear plastic and lifts his suit up.</p>
<p>“Where?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Both sides of my hips, and one on my chest.”</p>
<p>“None on your legs?”</p>
<p>Percival shakes his head. “Those are already recovering some of their sensation, and very little of it is pain.”</p>
<p>“…Are you sure?”</p>
<p>Both Charles and Alton look to Iris, who has been reaching for Percival this entire time with wide eyes. She babbles various half-words meaning “daddy”, and “father”, wholly unbothered by the noise or even any of the commotion that’s gone on.</p>
<p>Percival snaps his fingers to have her unbuckled from her booster seat and placed in his lap. Charles winces, but once he applies the patches, he obeys.</p>
<p>“Safe travels, sir,” he says as he backs up away from the helicopter. He turns around as Althea shouts something to him. “Sir Amos has confirmed he will meet you at Hotel Monteleone once the events here are concluded.”</p>
<p>“Wonderful…” he mutters with a heavy, relieved sigh. He clutches Iris close with an steel grip as painkillers flood his skin and bloodstream, numbing his brain from sharp needles to blots of gray.</p>
<p>The door slams quickly, and all is muffled. The helicopter initiates liftoff, its faceless pilot flicking buttons and levers that shine behind a black nylon net.</p>
<p>Iris whines and reaches for them, her little fingers wiggling like a freshly hatched bird. Percival laughs, holding her back.</p>
<p>“No, no…” he coos. “You have to stay on…Daddy’s lap, you know?”</p>
<p>“Why?” she asks. She squirms a little bit, trying again until he puts a hand on her head and rubs gently, back and forth. He’s intentional about angling his claws away from her baby-soft skin, away from her slicked hair and little ponytail.</p>
<p>“Because…you could get hurt,” he whispers, as if she was the only one in the world who didn’t deserve to know such a lack of safety nets existed. “Daddy doesn’t want you to fall.”</p>
<p>“Why? Does falling hurts?”</p>
<p>There she goes again. Percival knows what’s about to happen now—this always happened when she was told she wasn’t allowed to do something. Though he wants to throw caution to the wind, just for her, so that she’s not denied anything her little heart desires, he can’t do that tonight. He can’t. It’s unwise.</p>
<p>Chuckling, he wraps a thickly veined hand around her torso and snuggles her into his suit.</p>
<p>“Yes, falling can hurt. Remember that time you fell down the mansion stairs? When you were trying to find my library? You split your head open and cried so much!”</p>
<p>The image doesn’t soothe him as much as he thought it would. Though in hindsight, it <em>was</em> rather adorable how far of a tumble she took from walking up just five big steps, the sword pierces his mind and ruins everything. That glowing machete which plunged directly into his heart—the idea of it turning on and ripping Iris’s delicate body to shreds pulses bile into his throat. The mere idea she would look at that woman with a wide smile, and a warm expectation, wanting the kindness from her that was typical of the clientele they entertained, only to be met with betrayal her little mind wouldn’t even be able to comprehend…</p>
<p>Percival’s heart thumps. He clutches Iris closer, just a little bit too tightly for her. She flails, keening, but he doesn’t hear. His head flares up with the bloodiest worst case scenarios, each a different flavor of dismemberment and grief until she—</p>
<p>“…Ow!”</p>
<p>Iris burbles as her teeth sink in. Hard. Percival jolts to attention, slit pupils dilating and muscles tensing until Iris removes her mouth, unsatisfied.</p>
<p>“Hey!!” he exclaims, raising his voice, but only a little bit. “What did I say about biting?”</p>
<p>She turns her face away, puffing her cheeks. Percival takes her chin into his hand and pulls her head to meet his gaze.</p>
<p>“<em>Iris…</em>“</p>
<p>She stares at him for a second before biting him again. Her fangs travel deep this time, all the way through his thick layers of fabric. Her saliva soaks thoroughly, and she grinds enamel as if gnawing on bone until he taps her on the forehead, trying not to wail. He doesn’t need more pain right now!</p>
<p>“Iris!” Percival barks, forcing it through his teeth to avoid being too loud. “Do…Do not bite your father! Do you understand me?”</p>
<p>She hisses, opening up her mouth wide. Percival shivers as she dives down again but she smacks into his open palm instead, cold whites threatening to cut once more.</p>
<p>The two stare off at each other while Percival pushes his hand uncomfortably close into her gums. Her mouth is hot, runic magic inside flaring like burst knars.</p>
<p><em>Fuck, fuck, fuck,</em> he thinks, as he has to struggle to push her back. His muscles begin screaming again, flaring up with choked lactic acid. Biting all the way into his bottom lip with tears pricking his eyes, he finally finds the strength and resolve to fully shove her until right at the climax of the action—</p>
<p>“Hungry!” she pipes at him. “Hungry!”</p>
<p>She yells twice as if he didn’t hear, as if her intention was to never let go, as if she was born from an orectic demon. Percival blinks, stunned to silence, a thick stream of red trickling down his chin.</p>
<p>“…Daddy ate!” she continues, staring at that stream of carnelian. Percival smiles, knowing to give her the floor and admiring how cute she was when she demanded to get her way. “I want some too! I want some now! Blood! Hands! Tongues!!!”</p>
<p>Without another word, she grabs his suit, but this time, he’s quick enough to clap his hands over her eyes like a cat.</p>
<p>“You little…”</p>
<p>His smile betrays a conversed insinuation in his heart, an invisible hoarseness putting down its sword to march towards satiation. Towards a complete leveling of everything built up over the past five hours, from chase, to stake, to rising action, to fall.</p>
<p>It all sublimates as titanium blades swing above their heads.</p>
<p>“…You’re right,” he replies with bated breath. “I did promise you we’d have one of our special dinners tonight. Was that why you weren’t eating any of the hors d'oeuvres?”</p>
<p>A kiss on the forehead—an exchange of not just affection, but the highest deification. The world was watching what the appropriate action to its future potentate was to be—Iris Darke should never go without what she wants.</p>
<p>She nods, and pouts with her black tongue sticking out. Percival can’t help but to burst into a full-bellied laughter, his baritone voice swirling perfectly with the ambient muffledness of the padded passenger hold.</p>
<p>“Hahaha! Oh, Iris, my deepest, most sincere of apologies. Your father didn’t mean to deprive you of a rich meal, something just…came up. Can you forgive me, O precious daughter? Please?”</p>
<p>There’s no time for a word, because he pulls Iris in closer before she can comprehend what’s going on. Night was the perfect opportunity for smothering truths, for hiding that which would shame and defile the flesh in the light. She wriggles just a bit, but his deep, labored breathing imparts a sense of dampening into her soul she would only understand as vague reminiscences when she was older.</p>
<p>“…Hungry,” is all she says as their hearts beat together in slow, henotic lulls. She digs her hands into his clothes, savoring the way he towered over and enveloped her totally.</p>
<p>“We’ll get something to eat soon,” he says again, defeated but relieved. “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Percival shudders a breath, grounding violent thoughts with the reality of her barely surviving weight. G.O.C agents had no restraints on themselves—they had no restraints for children, no restraint for war, no restraint on recalcitrance. The machete those hands held was ravenous, avaricious for carnality, blasphemous in its invisible tongues.</p>
<p>Would she have allowed Iris a recognizable corpse? Their paranoia of Sarkic rites ran deeper than its various gods which slept within the earth. Percival feared little, but even he was disgusted by the wanton cruelty a human-powered war machine could have towards the anomalous.</p>
<p>Iris pops her head out of his arms to gaze out of the helicopter window. He catches himself in time to witness the city lights reflecting in her eyes, a sea of man-made stars swimming like diamonds.</p>
<p>“…What do you see, Iris?”</p>
<p>His voice softens, for the both of them. Slowly, she puts a hand to the cold glass, enraptured. Condensation follows her warmth, smearing yellow pinpoints hazily. Her tiny fingerprints smudge like clouds of sticky mist, barely visible in the dark.</p>
<p>She says nothing, her other arm tethered into him. Without a word, his gaze follows her. It’s a smooth road to a plateau of normality, of what the axis of the earth is supposed to rotate around.</p>
<p>“…You like the pretty lights?”</p>
<p>“Yeth,” she says, in her usual high-pitched toddler voice. It means all the more now in the face of imminent loss.</p>
<p>“Do you want something like this when you grow up? A big city with as many lights as your heart desires?”</p>
<p>Silence. Iris simply stares, turning her head towards a tall building as the helicopter curves right. It juts out of the cubic landscape like a carved needle, reflective at all the right angles, asphalt halogens glittering, falling, and twinkling. The dark sky blurs splotched blue veins of light all over her face, shimmering like the surface of water.</p>
<p>They’re almost to the landing pad.</p>
<p>There’s nothing out there on the cloudless horizon, but it doesn't matter. No stars, no pinpoint Venus, no barely visible Mars. Nothing.</p>
<p>If she wants a city to replace them, Percival will give it to her. If she wants to drag astral bodies down and show them the miraculous power of her will, he’ll find a way to make them blush in shame. He’ll find a way to make them cry, beg, kneel, and writhe for her, mumbling helpless apologies for daring to think they could outshine her ambitions.</p>
<p>“I will never deny you anything, O heir of mine. A town, a parish, a country, a continent—you were born into this world to inherit it, and thus it shall all be given to you in time.”</p>
<p>That’s for his sake, not hers. Although he means it, they’re words meant to salve his heart as his hands clutch her clothes and body. He needs to be reminded she’s here, he needs to be reminded she wasn’t scarred by this, he needs to be reminded the veil of the world’s cruelty hasn’t been draped over her yet.</p>
<p>He needs to remind himself she isn’t scared. She is to be the one to wield the whip, not the other way around.</p>
<p>What good parent doesn’t want their child to suffer?</p>
<p>She looks up at him as they land, as anxious bodies crawl over the concrete with their mortal feet and mouths. As black sunglasses mash every face into monochrome monotony, the same significance as each other, of low significance to them.</p>
<p>Percival doesn’t even realize the pain medication is wearing off as the door swings open and he’s asked too many questions.</p>
<p>Everything will be okay as long as she is alive.</p>
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**Content Warning:** Depictions of gore/injury, and mentions of cannibalism.
A Murder and Relief in the Dark by [[*user xexnoncores]]
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A Murder and Relief in the Dark | [[[Pierce the Velvet]]] >>
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January 10th, 1998
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There is nothing hotter than indignation, than raw, furied humiliation impaled on a sword.
Percival Darke sucks in air through his teeth, gasping, choking, sputtering. All of it is iron, red-hot and screaming, and so it cleaves through his fangs with little remorse as his hand tremors towards his pager. Before collapsing again, he coughs up blood and straddles his legs to keep his head above the dirty floor, barely managing to press that little white button on the side.
It is cold, the first time in over a century he has been made aware of such a concept.
Scarlet soaks his wet eyeballs for a second, flooding them as blood continues to spill from his head with little restraint. To quell his boiling heart and the white-hot indignation he is fighting against, he spits it out on top of //her//, across her mangled cheek he had already lashed. On top of this dog, this disrespectful mongrel that managed to shove a blade into his chest and put a bullet into his spine. A machete, too—the nerve of her to use such a brutish weapon—but she missed the aorta by a few centimeters. A few crucial, precious centimeters.
He will have to dismember her later, deign her to hell by consuming her and denying whatever burial the prayer beads on her neck were pious for. For now though, he is content with the heavy footsteps tumbling down the stairwell, the sound of relief hopefully enveloping him soon.
Several voices shriek. His five bodyguards, all two decades loyal.
“Oh my god—!”
“Who let this happen?!”
“Sir Darke, can you stand—?!”
Their voices quickly cacophonize. He hisses as two reach for his arms.
“Shut up—!”
The tallest, Cecil, lifts him to his feet as he hacks out more red, wincing. Percival’s legs are completely limp, dangling like a cut ragdoll. The dead agent was a wonderful shot—she put a bullet straight in his third lumbar nerve.
“Ready the helicopter,” Cecil barks over a pulled out walkie-talkie. “Now!”
Percival groans as he’s hoisted up and flipped, slung over broad shoulders in what was actually not that painful of a support position. But god, was he a child? A pillaged maiden? A sack of potatoes?
“G-Gah—you insolent little—!”
He wants to curse, but all that whites his mind is a ripping pain. His nails dig into Cecil instead, all the way through kevlar plating.
“Charles! Alton! Come with me!” he says, showing no flinching himself. “Radio Sir Amos of the situation while I check with Addison on Iris!”
//Iris,// Percival thinks. It’s the most lucid thought he’s had since being downed.
Oh no, the agent’s target was supposed to be her as well. Knowing these kinds of ants, they always came in pairs. Where was she? Was she safe?
“Find…Find…”
He hacks out more blood. There’s no limit on what his body can give when wounded—that was the unfortunate downside of being nearly perfectly invulnerable. His flesh was going to give and give until it healed, until it was stitching up spasming and raw.
Biting his lip as Cecil quickly ferries him up the stairs, he has to constrain himself from barking orders. He has to restrain his own mind from wandering pointlessly towards macabre ends and against the godly pedestal he placed his importance upon. Charles and Alton follow behind wordlessly while the other two begin undressing the offending body, flinging aside all matter of decorum or grace its god may have bequeathed it with. There was no time for Percival to admit how delightfully lacking it was in rigor mortis.
“Iris—” he manages to sputter.
“Addison, do you have copy on Iris’s location?” Cecil asks.
It’s a suffocating few seconds until the walkie-talkie static clears.
“Affirmative,” her voice rings out. “She’s being ferried up towards the helipad by Althea from the eleventh floor.
“Good,” Cecil affirms. “Have her prep the opioid and medical kits once she reaches her destination, and ready the ketamine patches for immediate use.”
There’s no room for a sigh of relief, but Percival takes it anyway. As he takes that overextension, his stomach collapses against the weight of a torn diaphragm. A cascade of phlegm quickly pours from his mouth, draining from his throat and sliding down his chin.
No god to thank for such luck except that of Fate for this. And even that is a slaughterhouse position.
His expression sticks haphazardly to his face as he’s thrust into sickly yellow light. It snaps as soon as he’s jostled around further by the twists and turns of rosy corridors, incandescence blotting out all sense of humor and manners. Had he been in any other situation not tinged by screeching nerve endings, he would have lamented how shoddy of a place this was to perform such a high-profile execution. This hotel was old, unfashionably behind the times in both decor and staff uniforms—it was chosen purely because of Amos’s nostalgia for its (admittedly wonderful) facilities, and nothing more.
At least have some style if you were sending someone to their grave, hm? He was supposed to be in London next week anyway. Couldn’t they have done this there?
The home advantage would have probably have not even gotten them through the front door though…
Hopefully these accommodations will not make too much of a terrible impression on Iris. This was her first business trip with him, the first time she was exposed to the sights of what her life was going to be like as his heir. How was she supposed to understand what she was deserving of in substandard lodgings like this? With paintings so disgusting rococo they practically bled chalk, and polyester carpets woven deceitfully to mimic cotton? //Where// was the Western European flare, the Napoleonic influences this great city built its foundation on?!
24/7 staff service was never enough to save tacky history and gaudy luxuriousness, even if their airhead customers swallowed it like pigs.
“Cecil,” Addison rings out. “Iris has been loaded into the helicopter. We’re waiting on Sir Percival’s arrival. Amos has confirmed that hired security are scouting the building and will levy deadly force against suspicious individuals.”
“And the auction?” he asks.
“The auction will continue unimpeded,” she responds.
“Perfect. We’re almost there,” Cecil grunts into his radio.
Percival balls his hands up into a fist. Augh, the warm wetness falling down his face was forcing him pallid. And his stomach so flat against Cecil’s jutting shoulder—
“You imbecile—”
A little bit of vomit burns his throat.
“Excuse me? Sir?”
“//Put me—put me—//”
Can’t breathe. The hydrochloric acid bubbles and sears down his windpipe. Percival gasps, shaking like a foal trying to hoist himself up towards uprightness. Alton and Charles hover around his face, too close for comfort in dizzying, nauseating fashion. Their black suits glut themselves too widely on his blurring vision.
“Back up!” he rasps at them, swiping before craning nervously back to Cecil. His lips shake as he motions frantically to a nearby chair, waving his arms like a chicken with its head cut off. Abasement burns as the standing three stare at each other for a second too long until the pressure ruptures and Percival heaves.
“Cecil!” Alton yells.
“Put him down, put him down!” Charles follows up. “For fuck’s sake—!”
“Ah—sir I’m sorry!” Cecil apologizes quickly, hurriedly slinging him off his back and into a little wooden chair. The smell of half-digested roast duck and //foie gras// stains the air with fatty intentions, sloughing lipids and rotting malfeasance. Percival vomits again, tears staining his eyes from the heat flooding his face, his pride breaking with every passing second.
“Do we need to bring the medical kit down here now?” Alton asks.
“That might be a good idea,” Charles says.
“We’re too close to the helicopter though,” Cecil replies. “We don’t know if there’s a danger still—”
“Do we look like idiots?” Alton quips. He points his finger in Cecil’s face as Percival groans.
“N-No,” Cecil stutters. “But we need to prioritize Sir Percival’s safety!”
“We do, but we also need to make sure he doesn’t drown in his own bodily fluids. That’ll be easier to do when he’s not so overtaken with pain.”
“Are you—Are you sure…?”
Both Charles and Alton nod as Percival grits his teeth. His head spins, the entire room shifting axises. Vertical, horizontal, downwards, backwards—gravity was warbling the ground and grinding concrete into his ears.
“//Silence…!//” he shrieks at them, his voice cavalcading higher than expected.
All three of them freeze. Pure terror carves into their faces, even behind their impossibly black shades. Their pupils shrink to pinpoint needles, anticipation folding over into paranoia, of what kind Percival does not care.
He huffs, his head wobbling back and forth before he forces steady eye contact with them. His normally white face has been completely engulfed in blood and bruises.
“…I need…just //two// things, you hear me?” he sibilants. All three stand to attention as he lumbers another breath, instinctively wishing he had a liter of morphine on him now.
“…I need you…to clean me up…and I need…to be out of here, quickly. Follow my orders //exactly//, without all this…idle chatter.”
“Cleaned up?” Cecil asks, balking.
Percival glares at him, both Alton and Charles following suit. The pair take out white handkerchiefs while Cecil’s face burns, watching them mop up blood off once smooth skin and yellow stains off starched cotton. It’s unnerving to everyone how dark and veined the bruising is, but Charles quickly throws down Percival’s hair to cover it up.
A broken vase being hidden away from onlookers, how deflatingly unglamorous. Percival supposes to himself that he is lucky that his hair has grown out enough to offer him such a luxury, but his ego spars with a sense of worry when Iris pops into his head again. What would she think?
What would she do seeing her high-held father so close to death? So disheveled, stinking of cadavers, so stained by human intentions?
Their blood was precious, irreplaceable. His first promise as he dragged her out of that ring of corpses torn apart as part of her inheritance ritual was that she would know only the spilled ichor of others, that she would not witness death’s hand until her contracted time came. March 14th, 1996—this was the day the world shook as its future heir was brought unto its undeserving flesh. Dragged out of an iron case, transfixed from burning coals, a body came out so small and with eyes bluer than any jewel or sky, destined to swallow it all.
And it was good, in all ways one could describe such a miracle.
She didn’t sound like she was hurt—but a part of Percival still felt like he had failed on that promise somewhere. That he was getting ready to fail Iris on the path her mind was supposed to take. Would she succeed if she thought of herself as any less than invincible? Anxiety was a disease that was for the masses beneath them—it was not a vice that he would entertain. And yet here he was, at the edge of life and death so—! So—!
“Sir, we should get going,” Charles says plainly, leaning up. “A G.O.C signal sent to the body downstairs was just decrypted, requesting mission status. It seems like they’ve set up reconnaissance a few blocks down.”
Percival holds out his arms to be lifted up once again, this time more gracefully. “Eliminate them at once…and have their lower halves loaded into my larder after they are dealt with. I want those bastards to know this…sting of theirs failed.”
Alton and Charles nod, Cecil biting his nails as Percival refuses to meet his gaze. The carrying pair snicker as they resume the route, Cecil falling behind.
“Sir—” he clamors.
Percival says nothing.
The carrying pair shoot him a look telling him to shut up until he catches up with them, his posture straight and tall.
“…Can I suggest that you save the hands of the woman downstairs, and any others we catch tonight? I recall that Miss Iris, uh, likes gnawing on the phalanxes of…”
He trails off with a loosening pace. Percival narrows his eyes at him, but eventually smiles.
“Wonderful idea Cecil,” he says with a sound that could be akin to a purr. “That slipped my mind in all of this chaos.”
“I’ll radio Temperance and Diana to—”
“We’re almost there,” Percival quips. “Do it…once I’m gone.”
It’s then when two massive doors swing open to reveal the starless night sky. Black helicopter blades roar, shearing heavy quakes into the ground and ears. Each rotation chops the senses, beckoning the city to bend to its knee.
“Sir!” Althea yells. She points to Iris buckled in the helicopter seat.
Percival beams, trying not to make any sudden movements. His heart swells, and he taps the pair carrying him to hurry. They oblige without hesitation while Cecil begins conversing with Althea.
“Steady—” Charles starts.
“Keep his thighs still,” Alton says. “Don’t let them move too far right.”
“Got it—oh, I see the med kit! I’ll get to that—”
Percival grunts as he’s shuffled in less gracefully than intended, but there’s no complaint as Charles unpeels three black patches from clear plastic and lifts his suit up.
“Where?” he asks.
“Both sides of my hips, and one on my chest.”
“None on your legs?”
Percival shakes his head. “Those are already recovering some of their sensation, and very little of it is pain.”
“…Are you sure?”
Both Charles and Alton look to Iris, who has been reaching for Percival this entire time with wide eyes. She babbles various half-words meaning “daddy”, and “father”, wholly unbothered by the noise or even any of the commotion that’s gone on.
Percival snaps his fingers to have her unbuckled from her booster seat and placed in his lap. Charles winces, but once he applies the patches, he obeys.
“Safe travels, sir,” he says as he backs up away from the helicopter. He turns around as Althea shouts something to him. “Sir Amos has confirmed he will meet you at Hotel Monteleone once the events here are concluded.”
“Wonderful…” he mutters with a heavy, relieved sigh. He clutches Iris close with an steel grip as painkillers flood his skin and bloodstream, numbing his brain from sharp needles to blots of gray.
The door slams quickly, and all is muffled. The helicopter initiates liftoff, its faceless pilot flicking buttons and levers that shine behind a black nylon net.
Iris whines and reaches for them, her little fingers wiggling like a freshly hatched bird. Percival laughs, holding her back.
“No, no…” he coos. “You have to stay on…Daddy’s lap, you know?”
“Why?” she asks. She squirms a little bit, trying again until he puts a hand on her head and rubs gently, back and forth. He’s intentional about angling his claws away from her baby-soft skin, away from her slicked hair and little ponytail.
“Because…you could get hurt,” he whispers, as if she was the only one in the world who didn’t deserve to know such a lack of safety nets existed. “Daddy doesn’t want you to fall.”
“Why? Does falling hurts?”
There she goes again. Percival knows what’s about to happen now—this always happened when she was told she wasn’t allowed to do something. Though he wants to throw caution to the wind, just for her, so that she’s not denied anything her little heart desires, he can’t do that tonight. He can’t. It’s unwise.
Chuckling, he wraps a thickly veined hand around her torso and snuggles her into his suit.
“Yes, falling can hurt. Remember that time you fell down the mansion stairs? When you were trying to find my library? You split your head open and cried so much!”
The image doesn’t soothe him as much as he thought it would. Though in hindsight, it //was// rather adorable how far of a tumble she took from walking up just five big steps, the sword pierces his mind and ruins everything. That glowing machete which plunged directly into his heart—the idea of it turning on and ripping Iris’s delicate body to shreds pulses bile into his throat. The mere idea she would look at that woman with a wide smile, and a warm expectation, wanting the kindness from her that was typical of the clientele they entertained, only to be met with betrayal her little mind wouldn’t even be able to comprehend…
Percival’s heart thumps. He clutches Iris closer, just a little bit too tightly for her. She flails, keening, but he doesn’t hear. His head flares up with the bloodiest worst case scenarios, each a different flavor of dismemberment and grief until she—
“…Ow!”
Iris burbles as her teeth sink in. Hard. Percival jolts to attention, slit pupils dilating and muscles tensing until Iris removes her mouth, unsatisfied.
“Hey!!” he exclaims, raising his voice, but only a little bit. “What did I say about biting?”
She turns her face away, puffing her cheeks. Percival takes her chin into his hand and pulls her head to meet his gaze.
“//Iris…//“
She stares at him for a second before biting him again. Her fangs travel deep this time, all the way through his thick layers of fabric. Her saliva soaks thoroughly, and she grinds enamel as if gnawing on bone until he taps her on the forehead, trying not to wail. He doesn’t need more pain right now!
“Iris!” Percival barks, forcing it through his teeth to avoid being too loud. “Do…Do not bite your father! Do you understand me?”
She hisses, opening up her mouth wide. Percival shivers as she dives down again but she smacks into his open palm instead, cold whites threatening to cut once more.
The two stare off at each other while Percival pushes his hand uncomfortably close into her gums. Her mouth is hot, runic magic inside flaring like burst knars.
//Fuck, fuck, fuck,// he thinks, as he has to struggle to push her back. His muscles begin screaming again, flaring up with choked lactic acid. Biting all the way into his bottom lip with tears pricking his eyes, he finally finds the strength and resolve to fully shove her until right at the climax of the action—
“Hungry!” she pipes at him. “Hungry!”
She yells twice as if he didn’t hear, as if her intention was to never let go, as if she was born from an orectic demon. Percival blinks, stunned to silence, a thick stream of red trickling down his chin.
“…Daddy ate!” she continues, staring at that stream of carnelian. Percival smiles, knowing to give her the floor and admiring how cute she was when she demanded to get her way. “I want some too! I want some now! Blood! Hands! Tongues!!!”
Without another word, she grabs his suit, but this time, he’s quick enough to clap his hands over her eyes like a cat.
“You little…”
His smile betrays a conversed insinuation in his heart, an invisible hoarseness putting down its sword to march towards satiation. Towards a complete leveling of everything built up over the past five hours, from chase, to stake, to rising action, to fall.
It all sublimates as titanium blades swing above their heads.
“…You’re right,” he replies with bated breath. “I did promise you we’d have one of our special dinners tonight. Was that why you weren’t eating any of the hors d'oeuvres?”
A kiss on the forehead—an exchange of not just affection, but the highest deification. The world was watching what the appropriate action to its future potentate was to be—Iris Darke should never go without what she wants.
She nods, and pouts with her black tongue sticking out. Percival can’t help but to burst into a full-bellied laughter, his baritone voice swirling perfectly with the ambient muffledness of the padded passenger hold.
“Hahaha! Oh, Iris, my deepest, most sincere of apologies. Your father didn’t mean to deprive you of a rich meal, something just…came up. Can you forgive me, O precious daughter? Please?”
There’s no time for a word, because he pulls Iris in closer before she can comprehend what’s going on. Night was the perfect opportunity for smothering truths, for hiding that which would shame and defile the flesh in the light. She wriggles just a bit, but his deep, labored breathing imparts a sense of dampening into her soul she would only understand as vague reminiscences when she was older.
“…Hungry,” is all she says as their hearts beat together in slow, henotic lulls. She digs her hands into his clothes, savoring the way he towered over and enveloped her totally.
“We’ll get something to eat soon,” he says again, defeated but relieved. “I’m sorry.”
Percival shudders a breath, grounding violent thoughts with the reality of her barely surviving weight. G.O.C agents had no restraints on themselves—they had no restraints for children, no restraint for war, no restraint on recalcitrance. The machete those hands held was ravenous, avaricious for carnality, blasphemous in its invisible tongues.
Would she have allowed Iris a recognizable corpse? Their paranoia of Sarkic rites ran deeper than its various gods which slept within the earth. Percival feared little, but even he was disgusted by the wanton cruelty a human-powered war machine could have towards the anomalous.
Iris pops her head out of his arms to gaze out of the helicopter window. He catches himself in time to witness the city lights reflecting in her eyes, a sea of man-made stars swimming like diamonds.
“…What do you see, Iris?”
His voice softens, for the both of them. Slowly, she puts a hand to the cold glass, enraptured. Condensation follows her warmth, smearing yellow pinpoints hazily. Her tiny fingerprints smudge like clouds of sticky mist, barely visible in the dark.
She says nothing, her other arm tethered into him. Without a word, his gaze follows her. It’s a smooth road to a plateau of normality, of what the axis of the earth is supposed to rotate around.
“…You like the pretty lights?”
“Yeth,” she says, in her usual high-pitched toddler voice. It means all the more now in the face of imminent loss.
“Do you want something like this when you grow up? A big city with as many lights as your heart desires?”
Silence. Iris simply stares, turning her head towards a tall building as the helicopter curves right. It juts out of the cubic landscape like a carved needle, reflective at all the right angles, asphalt halogens glittering, falling, and twinkling. The dark sky blurs splotched blue veins of light all over her face, shimmering like the surface of water.
They’re almost to the landing pad.
There’s nothing out there on the cloudless horizon, but it doesn't matter. No stars, no pinpoint Venus, no barely visible Mars. Nothing.
If she wants a city to replace them, Percival will give it to her. If she wants to drag astral bodies down and show them the miraculous power of her will, he’ll find a way to make them blush in shame. He’ll find a way to make them cry, beg, kneel, and writhe for her, mumbling helpless apologies for daring to think they could outshine her ambitions.
“I will never deny you anything, O heir of mine. A town, a parish, a country, a continent—you were born into this world to inherit it, and thus it shall all be given to you in time.”
That’s for his sake, not hers. Although he means it, they’re words meant to salve his heart as his hands clutch her clothes and body. He needs to be reminded she’s here, he needs to be reminded she wasn’t scarred by this, he needs to be reminded the veil of the world’s cruelty hasn’t been draped over her yet.
He needs to remind himself she isn’t scared. She is to be the one to wield the whip, not the other way around.
What good parent doesn’t want their child to suffer?
She looks up at him as they land, as anxious bodies crawl over the concrete with their mortal feet and mouths. As black sunglasses mash every face into monochrome monotony, the same significance as each other, of low significance to them.
Percival doesn’t even realize the pain medication is wearing off as the door swings open and he’s asked too many questions.
Everything will be okay as long as she is alive.
[[/div]]
|
2024-10-11T02:27:00
|
[
"iris-dark",
"marshall-carter-and-dark",
"percival-darke",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
A Murder and Relief in the Dark - SCP Foundation
| 23
|
[
"pierce-the-velvet"
] |
[
"marshall-carter-and-dark-hub",
"adamantine-temptations-hub"
] |
[] |
1457052191
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-murder-and-relief-in-the-dark
|
|
a-nice-waffle-dinner
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>I've never really liked waffle houses. Far too cheap, with a shoddy crowd at best. The food isn't that great either, especially not for this time of day. In my opinion, the idea of eating waffles as anything other than a light snack should be considered criminal. These were the thoughts that filled my head as I stood on a hill overlooking a waffle house restaurant surrounded by four dozen or so MTF field agents, taking a small swig from my flask.</p>
<p>Why the security, you might ask? Well, it's not that the waffle house itself is an anomaly—far from it. This place is as plain as it gets. The food is unremarkable, and you could strip the whole place to the last floor board without finding even a hair out of the ordinary. I scanned the interior of the building, only one man was seated. It was the lone person eating waffles at 1:34 am in the morning who had warranted such a response.</p>
<p>I turned to the captain standing next to me, looking at the computer screen he held, which displayed camera footage focused on the man. Just like all the other reports had described, the man wore a long black coat with a black bowler hat that shadowed his face. Not that we would have found anything there, though. If catching this guy was as easy as getting a clear look at his face, I would probably be out of a job. Unluckily for the Foundation, and luckily for my career, this guy was a ghost. I believed he was an urban legend myself until he broke into the site I was working at and nearly blew my head off a decade or so ago. I got a good look at his face, and I'd be lying if I said I could describe a single thing about it.</p>
<p>No matter. I signaled to the agents in my peripheral to take their positions. That was the past. I nodded towards the captain. He had no way out of this one. Either he would come into Foundation custody, or he wouldn't live to finish his waffles. This cat-and-mouse game that had lasted for a decade would be coming to an end tonight.</p>
<p>Fixing my weapon onto my belt and adjusting my earpiece, I took a deep breath before making my way to the entrance of the establishment. As I arrived at the front door, I scanned the surrounding area. Even though I couldn't see them, I knew there were dozens of men with their weapons ready in case anything happened. I smiled. I had won. I pushed open the door, hearing the light ringing of a bell as it closed behind me. The waiter, lazily looking at her phone, didn't even bother to look up and merely gestured vaguely in the direction of the tables as I passed by. Talk about bad service.</p>
<p>I moved slowly, methodically, toward the last table, my hand resting on my firearm. Each step feeling heavier than the last. As I approached, I finally saw him: Nobody, casually eating a waffle on his own in a dimly lit corner.</p>
<p>He looked up at my arrival and gestured to the seat in front of him. "I wasn't expecting company," he said, taking another bite of his waffle. "Come sit. The food here is immaculate. I recommend—"</p>
<p>"Nobody, you are under arrest for multiple crimes against the Foundation and the anomalous world," I interjected before he could continue, pointing my gun directly at his face. "You may come willingly or be extracted by force."</p>
<p>"You know it's rude to interrupt someone speaking," Nobody said, his tone conversational, as if I had interrupted him talking over dinner. "Especially when you interrupt a man's dinner."</p>
<p>"I repea—" I began before being cut off myself.</p>
<p>"Yes, yes, I heard you the first time." He took another bite from the half-eaten waffle on his plate. "I'll come outside with you after I finish this waffle here, so," he began cutting a piece of the waffle with his knife, "take a seat while I do so. I'd rather not be stood over while eating."</p>
<p>I slowly approached the booth he was seated in, keeping my gun trained on him the entire time as I took a seat opposite him. There was really no harm in his proposal, and there was nothing he could do either.</p>
<p>He looked up, being met with the barrel of my gun. "Put that down, won't you?" he said, about to eat another bite. "You have this place surrounded by MTF, don't you?"</p>
<p>"How did you—" My grip tightened.</p>
<p>"Relax." He nonchalantly replied, "You're not that stupid, Frank. I know you well enough to know that you'd only come in here if you had support."</p>
<p>I lowered my gun just slightly before speaking. "Which is why you will be coming with me into Foundation custody."</p>
<p>"Right after I finish this waffle."</p>
<p>We sat in silence for a few moments as he continued eating. Nobody seemed completely at ease, as if we were just two old friends sharing a meal.</p>
<p>"So," Nobody began, taking a sip of his coffee, "how have you been, Frank?"</p>
<p>"Cut the small talk. You're coming with me."</p>
<p>"The wife?"</p>
<p>"I don't have a wife." I curtly reply.</p>
<p>"The business?"</p>
<p>"I work for the Foundation, you know that." Agitiation rose in my voice.</p>
<p>He sighed, setting his fork down. "You're hard to talk to Frank."</p>
<p>"You'll have lots of time to talk on-" I was interrupted.</p>
<p>"You know, I've been thinking a lot lately. Getting old, you start to reflect on things." Nobody mused.</p>
<p>I steadied my gun back on him, unsure where he was going.</p>
<p>"I'm serious," Nobody said, looking me in the eye. "I've been around a long time, Frank. Seen and done things you wouldn't believe. And it's getting to be a bit much, very tiring."</p>
<p>"Spare me the sob story," was my curt reply.</p>
<p>He chuckled. "It's not a sob story. It's a proposition." He placed down his coffee. "I'm looking for someone to take over. Someone to become the next me."</p>
<p>"What?" I asked, my eyebrows shooting up.</p>
<p>"I'm serious," Nobody continued, his expression sincere. "I need someone to carry on my work, to step into my shoes. And I've been watching you for a long time. You have potential, Frank."</p>
<p>"Why me?" I asked, skeptical.</p>
<p>"Because you understand the game," Nobody replied. "You've been chasing me for years. You know how I think. You're resourceful, determined, and, frankly, you're tired of the same old routine. Aren't you?"</p>
<p>"I am quite tired of that routine, but that's ending tonight when I finally bring you in." Does he seriously think I would betray the Foundation? I scoffed. "And anyway, there's no way I'd do anything with you."</p>
<p>He sighed at my response before wiping some sauce off his face with a napkin. "Frank I know this sounds crazy, but think about it. What has the Foundation given you? Endless missions, constant danger, and no appreciation. I’m offering you something different. Something more."</p>
<p>I shook my head, disbelief etched on my face. "You think you can just waltz in here, eat your waffle, and convince me to join you? It's absurd."</p>
<p>Nobody leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Is it? You've spent years chasing me, trying to understand me. Don't you ever wonder what it's all for?"</p>
<p>"I know what it's for," I shot back, though his words made me pause. "It's for protecting the world from people like you."</p>
<p>"People like me?" He chuckled. "Frank, the Foundation uses people like you, just as they use people like me. We're both tools in their grand scheme. But you… you have the potential to be more."</p>
<p>My grip on my gun tightened. "I won't betray the Foundation."</p>
<p>"Are you sure?" Nobody's voice softened. "Think about everything you've sacrificed. Your time, your relationships, your sanity. All for what? A cause that sees you as expendable?"</p>
<p>"Shut up," I muttered.</p>
<p>"Anyways," he suddenly lost all the intensity and conviction he had moments before and returned his attention to his waffles, "the process isn't voluntary anyway."</p>
<p>"Excuse me?" I raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"</p>
<p>"The process of becoming a Nobody, of course," he said casually. "You think I wanted to forget who I was and become this… thing? Of course not."</p>
<p>"Whatever you think you're doing, stop."</p>
<p>Nobody remained calm, picking at another piece of waffle. "Oh, Frank, you misunderstand. The reason I let myself get tracked down was to meet you. To complete the ritual."</p>
<p>"You're bluffing." I could feel my forehead begin to sweat lightly.</p>
<p>"Sure, you can keep telling yourself that." Nobody continued eating, "But it isn't going to help you."</p>
<p>As he spoke, my vision began to distort. Colors blurred, lights seemed to shimmer and pulse around the edges of my sight. Panic set in as I watched Nobody seemingly begin to fade away before me.</p>
<p>"What's happening?" I stammered, standing and gripping the table to steady myself.</p>
<p>"You see, Frank," Nobody's voice seemed to echo and distort, "this is the final step. You've been chosen. I needed someone capable, someone driven. Someone who could carry on the mantle."</p>
<p>"No, this can't be happening," I muttered, my head spinning.</p>
<p>Nobody's form grew faint, almost transparent. "Relax, Frank. It's already done. Welcome to eternity."</p>
<p>I tried to stand, to reach out, but my limbs felt heavy, my movements sluggish. The last thing I saw was Nobody's smile before everything went dark.</p>
<p>I heard gunfire as the agents hidden outside began to fire upon Nobody. Then, everything went black. The next thing I knew, I was being shaken awake by the captain.</p>
<p>"Sir, are you alright?"</p>
<p>I grabbed my now pulsing head as I stirred. "Yeah… what happened?"</p>
<p>"You suddenly got up and collapsed," the captain explained. "By the time we got into the waffle house, Nobody was already gone."</p>
<p>I looked around, trying to make sense of it all. The waffle house was empty, save for the agents and the staff, who were now looking on with confused and frightened expressions. The table where Nobody had been sitting was vacant, the now almost fully eaten waffle still on the plate.</p>
<p>"How could he just disappear like that?" I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.</p>
<p>The captain just shrugged. "He's Nobody."</p>
<p>"Yes…" I trailed off, recalling Nobody's final words before I blacked out. "I suppose he is." With the captain's help, I got up and patted the dust off my clothes. "Well, there's no point in staying in this damned place. Regroup all your units and head back to the foundation site. Report to high command about the failure."</p>
<p>The captain nodded and saluted. "What about you, sir?" he asked before walking off.</p>
<p>"I'm going to head home and start typing up the report," I replied, stretching a bit. "I'll see you in the morning for the post-mission debrief, captain."</p>
<p>With a final nod, the captain walked away to gather his men.</p>
<p>I twiddled my fingers for a moment, and I could have sworn I saw them… just for an instant… flicker.</p>
<hr/>
<div class="blockquote">
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>VIDEO LOG</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>DATE:</strong> 05/11/1956</p>
<p><strong>NOTE:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">The following footage was captured of Person of Interest 1902, formerly agent Francis █████. The cause of the change in Researcher Francis is currently unknown, though it is believed to be connected to the interaction with GOI-2014, Nobody, which occurred the previous day. A warrant for POI-1902's arrest has been issued, and attempts to capture POI-1902 are ongoing.</span> <em>Wanted to get hold of this recording to see exactly how it happened. I'm a horrible person.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>[BEGIN LOG]</p>
<p><strong>13:05:</strong> POI-1902 is observed entering the site, dressed in attire strikingly similar to that of GOI-2014. Camera footage captures clear details of POI-1902's face, with no visible distortions, though the subject appears visibly anxious, breathing heavily and frequently glancing over their shoulder.</p>
<p><strong>13:07:</strong> POI-1902 attempts to use their standard-issue Foundation ID at the automated check-in booth, which declines the entry. The subject's distress visibly increases as they repeatedly swipe the card with no success. Later analysis revealed that the booth had experienced a malfunction shortly before POI-1902 arrived, though the cause remains undetermined.</p>
<p><strong>13:21:</strong> POI-1902 produces a small cylindrical device from their pocket. They attach it to the check-in booth, which promptly buzzes open. The subject quickly removes the device and pockets it before hurrying through the gate. Immediately following this action, all cameras across the site lost power for approximately 20 minutes.</p>
<p><strong>13:35:</strong> Upon the cameras reactivating, POI-1902 was located inside Storage Locker 17, a secure area containing various non-essential anomalous items awaiting classification. The subject is seen hastily placing several of these items into a briefcase that had not been in their possession when they entered the site. Strangely, no guards are present in the footage. A later investigation revealed that the on-duty guard had called in sick the previous day due to a sudden illness. Due to a series of internal server errors, the notification was never received by the director, and the system had inexplicably logged the guard as having checked in that morning. Consequently, no replacement guard was dispatched.</p>
<p><strong>13:47:</strong> The door leading into Storage Locker 17 abruptly jams shut. POI-1902 can be seen attempting, in vain, to pry the door open, growing visibly more agitated.</p>
<p><strong>13:56:</strong> The door opens, and POI-1902 exits.</p>
<p><strong>14:00:</strong> POI-1902 is observed making their way toward the Site Director’s office. The subject seemingly avoids all guard rotations.</p>
<p><strong>14:08:</strong> POI-1902 arrives near the Site Director’s office. The Site Director is seen leaving the office. POI-1902 enters the office unnoticed. All cameras within the site directors office go offline.</p>
<p><strong>14:15:</strong> Camera footage within the site director's office is offline; however, muffled speaking was picked up by cameras outside the office. POI-1902 appears to be repeatedly saying, "I can't see my face."</p>
<p><strong>14:22:</strong> POI-1902, now visibly more composed, exits the director's office and taps on what appears to be a tablet device. At that exact moment, all containment cells within the Euclid wing of the site simultaneously opened, triggering a site-wide alarm. Camera activity across the site was completely disabled. POI-1902 then managed to exit the building via unknown means. Technicians have been unable to restore full camera functionality or recover the footage during this period.</p>
<p>During the containment breach, Foundation systems were compromised by a malicious, sentient virus that corrupted data pertaining to all SCP objects held at the site. While major SCPs have since been re-documented, the specific anomalous items that POI-1902 stole remain unidentified. The situation is under ongoing investigation, as several elements of the incident—such as the sudden illness of the guard and the precise timing of the malfunctions—are considered highly unusual.</p>
<hr/>
<p>[END LOG]</p>
</div>
<div class="page">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Reenie Beanie' ;font-size: 22px;"><br/>
<span style="font-size:125%;"><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">To Do List</span></strong></span></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Reenie Beanie' ;font-size: 22px;"><br/>
<span style="text-decoration: line-through;">1. Get access to Foundation servers (Surprisingly easy).</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="text-decoration: line-through;">2. Break into Frank's house and swap out his flask(Who would have thought a high-ranking Foundation official would have such a dull place?).</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="text-decoration: line-through;">3. Leave "gifts" for Frank to find after our meeting at his house. (Remember to iron extra clothes.)</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="text-decoration: line-through;">3.5. Make sure Frank actually believes my crap (It's amazing what the human mind can do when you give it some blanks to fill… especially after one mild dose of psilocybin… it can even replicate its effects…).</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="text-decoration: line-through;">4. Babysit Frank while he "breaks" into the Foundation site (Good thing I made arrangements in advance).</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
4.5. Get waffles (THEY CLOSED THE WAFFLE HOUSE???).<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="text-decoration: line-through;">5. Catch up with Frank.</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="text-decoration: line-through;">6. Sort through Frank's stuff (The Sarkics are gonna love this).</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
7. Look through Foundation files recovered from Frank's tablet (Wooden box??).<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
8. Dispose of Frank's body (Sorry Frank). Was thinking of a nice clearing… maybe his childhood home?<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
8.5. Feed the ducks.<br/></span></p>
</div>
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<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/a-nice-waffle-dinner">A Nice Waffle Dinner</a>" by ShorkWove, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-nice-waffle-dinner">https://scpwiki.com/a-nice-waffle-dinner</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
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</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[module CSS]]
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Reenie+Beanie');
[[/module]]
[[module CSS]]
#header {background-image: url(http://smlt.wdfiles.com/local--files/plaguebearer%3Anobody/%3F);}
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font-style: normal;
background-attachment: scroll;
background-clip: border-box;
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I've never really liked waffle houses. Far too cheap, with a shoddy crowd at best. The food isn't that great either, especially not for this time of day. In my opinion, the idea of eating waffles as anything other than a light snack should be considered criminal. These were the thoughts that filled my head as I stood on a hill overlooking a waffle house restaurant surrounded by four dozen or so MTF field agents, taking a small swig from my flask.
Why the security, you might ask? Well, it's not that the waffle house itself is an anomaly—far from it. This place is as plain as it gets. The food is unremarkable, and you could strip the whole place to the last floor board without finding even a hair out of the ordinary. I scanned the interior of the building, only one man was seated. It was the lone person eating waffles at 1:34 am in the morning who had warranted such a response.
I turned to the captain standing next to me, looking at the computer screen he held, which displayed camera footage focused on the man. Just like all the other reports had described, the man wore a long black coat with a black bowler hat that shadowed his face. Not that we would have found anything there, though. If catching this guy was as easy as getting a clear look at his face, I would probably be out of a job. Unluckily for the Foundation, and luckily for my career, this guy was a ghost. I believed he was an urban legend myself until he broke into the site I was working at and nearly blew my head off a decade or so ago. I got a good look at his face, and I'd be lying if I said I could describe a single thing about it.
No matter. I signaled to the agents in my peripheral to take their positions. That was the past. I nodded towards the captain. He had no way out of this one. Either he would come into Foundation custody, or he wouldn't live to finish his waffles. This cat-and-mouse game that had lasted for a decade would be coming to an end tonight.
Fixing my weapon onto my belt and adjusting my earpiece, I took a deep breath before making my way to the entrance of the establishment. As I arrived at the front door, I scanned the surrounding area. Even though I couldn't see them, I knew there were dozens of men with their weapons ready in case anything happened. I smiled. I had won. I pushed open the door, hearing the light ringing of a bell as it closed behind me. The waiter, lazily looking at her phone, didn't even bother to look up and merely gestured vaguely in the direction of the tables as I passed by. Talk about bad service.
I moved slowly, methodically, toward the last table, my hand resting on my firearm. Each step feeling heavier than the last. As I approached, I finally saw him: Nobody, casually eating a waffle on his own in a dimly lit corner.
He looked up at my arrival and gestured to the seat in front of him. "I wasn't expecting company," he said, taking another bite of his waffle. "Come sit. The food here is immaculate. I recommend—"
"Nobody, you are under arrest for multiple crimes against the Foundation and the anomalous world," I interjected before he could continue, pointing my gun directly at his face. "You may come willingly or be extracted by force."
"You know it's rude to interrupt someone speaking," Nobody said, his tone conversational, as if I had interrupted him talking over dinner. "Especially when you interrupt a man's dinner."
"I repea—" I began before being cut off myself.
"Yes, yes, I heard you the first time." He took another bite from the half-eaten waffle on his plate. "I'll come outside with you after I finish this waffle here, so," he began cutting a piece of the waffle with his knife, "take a seat while I do so. I'd rather not be stood over while eating."
I slowly approached the booth he was seated in, keeping my gun trained on him the entire time as I took a seat opposite him. There was really no harm in his proposal, and there was nothing he could do either.
He looked up, being met with the barrel of my gun. "Put that down, won't you?" he said, about to eat another bite. "You have this place surrounded by MTF, don't you?"
"How did you—" My grip tightened.
"Relax." He nonchalantly replied, "You're not that stupid, Frank. I know you well enough to know that you'd only come in here if you had support."
I lowered my gun just slightly before speaking. "Which is why you will be coming with me into Foundation custody."
"Right after I finish this waffle."
We sat in silence for a few moments as he continued eating. Nobody seemed completely at ease, as if we were just two old friends sharing a meal.
"So," Nobody began, taking a sip of his coffee, "how have you been, Frank?"
"Cut the small talk. You're coming with me."
"The wife?"
"I don't have a wife." I curtly reply.
"The business?"
"I work for the Foundation, you know that." Agitiation rose in my voice.
He sighed, setting his fork down. "You're hard to talk to Frank."
"You'll have lots of time to talk on-" I was interrupted.
"You know, I've been thinking a lot lately. Getting old, you start to reflect on things." Nobody mused.
I steadied my gun back on him, unsure where he was going.
"I'm serious," Nobody said, looking me in the eye. "I've been around a long time, Frank. Seen and done things you wouldn't believe. And it's getting to be a bit much, very tiring."
"Spare me the sob story," was my curt reply.
He chuckled. "It's not a sob story. It's a proposition." He placed down his coffee. "I'm looking for someone to take over. Someone to become the next me."
"What?" I asked, my eyebrows shooting up.
"I'm serious," Nobody continued, his expression sincere. "I need someone to carry on my work, to step into my shoes. And I've been watching you for a long time. You have potential, Frank."
"Why me?" I asked, skeptical.
"Because you understand the game," Nobody replied. "You've been chasing me for years. You know how I think. You're resourceful, determined, and, frankly, you're tired of the same old routine. Aren't you?"
"I am quite tired of that routine, but that's ending tonight when I finally bring you in." Does he seriously think I would betray the Foundation? I scoffed. "And anyway, there's no way I'd do anything with you."
He sighed at my response before wiping some sauce off his face with a napkin. "Frank I know this sounds crazy, but think about it. What has the Foundation given you? Endless missions, constant danger, and no appreciation. I’m offering you something different. Something more."
I shook my head, disbelief etched on my face. "You think you can just waltz in here, eat your waffle, and convince me to join you? It's absurd."
Nobody leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Is it? You've spent years chasing me, trying to understand me. Don't you ever wonder what it's all for?"
"I know what it's for," I shot back, though his words made me pause. "It's for protecting the world from people like you."
"People like me?" He chuckled. "Frank, the Foundation uses people like you, just as they use people like me. We're both tools in their grand scheme. But you... you have the potential to be more."
My grip on my gun tightened. "I won't betray the Foundation."
"Are you sure?" Nobody's voice softened. "Think about everything you've sacrificed. Your time, your relationships, your sanity. All for what? A cause that sees you as expendable?"
"Shut up," I muttered.
"Anyways," he suddenly lost all the intensity and conviction he had moments before and returned his attention to his waffles, "the process isn't voluntary anyway."
"Excuse me?" I raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"
"The process of becoming a Nobody, of course," he said casually. "You think I wanted to forget who I was and become this... thing? Of course not."
"Whatever you think you're doing, stop."
Nobody remained calm, picking at another piece of waffle. "Oh, Frank, you misunderstand. The reason I let myself get tracked down was to meet you. To complete the ritual."
"You're bluffing." I could feel my forehead begin to sweat lightly.
"Sure, you can keep telling yourself that." Nobody continued eating, "But it isn't going to help you."
As he spoke, my vision began to distort. Colors blurred, lights seemed to shimmer and pulse around the edges of my sight. Panic set in as I watched Nobody seemingly begin to fade away before me.
"What's happening?" I stammered, standing and gripping the table to steady myself.
"You see, Frank," Nobody's voice seemed to echo and distort, "this is the final step. You've been chosen. I needed someone capable, someone driven. Someone who could carry on the mantle."
"No, this can't be happening," I muttered, my head spinning.
Nobody's form grew faint, almost transparent. "Relax, Frank. It's already done. Welcome to eternity."
I tried to stand, to reach out, but my limbs felt heavy, my movements sluggish. The last thing I saw was Nobody's smile before everything went dark.
I heard gunfire as the agents hidden outside began to fire upon Nobody. Then, everything went black. The next thing I knew, I was being shaken awake by the captain.
"Sir, are you alright?"
I grabbed my now pulsing head as I stirred. "Yeah... what happened?"
"You suddenly got up and collapsed," the captain explained. "By the time we got into the waffle house, Nobody was already gone."
I looked around, trying to make sense of it all. The waffle house was empty, save for the agents and the staff, who were now looking on with confused and frightened expressions. The table where Nobody had been sitting was vacant, the now almost fully eaten waffle still on the plate.
"How could he just disappear like that?" I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.
The captain just shrugged. "He's Nobody."
"Yes..." I trailed off, recalling Nobody's final words before I blacked out. "I suppose he is." With the captain's help, I got up and patted the dust off my clothes. "Well, there's no point in staying in this damned place. Regroup all your units and head back to the foundation site. Report to high command about the failure."
The captain nodded and saluted. "What about you, sir?" he asked before walking off.
"I'm going to head home and start typing up the report," I replied, stretching a bit. "I'll see you in the morning for the post-mission debrief, captain."
With a final nod, the captain walked away to gather his men.
I twiddled my fingers for a moment, and I could have sworn I saw them... just for an instant... flicker.
------
[[div class="blockquote"]]
= **VIDEO LOG**
----
**DATE:** 05/11/1956
**NOTE:** --The following footage was captured of Person of Interest 1902, formerly agent Francis █████. The cause of the change in Researcher Francis is currently unknown, though it is believed to be connected to the interaction with GOI-2014, Nobody, which occurred the previous day. A warrant for POI-1902's arrest has been issued, and attempts to capture POI-1902 are ongoing.-- //Wanted to get hold of this recording to see exactly how it happened. I'm a horrible person.//
----
[BEGIN LOG]
**13:05:** POI-1902 is observed entering the site, dressed in attire strikingly similar to that of GOI-2014. Camera footage captures clear details of POI-1902's face, with no visible distortions, though the subject appears visibly anxious, breathing heavily and frequently glancing over their shoulder.
**13:07:** POI-1902 attempts to use their standard-issue Foundation ID at the automated check-in booth, which declines the entry. The subject's distress visibly increases as they repeatedly swipe the card with no success. Later analysis revealed that the booth had experienced a malfunction shortly before POI-1902 arrived, though the cause remains undetermined.
**13:21:** POI-1902 produces a small cylindrical device from their pocket. They attach it to the check-in booth, which promptly buzzes open. The subject quickly removes the device and pockets it before hurrying through the gate. Immediately following this action, all cameras across the site lost power for approximately 20 minutes.
**13:35:** Upon the cameras reactivating, POI-1902 was located inside Storage Locker 17, a secure area containing various non-essential anomalous items awaiting classification. The subject is seen hastily placing several of these items into a briefcase that had not been in their possession when they entered the site. Strangely, no guards are present in the footage. A later investigation revealed that the on-duty guard had called in sick the previous day due to a sudden illness. Due to a series of internal server errors, the notification was never received by the director, and the system had inexplicably logged the guard as having checked in that morning. Consequently, no replacement guard was dispatched.
**13:47:** The door leading into Storage Locker 17 abruptly jams shut. POI-1902 can be seen attempting, in vain, to pry the door open, growing visibly more agitated.
**13:56:** The door opens, and POI-1902 exits.
**14:00:** POI-1902 is observed making their way toward the Site Director’s office. The subject seemingly avoids all guard rotations.
**14:08:** POI-1902 arrives near the Site Director’s office. The Site Director is seen leaving the office. POI-1902 enters the office unnoticed. All cameras within the site directors office go offline.
**14:15:** Camera footage within the site director's office is offline; however, muffled speaking was picked up by cameras outside the office. POI-1902 appears to be repeatedly saying, "I can't see my face."
**14:22:** POI-1902, now visibly more composed, exits the director's office and taps on what appears to be a tablet device. At that exact moment, all containment cells within the Euclid wing of the site simultaneously opened, triggering a site-wide alarm. Camera activity across the site was completely disabled. POI-1902 then managed to exit the building via unknown means. Technicians have been unable to restore full camera functionality or recover the footage during this period.
During the containment breach, Foundation systems were compromised by a malicious, sentient virus that corrupted data pertaining to all SCP objects held at the site. While major SCPs have since been re-documented, the specific anomalous items that POI-1902 stole remain unidentified. The situation is under ongoing investigation, as several elements of the incident—such as the sudden illness of the guard and the precise timing of the malfunctions—are considered highly unusual.
-----
[END LOG]
[[/div]]
[[div class="page"]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Reenie Beanie' ;font-size: 22px;"]]
[[size 125%]]**__To Do List__** [[/size]][[/span]]
@@ @@
[[span style="font-family: 'Reenie Beanie' ;font-size: 22px;"]]
--1. Get access to Foundation servers (Surprisingly easy).--
@@ @@
--2. Break into Frank's house and swap out his flask(Who would have thought a high-ranking Foundation official would have such a dull place?).--
@@ @@
--3. Leave "gifts" for Frank to find after our meeting at his house. (Remember to iron extra clothes.)--
@@ @@
--3.5. Make sure Frank actually believes my crap (It's amazing what the human mind can do when you give it some blanks to fill... especially after one mild dose of psilocybin... it can even replicate its effects...).--
@@ @@
--4. Babysit Frank while he "breaks" into the Foundation site (Good thing I made arrangements in advance).--
@@ @@
4.5. Get waffles (THEY CLOSED THE WAFFLE HOUSE???).
@@ @@
--5. Catch up with Frank.--
@@ @@
--6. Sort through Frank's stuff (The Sarkics are gonna love this).--
@@ @@
7. Look through Foundation files recovered from Frank's tablet (Wooden box??).
@@ @@
8. Dispose of Frank's body (Sorry Frank). Was thinking of a nice clearing... maybe his childhood home?
@@ @@
8.5. Feed the ducks.
[[/span]]
[[/div]]
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2024-08-27T13:59:00
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A Nice Waffle Dinner - SCP Foundation
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a-once-and-future-king
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<html><body><div id="page-content">
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<th>Dokein: A Journal for Tactical Theology</th>
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<td style="text-align: center;"><span class="bt bb">Byㅤ</span> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ariadnesthread" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8157639); return false;"><img alt="AriadnesThread" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8157639&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736645571" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8157639)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ariadnesthread" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8157639); return false;">AriadnesThread</a></span></td>
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<th>Published on <span class="odate time_1711485161 format_%25d%20%25b%20%25Y">26 Mar 2024 20:32</span></th>
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<p><sup>Dokein: A Journal for Tactical Theology<br/>
74:2 (February 2017), pp. 15-49.<br/>
© Foundation Publishing (Site-43), 2017.<br/>
doi: 491802131745650</sup></p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc0"><span><em>A Once and Future King</em>: The Intersection of Folklore and Popular Religion in the Field of Tactical Theology</span></h2>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>Ariadne M. Cooper, PhD.</p>
</div>
<h3 id="toc1"><span>I. Abstract</span></h3>
<div class="justified">
<p><em><sup>In this article, I seek to explore the many ways that traditional approaches to anomalous theology have excluded popular and/or folk religious practices - particularly in the nascent discipline of Tactical Theology.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup> The influence and importance of cultural or legendary heroes, superstitions and fables, as well as non-Western oral traditions remains woefully esoteric to many researchers in anomalous religious warfare, due large part to the complex legacies of postcolonial globalization, particularly in the Twentieth Century. However, modern era anomalous events such as the successful summoning of at least five Bergentrückung during the First World War clearly indicates the significant power of these nontraditional concepts of divine authority, and the need for Tactical Theology to pivot and incorporate a broader definition of religious expression and ritual in order to be prepared for future containment needs and conflict resolution.</sup></em></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<h3 id="toc2"><span>II. Folklore, Oral Traditions, & the Bergentrückung</span></h3>
<div class="justified">
<p>In 1955, American Folklorist Stith Thompson created a motif-index system to identify tropes and constants across legends and mythology within ethnic and historical groups.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-2" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-2')">2</a></sup> Thompson catalogued splinter motifs within folklore tales, particularly amongst those of legendary heroes, identifying thousands of categories and subcategories within regional iterations of similar tales, which has allowed for both literary and historical analysis of the manner in which these tales spread between peoples, as well as the cultural beliefs represented by the surviving elements in each saga.</p>
<p>One prominent motif which often repeats in folklore is that of the <em>Bergentrückung</em>, or 'king asleep in the mountain'.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-3" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-3')">3</a></sup> In these stories, a mythical hero or ruler from the past has gone to a remote place to sleep and wait for the time that they are once more needed to save their people from unspecified but great danger.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-4" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-4')">4</a></sup> Arguably the most famed versions of the motif are those of King Arthur and Frederick Barbarossa of the Holy Roman Empire, however there are well over a hundred versions of similar heroes in repose worldwide, with varying augers of events which would be required to predicate their return. Although none of these <em>Bergentrückung</em> have established what would be considered cults of worship in the traditional sense of the term, a lasting belief in the supposed aid that they could provide in a time of cultural crisis has persisted into the modern era through the stories and sagas passed down through history.</p>
<p>During the early stages of World War I, at least five <em>Bergentrückung</em> were successfully awakened to defend their ancestral lands, identified collectively by the Foundation as <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4918" target="_blank">SCP-4918</a>.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-5" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-5')">5</a></sup> Of particular interest is the fact that in at least two cases, the <em>Bergentrückung</em> summoned had previously been considered to be fictional constructs rather than historical personages, while two others appear as they did the prior to their documented demises.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-6" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-6')">6</a></sup></p>
<p>While the details of the rituals used in these resurrections are still poorly understood, interviews and incidents with the entities have indicated that although successful in their execution, circumstances were less than ideal for the return of these entities and in some cases may have been directly orchestrated in order to ensure a positive result. Of particular note, Barbarossa<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-7" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-7')">7</a></sup> stated to the Foundation that upon his awakening, he found the dead ravens which had been stated as the augur for his return shot by German soldiers. While the sustained cultural belief of the ability to return "at the moment of their people's greatest need"<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-8" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-8')">8</a></sup> was noted as a necessary predicate of the successful <em>Bergentrückung</em> summoning, it is surprising that other parts of the ritual could be coerced via direct manipulation into functionality.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-9" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-9')">9</a></sup> Thus, a clear link could be established between the conceptional definition of a religious entity and humanity's interaction with it. This represented an important pivot in the approaches of applied and tactical theology, not only for the Foundation in their continued containment efforts but for global geopolitical and military actors as well.</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<h3 id="toc3"><span>III. Defining Theological Anomalies</span></h3>
<div class="justified">
<p>As with most academic fields, Tactical Theology has continually grappled with taxonomy and categorization when attempting to define its own ideological boundaries. Since its founding in 1951, disagreements about the classification of parareligions<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-10" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-10')">10</a></sup>, the lack of research into non-Western traditions (as well as the concurrent issues of Orientalism and colonialist mindset), along with prescriptive classifications of deific beings often stymied the work of parahistorians and theologians, particularly in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.</p>
<p>Ironically, the discovery of Akiva radiation and its role in the interaction of worship, faith, and reality initially limited the scope of research as the focus on overcoming the 'generation question'<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-11" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-11')">11</a></sup> as well as the interaction with known anomalous markers<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-12" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-12')">12</a></sup> in the hopes that standardization of scientific theory around faith-based anomalies would result in greater understanding and ease of containment. Unfortunately, as is often the case with discovery, research did not uncover a single answer but instead dozens of avenue of future inquiry, and an answer for the Generation Problem remains elusive.</p>
<p>However, rather than be frustrated by the lack of a unified theory, researchers were instead presented with clear evidence that the boundary between organized and popular religious belief is far more fluid than once thought. The <em>Bergentrückung</em> of SCP-4918 represent but one modern example of belief having an anomalous impact upon reality, the intersection of popular religious and cultural traditions harnessed deliberately for use during conventional warfare.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-13" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-13')">13</a></sup> The historical worldview which traditionally excluded popular religious expression, cultural heroes and folk legends, and other outsider delineations of what might 'count' as religion is one that can no longer be afforded.</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<h3 id="toc4"><span>IV. Conclusions</span></h3>
<div class="justified">
<p>The purpose of this argument is not to discourage the pursuit of further understanding in any form, particularly the desire to move towards a standard theory even of the anomalous world. One could successfully argue that there are few things more human than the continued desire to <em>know</em> with certainty how their surroundings work, and it would be just as foolish to discount the quantifiable components of theology than it would be to write off belief itself as entirely unworthy of study. However clinical the tactical calculus of the military leaders in World War I could claim to be, there were at least five successful resurrections of kings and cultural heroes of the glorious past by those same leaders, made ultimately possible by the power of belief.</p>
<p>The intersection of science and faith has always been contentious, the resulting discoveries and innovations often seem to work to invalidate one view or the other. In order to properly contextualize the research in the field of tactical theology - past, present, and future - it falls upon all of us to recognize that if we fail to acknowledge and correct for implicit biases, we may fail in our stated mission entirely to secure, contain, and protect against the anomalous. As T.H. White once famously stated (using the voice of Merlin), "There is only one thing for it then — to learn… That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting… Look what a lot of things there are to learn."<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-14" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-14')">14</a></sup></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<br/>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. With gratitude to Drs. al-Taqi and Leiner for their continuing support and guidance.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-2"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-2')">2</a>. Thompson, Stith (1955). Motif index of folk-literature : a classification of narrative elements in folktales, ballads, myths … rev. and enlarged ed. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Note that at six volumes, the index is extensive yet by no means exhaustive.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-3"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-3')">3</a>. It should be noted that while the more famous versions of these tales tend to be of Eurasian descent, oral traditions in this motif have been found in both Pre-Columbian Americas, South-East Asia, and in various denomination of nearly every major world religion. For further reading, see Thompson, Stith (1977), The Folktale, University of California Press, pp. 264–265 and Ó hÓgáin, Dáithí (1991), "Has the Time Come?' (MLSIT 8009): The Barbarossa Legend in Ireland and Its Historical Background", Béaloideas, 59: 197–207.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-4"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-4')">4</a>. While this story is commonly associated with the presence of ravens, this is not limited to Germanic traditions where the association of Óðinn would be more easily explained.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-5"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-5')">5</a>. Identified individually as King Arthur of Camelot (hero of various English and Breton sagas), Fionn mac Cumhaill (hero of the Irish Fenian Cycle), Väinämöinen (Hero of the Finnish saga <em>Kalevala</em>), Frederick Barbarossa of the Holy Roman Empire, and Sir Francis Drake of England. For clarity, proper names will be used henceforth rather than the established SCP designation.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-6"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-6')">6</a>. It should be noted that since the interview with Barbarossa by Foundation personnel in 2018, Francis Drake has been identified as [ REDACTED AT REQUEST OF THE OFFICE OF THE SECRETARY-GENERAL OF NATO ].</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-7"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-7')">7</a>. Currently living under the pseudonym Frederick Bismarck, a member of the European Democratic Party in the European Union Parliament.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-8"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-8')">8</a>. D 1960.2 in Stith Thompson's motif index system.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-9"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-9')">9</a>. For similar methods of compelled worship, see al-Taqi, "Parchinkari as Control: Report on the Use of pietra dura cognitohazards in Imperial Mughal Indian Architecture", <em>Dokein: A Journal for Tactical Theology</em>, 64:12 (Dec 2010), pp. 1-21.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-10"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-10')">10</a>. Many researchers initially objected to the separation of Mekhanism, Fifthism, et. al. from other religious movements as artificially applied, particularly as many of these religious beliefs were as ancient as Abrahamic or Vedic traditions. Parareligions were later clarified to specify religions whose posture is by default anti-Veil.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-11"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-11')">11</a>. For further reading, see Yossarian Leiner, "Akiva Radiation and Faith-based Containment: Addressing the Generation Problem" <em>Dokein: A Journal for Tactical Theology</em>, 59:7 (July 2002), pp. 67-99.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-12"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-12')">12</a>. Humes and EVEs in particular, although for a time the chase for a faith-based elementary particle, comparable to the search for the Higgs-Boson by physicists, consumed a great deal of the research community. To date, no particles, elementary and/or anomalous have been proven to exist within Akiva fields.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-13"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-13')">13</a>. For other non-Foundation examples of popular religious weaponization of the anomalous, see <a href="http://https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3457">SCP-3457</a>, <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7892">SCP-7892</a>, and <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6109">SCP-6109</a>.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-14"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-14')">14</a>. White, T. H. 1906-1964, The Once and Future King. New York, Ace Books, 1987.</div>
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</div>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:flopstyle-dark">:scp-wiki:theme:flopstyle-dark</a>
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[[module Rate]]
^^Dokein: A Journal for Tactical Theology
74:2 (February 2017), pp. 15-49.
© Foundation Publishing (Site-43), 2017.
doi: 491802131745650^^
------
++ //A Once and Future King//: The Intersection of Folklore and Popular Religion in the Field of Tactical Theology
[[=]]
Ariadne M. Cooper, PhD.
[[/=]]
+++ I. Abstract
[[div class="justified"]]
//^^In this article, I seek to explore the many ways that traditional approaches to anomalous theology have excluded popular and/or folk religious practices - particularly in the nascent discipline of Tactical Theology.[[footnote]]With gratitude to Drs. al-Taqi and Leiner for their continuing support and guidance.[[/footnote]] The influence and importance of cultural or legendary heroes, superstitions and fables, as well as non-Western oral traditions remains woefully esoteric to many researchers in anomalous religious warfare, due large part to the complex legacies of postcolonial globalization, particularly in the Twentieth Century. However, modern era anomalous events such as the successful summoning of at least five Bergentrückung during the First World War clearly indicates the significant power of these nontraditional concepts of divine authority, and the need for Tactical Theology to pivot and incorporate a broader definition of religious expression and ritual in order to be prepared for future containment needs and conflict resolution.^^//
[[/div]]
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+++ II. Folklore, Oral Traditions, & the Bergentrückung
[[div class="justified"]]
In 1955, American Folklorist Stith Thompson created a motif-index system to identify tropes and constants across legends and mythology within ethnic and historical groups.[[footnote]]Thompson, Stith (1955). Motif index of folk-literature : a classification of narrative elements in folktales, ballads, myths ... rev. and enlarged ed. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Note that at six volumes, the index is extensive yet by no means exhaustive. [[/footnote]] Thompson catalogued splinter motifs within folklore tales, particularly amongst those of legendary heroes, identifying thousands of categories and subcategories within regional iterations of similar tales, which has allowed for both literary and historical analysis of the manner in which these tales spread between peoples, as well as the cultural beliefs represented by the surviving elements in each saga.
One prominent motif which often repeats in folklore is that of the //Bergentrückung//, or 'king asleep in the mountain'.[[footnote]]It should be noted that while the more famous versions of these tales tend to be of Eurasian descent, oral traditions in this motif have been found in both Pre-Columbian Americas, South-East Asia, and in various denomination of nearly every major world religion. For further reading, see Thompson, Stith (1977), The Folktale, University of California Press, pp. 264–265 and Ó hÓgáin, Dáithí (1991), "Has the Time Come?' (MLSIT 8009): The Barbarossa Legend in Ireland and Its Historical Background", Béaloideas, 59: 197–207.[[/footnote]] In these stories, a mythical hero or ruler from the past has gone to a remote place to sleep and wait for the time that they are once more needed to save their people from unspecified but great danger.[[footnote]]While this story is commonly associated with the presence of ravens, this is not limited to Germanic traditions where the association of Óðinn would be more easily explained.[[/footnote]] Arguably the most famed versions of the motif are those of King Arthur and Frederick Barbarossa of the Holy Roman Empire, however there are well over a hundred versions of similar heroes in repose worldwide, with varying augers of events which would be required to predicate their return. Although none of these //Bergentrückung// have established what would be considered cults of worship in the traditional sense of the term, a lasting belief in the supposed aid that they could provide in a time of cultural crisis has persisted into the modern era through the stories and sagas passed down through history.
During the early stages of World War I, at least five //Bergentrückung// were successfully awakened to defend their ancestral lands, identified collectively by the Foundation as [*https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4918 SCP-4918].[[footnote]]Identified individually as King Arthur of Camelot (hero of various English and Breton sagas), Fionn mac Cumhaill (hero of the Irish Fenian Cycle), Väinämöinen (Hero of the Finnish saga //Kalevala//), Frederick Barbarossa of the Holy Roman Empire, and Sir Francis Drake of England. For clarity, proper names will be used henceforth rather than the established SCP designation.[[/footnote]] Of particular interest is the fact that in at least two cases, the //Bergentrückung// summoned had previously been considered to be fictional constructs rather than historical personages, while two others appear as they did the prior to their documented demises.[[footnote]]It should be noted that since the interview with Barbarossa by Foundation personnel in 2018, Francis Drake has been identified as [ REDACTED AT REQUEST OF THE OFFICE OF THE SECRETARY-GENERAL OF NATO ].[[/footnote]]
While the details of the rituals used in these resurrections are still poorly understood, interviews and incidents with the entities have indicated that although successful in their execution, circumstances were less than ideal for the return of these entities and in some cases may have been directly orchestrated in order to ensure a positive result. Of particular note, Barbarossa[[footnote]]Currently living under the pseudonym Frederick Bismarck, a member of the European Democratic Party in the European Union Parliament.[[/footnote]] stated to the Foundation that upon his awakening, he found the dead ravens which had been stated as the augur for his return shot by German soldiers. While the sustained cultural belief of the ability to return "at the moment of their people's greatest need"[[footnote]]D 1960.2 in Stith Thompson's motif index system.[[/footnote]] was noted as a necessary predicate of the successful //Bergentrückung// summoning, it is surprising that other parts of the ritual could be coerced via direct manipulation into functionality.[[footnote]]For similar methods of compelled worship, see al-Taqi, "Parchinkari as Control: Report on the Use of pietra dura cognitohazards in Imperial Mughal Indian Architecture", //Dokein: A Journal for Tactical Theology//, 64:12 (Dec 2010), pp. 1-21.[[/footnote]] Thus, a clear link could be established between the conceptional definition of a religious entity and humanity's interaction with it. This represented an important pivot in the approaches of applied and tactical theology, not only for the Foundation in their continued containment efforts but for global geopolitical and military actors as well.
[[/div]]
------
+++ III. Defining Theological Anomalies
[[div class="justified"]]
As with most academic fields, Tactical Theology has continually grappled with taxonomy and categorization when attempting to define its own ideological boundaries. Since its founding in 1951, disagreements about the classification of parareligions[[footnote]]Many researchers initially objected to the separation of Mekhanism, Fifthism, et. al. from other religious movements as artificially applied, particularly as many of these religious beliefs were as ancient as Abrahamic or Vedic traditions. Parareligions were later clarified to specify religions whose posture is by default anti-Veil.[[/footnote]], the lack of research into non-Western traditions (as well as the concurrent issues of Orientalism and colonialist mindset), along with prescriptive classifications of deific beings often stymied the work of parahistorians and theologians, particularly in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.
Ironically, the discovery of Akiva radiation and its role in the interaction of worship, faith, and reality initially limited the scope of research as the focus on overcoming the 'generation question'[[footnote]]For further reading, see Yossarian Leiner, "Akiva Radiation and Faith-based Containment: Addressing the Generation Problem" //Dokein: A Journal for Tactical Theology//, 59:7 (July 2002), pp. 67-99.[[/footnote]] as well as the interaction with known anomalous markers [[footnote]]Humes and EVEs in particular, although for a time the chase for a faith-based elementary particle, comparable to the search for the Higgs-Boson by physicists, consumed a great deal of the research community. To date, no particles, elementary and/or anomalous have been proven to exist within Akiva fields.[[/footnote]] in the hopes that standardization of scientific theory around faith-based anomalies would result in greater understanding and ease of containment. Unfortunately, as is often the case with discovery, research did not uncover a single answer but instead dozens of avenue of future inquiry, and an answer for the Generation Problem remains elusive.
However, rather than be frustrated by the lack of a unified theory, researchers were instead presented with clear evidence that the boundary between organized and popular religious belief is far more fluid than once thought. The //Bergentrückung// of SCP-4918 represent but one modern example of belief having an anomalous impact upon reality, the intersection of popular religious and cultural traditions harnessed deliberately for use during conventional warfare.[[footnote]]For other non-Foundation examples of popular religious weaponization of the anomalous, see [http://https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3457 SCP-3457], [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7892 SCP-7892], and [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6109 SCP-6109].[[/footnote]] The historical worldview which traditionally excluded popular religious expression, cultural heroes and folk legends, and other outsider delineations of what might 'count' as religion is one that can no longer be afforded.
[[/div]]
------
+++ IV. Conclusions
[[div class="justified"]]
The purpose of this argument is not to discourage the pursuit of further understanding in any form, particularly the desire to move towards a standard theory even of the anomalous world. One could successfully argue that there are few things more human than the continued desire to //know// with certainty how their surroundings work, and it would be just as foolish to discount the quantifiable components of theology than it would be to write off belief itself as entirely unworthy of study. However clinical the tactical calculus of the military leaders in World War I could claim to be, there were at least five successful resurrections of kings and cultural heroes of the glorious past by those same leaders, made ultimately possible by the power of belief.
The intersection of science and faith has always been contentious, the resulting discoveries and innovations often seem to work to invalidate one view or the other. In order to properly contextualize the research in the field of tactical theology - past, present, and future - it falls upon all of us to recognize that if we fail to acknowledge and correct for implicit biases, we may fail in our stated mission entirely to secure, contain, and protect against the anomalous. As T.H. White once famously stated (using the voice of Merlin), "There is only one thing for it then — to learn... That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting... Look what a lot of things there are to learn."[[footnote]]White, T. H. 1906-1964, The Once and Future King. New York, Ace Books, 1987.[[/footnote]]
[[/div]]
------
[[footnoteblock]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> |author=AriadnesThread]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
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2024-03-26T20:32:00
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Dokein: A Journal for Tactical Theology - SCP Foundation
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-once-and-future-king
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a-place-called-nowhere
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<html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
The sun hung high in the tranquil sky, casting its light upon the lifeless, rolling grassy hills. In a thousand worlds, the very same sun would tear a wound in reality itself, but here it simply smiled down upon those it loomed over. The air was tinted with the scent of blooming flowers that stretched far beyond the hills for miles. Grass swayed in the light breeze as dew dripped off the recently nourished flora, which had not too long ago been showered with crystal-clear water. Yet, strangely, not a single trace of life could be found—no insects, no wildlife, nothing.
<p>Amidst the picturesque setting, a subtle rustling shattered the silence. Soon it was followed by the sound of light footfalls upon foliage and the rustling of more leaves. Slowly, from a clearing emerged a shadowed figure, a vague silhouette.</p>
<p>His eye lazily traveled up the slope of the hill, past the blooming flowers, and to a clearing at the top of a hill that lay bare. The figure stepped from the wooded area, revealing a coat that flapped slightly in the breeze and the brim of a fedora that cast a shadow, obscuring his features. Nobody produced a small slip of paper with numbers, seemingly coordinates written on them, and returned his gaze to the clearing on the hill.</p>
<p>Where once was empty, now stood a home. Nobody tried to hold an image of the building, but only the word "home" came to his mind as he looked at the building. He couldn't make out any of its features, nor even recognize it as anything other than just a home. He simply knew it was.</p>
<p>Nobody closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself. He had come this far, and no matter what happened, he would get what he wanted. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he began the trek toward the home. Between where he stood and his destination lay countless hills, each one seemingly longer than the last.</p>
<p>As he crossed each rise, the journey felt like it stretched into eternity. The same terrain repeated itself, a ceaseless expanse of rolling grassy hills and blooming flowers, almost mocking.</p>
<p>The sun beat down relentlessly, and the scent of the flowers clung to him, a sweet, cloying smell that would drive any man insane. That threshold had been crossed long before. His steps grew heavier, the ground beneath him seeming to pull at his feet with each step. Every hill he climbed felt like an entire journey in itself, the top revealing yet another summit.</p>
<p>Finally, after what felt like infinity, he reached the final hill, the length of which dwarfed the entire journey that had come before. He crested the rise and found himself standing before the home. As he did so he felt his body give way, and for the first time in thousands of years, he allowed himself to rest, closing his eyes and being consumed by the darkness.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The smell of burning charcoal jolted Nobody awake. Slowly opening his eyes, he was met once more with the sight of the home. Rubbing his eyes, he steadied himself with his arms before hoisting his body upwards. Glancing behind him, he saw no hills, only the clearing where he had first arrived.</p>
<p>Looking back at the home, he now noticed a door, the first tangible feature he could comprehend beyond the abstract idea of "home." The smell seemed to be emanating from behind that door, possibly from a fireplace.</p>
<p>Dusting the remaining shreds of grass from his coat, Nobody made his way to the door. Where he could not previously make out its features, he now knew with certainty that it was indeed made from mahogany wood. Stopping directly in front of it, he curled his fists before pushing the door wide open.</p>
<p>The interior revealed itself as a small, cozy cottage. Wooden beams supported the ceiling, and simple, rustic furniture filled the room. A singular figure sat in a chair next to a crackling fireplace, emanating a bright white light. The figure wore a pristine white suit and was engrossed in a book, seemingly waiting for Nobody.</p>
<p>As the door swung shut behind Nobody, the man looked up with a smile and stood, giving a light bow. Nobody studied his face, finding it odd; the man's face was nothing but a bright light, yet Nobody could still recognize emotions. He blinked, refocusing as the man, now standing, snapped his fingers to get his attention.</p>
<p>"I don't think we've officially met," the figure began, strolling through the space, periodically picking up items to examine them. "You're a very fascinating case."</p>
<p>"Who are you?" Nobody placed his hand into his coat, attempting to draw his weapon, only to find that it was just a coat. A perfectly normal, non-anomalous coat.</p>
<p>"Now, let's not be hasty," the man clapped, conjuring a wooden stool and gesturing for Nobody to sit as he resumed his own seat. "We have so much time to talk. Here take a seat."</p>
<p>Being reminded of Marshal all too much, Nobody hesitantly took his seat as he looked at the man who sat before him. "Who are you?"</p>
<p>"Why are you here?" The man ignored Nobody's question. "You've been trying awfully hard to get here, thousands of years in fact. Though the last 90 years were truly a marvel—the things you did for a tiny set of numbers that led to this old place."</p>
<p>Nobody twitched slightly, agitated. "I came here in search of who I am, and I was led to believe this may have been where my home once was before I became what I am right now." He furrowed his brow slightly. "Now, who are you?"</p>
<p>A short laugh escaped the man's mouth.</p>
<p>"What's so funny." Nobody asked, voice flat.</p>
<p>"Sorry," the man waved his hand, and a glass full of water appeared in his grasp. "I just never am quite able to compose myself for this part." The man breathed lightly, composing himself, before continuing. "Now, this glass represents what all people are."</p>
<p>He raised the glass, letting the light play off its surface before he began to pour out the water. "When someone becomes a Nobody, they become an empty shell, much like this glass." He placed the now-empty glass on the table. "But where do you think the water, or in this case, their identity, goes? It can't just disappear; it has to go somewhere." He looked down at the small puddle of water that had just formed before looking back at Nobody.</p>
<p>The man smiled, a knowing glint in his eye. "That is what I am. Everything that is left over."</p>
<p>A silence permeated the room as both men—well, man-shaped wounds—sat and watched each other.</p>
<p>"Is that why you are in my home?" Nobody asked, breaking the silence. "Because this place, whatever it is, has some value to you?"</p>
<p>At those words, the man once again, but now more loudly, burst into laughter. "Sorry, it gets me every time." He rubbed his eyes. "You know, I have to praise you. Every time, we always end up here. No matter what is in the way, you always manage to find your way to this damned house. No matter how long it takes, our little chat here always happens."</p>
<p>"What do you mean?" Nobody's voice was tinged with frustration.</p>
<p>"What I mean is that you're quite the fighter." The man leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips.</p>
<p>"Fighter?" Nobody echoed, his eyes narrowing.</p>
<p>"Yes. Every time, no matter what I do, your curiosity leads you here. Your drive. Your will. No matter what obstacles I put in your way, you always manage to climb out of whatever dark abyss I throw you into. You damn near massacred the entire planet once."</p>
<p>Nobody's eyes narrowed further. "What are you talking about?"</p>
<p>"Don't you get the big picture, Nobody?" A smile spread across the man's already grinning face." No, of course you can't."</p>
<p>"Spit it out," Nobody demanded, his voice low.</p>
<p>The man leaned back, his face still obscured by the glowing light, but his posture relaxed, almost gloating. "A reality cannot exist without a Nobody, I'm sure you know that." The man paused. "Have you ever wondered where those coordinates come from? How they end up in the hands of those people, why any trace of this house exists in the first place?"</p>
<p>Nobody remained silent.</p>
<p>"I lead you here. I always lead you here so we can have our little talk, so you can ask your questions, and I can answer them. And once we're done, we do it again. You forget, the world changes, and it all begins anew."</p>
<p>"That doesn't answer my que-" Nobody began.</p>
<p>"Now, you're smarter than that Nobody. Figure it out yourself." The man interrupted. "Think about what I've said."</p>
<p>"You mean," Nobody began, his voice tentative, "none of this is real?"</p>
<p>"No, it isn't. This isn't your home; it never was." The smile that had broken across the man's face widened. "Your entire existence, your goals, were all meaningless."</p>
<p>"Meaningless?" Nobody's felt his hand twitch.</p>
<p>"Yes meaningless," The man played with his fingers as he spoke. "In fact, you were never somebody. I made you from oblivion, nothingness."</p>
<p>"That can't be true." Nobody muttered.</p>
<p>"Well it is my boy!"</p>
<p>Nobody's fists clenched. "You're saying I've done this countless times before?"</p>
<p>"An uncountable number of times," the man replied with amusement.</p>
<p>"Why? What's the point?" Nobody's voice was filled with frustration.</p>
<p>The man chuckled darkly. "The point? The point is balance. You see, a Nobody is essential. You are the counterbalance to everything that exists. Without you, reality would collapse under the weight of its own contradictions." His expression seemed to blacken as he spoke. "It punishes a singular person for it's own mistakes. It's why you, or the collective idea that you represent, exist as a constant. Any reality that doesn't have a Nobody, never existed in the first place."</p>
<p>"But why not just let me be, why spend your time doing all of this?" Nobody raised his voice. "What reason did you have to force me into your twisted game?"</p>
<p>"Why?" The man's voice rose. "Because you are the sole reason I exist in this tortured state. Untold people, all lost, all me." He gripped the chair tightly, his knuckles white with rage. "If I could, I would rip out your throat and make you die a pitiable death. But I can't. So I do the next best thing: I torment you. I let you entertain me for all of eternity."</p>
<p>Nobody's eyes widened. "You… you do this out of spite?"</p>
<p>"Spite?" The man seemed almost offended at the notion. "It's far more than that. It's a cruel necessity. You are my curse, my burden. And so, I take what little satisfaction I can from watching you struggle, watching you search and fail, time and time again."</p>
<p>"Doing this for an eternity, does it not get tiring?" Nobody asked, his knuckles whitening under pressure.</p>
<p>The man sighed, a weary smile playing on his lips. "Tiring? Perhaps. But it's the role I have to play." He stood up, the bright light of his face flickering slightly. "Our talk is over, and it's time for you to start again."</p>
<p>He walked to the door and turned to look at Nobody with an impassive expression. Twisting the handle, the man frowned, it wouldn't budge. Applying more force, the man pried the door open to see, not the hills that were once outside, but a nothingness stretching into infinity. Turning back to look at Nobody with a horrified expression, he saw Nobody, who had been distraught moments ago, now standing and smiling.</p>
<p>"What-" the man's voice was quiet. "What happened?"</p>
<p>"Well," Nobody replied, a grin spreading across his face, "take a seat," he mocked, "we have all the time to discuss."</p>
<p>Snapping his fingers in an attempt to fix the seemingly broken reality, the man found that nothing happened. The room was silent for a moment, with both Nobody and the Man standing quietly, before the man charged at Nobody, tackling him to the ground and gripping him by the collar. "What have you done?" he spoke, his voice filled with fury.</p>
<p>"You know," Nobody said, ignoring the question, "the Library is quite the place. It took me a while to read through all those books it had. Convenient, considering that the Library is outside your influence." The man pushed him down, slamming his head into the ground. "Rather naive of you to let me travel there; though, I suppose I wasn't able to travel to any other realities." A punch struck Nobody's face, but he continued, now gasping for air as the man choked him. "It taught me a lot," Nobody managed to say. "I learned everything there was to know about me and about you."</p>
<p>With a surge of strength, Nobody grabbed at the man's throat, beginning to choke him as well. "Back when I was still oblivious, believing in your lie, I was found. By me. Another Nobody." Shaking the man off, Nobody kicked him in the gut, staggering him slightly as he wiped the trace blood from his mouth. "I was so lost back then, searching for something that didn't exist. Even made a deal with the devil so I could actually read all those books. But when we met," Nobody's eyes glimmered, "no words needed to be exchanged." Heaving himself off the ground, he continued to speak. "I knew, from the look, all that needed to be said."</p>
<p>It was now Nobody who charged at the man, pinning him against the wall with his shoulder. "All those books I've read, I can still read them in my mind. Each page, each book, each word, every small detail of the books, all are still in my own massive library within the place I call my mind. And throughout all of it, not one book I read was from this reality. Even though there were books written in lost languages that only I could understand, books that held cursed information unfit for even gods, not one mentioned anything of here."</p>
<p>The man grunted as he pushed Nobody off and landed a punch on his nose, resulting in a cracking sound. Nobody clutched his face, now streaming with blood, and continued, "Odd, don't you think? The Library has everything, an infinite amount of information held in its endless catalouge, but it had nothing about here." Nobody was kicked by the man, dropping to one knee as he spoke. "It was then I realized I lived a lie, something unnatural, something that existed outside of everything, completely separate."</p>
<p>Nobody turned and returned a punch, hitting the man's ear and rupturing an eardrum. "I figured somebody was watching me, somebody was doing this. So I used a box, one you ironically created as a clue that this place might exist, and added my very memories to it, knowing that I would always seek it out and that I would always learn the truth."</p>
<p>"How could you have possibly known about your memories getting wiped, or anything?" The man kneed Nobody.</p>
<p>"A," Nobody grabbed the man's knee and twisted it with his strength, "hunch."</p>
<p>"You bastard," the man seethed, grabbing Nobody's head and smashing it into the side of the table. "All you had to do was," the man smashed Nobody's head into the table again, "listen."</p>
<p>Blood now flowing freely from his nose and eyes, Nobody sweeped the man's legs, and ripped out a nearby chair's leg. Using it, he began beating the man with it. "I knew, whoever you were, that you were hiding from something and that you hated me."</p>
<p>The chair leg shattered, spraying wooden pieces everywhere, momentarily stunning both Nobody and the man. "I spent my time locked in my mind, rereading all of those books. It's strange how an imagination can be so effective at times; I could practically feel the books as I read them in my library." Nobody tried to land more blows on the man. "The books in the Library told me of many enemies that I had: gods, kings, foundations, all who would want my head. But there was one that I knew would do this. One that would be this cowardly and spiteful. A nameless man that would chase me in countless realities, <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-man-in-the-white-suit-hub">a man in a white suit</a>."</p>
<p>Nobody backed off from the beaten man on the ground and leaned against a wall, catching his breath as the man looked for support to lift himself upwards. As the man did so, he spoke. "I don't understand," he gasped, spitting blood. "My powers, my reality, what happened? Where did it all go?"</p>
<p>Nobody's mirthlessly laughed. "It's all gone now," he began, his voice steady. "I didn't take me long to know you were hiding from <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2747">the devourer</a>. By the way you created and rewrote this reality, you were trying to prevent its manifestation. A place to escape the inevitability of entropy. But in your hubris, you grew sloppy. Each time we would talk, each time you would sit me down and mock me, I cultivated the idea in your mind until finally, you created my world."</p>
<p>"That's… impossible," the man gasped. "I kept myself hidden. I erased parts of my memory, induced false ones in myself, all so that in the off chance you somehow managed not to get your memory wiped in one of the cycles, you'd never be meeting the same me each time."</p>
<p>Nobody now was the one to laugh, though it burned his raw throat. "You're a fool," Nobody managed to say. "After our first meeting, I knew exactly who you were and what you'd do to become the new you. I knew what he would be like, and what steps he would do too. Every thought you've had, every emotion you've felt, hell every action you've taken—I know it all. It only took our first meeting to know what to do."</p>
<p>The man’s eyes widened in horror. Nobody continued, “I’ve spent billions of years, millions of cycles, millions of bodies, acting a fool. Each time I got my memories, I was forced to hide away in my own mind, make myself believe in the lie you told, all so you could be none the wiser." Nobody coughed, blood splattering the ground. "And for the first time in billions of years I have left that dark place, I'm not hiding anymore. I'm showing you who I am. ARE YOU AMUSED?"</p>
<p>"I WATCHED YOU," the man shouted. "I NEVER LET YOU OUT OF MY SIGHT, OUT OF MY MIND. <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-man-in-the-white-suit-hub">I EVEN CAME DOWN, PLAYED A GAME MYSELF.</a>"</p>
<p>Nobody's expression hardened. "True, and in your delusions, you couldn't see what I had been doing. Every action, every thought, every breath in this cycle—everything was me." Nobody began to laugh, blood spitting from his mouth as he did so. "I created the perfect story, where the climax—our meeting here—would end it all. Every one of my actions for the past five billion years has led to this one moment alone." He gapsed for air, feeling his lungs fill with blood, as he spoke. "Every action, every decision, every detail, every mind you created, every event you thought you chose for this reality was actually orchestrated by me. You believed you were creating the perfect cycle, but instead, you were crafting your own damnation, designed by the very prisoner it was meant to torment."</p>
<p>"You've trapped yourself here, you mad bastard," was the only response Nobody got. "We'll both be here for eternity. There is no escape, no anything, just this shitty house made from nothingness."</p>
<p>Nobody grinned. "I'm okay with that," he said softly. "If it means damning you here, this is barely scratching the surface of what I'm willing to do."</p>
<p>"You're insane. Do you know how many people you just damned?" The man panted.</p>
<p>"I don't think you understand what I'm willing to do." Nobody slowly walked to the door, shut it, and then limped toward a chair, collapsing into it. "We are both anchors, and now we will fulfill our roles here, forever." Nobody rested his head, feeling the raw wounds of his burn. "We could continue fighting, but it would be pointless since neither of us can die inside this place. Or you could take a seat next to me and enjoy eternity. And besides, you got your wish: 2747 can no longer manifest in this reality. You're safe. We'll remain here forever."</p>
<p>The man, with a scowl on his face, limped to the chair beside Nobody and collapsed into it. "I hate you."</p>
<p>"That is your right," Nobody replied, his voice calm. "But in the end, together we are two parts of the same being, and we define this void and everything beyond it."</p>
<p>Nobody pulled out a bottle from his coat, causing the man to raise an eyebrow. Nobody only returned a light smile as he coughed more blood. "The library taught me some tricks." He began to pour both of them a glass, blood slowly dripping from their wounds onto the chairs. "And we'll have all the time in the world to talk about it."</p>
<p>The man, still seething with anger, took the offered glass, his hand trembling slightly. "You may think you've won, but this is no victory."</p>
<p>"Perhaps," Nobody mused, staring into his glass. "But I'm ok with whatever this is. A loss or the victory." He began to drink. "Besides, between you and me, nobody ever wins."</p>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
The sun hung high in the tranquil sky, casting its light upon the lifeless, rolling grassy hills. In a thousand worlds, the very same sun would tear a wound in reality itself, but here it simply smiled down upon those it loomed over. The air was tinted with the scent of blooming flowers that stretched far beyond the hills for miles. Grass swayed in the light breeze as dew dripped off the recently nourished flora, which had not too long ago been showered with crystal-clear water. Yet, strangely, not a single trace of life could be found—no insects, no wildlife, nothing.
Amidst the picturesque setting, a subtle rustling shattered the silence. Soon it was followed by the sound of light footfalls upon foliage and the rustling of more leaves. Slowly, from a clearing emerged a shadowed figure, a vague silhouette.
His eye lazily traveled up the slope of the hill, past the blooming flowers, and to a clearing at the top of a hill that lay bare. The figure stepped from the wooded area, revealing a coat that flapped slightly in the breeze and the brim of a fedora that cast a shadow, obscuring his features. Nobody produced a small slip of paper with numbers, seemingly coordinates written on them, and returned his gaze to the clearing on the hill.
Where once was empty, now stood a home. Nobody tried to hold an image of the building, but only the word "home" came to his mind as he looked at the building. He couldn't make out any of its features, nor even recognize it as anything other than just a home. He simply knew it was.
Nobody closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself. He had come this far, and no matter what happened, he would get what he wanted. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he began the trek toward the home. Between where he stood and his destination lay countless hills, each one seemingly longer than the last.
As he crossed each rise, the journey felt like it stretched into eternity. The same terrain repeated itself, a ceaseless expanse of rolling grassy hills and blooming flowers, almost mocking.
The sun beat down relentlessly, and the scent of the flowers clung to him, a sweet, cloying smell that would drive any man insane. That threshold had been crossed long before. His steps grew heavier, the ground beneath him seeming to pull at his feet with each step. Every hill he climbed felt like an entire journey in itself, the top revealing yet another summit.
Finally, after what felt like infinity, he reached the final hill, the length of which dwarfed the entire journey that had come before. He crested the rise and found himself standing before the home. As he did so he felt his body give way, and for the first time in thousands of years, he allowed himself to rest, closing his eyes and being consumed by the darkness.
------
The smell of burning charcoal jolted Nobody awake. Slowly opening his eyes, he was met once more with the sight of the home. Rubbing his eyes, he steadied himself with his arms before hoisting his body upwards. Glancing behind him, he saw no hills, only the clearing where he had first arrived.
Looking back at the home, he now noticed a door, the first tangible feature he could comprehend beyond the abstract idea of "home." The smell seemed to be emanating from behind that door, possibly from a fireplace.
Dusting the remaining shreds of grass from his coat, Nobody made his way to the door. Where he could not previously make out its features, he now knew with certainty that it was indeed made from mahogany wood. Stopping directly in front of it, he curled his fists before pushing the door wide open.
The interior revealed itself as a small, cozy cottage. Wooden beams supported the ceiling, and simple, rustic furniture filled the room. A singular figure sat in a chair next to a crackling fireplace, emanating a bright white light. The figure wore a pristine white suit and was engrossed in a book, seemingly waiting for Nobody.
As the door swung shut behind Nobody, the man looked up with a smile and stood, giving a light bow. Nobody studied his face, finding it odd; the man's face was nothing but a bright light, yet Nobody could still recognize emotions. He blinked, refocusing as the man, now standing, snapped his fingers to get his attention.
"I don't think we've officially met," the figure began, strolling through the space, periodically picking up items to examine them. "You're a very fascinating case."
"Who are you?" Nobody placed his hand into his coat, attempting to draw his weapon, only to find that it was just a coat. A perfectly normal, non-anomalous coat.
"Now, let's not be hasty," the man clapped, conjuring a wooden stool and gesturing for Nobody to sit as he resumed his own seat. "We have so much time to talk. Here take a seat."
Being reminded of Marshal all too much, Nobody hesitantly took his seat as he looked at the man who sat before him. "Who are you?"
"Why are you here?" The man ignored Nobody's question. "You've been trying awfully hard to get here, thousands of years in fact. Though the last 90 years were truly a marvel—the things you did for a tiny set of numbers that led to this old place."
Nobody twitched slightly, agitated. "I came here in search of who I am, and I was led to believe this may have been where my home once was before I became what I am right now." He furrowed his brow slightly. "Now, who are you?"
A short laugh escaped the man's mouth.
"What's so funny." Nobody asked, voice flat.
"Sorry," the man waved his hand, and a glass full of water appeared in his grasp. "I just never am quite able to compose myself for this part." The man breathed lightly, composing himself, before continuing. "Now, this glass represents what all people are."
He raised the glass, letting the light play off its surface before he began to pour out the water. "When someone becomes a Nobody, they become an empty shell, much like this glass." He placed the now-empty glass on the table. "But where do you think the water, or in this case, their identity, goes? It can't just disappear; it has to go somewhere." He looked down at the small puddle of water that had just formed before looking back at Nobody.
The man smiled, a knowing glint in his eye. "That is what I am. Everything that is left over."
A silence permeated the room as both men—well, man-shaped wounds—sat and watched each other.
"Is that why you are in my home?" Nobody asked, breaking the silence. "Because this place, whatever it is, has some value to you?"
At those words, the man once again, but now more loudly, burst into laughter. "Sorry, it gets me every time." He rubbed his eyes. "You know, I have to praise you. Every time, we always end up here. No matter what is in the way, you always manage to find your way to this damned house. No matter how long it takes, our little chat here always happens."
"What do you mean?" Nobody's voice was tinged with frustration.
"What I mean is that you're quite the fighter." The man leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Fighter?" Nobody echoed, his eyes narrowing.
"Yes. Every time, no matter what I do, your curiosity leads you here. Your drive. Your will. No matter what obstacles I put in your way, you always manage to climb out of whatever dark abyss I throw you into. You damn near massacred the entire planet once."
Nobody's eyes narrowed further. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't you get the big picture, Nobody?" A smile spread across the man's already grinning face." No, of course you can't."
"Spit it out," Nobody demanded, his voice low.
The man leaned back, his face still obscured by the glowing light, but his posture relaxed, almost gloating. "A reality cannot exist without a Nobody, I'm sure you know that." The man paused. "Have you ever wondered where those coordinates come from? How they end up in the hands of those people, why any trace of this house exists in the first place?"
Nobody remained silent.
"I lead you here. I always lead you here so we can have our little talk, so you can ask your questions, and I can answer them. And once we're done, we do it again. You forget, the world changes, and it all begins anew."
"That doesn't answer my que-" Nobody began.
"Now, you're smarter than that Nobody. Figure it out yourself." The man interrupted. "Think about what I've said."
"You mean," Nobody began, his voice tentative, "none of this is real?"
"No, it isn't. This isn't your home; it never was." The smile that had broken across the man's face widened. "Your entire existence, your goals, were all meaningless."
"Meaningless?" Nobody's felt his hand twitch.
"Yes meaningless," The man played with his fingers as he spoke. "In fact, you were never somebody. I made you from oblivion, nothingness."
"That can't be true." Nobody muttered.
"Well it is my boy!"
Nobody's fists clenched. "You're saying I've done this countless times before?"
"An uncountable number of times," the man replied with amusement.
"Why? What's the point?" Nobody's voice was filled with frustration.
The man chuckled darkly. "The point? The point is balance. You see, a Nobody is essential. You are the counterbalance to everything that exists. Without you, reality would collapse under the weight of its own contradictions." His expression seemed to blacken as he spoke. "It punishes a singular person for it's own mistakes. It's why you, or the collective idea that you represent, exist as a constant. Any reality that doesn't have a Nobody, never existed in the first place."
"But why not just let me be, why spend your time doing all of this?" Nobody raised his voice. "What reason did you have to force me into your twisted game?"
"Why?" The man's voice rose. "Because you are the sole reason I exist in this tortured state. Untold people, all lost, all me." He gripped the chair tightly, his knuckles white with rage. "If I could, I would rip out your throat and make you die a pitiable death. But I can't. So I do the next best thing: I torment you. I let you entertain me for all of eternity."
Nobody's eyes widened. "You... you do this out of spite?"
"Spite?" The man seemed almost offended at the notion. "It's far more than that. It's a cruel necessity. You are my curse, my burden. And so, I take what little satisfaction I can from watching you struggle, watching you search and fail, time and time again."
"Doing this for an eternity, does it not get tiring?" Nobody asked, his knuckles whitening under pressure.
The man sighed, a weary smile playing on his lips. "Tiring? Perhaps. But it's the role I have to play." He stood up, the bright light of his face flickering slightly. "Our talk is over, and it's time for you to start again."
He walked to the door and turned to look at Nobody with an impassive expression. Twisting the handle, the man frowned, it wouldn't budge. Applying more force, the man pried the door open to see, not the hills that were once outside, but a nothingness stretching into infinity. Turning back to look at Nobody with a horrified expression, he saw Nobody, who had been distraught moments ago, now standing and smiling.
"What-" the man's voice was quiet. "What happened?"
"Well," Nobody replied, a grin spreading across his face, "take a seat," he mocked, "we have all the time to discuss."
Snapping his fingers in an attempt to fix the seemingly broken reality, the man found that nothing happened. The room was silent for a moment, with both Nobody and the Man standing quietly, before the man charged at Nobody, tackling him to the ground and gripping him by the collar. "What have you done?" he spoke, his voice filled with fury.
"You know," Nobody said, ignoring the question, "the Library is quite the place. It took me a while to read through all those books it had. Convenient, considering that the Library is outside your influence." The man pushed him down, slamming his head into the ground. "Rather naive of you to let me travel there; though, I suppose I wasn't able to travel to any other realities." A punch struck Nobody's face, but he continued, now gasping for air as the man choked him. "It taught me a lot," Nobody managed to say. "I learned everything there was to know about me and about you."
With a surge of strength, Nobody grabbed at the man's throat, beginning to choke him as well. "Back when I was still oblivious, believing in your lie, I was found. By me. Another Nobody." Shaking the man off, Nobody kicked him in the gut, staggering him slightly as he wiped the trace blood from his mouth. "I was so lost back then, searching for something that didn't exist. Even made a deal with the devil so I could actually read all those books. But when we met," Nobody's eyes glimmered, "no words needed to be exchanged." Heaving himself off the ground, he continued to speak. "I knew, from the look, all that needed to be said."
It was now Nobody who charged at the man, pinning him against the wall with his shoulder. "All those books I've read, I can still read them in my mind. Each page, each book, each word, every small detail of the books, all are still in my own massive library within the place I call my mind. And throughout all of it, not one book I read was from this reality. Even though there were books written in lost languages that only I could understand, books that held cursed information unfit for even gods, not one mentioned anything of here."
The man grunted as he pushed Nobody off and landed a punch on his nose, resulting in a cracking sound. Nobody clutched his face, now streaming with blood, and continued, "Odd, don't you think? The Library has everything, an infinite amount of information held in its endless catalouge, but it had nothing about here." Nobody was kicked by the man, dropping to one knee as he spoke. "It was then I realized I lived a lie, something unnatural, something that existed outside of everything, completely separate."
Nobody turned and returned a punch, hitting the man's ear and rupturing an eardrum. "I figured somebody was watching me, somebody was doing this. So I used a box, one you ironically created as a clue that this place might exist, and added my very memories to it, knowing that I would always seek it out and that I would always learn the truth."
"How could you have possibly known about your memories getting wiped, or anything?" The man kneed Nobody.
"A," Nobody grabbed the man's knee and twisted it with his strength, "hunch."
"You bastard," the man seethed, grabbing Nobody's head and smashing it into the side of the table. "All you had to do was," the man smashed Nobody's head into the table again, "listen."
Blood now flowing freely from his nose and eyes, Nobody sweeped the man's legs, and ripped out a nearby chair's leg. Using it, he began beating the man with it. "I knew, whoever you were, that you were hiding from something and that you hated me."
The chair leg shattered, spraying wooden pieces everywhere, momentarily stunning both Nobody and the man. "I spent my time locked in my mind, rereading all of those books. It's strange how an imagination can be so effective at times; I could practically feel the books as I read them in my library." Nobody tried to land more blows on the man. "The books in the Library told me of many enemies that I had: gods, kings, foundations, all who would want my head. But there was one that I knew would do this. One that would be this cowardly and spiteful. A nameless man that would chase me in countless realities, [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-man-in-the-white-suit-hub a man in a white suit]."
Nobody backed off from the beaten man on the ground and leaned against a wall, catching his breath as the man looked for support to lift himself upwards. As the man did so, he spoke. "I don't understand," he gasped, spitting blood. "My powers, my reality, what happened? Where did it all go?"
Nobody's mirthlessly laughed. "It's all gone now," he began, his voice steady. "I didn't take me long to know you were hiding from [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2747 the devourer]. By the way you created and rewrote this reality, you were trying to prevent its manifestation. A place to escape the inevitability of entropy. But in your hubris, you grew sloppy. Each time we would talk, each time you would sit me down and mock me, I cultivated the idea in your mind until finally, you created my world."
"That's... impossible," the man gasped. "I kept myself hidden. I erased parts of my memory, induced false ones in myself, all so that in the off chance you somehow managed not to get your memory wiped in one of the cycles, you'd never be meeting the same me each time."
Nobody now was the one to laugh, though it burned his raw throat. "You're a fool," Nobody managed to say. "After our first meeting, I knew exactly who you were and what you'd do to become the new you. I knew what he would be like, and what steps he would do too. Every thought you've had, every emotion you've felt, hell every action you've taken—I know it all. It only took our first meeting to know what to do."
The man’s eyes widened in horror. Nobody continued, “I’ve spent billions of years, millions of cycles, millions of bodies, acting a fool. Each time I got my memories, I was forced to hide away in my own mind, make myself believe in the lie you told, all so you could be none the wiser." Nobody coughed, blood splattering the ground. "And for the first time in billions of years I have left that dark place, I'm not hiding anymore. I'm showing you who I am. ARE YOU AMUSED?"
"I WATCHED YOU," the man shouted. "I NEVER LET YOU OUT OF MY SIGHT, OUT OF MY MIND. [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-man-in-the-white-suit-hub I EVEN CAME DOWN, PLAYED A GAME MYSELF.]"
Nobody's expression hardened. "True, and in your delusions, you couldn't see what I had been doing. Every action, every thought, every breath in this cycle—everything was me." Nobody began to laugh, blood spitting from his mouth as he did so. "I created the perfect story, where the climax—our meeting here—would end it all. Every one of my actions for the past five billion years has led to this one moment alone." He gapsed for air, feeling his lungs fill with blood, as he spoke. "Every action, every decision, every detail, every mind you created, every event you thought you chose for this reality was actually orchestrated by me. You believed you were creating the perfect cycle, but instead, you were crafting your own damnation, designed by the very prisoner it was meant to torment."
"You've trapped yourself here, you mad bastard," was the only response Nobody got. "We'll both be here for eternity. There is no escape, no anything, just this shitty house made from nothingness."
Nobody grinned. "I'm okay with that," he said softly. "If it means damning you here, this is barely scratching the surface of what I'm willing to do."
"You're insane. Do you know how many people you just damned?" The man panted.
"I don't think you understand what I'm willing to do." Nobody slowly walked to the door, shut it, and then limped toward a chair, collapsing into it. "We are both anchors, and now we will fulfill our roles here, forever." Nobody rested his head, feeling the raw wounds of his burn. "We could continue fighting, but it would be pointless since neither of us can die inside this place. Or you could take a seat next to me and enjoy eternity. And besides, you got your wish: 2747 can no longer manifest in this reality. You're safe. We'll remain here forever."
The man, with a scowl on his face, limped to the chair beside Nobody and collapsed into it. "I hate you."
"That is your right," Nobody replied, his voice calm. "But in the end, together we are two parts of the same being, and we define this void and everything beyond it."
Nobody pulled out a bottle from his coat, causing the man to raise an eyebrow. Nobody only returned a light smile as he coughed more blood. "The library taught me some tricks." He began to pour both of them a glass, blood slowly dripping from their wounds onto the chairs. "And we'll have all the time in the world to talk about it."
The man, still seething with anger, took the offered glass, his hand trembling slightly. "You may think you've won, but this is no victory."
"Perhaps," Nobody mused, staring into his glass. "But I'm ok with whatever this is. A loss or the victory." He began to drink. "Besides, between you and me, nobody ever wins."
[[footnoteblock]]
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|
2024-08-03T14:17:00
|
[
"nobody",
"spy-fiction",
"tale"
] |
A Place Called Nowhere - SCP Foundation
| 7
|
[
"the-man-in-the-white-suit-hub",
"scp-2747",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"nobody-hub"
] |
[] |
1456005383
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-place-called-nowhere
|
|
a-real-man-of-action
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Calabar. It seems like it was always some port city these days. Tuy Hòa two months back, Montevideo was in the early spring. Acapulco before that, on New Year’s Eve. Acapulco was the last case, a supplier for Marshall, Carter, and Dark holding a high price auction at a resort. I took down my targets there, and Agent Rúnda brought back several items of interest to her organization. A rare example of a quick and easy success in my field.</p>
<p>These last few had been far less fruitful. I had a few leads. Anomalous weapons. Highly organized. Access to helicopters and gunboats. Led by a graying, chain smoking American man with a thick Philadelphian accent, judging by the extra “r” he puts in the word water. And a name for the group: Movers and Shakers. They raided a slew of government buildings and robbed the Central Bank of Uruguay in Montevideo. They blew up a few cargo vessels in Tuy Hòa and stole artifacts from an ancient temple.</p>
<p>Now Calabar. They shot down a private jet, and raided a hotel, capturing a few important government figures and business leaders, all of whom just so happen to be embedded agents of other secret organizations according to our intelligence. GOC, SCP, even one of our own. Oh, and the private jet? An employee of the elusive Anderson Robotics, if you’d believe him. Willing to sell out company secrets, for the right price. Whatever secrets he had, the chance to learn them died with him, screaming as the plane fell to the ground. We ruled out Valravn early, part of what was stolen in Uruguay was money from their payroll and our contacts said that the Movers and Shakers were new players in the game. Motive unknown. Descriptions and reported accents are all over the place but most speak English and some witnesses report a smattering of other languages. My thoughts: this is a multinational group, whoever they are.</p>
<p>The boys and girls at HQ are convinced this is just a cover for the Chaos Insurgency. I’m not quite sold on that. This is the wrong kind of mess. Chaos Insurgency comes in two flavors. The first is silent, precise, and the only people who know they were even there are too dead to tell the tale. The second flavor leaves a trail of bodies, untraceable ammo, busted computers and cameras, and they usually scorch the building afterwards. Either way, they try to leave no witnesses. Everything we got on these guys comes from witness testimony.</p>
<p>Headquarters is a mess right now. A brief and nasty internal power struggle shook my office. Classic mismanagement here at the International Anomalies Network. It’s a wonder Five Eyes gives us any funding at all. Normally the dysfunction doesn’t bother me, but my new direct superior and I have a… complicated history. Marcus Pott, an old schoolmate of mine. He’s never really forgiven me for something he walked in on back when we were both in university, over the summer. I’ll spare you the details but it involved his sister and a hamburger, and apparently it doesn’t matter to him that the entire thing was her idea and that neither of us knew he’d be back that day. He’s carried that grudge for over a decade now, it was less of a problem when we worked at separate offices… and since his sister got her own place.</p>
<p>Heh, office drama. The case is going so poorly I have time to think about office drama. My hotel isn’t far from the airport, and I have a confirmed witness at a bar just a block away. Apparently he talked to the head honcho the night before. This is the best lead I have, but it ain’t much. The bar is popular with tourists, and “older man with a noticeable American accent” can easily be a red herring in these parts. Easy enough to write the report though. Good paperwork keeps you employed.</p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p>The bar is a little slow when I get there. It’s only 2 PM after all. Blue and green lights and the shine of TV screens are the only lighting. Flowers hang from the ceiling as a form of decoration. Quietly in the background a playlist is cycling through the greatest hits of 2004. At least this will be quick, my contact is tending bar right now.</p>
<p>“Mr. Adegoke?” I say, sitting in front of him. He’s a tall man, well trimmed facial hair. Dressed up to the nines, even if that’s a little much for this bar</p>
<p>He pours a glass of water in front of me. “Yes. You are the investigator I’m waiting on. Your name is?”</p>
<p>“Cooke. John Cooke.”</p>
<p>“Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Cooke?”</p>
<p>“Long Island Iced Tea, if you can.”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>He begins to mix the drink.</p>
<p>“Well, Mr. Cooke, I assume you want to hear everything I know about the terrorist.”</p>
<p>“Yes, the suspect.”</p>
<p>“He…”</p>
<p>A man walks up from a table to the bar, interrupting.</p>
<p>“Excuse me mister bartender, can I get another one of this cider?”</p>
<p>The bartender nods and pours him the drink. The man tosses him 1000 Naira, glaring at me as he does it.</p>
<p>“He was American. Older. Little chubby but with muscles. Tattoos on his arms. Lots of them. Fire, skulls, dice. Things like that. Gray hair, a little balding. Sunglasses. Was smoking the whole time.”</p>
<p>“Sounds familiar. What did he say?”</p>
<p>“He drank some water. Said he was a security consultant. He warned me that things might get rowdy around the airport. I asked if he was protecting someone. If they were important, controversial. He said no, well he said the man was controversial and some people thought he was important, but he was definitely not protecting him. Then he laughed and ordered a drink.”</p>
<p>“What did he order?”</p>
<p>“He called it a Paper Plane. I never made one before. Equal parts, not that hard to make, although I had to scour to find the amaro for it.”</p>
<p>“Oh, an American drink. I think it's originally from a bar in Chicago.”</p>
<p>A voice chimes out behind me.</p>
<p>“The Violet Hour.”</p>
<p>It is the man who interrupted us before. Now wearing sunglasses and chuckling.</p>
<p>I turn back to the bartender.</p>
<p>“Excuse me.”</p>
<p>I walk towards the stranger.</p>
<p>“You seem to be quite fond of eavesdropping.”</p>
<p>The stranger laughs.</p>
<p>“I was just hoping to hear what he had to say about my boss.”</p>
<p>I walk right up to him, face to face.</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t have said that, you know now that I have to take you in for questioning.”</p>
<p>He laughs again.</p>
<p>“That’s not true.”</p>
<p>I raise an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“Not true?”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to bring me in. You have to try.”</p>
<p>Suddenly a bottle of cider smashes on my head and I receive a knee to the gut.</p>
<p>He takes off on foot. I draw my gun.</p>
<p>By the time I make it out the door, he’s already on a dirt bike and speeding away. I take two shots. One misses, but one seems to glance his shoulder. I see another bike parked. I start my pursuit.</p>
<p>Past the airport, planes landing overhead. A hard right out of a roundabout. Through a densely packed neighborhood, busy streets with all sorts of little businesses under tents on the sidewalks. People are running away and shouting as we speed through. Into heavier traffic, and out toward the greenery, leafy plants are dense on both sides of the road. Nowhere to go but straight ahead.</p>
<p>The bridge. Sparsely used at the moment, in the midst of repairs but no workers in sight. I have my shot.</p>
<p>It connects, and he goes spilling off of his bike. He slides across the pavement for several seconds. Bone is protruding from both of his legs.</p>
<p>My shot hit him in the lower back, about an inch left of his spine. He’s probably not making it out of this alive.</p>
<p>He’s still chuckling as I walk up to him. He reaches into his coat pocket. I point my gun at him as he throws his other hand up.</p>
<p>“I was told… if you caught me… to… give you this.”</p>
<p>An envelope, now with blood splattered on it. I reach out with my other hand. Grab it, and tear it open.</p>
<p><em>Hello Mr. Cooke,</em></p>
<p><em>It has come to my attention that you have been assigned to investigate my team’s operations. I know you can’t refuse a mission assigned to you, but I’m not your usual headache. Some organizations will accept losses. Some agents will defect. Some will cut deals. So will quietly retire when there is pressure on them.</em></p>
<p><em>I am not that man. My team and I are committed to our vision of the future and we’re willing to kill and willing to die to get there. The passion we feel is greater than any check you can cut or any threat you can make.</em></p>
<p><em>I know organizations like yours can be a mess of bureaucracy. You’ll probably be sent after me no matter what, and showing this letter to your management probably will only make them more interested.</em></p>
<p><em>The easiest thing to do will be to kill you, but if you are reading this letter I presume my confidence in my ability to accomplish that goal was somewhat misplaced.</em></p>
<p><em>I extend to you an invitation. Meet me in Aruba, alone next Thursday. I’ll do my best to dissuade you from pursuing us further. If you do not attend, attempts on your life will continue until I have reasonable confirmation of your death, disappearance, retirement, or resignation.</em></p>
<p><em>See you soon,<br/>
Commander Cloud</em></p>
<p>I’m stunned, I think of reading it over in a frenzy. I’ve never read anything like this. Who taunts someone? Who invites them to a tropical island? Who even bothers to handwrite a letter?</p>
<p>As all these thoughts hit me, I hear a shuffling noise. I move the letter down from my gaze to see the man bleeding out in front of me pulling his gun out of his pocket, finally getting it past his belt. As he raises his arm to aim, I have my gun pointed at him already.</p>
<p>I take the shot.</p>
<p><em>bang</em></p>
<p><iframe allowtransparency="true" class="html-block-iframe" frameborder="0" src="/a-real-man-of-action/html/9e96d34562f6e640667b551f2c27713131afd69e-1260728378956433185"></iframe></p>
<img alt="man%20of%20action.png" class="image" src="https://firedawnfolder.wdfiles.com/local--files/gerrymanderbassist/man%20of%20action.png"/>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Lyrics</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- let's get to work</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Hahahaha…<br/>
Alright alright alright<br/>
Calm down everyone<br/>
Well he’s here now<br/>
Maybe we can trust him<br/>
Only one way to find out<br/>
Let’s let ‘em in on our little secret<br/>
Here we go</p>
<p>Have you found yourself somewhere you don’t belong?<br/>
When the doubts hit your head do they hit you a bit too strong?<br/>
Have you thought about how someone else would end up here?<br/>
Is everything so incredibly unclear?</p>
<p>Alright<br/>
If you are lost<br/>
Then you are welcome<br/>
This is the kingdom<br/>
That we built up in the dark</p>
<p>If you are hopeless<br/>
Then we can help you<br/>
We are your family<br/>
No matter what else you’ve done</p>
<p>Step into the kitchen smell what we are cooking<br/>
If you weren’t looking before I bet you are now<br/>
Listen to the whispers, ain’t ya heard the rumor<br/>
The world’s just a house of cards we’re gonna knock down</p>
<p>Burn another bridge, leave another city<br/>
Bury your past, ‘cause things are trending up now<br/>
Raise a brand new flag, hoard a little treasure<br/>
We’re the ones everybody got their eyes on</p>
<p>And now you’re back where you began<br/>
So listen to my simple plan<br/>
We’ve got a scheme that just can’t fail<br/>
We only have to break the veil<br/>
The joker is our only card<br/>
‘Cause surfing chaos ain’t too hard<br/>
We’ll use a trick to win the fight<br/>
And force our foes into the light<br/>
If you are poor<br/>
We’ll make you wealthy<br/>
Greed can be healthy<br/>
If you know your enemies well</p>
<p>If you are weak<br/>
There’s strength in numbers<br/>
A hero slumbers<br/>
We just have to wake him up now</p>
<p>Gather all the magic, hope for something tragic<br/>
We find silver linings on all the gray clouds we make<br/>
Join us in our trouble, rebuild from the rubble<br/>
All the best kings find their crown in the gutter</p>
<p>So does that sound good?<br/>
The team would love have you<br/>
Oh, don’t worry<br/>
We’re very confident<br/>
Say goodbye boys<br/>
Hahahahahaha</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Calabar. It seems like it was always some port city these days. Tuy Hòa two months back, Montevideo was in the early spring. Acapulco before that, on New Year’s Eve. Acapulco was the last case, a supplier for Marshall, Carter, and Dark holding a high price auction at a resort. I took down my targets there, and Agent Rúnda brought back several items of interest to her organization. A rare example of a quick and easy success in my field.
These last few had been far less fruitful. I had a few leads. Anomalous weapons. Highly organized. Access to helicopters and gunboats. Led by a graying, chain smoking American man with a thick Philadelphian accent, judging by the extra “r” he puts in the word water. And a name for the group: Movers and Shakers. They raided a slew of government buildings and robbed the Central Bank of Uruguay in Montevideo. They blew up a few cargo vessels in Tuy Hòa and stole artifacts from an ancient temple.
Now Calabar. They shot down a private jet, and raided a hotel, capturing a few important government figures and business leaders, all of whom just so happen to be embedded agents of other secret organizations according to our intelligence. GOC, SCP, even one of our own. Oh, and the private jet? An employee of the elusive Anderson Robotics, if you’d believe him. Willing to sell out company secrets, for the right price. Whatever secrets he had, the chance to learn them died with him, screaming as the plane fell to the ground. We ruled out Valravn early, part of what was stolen in Uruguay was money from their payroll and our contacts said that the Movers and Shakers were new players in the game. Motive unknown. Descriptions and reported accents are all over the place but most speak English and some witnesses report a smattering of other languages. My thoughts: this is a multinational group, whoever they are.
The boys and girls at HQ are convinced this is just a cover for the Chaos Insurgency. I’m not quite sold on that. This is the wrong kind of mess. Chaos Insurgency comes in two flavors. The first is silent, precise, and the only people who know they were even there are too dead to tell the tale. The second flavor leaves a trail of bodies, untraceable ammo, busted computers and cameras, and they usually scorch the building afterwards. Either way, they try to leave no witnesses. Everything we got on these guys comes from witness testimony.
Headquarters is a mess right now. A brief and nasty internal power struggle shook my office. Classic mismanagement here at the International Anomalies Network. It’s a wonder Five Eyes gives us any funding at all. Normally the dysfunction doesn’t bother me, but my new direct superior and I have a… complicated history. Marcus Pott, an old schoolmate of mine. He’s never really forgiven me for something he walked in on back when we were both in university, over the summer. I’ll spare you the details but it involved his sister and a hamburger, and apparently it doesn’t matter to him that the entire thing was her idea and that neither of us knew he’d be back that day. He’s carried that grudge for over a decade now, it was less of a problem when we worked at separate offices… and since his sister got her own place.
Heh, office drama. The case is going so poorly I have time to think about office drama. My hotel isn’t far from the airport, and I have a confirmed witness at a bar just a block away. Apparently he talked to the head honcho the night before. This is the best lead I have, but it ain’t much. The bar is popular with tourists, and “older man with a noticeable American accent” can easily be a red herring in these parts. Easy enough to write the report though. Good paperwork keeps you employed.
~~~
The bar is a little slow when I get there. It’s only 2 PM after all. Blue and green lights and the shine of TV screens are the only lighting. Flowers hang from the ceiling as a form of decoration. Quietly in the background a playlist is cycling through the greatest hits of 2004. At least this will be quick, my contact is tending bar right now.
“Mr. Adegoke?” I say, sitting in front of him. He’s a tall man, well trimmed facial hair. Dressed up to the nines, even if that’s a little much for this bar
He pours a glass of water in front of me. “Yes. You are the investigator I’m waiting on. Your name is?”
“Cooke. John Cooke.”
“Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Cooke?”
“Long Island Iced Tea, if you can.”
“Yes.”
He begins to mix the drink.
“Well, Mr. Cooke, I assume you want to hear everything I know about the terrorist.”
“Yes, the suspect.”
“He…”
A man walks up from a table to the bar, interrupting.
“Excuse me mister bartender, can I get another one of this cider?”
The bartender nods and pours him the drink. The man tosses him 1000 Naira, glaring at me as he does it.
“He was American. Older. Little chubby but with muscles. Tattoos on his arms. Lots of them. Fire, skulls, dice. Things like that. Gray hair, a little balding. Sunglasses. Was smoking the whole time.”
“Sounds familiar. What did he say?”
“He drank some water. Said he was a security consultant. He warned me that things might get rowdy around the airport. I asked if he was protecting someone. If they were important, controversial. He said no, well he said the man was controversial and some people thought he was important, but he was definitely not protecting him. Then he laughed and ordered a drink.”
“What did he order?”
“He called it a Paper Plane. I never made one before. Equal parts, not that hard to make, although I had to scour to find the amaro for it.”
“Oh, an American drink. I think it's originally from a bar in Chicago.”
A voice chimes out behind me.
“The Violet Hour.”
It is the man who interrupted us before. Now wearing sunglasses and chuckling.
I turn back to the bartender.
“Excuse me.”
I walk towards the stranger.
“You seem to be quite fond of eavesdropping.”
The stranger laughs.
“I was just hoping to hear what he had to say about my boss.”
I walk right up to him, face to face.
“You shouldn’t have said that, you know now that I have to take you in for questioning.”
He laughs again.
“That’s not true.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Not true?”
“You don’t have to bring me in. You have to try.”
Suddenly a bottle of cider smashes on my head and I receive a knee to the gut.
He takes off on foot. I draw my gun.
By the time I make it out the door, he’s already on a dirt bike and speeding away. I take two shots. One misses, but one seems to glance his shoulder. I see another bike parked. I start my pursuit.
Past the airport, planes landing overhead. A hard right out of a roundabout. Through a densely packed neighborhood, busy streets with all sorts of little businesses under tents on the sidewalks. People are running away and shouting as we speed through. Into heavier traffic, and out toward the greenery, leafy plants are dense on both sides of the road. Nowhere to go but straight ahead.
The bridge. Sparsely used at the moment, in the midst of repairs but no workers in sight. I have my shot.
It connects, and he goes spilling off of his bike. He slides across the pavement for several seconds. Bone is protruding from both of his legs.
My shot hit him in the lower back, about an inch left of his spine. He’s probably not making it out of this alive.
He’s still chuckling as I walk up to him. He reaches into his coat pocket. I point my gun at him as he throws his other hand up.
“I was told… if you caught me… to… give you this.”
An envelope, now with blood splattered on it. I reach out with my other hand. Grab it, and tear it open.
//Hello Mr. Cooke,//
//It has come to my attention that you have been assigned to investigate my team’s operations. I know you can’t refuse a mission assigned to you, but I’m not your usual headache. Some organizations will accept losses. Some agents will defect. Some will cut deals. So will quietly retire when there is pressure on them.//
//I am not that man. My team and I are committed to our vision of the future and we’re willing to kill and willing to die to get there. The passion we feel is greater than any check you can cut or any threat you can make.//
//I know organizations like yours can be a mess of bureaucracy. You’ll probably be sent after me no matter what, and showing this letter to your management probably will only make them more interested.//
//The easiest thing to do will be to kill you, but if you are reading this letter I presume my confidence in my ability to accomplish that goal was somewhat misplaced.//
//I extend to you an invitation. Meet me in Aruba, alone next Thursday. I’ll do my best to dissuade you from pursuing us further. If you do not attend, attempts on your life will continue until I have reasonable confirmation of your death, disappearance, retirement, or resignation.//
//See you soon,
Commander Cloud//
I’m stunned, I think of reading it over in a frenzy. I’ve never read anything like this. Who taunts someone? Who invites them to a tropical island? Who even bothers to handwrite a letter?
As all these thoughts hit me, I hear a shuffling noise. I move the letter down from my gaze to see the man bleeding out in front of me pulling his gun out of his pocket, finally getting it past his belt. As he raises his arm to aim, I have my gun pointed at him already.
I take the shot.
//bang//
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/html5player">:snippets:html5player</a>
|type=audio
|url= https://firedawnfolder.wdfiles.com/local--files/gerrymanderbassist/movers_and_shakers.mp3]]
[[image https://firedawnfolder.wdfiles.com/local--files/gerrymanderbassist/man%20of%20action.png]]
[[collapsible show="+ Lyrics" hide="- let's get to work"]]
Hahahaha…
Alright alright alright
Calm down everyone
Well he’s here now
Maybe we can trust him
Only one way to find out
Let’s let ‘em in on our little secret
Here we go
Have you found yourself somewhere you don’t belong?
When the doubts hit your head do they hit you a bit too strong?
Have you thought about how someone else would end up here?
Is everything so incredibly unclear?
Alright
If you are lost
Then you are welcome
This is the kingdom
That we built up in the dark
If you are hopeless
Then we can help you
We are your family
No matter what else you’ve done
Step into the kitchen smell what we are cooking
If you weren’t looking before I bet you are now
Listen to the whispers, ain’t ya heard the rumor
The world’s just a house of cards we’re gonna knock down
Burn another bridge, leave another city
Bury your past, ‘cause things are trending up now
Raise a brand new flag, hoard a little treasure
We’re the ones everybody got their eyes on
And now you’re back where you began
So listen to my simple plan
We’ve got a scheme that just can’t fail
We only have to break the veil
The joker is our only card
‘Cause surfing chaos ain’t too hard
We’ll use a trick to win the fight
And force our foes into the light
If you are poor
We’ll make you wealthy
Greed can be healthy
If you know your enemies well
If you are weak
There’s strength in numbers
A hero slumbers
We just have to wake him up now
Gather all the magic, hope for something tragic
We find silver linings on all the gray clouds we make
Join us in our trouble, rebuild from the rubble
All the best kings find their crown in the gutter
So does that sound good?
The team would love have you
Oh, don’t worry
We’re very confident
Say goodbye boys
Hahahahahaha
[[/collapsible]]
|
2024-01-07T01:08:00
|
[
"action",
"adventure",
"audio",
"chase",
"first-person",
"spy-fiction",
"tale"
] |
A Real Man Of Action - SCP Foundation
| 9
|
[] |
[] |
[
"https://firedawnfolder.wdfiles.com/local--files/gerrymanderbassist/man%20of%20action.png"
] |
1452079690
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-real-man-of-action
|
|
a-shadow-over
|
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<p>I would always fall to my knees in the presence of Christ, if not to simply glimpse His side wound.</p>
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--sidebar-bg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">translate:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">rtl</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">thin</span><span class="hl-code">;
-</span><span class="hl-reserved">ms-scroll-chaining:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overscroll-behavior:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-color:</span><span class="hl-code">
rgba(var(--swatch-primary-darker), </span><span class="hl-number">0.1</span><span class="hl-code">) /* Thumb */
rgba(var(--swatch-tertiary-color), </span><span class="hl-number">0.05</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">; /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--swatch-secondary-color, </span><span class="hl-number">244</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">244</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">244</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">0.8</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-corner</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw + </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right-style:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--sidebar-bg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">is</span><span class="hl-code">(:</span><span class="hl-identifier">hover</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">active</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">focus-within</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow-x:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow-y:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--swatch-primary-darker), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--sidebar-bg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">translate:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem) - var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-color:</span><span class="hl-code">
rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">) /* Thumb */
rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">; /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-color:</span><span class="hl-code">
rgb(var(--swatch-primary-darker, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">) /* Thumb */
rgb(var(--swatch-menubg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">; /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> " "</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">fixed</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
background-position </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
opacity </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url("https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/component%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Acollapsible-sidebar/sidebar-tab.svg")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-attachment:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">fixed</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">12.875</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">pointer-events:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">is</span><span class="hl-code">(:</span><span class="hl-identifier">hover</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">active</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">focus-within</span><span class="hl-code">) + </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">14.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
background-position </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
opacity </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">14.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> " "</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">9</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--final-header-height-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">14.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - var(--final-header-height-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">0.688</span><span class="hl-code">rem) - </span><span class="hl-number">2.313</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--final-header-height-on-desktop, -</span><span class="hl-number">2.313</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">2.313</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code">
translate </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
opacity </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--swatch-alternate-color, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">pointer-events:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">translate:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">14.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code"> + </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">is</span><span class="hl-code">(:</span><span class="hl-identifier">hover</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">active</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">focus-within</span><span class="hl-code">) + </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">translate:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.25</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">ltr</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scpnet-interwiki-wrapper</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">ltr</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Print</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Friendly</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Formatting</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Estrella</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body.print-body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">sidebar-width-on-desktop:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body.print-body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">before</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body.print-body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>I</strong></p>
</div>
<br/>
Alagadda in the month of June was the most joyous month<br/>
for the five great lords of the carnival city were returning from their yearly voyages;<br/>
The Lord of Urine, the yellow-robed one and the representative of the Ichor District, She was to return from dealings in the Kingdom of Abbadon;<br/>
The Lord of Menstruality, the red-robed one and the representative of the Leech District, He was to return from his vassal prostitution to the Ten Tongues;<br/>
The Lord of Marrow, the naked one<br/>
and the representative of the Crypt, He was to return from dealings with the government of Kepler,<br/>
And the Lord of Shit, the black-robed one and representative of no one but herself, She was to return from vacation on Elrich, scowering the rodent birds for their precious entrails.
<p>The fifth great lord, you know Him well<br/>
was the Hanged King, the fairest maiden and the biggest man<br/>
who was loved and kissed on His knuckles and toes by all<br/>
across the cosmos: He was to return from His undeath,<br/>
for His respite was merely temporary; death only impartial.</p>
<p>Tonight, tonight<br/>
the four lords would be united, for the first time,<br/>
in the performance of a show. The play was<br/>
The Passion and The Glory: A biography on the trials of the Hanged King;<br/>
though many had told the tragedy, none had told the triumph,<br/>
which was the most important part.</p>
<p>The assemblage was to take place in the carnival city's porno theatre:<br/>
It was the shade on the street corner of every yellow-bellied brain stem between the Ichor and Leech Districts, on the<br/>
avenue between Sodom and Amalek. The theatre was<br/>
most akin to a medical operating theatre; there were as many seats as beings in the city and then some; and it was housed in great rows extending upwards and upwards like shingles on a roof;<br/>
The tingle of skin on skin as the city filed in to watch—</p>
<p>On the stage were the Lords<br/>
and in the back of the theatre on the biggest throne in the realm:<br/>
The throne of the Hanged King, it was a visage of a Cross to which His black robes<br/>
were stapled to, and too, was He trapped in it by chains; the only freedom He could enjoy was<br/>
to move and squirm and jiggle His thighs, for the chains were bound around His pectorals;<br/>
Around His head, too, was a sweatband that would keep the hair out of His eyes, and on His eyes were the scalpels, which kept His eyelids free and moisturized with His own Blood.</p>
<p>As His moisture seeped into the seat and then the ground below it, the lights dimmed with click after click.</p>
<p>The audience's moaning and loving wails faded into nothing;<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>II</strong></p>
</div>
<br/>
The play had thus begun— the Lords assembled in the shadows of the set, and when<br/>
The flaming lights illuminated them once again, they revealed six Crosses of which<br/>
dummies and dolls were stacked upon, cut into and pierced by sharp metal, attached to the Crosses thusly; and they took up 3 of the Crosses, the furthermost back ones, and there was one in the center which was empty.
<p>The stage light was eclipsed with a long black disc, and the porno theatre was caked in an eerie glow;<br/>
The Lord in Marrow stepped from behind this center Cross;<br/>
He spoke, "In Christ in I is there change, and the possibility of endlessness, and the eternal soul is that: For there is something beyond this life, yes, the After-World, where you can always see the sun, day, or night."<br/>
The eclipse fluttered.<br/>
"I am not to survive this day as declared by that Roman Pharoah; I have been starved and beaten and torn and things have been put inside Me;"<br/>
He stepped forward once again and showed his nakedness in the night, his large cock swung between his thighs.<br/>
As the wind passed between his legs his hefty ballsack made a sort of whistling noise, like the squealing of a pig, and they resembled this in fact, the seam of his ballsack had been torn, so it resembled a pig's nose.<br/>
Something oozed from it thus.</p>
<p>"They have been put inside Me! This Holy Spirit has entered My body upon My baptism, and leaves me today, for I will die and I will die horribly, and slowly."</p>
<p>He bowed his head and knelt before the Cross, facing the audience, and the three other lords emerged behind him.</p>
<p>The Lord of Shit touched his chest and rubbed him in a familial way,<br/>
Then her hand grazed his cock and she fluttered away like a moth in the night, and akin to this, she had left the trail of her sludge upon the ground.<br/>
The Lord of Urine too emerged and touched his chest but did not touch his cock, she merely ducked beneath him and came upon the audience as a moth's silhouette.</p>
<p>"This Christ must die!" She bellowed, and the Hanged King flinched.<br/>
"And we shall do it in the ancient way, in the way of consumption,"</p>
<p>And the Lord of Menstruality emerged with a red plastic tank with a handle and an X inscribed on it.<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>III</strong></p>
</div>
<br/>
The Lord of Marrow was slashed and rubbed down with the embalming massage oil:<br/>
Pure petrol; unrefined oil from the blue-crackling cracks down beneath the sea;<br/>
the sea was filled with the digestive toils of the ancient ones, what we would so pitifully<br/>
use to build cars and tractors and metal machine men<br/>
when we could've and should've been getting naked and lighting ourselves on fire.
<p>"If it shall need be, O Father,<br/>
Then allow Me to be Your holocaust:"<br/>
(said the Lord of Marrow)</p>
<p>"If the world shall need a sacrifice, then let Me burn, and My ashes become the Soil."</p>
<p>His body was covered in flame, gasoline dribbling down the seam of his nutsack;<br/>
They had fattened in the heat, sweating excessively<br/>
And the Lord of Marrow fell to his knees his head cradled by his own knees as he was burned, screaming, tarnishing, wailing, and then went silent:</p>
<p>His penis had become erect, only visible in<br/>
the stage light for its disjointedness from the rest of the darkened floor<br/>
and the audience gasped and watched in silent awe: The Lord crossed<br/>
his arms and began to rise upon his very heels, and then<br/>
he spread his arms wide, and in the dark appeared to be<br/>
a large moth or beast: And he swung his hips in the shade.</p>
<p>The lights on the stage hummed up and<br/>
The Lord of Marrow was reborn!<br/>
The Lords of Urine, Menstruality, and Shit gathered him up in their robes<br/>
and doused him, and they all rose together to smile<br/>
and they then returned to the ground: bowed to thunderous applause.<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>IIII</strong></p>
</div>
<br/>
The Hanged King cheered wildly from His lich-throne:<br/>
Deep in the backhand of the audience; He applauded and<br/>
whooped and smacked His big thighs, jiggling them<br/>
and the mighty flesh meat wobbled deliciously.<br/>
"Yes, yes,"<br/>
"This was brilliant,"<br/>
He rolled over His back and rolled again;<br/>
"But I've one note for you, Lord of Marrow, for I have seen but One inaccuracy;"
<p>So the Hanged King gripped the seam of his robes<br/>
and threw them off at once, in a great heap;<br/>
He spread his jiggling thighs and unveiled<br/>
His most soggy and stinking pussy; unwashed and unshaven,<br/>
so thick it physically wafted through its big kissable lips<br/>
as a current of white dancing steam.</p>
<p>"I would never ask you to mutilate your self, Lord of Marrow,<br/>
though I say: You are overdressed!"</p>
<p>The four lords and the Hanged King alike threw their heads back<br/>
in deep belly-laughter, and in suit, as did the audience; for there was a merriness in the night<br/>
that was not bound by their whiskey nor moonshine nor poppers nor molly; it was<br/>
as simple as the sight of that unwashed, quivering thing, taking in its erotic scent, and it was<br/>
the closeness to—</p>
<p>The audience filed out quietly into an unlit street<br/>
to find the moon had begun to peak out from the crowds;<br/>
She whispered,<br/>
"Goodnight, you,"<br/>
"Goodnight, <em>you</em>,"<br/>
"Goodnight,"<br/>
"Goodnight,"<br/>
"Goodnight,<br/>
goodnight, yes, goodnight."</p>
<p>"And goodbye, till 'morrow."<br/>
O sweet love;<br/>
Osiris and Oracle, if you only knew<br/>
how much that 'morrow meant, for:<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>IIIII</strong></p>
</div>
<br/>
In the still of the night,<br/>
five satins were ruffled by the window sill,<br/>
and in the yellow sky, a <a href="/illcovetyouifyoucoverme">black sun</a><br/>
began to rise over a silent day.<br/>
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<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/a-shadow-over">The Superstar</a>" by FLOORBOARDS, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-shadow-over">https://scpwiki.com/a-shadow-over</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
I would always fall to my knees in the presence of Christ, if not to simply glimpse His side wound.
]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:adult-content-warning">:scp-wiki:component:adult-content-warning</a>
|torture=1
|sexual-references=1
]]
[[module CSS]]
/* Hide the original page title */
#page-title {
display: none;
}
[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:scp-trans-pride">:scp-wiki:theme:scp-trans-pride</a> |trans-pride-animated-header= --] |trans-pride-logo= --] |trans-pride-footer= --]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:croqstyle">:scp-wiki:component:croqstyle</a> -=- ]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:collapsible-sidebar">:scp-wiki:component:collapsible-sidebar</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[=]]
**I**
[[/=]]
Alagadda in the month of June was the most joyous month
for the five great lords of the carnival city were returning from their yearly voyages;
The Lord of Urine, the yellow-robed one and the representative of the Ichor District, She was to return from dealings in the Kingdom of Abbadon;
The Lord of Menstruality, the red-robed one and the representative of the Leech District, He was to return from his vassal prostitution to the Ten Tongues;
The Lord of Marrow, the naked one
and the representative of the Crypt, He was to return from dealings with the government of Kepler,
And the Lord of Shit, the black-robed one and representative of no one but herself, She was to return from vacation on Elrich, scowering the rodent birds for their precious entrails.
The fifth great lord, you know Him well
was the Hanged King, the fairest maiden and the biggest man
who was loved and kissed on His knuckles and toes by all
across the cosmos: He was to return from His undeath,
for His respite was merely temporary; death only impartial.
Tonight, tonight
the four lords would be united, for the first time,
in the performance of a show. The play was
The Passion and The Glory: A biography on the trials of the Hanged King;
though many had told the tragedy, none had told the triumph,
which was the most important part.
The assemblage was to take place in the carnival city's porno theatre:
It was the shade on the street corner of every yellow-bellied brain stem between the Ichor and Leech Districts, on the
avenue between Sodom and Amalek. The theatre was
most akin to a medical operating theatre; there were as many seats as beings in the city and then some; and it was housed in great rows extending upwards and upwards like shingles on a roof;
The tingle of skin on skin as the city filed in to watch--
On the stage were the Lords
and in the back of the theatre on the biggest throne in the realm:
The throne of the Hanged King, it was a visage of a Cross to which His black robes
were stapled to, and too, was He trapped in it by chains; the only freedom He could enjoy was
to move and squirm and jiggle His thighs, for the chains were bound around His pectorals;
Around His head, too, was a sweatband that would keep the hair out of His eyes, and on His eyes were the scalpels, which kept His eyelids free and moisturized with His own Blood.
As His moisture seeped into the seat and then the ground below it, the lights dimmed with click after click.
The audience's moaning and loving wails faded into nothing;
[[=]]
**II**
[[/=]]
The play had thus begun-- the Lords assembled in the shadows of the set, and when
The flaming lights illuminated them once again, they revealed six Crosses of which
dummies and dolls were stacked upon, cut into and pierced by sharp metal, attached to the Crosses thusly; and they took up 3 of the Crosses, the furthermost back ones, and there was one in the center which was empty.
The stage light was eclipsed with a long black disc, and the porno theatre was caked in an eerie glow;
The Lord in Marrow stepped from behind this center Cross;
He spoke, "In Christ in I is there change, and the possibility of endlessness, and the eternal soul is that: For there is something beyond this life, yes, the After-World, where you can always see the sun, day, or night."
The eclipse fluttered.
"I am not to survive this day as declared by that Roman Pharoah; I have been starved and beaten and torn and things have been put inside Me;"
He stepped forward once again and showed his nakedness in the night, his large cock swung between his thighs.
As the wind passed between his legs his hefty ballsack made a sort of whistling noise, like the squealing of a pig, and they resembled this in fact, the seam of his ballsack had been torn, so it resembled a pig's nose.
Something oozed from it thus.
"They have been put inside Me! This Holy Spirit has entered My body upon My baptism, and leaves me today, for I will die and I will die horribly, and slowly."
He bowed his head and knelt before the Cross, facing the audience, and the three other lords emerged behind him.
The Lord of Shit touched his chest and rubbed him in a familial way,
Then her hand grazed his cock and she fluttered away like a moth in the night, and akin to this, she had left the trail of her sludge upon the ground.
The Lord of Urine too emerged and touched his chest but did not touch his cock, she merely ducked beneath him and came upon the audience as a moth's silhouette.
"This Christ must die!" She bellowed, and the Hanged King flinched.
"And we shall do it in the ancient way, in the way of consumption,"
And the Lord of Menstruality emerged with a red plastic tank with a handle and an X inscribed on it.
[[=]]
**III**
[[/=]]
The Lord of Marrow was slashed and rubbed down with the embalming massage oil:
Pure petrol; unrefined oil from the blue-crackling cracks down beneath the sea;
the sea was filled with the digestive toils of the ancient ones, what we would so pitifully
use to build cars and tractors and metal machine men
when we could've and should've been getting naked and lighting ourselves on fire.
"If it shall need be, O Father,
Then allow Me to be Your holocaust:"
(said the Lord of Marrow)
"If the world shall need a sacrifice, then let Me burn, and My ashes become the Soil."
His body was covered in flame, gasoline dribbling down the seam of his nutsack;
They had fattened in the heat, sweating excessively
And the Lord of Marrow fell to his knees his head cradled by his own knees as he was burned, screaming, tarnishing, wailing, and then went silent:
His penis had become erect, only visible in
the stage light for its disjointedness from the rest of the darkened floor
and the audience gasped and watched in silent awe: The Lord crossed
his arms and began to rise upon his very heels, and then
he spread his arms wide, and in the dark appeared to be
a large moth or beast: And he swung his hips in the shade.
The lights on the stage hummed up and
The Lord of Marrow was reborn!
The Lords of Urine, Menstruality, and Shit gathered him up in their robes
and doused him, and they all rose together to smile
and they then returned to the ground: bowed to thunderous applause.
[[=]]
**IIII**
[[/=]]
The Hanged King cheered wildly from His lich-throne:
Deep in the backhand of the audience; He applauded and
whooped and smacked His big thighs, jiggling them
and the mighty flesh meat wobbled deliciously.
"Yes, yes,"
"This was brilliant,"
He rolled over His back and rolled again;
"But I've one note for you, Lord of Marrow, for I have seen but One inaccuracy;"
So the Hanged King gripped the seam of his robes
and threw them off at once, in a great heap;
He spread his jiggling thighs and unveiled
His most soggy and stinking pussy; unwashed and unshaven,
so thick it physically wafted through its big kissable lips
as a current of white dancing steam.
"I would never ask you to mutilate your self, Lord of Marrow,
though I say: You are overdressed!"
The four lords and the Hanged King alike threw their heads back
in deep belly-laughter, and in suit, as did the audience; for there was a merriness in the night
that was not bound by their whiskey nor moonshine nor poppers nor molly; it was
as simple as the sight of that unwashed, quivering thing, taking in its erotic scent, and it was
the closeness to--
The audience filed out quietly into an unlit street
to find the moon had begun to peak out from the crowds;
She whispered,
"Goodnight, you,"
"Goodnight, //you//,"
"Goodnight,"
"Goodnight,"
"Goodnight,
goodnight, yes, goodnight."
"And goodbye, till 'morrow."
O sweet love;
Osiris and Oracle, if you only knew
how much that 'morrow meant, for:
[[=]]
**IIIII**
[[/=]]
In the still of the night,
five satins were ruffled by the window sill,
and in the yellow sky, a [[[illcovetyouifyoucoverme |black sun]]]
began to rise over a silent day.
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-06-17T23:20:00
|
[
"_adult",
"_licensebox",
"alagadda",
"black-comedy",
"but-a-dream",
"comedy",
"hanged-king",
"kindness",
"poetry",
"pridefest2024",
"religious-fiction",
"tale"
] |
The Superstar - SCP Foundation
| 33
|
[
"prev",
"next",
"illcovetyouifyoucoverme",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"the-father-the-son-and-the-holy-spirit-hub",
"pridefest"
] |
[] |
1454072328
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-shadow-over
|
|
a-simple-sheaf-of-papers
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>1874. Fritz Williams sat at his messy wooden desk, covered in reports and documents and file folders and other things of that nature. He wasn’t much, just a simple government file clerk. As he rummaged through stacks of paper, Fritz came across a strange sheaf of papers, clasped together in the top-left corner.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><em><strong>Confidential Report on Special Items – Classified</strong></em></p>
</blockquote>
<p>He turned the page.</p>
<div class="blockquote" style="border-radius: 10px; margin: 10px">
<p><strong>Item:</strong> <a href="/scp-002">The “Living” Room</a></p>
<p><strong>Description:</strong> Item resembles a tumorous, fleshy growth with a volume of roughly 60 m³ (or 2000 ft³). An iron valve hatch on one side leads to its interior, which appears to be a standard low-rent apartment of modest size. One wall of the room possesses a single window, though no such opening is visible from the exterior. The room contains furniture which, upon close examination, appears to be sculpted bone, woven hair, and various other biological substances produced by the human body…</p>
</div>
<p>Fritz read the printed words on the pages with incredulity. His mind raced with thoughts, wondering where how this document had gotten to his office desk, whether he should be reading this, or if it was all a hoax. When he had finished reading, he threw down the papers, and picked up a pen.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Aaron Siegel was a brilliant but humble man. He had been studying physics at Cornell University in 1891, when his curiosity began to stray from that which was ordinary. The strange, the supernatural, the <em>anomalous</em>. Siegel had moved to the United States, and became a founding member of an organization dealing with unexplained phenomena.</p>
<p>And now, here he stood, leading a unit of security personnel in Portugal. The crater lay on the ground, and within it, a tumorous ball of flesh like nothing he had seen before. It appeared to float above the ground below, and… by God, did it reek.</p>
<p>Siegel oversaw as General Mulhausen sent three brave men with rifles into the… thing, through the steel valve hatch on its side. Three hours later, they still did not come out.</p>
<p>He would need to inform the Administrator.</p>
<hr/>
<div class="blockquote" style="border-radius: 10px; margin: 10px">
<p><strong>Item:</strong> <a href="/scp-173">The Sculpture</a></p>
<p><strong>Description:</strong> Item is constructed from concrete and rebar with traces of Krylon brand spray paint. Item is animate and extremely hostile. The object cannot move while within a direct line of sight. Line of sight must not be broken at any time…</p>
</div>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Classified Document from 1900/1/23</strong></p>
<p>SCP artifacts pose a significant threat to global security. Various agencies from around the world operate to maintain human independence from extra-terrestrial, extra-dimensional, and extra-universal threat. In the past humankind has been at the whim of these bizarre artifacts and similar phenomena, but we have now reached a point in history where we can begin to control and contain these defiances of natural law.</p>
<p>In the face of the crisis posed by the highly publicized attack by the statue in New York, we have founded the <strong>SCP series</strong>. Numerous worldwide organizations have merged under the watchful eyes of the Admin Court of Counsel. Our organization operates to secure that which is out of the ordinary, contain it safely, and to protect the rest of mankind from these dangers unknown. We fight in the dark so others may live in the light.</p>
<p><strong><em>To Secure, Contain, and Protect.</em></strong><br/>
<em>- The Administrator</em></p>
</blockquote>
<p>The Administrator sighed and inhaled from his cigarette as he signed the document that would mark the founding of the SCP unit. As smoke filled his lungs, he paused briefly, thought for a moment, about the stapled stack of papers in his office that started all this. He and Aaron had studied that thing for decades, copying down every word of that document. Now there were hundreds of these things.</p>
<p>This had become his life now. He dedicated every waking hour to studying the horrors of the world of all types, every one of them warned in the sheaf of papers. Even on his own shoulders rested an abnormality of this universe, his coat of arms. His eyes had been forever opened to things that never should have existed, and he would spend the rest of his life trying to lock them away from the world.</p>
<p>The Administrator exhaled, and opened SCP-001 again.</p>
<hr/>
<div class="blockquote" style="border-radius: 10px; margin: 10px">
<p><strong>Item:</strong> <a href="/dr-gears-s-proposal">The Prototype</a></p>
<p><strong>Description:</strong> 6’5” tall, 97 lbs (average, varies by 5-10 lbs higher or lower), unknown age, grey-brown skin (may be bruising), eye (?) color milky blue, no hair. Emaciated appearance, bone and muscle structure unlike any recorded species…</p>
</div>
<p><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc0"><span>THE FOLLOWING FILES HAVE BEEN CLASSIFIED</span></h2>
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="font-size:200%;">TOP SECRET</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>BY ORDER OF THE ADMINISTRATOR</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="content-panel standalone series">
<p><strong>GENERAL NOTICE 001-Alpha:</strong> In order to prevent knowledge of SCP-001 from being leaked, several/no false SCP-001 files have been created alongside the true file/files. All files concerning the nature of SCP-001, including the decoy/decoys, are protected by a memetic kill agent designed to immediately cause cardiac arrest in any nonauthorized personnel attempting to access the file. Revealing the true nature/natures of SCP-001 to the general public is cause for execution, except as required under ████-███-██████.</p>
</div>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Excerpt from Confiscated Document 001-Alpha-Z</strong></p>
<p>Senior staff are encouraged to submit “001 Proposals”, consisting of files that may be an accurate description of an existing anomaly, a highly embellished report, or entirely false. This is in order to spread the myth among the organization staff that SCP-001 is the most powerful or dangerous anomaly known, the first anomaly discovered, the creator of some or all anomalies, or significant in any way.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>Report on SCP-001-Alpha, 19██/█/██</p>
<p><strong>Item #:</strong> <a href="/jonathan-ball-s-proposal">SCP-001</a></p>
<p><strong>Object Class:</strong> Keter</p>
<p><strong>Special Containment Procedures:</strong> To date, no adequate containment procedure has been developed to deal with the possible threat posed by SCP-001. This is due, in part, to the controversial nature of the item…</p>
<p>…It is the opinion of the current administration that SCP-001 represents the greatest threat to national and global security known to exist. Nevertheless, due to special circumstances regarding its mode of function, further research on the item is disallowed, despite its promotion in the past, when SCP-001 was contained in minimum security conditions…</p>
<p>…The fact remains: no new SCP items appear unless SCP-001 is opened and read. It is for this reason that the current administration refuses to repeat the mistakes of the past, mistakes that have resulted in over one thousand SCP items coming to the knowledge of the SCP unit.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The Founder, O5-1, looked over the report. The O5 officers, or “Overseer Council” as they were now called, had locked away 001 in a briefcase, far, far away from the eyes of any who would want to know more, discover more, study more.</p>
<p>And it was true. Decades ago, he and the Administrator and the others had studied that thing, counseled with it every day. The plague doctor. That horrible reptile. God. All described in that sheaf of papers, and all now resting in cold steel cells somewhere.</p>
<p>But he realized now, that this is the right way. Thousands of innocent lives had been lost to the “anomalies”. How could the world be safe, <em>secure</em>, when those things were popping up faster and faster?</p>
<p>He, Aaron Siegel, knew that SCP-001, the true SCP-001, was responsible for every last one of them. And the world had paid the price for the mistakes of the Administrator.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>List of SCP items, 1950</strong></p>
<p>Item numbers are largely arbitrary. Ordered chronologically by SCP-001 reports. Contains newly devised Object Classification System.</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th>#</th>
<th>Item</th>
<th>Discovered</th>
<th>Classification</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>002</td>
<td>The “Living” Room</td>
<td>1893</td>
<td>Euclid</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>004</td>
<td>The 12 Rusty Keys and the Door</td>
<td>1949</td>
<td>Euclid</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>006</td>
<td>Fountain of Youth</td>
<td>1894</td>
<td>Safe</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>015</td>
<td>Pipe Nightmare</td>
<td>1914</td>
<td>Euclid</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>008</td>
<td>Zombie Plague</td>
<td>1932</td>
<td>Euclid</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>882</td>
<td>A Machine</td>
<td>1895</td>
<td>Euclid</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>-</td>
<td>Abdominal Planet</td>
<td>Not yet discovered</td>
<td>Pending</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>012</td>
<td>A Bad Composition</td>
<td>1901</td>
<td>Euclid</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span style="color: #888888">013-D</span></td>
<td><span style="color: #888888">The All or Nothing</span></td>
<td><span style="color: #888888">1896</span></td>
<td>Decommissioned</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span style="color: #bbbbbb">021</span></td>
<td><span style="color: #bbbbbb">Skin Wyrm</span></td>
<td><span style="color: #bbbbbb">1897</span></td>
<td><span style="color: #bbbbbb">Safe</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span style="color: #dddddd">-</span></td>
<td><span style="color: #dddddd">The Homunculus</span></td>
<td><span style="color: #dddddd">Not yet discovered</span></td>
<td><span style="color: #dddddd">Pending</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span style="color: #eeeeee">-</span></td>
<td><span style="color: #eeeeee">Dwarf Star</span></td>
<td><span style="color: #eeeeee">Not yet discovered</span></td>
<td><span style="color: #eeeeee">Pending</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span style="color: #ffffff">042</span></td>
<td><span style="color: #ffffff">A Formerly Winged Horse</span></td>
<td><span style="color: #ffffff">1923</span></td>
<td><span style="color: #ffffff">Euclid</span></td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr/>
<div class="blockquote" style="border-radius: 10px; margin: 10px">
<p><strong>Item:</strong> <a href="/scp-2317">Door to Another World</a></p>
<p><strong>Description:</strong> Item is a primeval entity known as "The ████████ ████, Devourer of Worlds" (name redacted intentionally). The Erikesh Codex indicates that it was captured and imprisoned by Erikeshan mystics circa 1894 BCE….</p>
</div>
<p><strong>Document O5V-2475:</strong> O5 Council Vote #2475, “Vote to amend containment procedures to SCP-001-Alpha, including the daily opening of SCP-001”.<br/>
Proposed by O5-4 on 1961/06/29.</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th>For</th>
<th>Against</th>
<th>Abstain</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-3</td>
<td>O5-1</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-4</td>
<td>O5-2</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-5</td>
<td>O5-6</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-7</td>
<td>O5-9</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-8</td>
<td>O5-11</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-10</td>
<td>O5-12</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-13</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><strong>Vote Approved.</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p>The Administrator had been gone for years. Nobody knew what had happened to him, not even the all-powerful Overseer Council. Some suspected he had died of old age, quietly and alone. Others suspected that he was himself an immortal entity, and continued to walk among his subordinates in disguise. Some said he simply gave up on the Foundation. Whatever the reason, he had left the Foundation in the hands of the 13 Overseers.</p>
<p>The first O5 Council, led by their Founder, were paranoid. They were afraid. They had hid the sheaf of papers in a small, dimly-lit facility, under suspicion that the report somehow <em>created</em> the thousands of anomalies that ravaged the world. After all, they reasoned, no items were discovered until SCP-001 was opened, and this was evidence to them that an innocuous sheaf of papers was the progenitor of every anomaly in the universe.</p>
<p>Many reasoned otherwise. Many items had existed for thousands of years, if not millions, making it impossible for SCP-001 to have created them. Not opening 001 would only hinder the SCP Foundation from discovering new anomalies. The greatest threat, after all, is the one you don’t know about. The next O5 Council ordered that SCP-001 be transcribed every day, leading to the discovery of thousands of anomalies in the following decades.</p>
<p>The following Council declared that SCP-001 was to be locked away in a maximum security facility guarded entirely by robots to prevent human interaction. The Council after decreed that said facility was to be demolished, and SCP-001 was to be reviewed personally by Overwatch, as the item itself was harmless. Some administrations argued that even if SCP-001 did create anomalies, many of those were useful to the Foundation and thus justified its opening. Others reasoned that a sheaf of papers was utterly incapable of causing reality shifts, and that there must be <a href="/sandrewswann-s-proposal">some other cause</a>, some other reason for these flaws of nature to exist.</p>
<p>The SCP items had plagued the universe with corruption. The world would end in a million horrible, awful ways. And at the center of it all, a simple sheaf of papers. The greatest threat to the world—or the only thing that could save it.</p>
<hr/>
<div class="blockquote" style="border-radius: 10px; margin: 10px">
<p><strong>Item:</strong> <a href="/scp-3000">Anantashesha</a></p>
<p><strong>Description:</strong> Item is a massive, aquatic, serpentine entity strongly resembling a giant moray eel (Gymnothorax javanicus). The full length of the entity is impossible to determine, but is hypothesized to be between 600 and 900 kilometers…</p>
</div>
<p>Donna Taylor walks into the elevator of Site-0. Well, one of the Site-0s. Two other men stand beside her. They’ve been here longer than she has, much longer. All three of them wear dark sunglasses and suits; she can’t see their faces. She doesn’t know their names. One of them pushes a button, and they descend. She stares at her watch.</p>
<p>They stand silently in the elevator car for 7 minutes and 23 seconds.</p>
<p>Finally, the elevator comes to a stop. Taylor sweats from her palms as they walk down a corridor. The other two know where they’re going; she follows quietly. The three walk silently through the subterranean labyrinth. It resembles an old hospital or office building. Hundreds of steel doors on each side, each with an engraved plate that she can’t make out.</p>
<p>They walk for another 12 minutes before reaching a stairwell. As they descend into the deepest bowels of Site-0, she thinks of what awaits her. The thing that started it all. The briefcase. SCP-001.</p>
<p>The taller man produces a small, ornate bronze key, and inserts it into the heavy metal door in front of them. The lock clicks, and the door opens into a small, dimly-lit room.</p>
<p>The shorter man walks up to the table. Upon it rests a heavy black briefcase. He enters a code. With his gloved hands, he opens the briefcase, and SCP-001 is carefully pried out.</p>
<p>Donna Taylor, the new O5-9, coldly walks up to the sheaf of papers, and turns the page.</p>
<hr/>
<div class="anom-bar-container item-001 clear-6 esoteric thaumiel dark notice {$american}">
<div class="anom-bar">
<div class="top-box">
<div class="top-left-box"><span class="item">Item#:</span> <span class="number">001</span></div>
<div class="top-right-box">
<div class="level">Level6</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="bottom-box">
<div class="text-part">
<div class="main-class">
<div class="contain-class">
<div class="class-category">Containment Class:</div>
<div class="class-text">esoteric</div>
</div>
<div class="second-class">
<div class="class-category">Secondary Class:</div>
<div class="class-text">thaumiel</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="disrupt-class">
<div class="class-category">Disruption Class:</div>
<div class="class-text">dark</div>
</div>
<div class="risk-class">
<div class="class-category">Risk Class:</div>
<div class="class-text">notice</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="diamond-part">
<div class="danger-diamond"><a href="/classification-committee-memo">link to memo</a><br/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"><img alt="briefcase.jpg" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/a-simple-sheaf-of-papers/briefcase.jpg"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>SCP-001</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><strong>Special Containment Procedures, <span class="odate time_1736645042 format_%25Y%2F%25m%2F%25d">12 Jan 2025 01:24</span>:</strong> By order of the Administrator, General Notice 001-Alpha has been enacted. The slot of SCP-001 has been reserved for “prime” anomalies which are historically significant to the Foundation and/or are significantly disruptive or dangerous to the natural world. Additionally, numerous fake files have been created to mask the true natures of the anomalies designated as SCP-001. SCP-001 designations, or “proposals” can be made by senior staff, and are to be approved or denied by the O5 Council. All of these policies have been enacted to protect SCP-001-Alpha from threat of destruction.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>SCP-001-Alpha is located in a code-locked briefcase made of a high-tensile reinforced polymer. The room and the briefcase are monitored at all times by security cameras. The briefcase itself is stored in Site-0, erected in ███ ██████ ██████. This off-site building exists for the sole purpose of protecting SCP-001.</p>
<p>SCP-001 is to be opened by a squad of no less than two (2) personnel with Level 5/001 clearance under direct O5 Council supervision, at least once per day unless specified otherwise. Upon opening SCP-001, all pages are to be scanned with a high-end document scanner. Said files are to be securely forwarded directly to Overwatch Command. The O5 Council is to then determine a course of action regarding the report given in SCP-001. Following the discovery of the anomaly described in SCP-001, the corresponding report is to be uploaded to SCiPNet with accompanying Special Containment Procedures.</p>
<p><strong>Description:</strong> SCP-001 is a simple sheaf of papers, stapled together in the top left corner. The top sheet is a cover page reading simply, “Confidential Report on Special Items—Classified.” The number of subsequent papers stapled to this covering sheet is indeterminate, and have ranged from three to thirty. The report is unsigned and its origin is unknown.</p>
<p>Insufficient research exists concerning the correlation between SCP-001 and all other known items. However, it has been established that every event regarding the discovery of a new anomaly has followed a report on that same item appearing beneath the cover sheet of SCP-001.</p>
<div class="list-pages-box">
<p>Despite this, many anomalies have existed for significantly longer than SCP-001, or the Foundation itself, but are not discovered until their report is opened in SCP-001. The O5 Council regards this coincidence as proof that SCP-001 is an advance-warning system. SCP-001 is absolutely vital to ensure that the SCP Foundation can continue its mission to protect humanity from the anomalous, and has currently led to the discovery of 8852 anomalies since its first opening. Although past administrations have refused to interact with SCP-001, placing the item in isolation, the current O5 Council has determined it necessary to counsel daily with the item, to ensure that all future anomalies in this universe may come to the knowledge of the SCP Foundation.</p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/a-simple-sheaf-of-papers">A Simple Sheaf of Papers</a>" by ubergoober, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-simple-sheaf-of-papers">https://scpwiki.com/a-simple-sheaf-of-papers</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> briefcase.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Dev920<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.5<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Briefcase-photo.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
1874. Fritz Williams sat at his messy wooden desk, covered in reports and documents and file folders and other things of that nature. He wasn’t much, just a simple government file clerk. As he rummaged through stacks of paper, Fritz came across a strange sheaf of papers, clasped together in the top-left corner.
> //**Confidential Report on Special Items – Classified**//
He turned the page.
[[div class="blockquote" style="border-radius: 10px; margin: 10px"]]
**Item:** [[[scp-002 | The “Living” Room]]]
**Description:** Item resembles a tumorous, fleshy growth with a volume of roughly 60 m³ (or 2000 ft³). An iron valve hatch on one side leads to its interior, which appears to be a standard low-rent apartment of modest size. One wall of the room possesses a single window, though no such opening is visible from the exterior. The room contains furniture which, upon close examination, appears to be sculpted bone, woven hair, and various other biological substances produced by the human body...
[[/div]]
Fritz read the printed words on the pages with incredulity. His mind raced with thoughts, wondering where how this document had gotten to his office desk, whether he should be reading this, or if it was all a hoax. When he had finished reading, he threw down the papers, and picked up a pen.
-----
Aaron Siegel was a brilliant but humble man. He had been studying physics at Cornell University in 1891, when his curiosity began to stray from that which was ordinary. The strange, the supernatural, the //anomalous//. Siegel had moved to the United States, and became a founding member of an organization dealing with unexplained phenomena.
And now, here he stood, leading a unit of security personnel in Portugal. The crater lay on the ground, and within it, a tumorous ball of flesh like nothing he had seen before. It appeared to float above the ground below, and... by God, did it reek.
Siegel oversaw as General Mulhausen sent three brave men with rifles into the... thing, through the steel valve hatch on its side. Three hours later, they still did not come out.
He would need to inform the Administrator.
-----
[[div class="blockquote" style="border-radius: 10px; margin: 10px"]]
**Item:** [[[scp-173 | The Sculpture]]]
**Description:** Item is constructed from concrete and rebar with traces of Krylon brand spray paint. Item is animate and extremely hostile. The object cannot move while within a direct line of sight. Line of sight must not be broken at any time...
[[/div]]
> **Classified Document from 1900/1/23**
>
> SCP artifacts pose a significant threat to global security. Various agencies from around the world operate to maintain human independence from extra-terrestrial, extra-dimensional, and extra-universal threat. In the past humankind has been at the whim of these bizarre artifacts and similar phenomena, but we have now reached a point in history where we can begin to control and contain these defiances of natural law.
>
> In the face of the crisis posed by the highly publicized attack by the statue in New York, we have founded the **SCP series**. Numerous worldwide organizations have merged under the watchful eyes of the Admin Court of Counsel. Our organization operates to secure that which is out of the ordinary, contain it safely, and to protect the rest of mankind from these dangers unknown. We fight in the dark so others may live in the light.
>
> **//To Secure, Contain, and Protect.//**
> //- The Administrator//
The Administrator sighed and inhaled from his cigarette as he signed the document that would mark the founding of the SCP unit. As smoke filled his lungs, he paused briefly, thought for a moment, about the stapled stack of papers in his office that started all this. He and Aaron had studied that thing for decades, copying down every word of that document. Now there were hundreds of these things.
This had become his life now. He dedicated every waking hour to studying the horrors of the world of all types, every one of them warned in the sheaf of papers. Even on his own shoulders rested an abnormality of this universe, his coat of arms. His eyes had been forever opened to things that never should have existed, and he would spend the rest of his life trying to lock them away from the world.
The Administrator exhaled, and opened SCP-001 again.
-----
[[div class="blockquote" style="border-radius: 10px; margin: 10px"]]
**Item:** [[[dr gears s proposal | The Prototype]]]
**Description:** 6’5” tall, 97 lbs (average, varies by 5-10 lbs higher or lower), unknown age, grey-brown skin (may be bruising), eye (?) color milky blue, no hair. Emaciated appearance, bone and muscle structure unlike any recorded species…
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
[[=]]
++ THE FOLLOWING FILES HAVE BEEN CLASSIFIED
+ [[size 200%]]TOP SECRET[[/size]]
++ BY ORDER OF THE ADMINISTRATOR
[[/=]]
-----
[[div class="content-panel standalone series"]]
**GENERAL NOTICE 001-Alpha:** In order to prevent knowledge of SCP-001 from being leaked, several/no false SCP-001 files have been created alongside the true file/files. All files concerning the nature of SCP-001, including the decoy/decoys, are protected by a memetic kill agent designed to immediately cause cardiac arrest in any nonauthorized personnel attempting to access the file. Revealing the true nature/natures of SCP-001 to the general public is cause for execution, except as required under ████-███-██████.
[[/div]]
> **Excerpt from Confiscated Document 001-Alpha-Z**
>
> Senior staff are encouraged to submit “001 Proposals”, consisting of files that may be an accurate description of an existing anomaly, a highly embellished report, or entirely false. This is in order to spread the myth among the organization staff that SCP-001 is the most powerful or dangerous anomaly known, the first anomaly discovered, the creator of some or all anomalies, or significant in any way.
-----
Report on SCP-001-Alpha, 19██/█/██
**Item #:** [[[jonathan ball s Proposal | SCP-001]]]
**Object Class:** Keter
**Special Containment Procedures:** To date, no adequate containment procedure has been developed to deal with the possible threat posed by SCP-001. This is due, in part, to the controversial nature of the item…
…It is the opinion of the current administration that SCP-001 represents the greatest threat to national and global security known to exist. Nevertheless, due to special circumstances regarding its mode of function, further research on the item is disallowed, despite its promotion in the past, when SCP-001 was contained in minimum security conditions…
…The fact remains: no new SCP items appear unless SCP-001 is opened and read. It is for this reason that the current administration refuses to repeat the mistakes of the past, mistakes that have resulted in over one thousand SCP items coming to the knowledge of the SCP unit.
-----
The Founder, O5-1, looked over the report. The O5 officers, or “Overseer Council” as they were now called, had locked away 001 in a briefcase, far, far away from the eyes of any who would want to know more, discover more, study more.
And it was true. Decades ago, he and the Administrator and the others had studied that thing, counseled with it every day. The plague doctor. That horrible reptile. God. All described in that sheaf of papers, and all now resting in cold steel cells somewhere.
But he realized now, that this is the right way. Thousands of innocent lives had been lost to the “anomalies”. How could the world be safe, //secure//, when those things were popping up faster and faster?
He, Aaron Siegel, knew that SCP-001, the true SCP-001, was responsible for every last one of them. And the world had paid the price for the mistakes of the Administrator.
-----
**List of SCP items, 1950**
Item numbers are largely arbitrary. Ordered chronologically by SCP-001 reports. Contains newly devised Object Classification System.
||~ # ||~ Item ||~ Discovered||~ Classification||
|| 002 || The “Living” Room || 1893 || Euclid ||
|| 004 || The 12 Rusty Keys and the Door || 1949 || Euclid ||
|| 006 || Fountain of Youth || 1894 || Safe ||
|| 015 || Pipe Nightmare || 1914 || Euclid ||
|| 008 || Zombie Plague || 1932 || Euclid ||
|| 882 || A Machine || 1895 || Euclid ||
|| - || Abdominal Planet || Not yet discovered || Pending ||
|| 012 || A Bad Composition || 1901 || Euclid ||
|| ##888888|013-D## || ##888888|The All or Nothing## || ##888888|1896## || Decommissioned ||
|| ##BBBBBB|021## || ##BBBBBB|Skin Wyrm## || ##BBBBBB|1897## || ##BBBBBB|Safe## ||
|| ##DDDDDD|-## || ##DDDDDD|The Homunculus## || ##DDDDDD|Not yet discovered## || ##DDDDDD|Pending## ||
|| ##EEEEEE|-## || ##EEEEEE|Dwarf Star## ||##EEEEEE|Not yet discovered## || ##EEEEEE|Pending## ||
|| ##FFFFFF|042## || ##FFFFFF|A Formerly Winged Horse## ||##FFFFFF|1923## || ##FFFFFF|Euclid## ||
-----
[[div class="blockquote" style="border-radius: 10px; margin: 10px"]]
**Item:** [[[scp-2317 | Door to Another World]]]
**Description:** Item is a primeval entity known as "The ████████ ████, Devourer of Worlds" (name redacted intentionally). The Erikesh Codex indicates that it was captured and imprisoned by Erikeshan mystics circa 1894 BCE....
[[/div]]
**Document O5V-2475:** O5 Council Vote #2475, “Vote to amend containment procedures to SCP-001-Alpha, including the daily opening of SCP-001”.
Proposed by O5-4 on 1961/06/29.
||~ For||~ Against||~ Abstain||
|| O5-3 || O5-1|| ||
|| O5-4 || O5-2|| ||
|| O5-5 || O5-6|| ||
|| O5-7 || O5-9|| ||
|| O5-8 || O5-11|| ||
|| O5-10|| O5-12|| ||
|| O5-13|| || ||
**Vote Approved.**
-----
The Administrator had been gone for years. Nobody knew what had happened to him, not even the all-powerful Overseer Council. Some suspected he had died of old age, quietly and alone. Others suspected that he was himself an immortal entity, and continued to walk among his subordinates in disguise. Some said he simply gave up on the Foundation. Whatever the reason, he had left the Foundation in the hands of the 13 Overseers.
The first O5 Council, led by their Founder, were paranoid. They were afraid. They had hid the sheaf of papers in a small, dimly-lit facility, under suspicion that the report somehow //created// the thousands of anomalies that ravaged the world. After all, they reasoned, no items were discovered until SCP-001 was opened, and this was evidence to them that an innocuous sheaf of papers was the progenitor of every anomaly in the universe.
Many reasoned otherwise. Many items had existed for thousands of years, if not millions, making it impossible for SCP-001 to have created them. Not opening 001 would only hinder the SCP Foundation from discovering new anomalies. The greatest threat, after all, is the one you don’t know about. The next O5 Council ordered that SCP-001 be transcribed every day, leading to the discovery of thousands of anomalies in the following decades.
The following Council declared that SCP-001 was to be locked away in a maximum security facility guarded entirely by robots to prevent human interaction. The Council after decreed that said facility was to be demolished, and SCP-001 was to be reviewed personally by Overwatch, as the item itself was harmless. Some administrations argued that even if SCP-001 did create anomalies, many of those were useful to the Foundation and thus justified its opening. Others reasoned that a sheaf of papers was utterly incapable of causing reality shifts, and that there must be [[[SAndrewSwann s Proposal | some other cause]]], some other reason for these flaws of nature to exist.
The SCP items had plagued the universe with corruption. The world would end in a million horrible, awful ways. And at the center of it all, a simple sheaf of papers. The greatest threat to the world—or the only thing that could save it.
-----
[[div class="blockquote" style="border-radius: 10px; margin: 10px"]]
**Item:** [[[scp-3000 | Anantashesha]]]
**Description:** Item is a massive, aquatic, serpentine entity strongly resembling a giant moray eel (Gymnothorax javanicus). The full length of the entity is impossible to determine, but is hypothesized to be between 600 and 900 kilometers…
[[/div]]
Donna Taylor walks into the elevator of Site-0. Well, one of the Site-0s. Two other men stand beside her. They’ve been here longer than she has, much longer. All three of them wear dark sunglasses and suits; she can’t see their faces. She doesn’t know their names. One of them pushes a button, and they descend. She stares at her watch.
They stand silently in the elevator car for 7 minutes and 23 seconds.
Finally, the elevator comes to a stop. Taylor sweats from her palms as they walk down a corridor. The other two know where they’re going; she follows quietly. The three walk silently through the subterranean labyrinth. It resembles an old hospital or office building. Hundreds of steel doors on each side, each with an engraved plate that she can’t make out.
They walk for another 12 minutes before reaching a stairwell. As they descend into the deepest bowels of Site-0, she thinks of what awaits her. The thing that started it all. The briefcase. SCP-001.
The taller man produces a small, ornate bronze key, and inserts it into the heavy metal door in front of them. The lock clicks, and the door opens into a small, dimly-lit room.
The shorter man walks up to the table. Upon it rests a heavy black briefcase. He enters a code. With his gloved hands, he opens the briefcase, and SCP-001 is carefully pried out.
Donna Taylor, the new O5-9, coldly walks up to the sheaf of papers, and turns the page.
-----
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:anomaly-class-bar-source">:scp-wiki:component:anomaly-class-bar-source</a>
|item-number= 001
|clearance= 6
|container-class= esoteric
|secondary-class= thaumiel
|secondary-icon= https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/component:anomaly-class-bar/thaumiel-icon.svg
|disruption-class= dark
|risk-class= notice
]]
[[module ListPages limit="1" category="*" order="updated_at desc"]]
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a>
|name=http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/a-simple-sheaf-of-papers/briefcase.jpg
|caption=SCP-001]]
**Special Containment Procedures, %%updated_at|%Y/%m/%d%%:** By order of the Administrator, General Notice 001-Alpha has been enacted. The slot of SCP-001 has been reserved for “prime” anomalies which are historically significant to the Foundation and/or are significantly disruptive or dangerous to the natural world. Additionally, numerous fake files have been created to mask the true natures of the anomalies designated as SCP-001. SCP-001 designations, or “proposals” can be made by senior staff, and are to be approved or denied by the O5 Council. All of these policies have been enacted to protect SCP-001-Alpha from threat of destruction.
[[/module]]
SCP-001-Alpha is located in a code-locked briefcase made of a high-tensile reinforced polymer. The room and the briefcase are monitored at all times by security cameras. The briefcase itself is stored in Site-0, erected in ███ ██████ ██████. This off-site building exists for the sole purpose of protecting SCP-001.
SCP-001 is to be opened by a squad of no less than two (2) personnel with Level 5/001 clearance under direct O5 Council supervision, at least once per day unless specified otherwise. Upon opening SCP-001, all pages are to be scanned with a high-end document scanner. Said files are to be securely forwarded directly to Overwatch Command. The O5 Council is to then determine a course of action regarding the report given in SCP-001. Following the discovery of the anomaly described in SCP-001, the corresponding report is to be uploaded to SCiPNet with accompanying Special Containment Procedures.
**Description:** SCP-001 is a simple sheaf of papers, stapled together in the top left corner. The top sheet is a cover page reading simply, “Confidential Report on Special Items—Classified.” The number of subsequent papers stapled to this covering sheet is indeterminate, and have ranged from three to thirty. The report is unsigned and its origin is unknown.
Insufficient research exists concerning the correlation between SCP-001 and all other known items. However, it has been established that every event regarding the discovery of a new anomaly has followed a report on that same item appearing beneath the cover sheet of SCP-001.
[[module Countpages tags="+scp" rating=">10"]]
Despite this, many anomalies have existed for significantly longer than SCP-001, or the Foundation itself, but are not discovered until their report is opened in SCP-001. The O5 Council regards this coincidence as proof that SCP-001 is an advance-warning system. SCP-001 is absolutely vital to ensure that the SCP Foundation can continue its mission to protect humanity from the anomalous, and has currently led to the discovery of %%total%% anomalies since its first opening. Although past administrations have refused to interact with SCP-001, placing the item in isolation, the current O5 Council has determined it necessary to counsel daily with the item, to ensure that all future anomalies in this universe may come to the knowledge of the SCP Foundation.
[[/module]]
[[footnoteblock]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=ubergoober]]
> **Filename:** briefcase.jpg
> **Author:** Dev920
> **License:** CC BY-SA 2.5
> **Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Briefcase-photo.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-07-26T17:57:00
|
[
"aaron-siegel",
"horror",
"mystery",
"no-dialogue",
"tale",
"the-administrator"
] |
A Simple Sheaf of Papers - SCP Foundation
| 25
|
[
"scp-002",
"scp-173",
"dr-gears-s-proposal",
"jonathan-ball-s-proposal",
"scp-2317",
"sandrewswann-s-proposal",
"scp-3000",
"classification-committee-memo",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"scp-series-1-tales-edition"
] |
[
"http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/a-simple-sheaf-of-papers/briefcase.jpg"
] |
1455955536
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-simple-sheaf-of-papers
|
|
a-song-without-words
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p style="text-align: center;">Today was finally the day the composer's suffering came to an end.</p>
<p>He had finally come to a dramatic realization, an epiphany, one that allowed him to not only create a masterpiece the likes of which his predecessors would approve of, but perhaps even be proud of. At long last, he would be happy, and he would share his magnum opus with the world. His Concerto had been scheduled, the music was ready, and it called to him.</p>
<p>He waited in the wings, wrapping his tie around his neck as he awaited the cue. A blinding spotlight shined bright, illuminating a pedestal on the center of the stage. He could hear the thunderous applause of his audience, roaring and praising him as he got one foot up, then the other.</p>
<p>He hesitated.</p>
<p>The crowd was roaring, chanting his name and clamoring for him. Felix looked across the endless sea of featureless faces obscured by the limelight and swallowed nervously. He had to do it. The show had to go on. One last time, he fixed his tie. He clicked his heels and held his arms up, basking in the adoration of the crowd with a smile on his face.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">He was complete.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Op. 19b, No. 1, Andante con moto, MWV U 86</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">A Song Without Words</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Incident Report</strong><br/>
<strong>Anomalies Involved:</strong> <a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-3817" target="_blank">SCP-3817</a><br/>
<strong>Responding Personnel:</strong> Researcher Pavel<br/>
<strong>Description of Events:</strong> SCP-3817 was found hanging from a light fixture using a noose made of bed sheets. It used the chair in its containment chamber to climb to an appropriate height before kicking it away to achieve suspension.<br/>
<strong>Note:</strong> SCP-3817 has suffered minor damage to its throat and vocal chords and is expected to make a full recovery. A staff psychologist has been appointed to meet with SCP-3817 on a daily basis for the following two months. Maintenance staff have been notified to not provide SCP-3817 with more than one set of bed sheets until further notice.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:scp-pride">:scp-wiki:component:scp-pride</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
= Today was finally the day the composer's suffering came to an end.
He had finally come to a dramatic realization, an epiphany, one that allowed him to not only create a masterpiece the likes of which his predecessors would approve of, but perhaps even be proud of. At long last, he would be happy, and he would share his magnum opus with the world. His Concerto had been scheduled, the music was ready, and it called to him.
He waited in the wings, wrapping his tie around his neck as he awaited the cue. A blinding spotlight shined bright, illuminating a pedestal on the center of the stage. He could hear the thunderous applause of his audience, roaring and praising him as he got one foot up, then the other.
He hesitated.
The crowd was roaring, chanting his name and clamoring for him. Felix looked across the endless sea of featureless faces obscured by the limelight and swallowed nervously. He had to do it. The show had to go on. One last time, he fixed his tie. He clicked his heels and held his arms up, basking in the adoration of the crowd with a smile on his face.
= He was complete.
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[=]]
[[collapsible show="Op. 19b, No. 1, Andante con moto, MWV U 86" hide="A Song Without Words"]]
[[<]]
> **Incident Report**
> **Anomalies Involved:** [*http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-3817 SCP-3817]
> **Responding Personnel:** Researcher Pavel
> **Description of Events:** SCP-3817 was found hanging from a light fixture using a noose made of bed sheets. It used the chair in its containment chamber to climb to an appropriate height before kicking it away to achieve suspension.
> **Note:** SCP-3817 has suffered minor damage to its throat and vocal chords and is expected to make a full recovery. A staff psychologist has been appointed to meet with SCP-3817 on a daily basis for the following two months. Maintenance staff have been notified to not provide SCP-3817 with more than one set of bed sheets until further notice.
[[/<]]
[[/collapsible]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-12-21T02:48:00
|
[
"tale"
] |
A Song Without Words - SCP Foundation
| 30
|
[] |
[
"top-rated-pages-by-month",
"tales-by-year",
"shortest-pages-by-month",
"shortest-pages-this-month",
"top-rated-pages-this-month",
"news"
] |
[] |
1458038911
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-song-without-words
|
|
a-tale-of-two-mailrooms
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>"SCP Misplaced Mail Division — Secured, Certified, Postage"</p>
</div>
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div style="display: none;">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
</div>
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">QUEERSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Queerious</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Forked</span><span class="hl-code"> from:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Blankstyle</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
Using:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">White</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Outline</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Classic</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LGBTQ</span><span class="hl-code">+ </span><span class="hl-identifier">Pride</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Logo</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">scp-wiki.wikidot.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">component</span><span class="hl-special">:pride-highlighter</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>A Tale of Two Mailrooms</span></h1>
</div>
</div>
<p>Moira Fernsby surveyed the scene before her and knew that there was a <em>lot</em> of work to be done.</p>
<p><em>How is it possible to look like you actively are not using an office?</em></p>
<p>She sighed, shaking her head. She was standing in Emerald Reynolds' office — not that you would know that, since the only personalization was the name plate on the door. It looked like Emerald was just moving in, but she had been using this room as the Site Director's office for months now.</p>
<p>There was a standard issue Foundation desk, a plain black office chair, stacks of unsorted papers, forms and articles, and… and nothing else.</p>
<p><em>I swear, if I wasn't around, she wouldn't even have a chair.</em></p>
<p>Moira took her job seriously — while she and Emerald were in charge of their own sites, the reality, as with their facilities, was a bit more blended than that. When things were good, Moira led the charge, her positive energy a beacon for the rest of their sites. When things were bad? That was when Emerald took control, decisively solving their crises with ease.</p>
<p>Things were good at the moment, and Moira was thriving. Having just finished planning the upcoming month's birthday celebrations, she had come to Emerald's office for her weekly routine; it was time for her to restock the food, drinks and snacks. Director Reynolds never asked her to do this, nor did she think Emerald even noticed. That didn't matter. The important part was that Emerald was eating food, something that she would continually forget to do without Moira's constant reminders.</p>
<p>As Moira sorted the pages on Emerald's desk, a small note caught her eye. More specifically, it was a to-do list, if Emerald's scrawl was anything to go off of. One item on the list was circled repeatedly, stars and asterisks decorating the borders: <em>Sort Out the Mishandled Mail and Packages</em></p>
<p>Moira skimmed the other tasks remaining on the list and smiled to herself. <em>After last week? I owe her.</em></p>
<p>It was time to help Emerald for a change.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Moira Fernsby brushed the sweat from her brow, struggling to catch her breath. She had just finished sorting the acromatic-abatement overflow into what she called 'trash and recyclables' — with minimal explosions this time too! Moira checked the list she had folded in her pocket.</p>
<p><em>I've finished a lot but… how is there still more to do? And I haven't even started on the mail yet.</em></p>
<p>"Fernsby, did you fall into the acro-abatement waste tubes again?"</p>
<p>Moira smiled, recognizing the dry, beleaguered tone of Director Reynolds, as she turned to see her walking through the doorway, giving a tired wave.</p>
<p>"Not this time! I just decided to pitch in and tidy up our shared facilities since I had the time. What are you up to?"</p>
<p>Emerald didn't reply. Moira watched as she stared off into the distance, unfocused and exhausted.</p>
<p>"When was the last time you slept?" Moira asked, in a quieter tone.</p>
<p>"Huh?" Emerald answered, having regained focus. "Right, sorry; thanks for the help, Moira, but you didn't have to do this. I was going to handle it right after I finished balancing the dual budgets, coordinating the MTF response standards, requisitioning the—"</p>
<p>As much as Moira would have enjoyed listening to Emerald go on for even longer, she had a slip of paper burning a hole in her pocket. There was plenty left, after all, no time to waste.</p>
<p>"I'm actually just going to head out now, Emerald, but I'll see you around?"</p>
<p>As Moira began walking to the door, Emerald called back out.</p>
<p>"Wait, what are you doing?"</p>
<p><em>Shit. I can't tell her about the to-do list, if she finds out, she won't let me help her anymore. Come on Moira, do what you do best — envision success, actualize your power, and seize the day!</em></p>
<p>Unfortunately for Moira, all she managed to answer with was: "I'm helping."</p>
<p><em>Ah well, you can't win them all.</em></p>
<p>"Helping what? I was planning on getting to this in a day or two, I had a—"</p>
<p><em>Shit! Abort, I need to distract her!</em></p>
<p>"Oh, actually, I need some help."</p>
<p>Like a person waking from a trance, Emerald focused intently on Moira, her pale blue eyes piercing through her soul. Moira blushed.</p>
<p>"How can I help you, Moira?"</p>
<hr/>
<p>Directors Emerald Reynolds and Moira Fernsby stood in front of a nondescript, sealed door. They were in a disused section of the many utility and access tunnels that sprawled underneath their two facilities, a happy accident occurring when the two construction crews knocked a hole into their wall, creating a single massive basement.</p>
<p><em>Command was <span style="text-decoration: underline;">not</span> happy when they realized that it wasn't just an anomalous basement. It was an admin error.</em></p>
<p>"So what is this, Fernsby? This access tunnel hasn't been used in months."</p>
<p>Moira looked around for a pry-bar, and having found a thin shim of metal, began trying to pry the wood off of the door. As she did so, she explained.</p>
<p>"I was trying to figure out what happened to all the mail at the site. It's weird, but I never thought about <em>how</em> the mail goes to each office, chamber or a personal locker. Did you know we don't actually have a mail person?"</p>
<p><em>We don't?</em></p>
<p>"What?" Emerald said, joining her in prying the wood off. "That can't be right. It must just be an overlap issue again."</p>
<p>"That's what I thought. But no, there are no mail staff on payroll, or hell, even on Site!"</p>
<p>"Who delivers the mail?"</p>
<p>Instead of answering, Moira gave a knowing smile and held her finger up to her nose. Reynolds scowled.</p>
<p><em>She knows I hate it when she keeps secrets from me, is she going to keep—</em></p>
<p>Emeralds thoughts were interrupted by a loud crack, as the wood sealing the door split in two, breaking off and falling to the floor. A cloud of dust kicked up, and the impact rang throughout the empty halls — but they were in.</p>
<p>Moira jumped in excitement, physically skipping over and blocking the doorway. She turned and looked at Emerald, her excitement threatening to boil over.</p>
<p>"Are you ready?" Moira asked, holding out her hand for Emerald to take. She hesitated.</p>
<p><em>What is Moira planning?</em></p>
<p>Before Emerald could even think, Moira grabbed her by the hand and pulled her into the room. She dramatically flung her hands around the walls, searching for a light switch. After some adorable fumbling, the chamber came to life with the switch.</p>
<p>The two women found themselves in a small room that they had never been in. Lettering on the wall read "SCP — Misplaced Mail Division". In smaller text below, it read "Secured, Certified Postage". Neither woman recognized the slogan. The floors — well, you couldn't really see the floors. Unfortunately for the two women, massive piles of letters, boxes and assorted deliveries filled the room, pouring out of tubes and pipes that lined the sides of the walls.</p>
<p>"What is this place?" Emerald asked, eyeing the previously undiscovered room with trepidation.</p>
<p>"I was reading through the original proposal for the site, I mean sites, and noticed that there was supposed to be a new system tested at this Site; an anomalous mail sorting and delivery system, intended to remove the busy work and to help efficiency." Moira began to slowly trudge her way through the mail piles, clearing a small working area on a large, flat table in the middle of the room.</p>
<p>"But?" Emerald knew the story wasn't finished, Moira did love to drag things out.</p>
<p>"But! In the wake of the Twin Sites being finished, and the headaches that came with that, nobody remembered that this existed. Nobody was hired for the misplaced mail department, nobody even realized it existed! Months later, the room was sealed up as part of a routine measure to reduce vectors of entry to secure sites, and remained closed ever since."</p>
<p><em>Now I get it.</em> Emerald realized, looking around the room.</p>
<p>"But they never turned it off. So any mislabeled mail—"</p>
<p>"Ended up here. Yeah. Isn't that cool?"</p>
<p>Emerald stared at her energetic friend and shook her head.</p>
<p>"So, what's the plan then?"</p>
<p>Moira bent over, and stood back up with an armful of letters. "Do you want to commit a federal crime with me?"</p>
<hr/>
<p>It had been hours since Moira and Emerald first gained access to the lost mail room, but to an outside viewer, it seemed like it had only been minutes.</p>
<p>So far, Moira had made piles for current employees and former employees, which were slowly filling up as the two directors went letter by letter, ensuring that nothing was missed. While she had taken point on sorting the mail, Emerald had gone a… Different direction.</p>
<p>Moira watched as her friend threw another bundle of junk mail into a small metal cylinder, pulling the lid shut and watching in delight as the contents burst into flames and faded to ash in seconds — she didn't know where, but Emerald had found an old portable incinerator, and was having a delightful time.</p>
<p><em>See? She can have fun. I wish the others could see— on second thought, I don't think they need the added fear of Emerald, the firebug.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>"Do we even have a Joseph Cunningham on staff? I don't think they're in mine."</p>
<p>"Cunningham? I don't believe so. Why?"</p>
<p>Moira gestured at the giant pile of mail in front of her.</p>
<p>"Why? This!"</p>
<p>Emerald fixed with her with a quizzical stare. "What do you mean? So what, he got a bunch of letters. They probably just sent them to the wrong Site."</p>
<p>"Yeah, maybe, but that wouldn't explain this." Moira thrust a letter across the deck, showing it to Emerald.</p>
<p>"Does that say 'Joysep Cunnunningum'?" Emerald asked, unsure if she was reading it correctly.</p>
<p>"It does say 'Joysep Cunnunningum', but that's not even the worst part!"</p>
<p>Emerald sighed, returning to the unsorted letters.</p>
<p>"Wait, Emerald! Don't you want to know the worst part?"</p>
<p><em>Moira is going to tell me anyways, won't she? Better if I smile back then.</em></p>
<p>Emerald smiled, inviting Moira to continue, a chance she would not turn down.</p>
<p>"The worst part is I don't know if that was meant for Joyseth Cunningham or Joseph Cunnunningum. We have other letters with both names on them."</p>
<p>"We do?"</p>
<p>"We have even more like that, just slightly different."</p>
<p>The two women looked at the headache it would cause if they tried to get to the bottom of this mini-mystery, and decided to embrace Reynold's new passion — epistolary pyrokinetics.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"What are you staring at?" Emerald asked.</p>
<p><em>Shit.</em></p>
<p>Up until that point, Moira had been very happily zoned out, imagining what her life would have been like if she'd stayed out with her family. Another insignificant spec in a field of agriculture and empty dreams — at least it would be less stressful than her real life.</p>
<p>The unfortunate coincidence was that she had been looking directly at Emerald for the past 5 minutes. And unfortunately, Moira didn't realize that fact until she had already been called out.</p>
<p>"Hey, what do you have over there?"</p>
<p><em>Nice one self, I bet she barely noticed.</em> Emerald stared back, unimpressed. <em>Maybe she noticed a bit.</em></p>
<p>"This? It's a package."</p>
<p>Moira rolled her chair over, sitting beside Emerald, both women staring at the blank, brown box.</p>
<p>"Does it have a label?" Moira asked, a mixture of excitement and hesitation forming.</p>
<p>"Nope. I wonder what's in it?"</p>
<p>The two women leaned back and look at each other. After a moment, they nodded and spoke in unison. "We need to—"</p>
<p>"—open it!" Finished Moira, resoundingly confident in her choices.</p>
<p>"—secure it, as per procedure." Finished Emerald, sure of her answer.</p>
<p>"What?" they said, staring at the other in disbelief.</p>
<p>"You don't want to know what's inside?" Moira was acting like a kid on Christmas, and she was proud of it. "What if it's super cool or awesome?"</p>
<p>"What if it's an anomaly? A cognitohazard? A bomb? You really want to take that risk?"</p>
<p>"… But it could be something fun." Moira knew that she was slowly losing this battle, but had a secret ace up her sleeve.</p>
<p>She looked at Emerald with the biggest puppy dog eyes she could muster, and stared longingly at the package. "Pleeeease can I open it Emerald?"</p>
<p>Emerald snorted — Moira's head snapped to watch as Emerald began to double over in laughter, unable to keep her usual calm, levelheaded demeanor.</p>
<p>"I— I mean—" Emerald was struggling to catch her breath in between fits of laughter, stuttering as she spoke. "Moira."</p>
<p>"Yes Emerald?"</p>
<p>"Okay, you can open the box." Emerald said, finally calming down enough that she stopped laughing.</p>
<p>"Yay! But wait, what made you laugh so much?"</p>
<p>Emerald's eyes met hers, and for once, Moira saw the undeniable spark of mischief staring back.</p>
<p>"When you make your puppy dog eyes, all I can think about is when you tried that with command, when you were pitching our site's increased budgets. I can't believe it worked then."</p>
<p>"But it worked, didn't it?"</p>
<p>Moira knew the answer — it <em>usually</em> worked out.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Just not today. The package ended up being a disappointment, an old dusty textbook meant for a different site — not even Moira could make that interesting. It had only taken a few hours more, but the two women had finally got the room under control. The mail had been sorted into neat piles, with plans for how to distribute and deliver them already created by Emerald. The floor was visible, and everything was in order.</p>
<p><em>That's what a good job looks like.</em> Emerald thought to herself, surveying the room. "We did a good job, Moira. Look at this place."</p>
<p>"It looks incredible! Thank you again, I wouldn't have been able to do this without you."</p>
<p>"Of course, it was my pleasure to assist you in this." Emerald gave her a gentle, if forced, smile. <em>Remember what Moira's told you before: people like it when you smile.</em></p>
<p>"Oh em gee girl, we need to get that stick out of your butt! Come on, loosen up!" Moira playfully shook Emerald, who looked back with a genuine smile.</p>
<p>"You're right, Moira; thank you again for inviting me along. I enjoyed this, we should do this more."</p>
<p><em>That shows that I had fun today, right? As overwhelming as Moira can be, I enjoy my time with her.</em></p>
<p>"This? What if instead we just… I don't know, hung out casually?"</p>
<p><em>Oh, right.</em> Emerald thought to herself. <em>That's how you make a friend.</em></p>
<p>"That sounds lovely. You can access my calendar, feel free to book a casual event through it, and I'll ensure that I make it."</p>
<p>Moira shook her head, mussing up Emerald's pushed back hair. The two women turned around, and started to leave the room, when they both heard a loud crack from the middle of the mailroom.</p>
<p>The two spun just in time to see a deformation in spacetime fading into itself, leaving behind a floral arrangement. A gorgeous amber glass vase held an exploding bouquet of flowers, fresh and dried. The mums and hydrangeas gave way to baby's breath and greenery that filled the space with a delicately sweet aroma — all in all, it was a sensory delight.</p>
<p>"What the hell are those?" Moira asked, approaching the flowers without hesitation.</p>
<p>"I think it's… mail?" Emerald said, unsure of the right answer as she slowly inched towards the unknown object.</p>
<p>"Oh, that would make sense. With the crack noise, I guess that means it was addressed wrong and— yeah, right here, look at the tag. It says 'To The Director of Site-40—'. Guess the smudge was enough for it to end up here?"</p>
<p>"What are we going to do with them?"</p>
<p>"Well, I mean, who wouldn't like these lovely flowers? Why don't we decorate your office with them, to give it more life?" Moira looked at Emerald excitedly.</p>
<p><em>She's been angling to redesign my office for months, and I'm not going to give in now.</em></p>
<p>"What if you took them? As a thanks for all of the shared responsibilities you handled today? Plus they were probably meant for you anyways, I don't think anybody we work with would be sending me flowers."</p>
<p>"Hey! That's not true, people like you! Well… I like you!" Moira shouted, a goofy look on her face as she picked up the bouquet of flowers.</p>
<p><em>She likes me?</em> Emerald blushed slightly. <em>How do people normally respond to that?</em></p>
<p>"I like spending time with you too, Fernsby."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Moira watched as Emerald shifted her weight back and forth.</p>
<p><em>I can't believe she just said that she enjoys spending time with me! Hell yeah, mission accomplished!</em></p>
<p>Moira took a deep breath of the bouquet in her arms and relaxed instantly. The sweet and gentle smell of honeysuckle brought her right back into her childhood, filling her with bittersweet nostalgia.</p>
<p>"Shall we go?" Emerald asked, having regained her composure.</p>
<p>Moira nodded, and the two began to leave the newly cleaned and renovated Mail Sorting Room, a job well done.</p>
<p><em>I need to get Emerald something in return for letting me take the flowers. I bet they were from her secret admirer, she just won't admit it…</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>Emerald unlocked the door to her apartment, shaking off the stress and chaos of the day. As soon as the two directors had finished in the basement, the swarms of people who had been trying to find them all showed up at once. After hours more of playing catch up, Emerald had finally finished just before midnight, by far the last person working; it wasn't unusual, and she didn't mind pitching in a bit extra.</p>
<p>Where Emerald would normally be greeted with her standard partial organization and semi-clean apartment, she froze as she was caught off guard.</p>
<p><em>A break-in?</em></p>
<p>No, not a break-in. The place was <em>cleaner</em> than when she left this morning, her piles having been organized, tidied and decluttered. Everything was in it's perfect place, and there was no leftover mess or dirty plates lining the sink.</p>
<p><em>The thief… cleaned?</em></p>
<p>Emerald noticed the pointed petals and blossoms of white flowers scattered on the floor, leading from the front door to her bathroom. <em>White Gardenias. Interesting choice.</em></p>
<p>Sensing no danger, Emerald took of her shoes and walked the floral-lined pathway to her bathroom, and opened the door. She was greeted by the gentle glow of candles and a warm lavender scent that put her mind and body at ease. The bathtub was somehow filled with piping hot water, petals floating on the surface. On the edge of her tub, next to an open bottle of wine and a glass, sat a plain white note. It was addressed to her.</p>
<p>"Emerald." She began, reading the letter aloud. "You work too hard, and constantly push yourself beyond your limits. I am amazed by your kindness and desire to help; so you've inspired me to help you back. Hopefully you don't find it too weird that I broke into your apartment just to clean and prepare this? Anyways, enjoy the bath, let yourself actually relax for once, and know that I wouldn't know what to do without you. Sincerely, Moira."</p>
<p>Emerald didn't know what to say — she didn't even know what to think. <em>Moira did all of this, for me? She shouldn't have. I'm just doing my job, right?</em></p>
<p>Even in her own mind, it still sounded like she didn't believe it.</p>
<p>The candle beside her crackled, pulling her from her thoughts and back into the present. <em>No sense letting this go to waste, right?</em></p>
<p>She began to undress, removing the dirt, sweat and grime of the day — as she was taking off her pants, something rustled in her pocket. <em>Right, better remove that before laundry.</em> Grabbing a receipt from the pocket, she tossed it out in the trash can. Pausing to pour herself a glass of wine, she finished undressing, slowly dipping her toes into the water.</p>
<p><em>I don't know how she did it, but that's the perfect temperature.</em></p>
<p>As she submerged herself into the tub, took a sip of wine, and let the stress of the day wash away, Emerald couldn't help but smile.</p>
<p><em>Today was a pretty good day.</em></p>
<p>Emerald closed her eyes, drifting away from the stressors of life, her day with Moira replaying in her mind.</p>
<hr/>
<p>As Emerald relaxed in the tub, the receipt in the trash slowly unfurled. The store's name at the top became visible.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
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<h3 id="toc1"><span>Abnormal Floral: All Your Flower Needs, Always Delivered in Under Two Hours</span></h3>
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|text="SCP Misplaced Mail Division -- Secured, Certified, Postage"]]
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+ A Tale of Two Mailrooms
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[[/div]]
Moira Fernsby surveyed the scene before her and knew that there was a //lot// of work to be done.
//How is it possible to look like you actively are not using an office?//
She sighed, shaking her head. She was standing in Emerald Reynolds' office -- not that you would know that, since the only personalization was the name plate on the door. It looked like Emerald was just moving in, but she had been using this room as the Site Director's office for months now.
There was a standard issue Foundation desk, a plain black office chair, stacks of unsorted papers, forms and articles, and... and nothing else.
//I swear, if I wasn't around, she wouldn't even have a chair.//
Moira took her job seriously -- while she and Emerald were in charge of their own sites, the reality, as with their facilities, was a bit more blended than that. When things were good, Moira led the charge, her positive energy a beacon for the rest of their sites. When things were bad? That was when Emerald took control, decisively solving their crises with ease.
Things were good at the moment, and Moira was thriving. Having just finished planning the upcoming month's birthday celebrations, she had come to Emerald's office for her weekly routine; it was time for her to restock the food, drinks and snacks. Director Reynolds never asked her to do this, nor did she think Emerald even noticed. That didn't matter. The important part was that Emerald was eating food, something that she would continually forget to do without Moira's constant reminders.
As Moira sorted the pages on Emerald's desk, a small note caught her eye. More specifically, it was a to-do list, if Emerald's scrawl was anything to go off of. One item on the list was circled repeatedly, stars and asterisks decorating the borders: //Sort Out the Mishandled Mail and Packages//
Moira skimmed the other tasks remaining on the list and smiled to herself. //After last week? I owe her.//
It was time to help Emerald for a change.
------
Moira Fernsby brushed the sweat from her brow, struggling to catch her breath. She had just finished sorting the acromatic-abatement overflow into what she called 'trash and recyclables' -- with minimal explosions this time too! Moira checked the list she had folded in her pocket.
//I've finished a lot but... how is there still more to do? And I haven't even started on the mail yet.//
"Fernsby, did you fall into the acro-abatement waste tubes again?"
Moira smiled, recognizing the dry, beleaguered tone of Director Reynolds, as she turned to see her walking through the doorway, giving a tired wave.
"Not this time! I just decided to pitch in and tidy up our shared facilities since I had the time. What are you up to?"
Emerald didn't reply. Moira watched as she stared off into the distance, unfocused and exhausted.
"When was the last time you slept?" Moira asked, in a quieter tone.
"Huh?" Emerald answered, having regained focus. "Right, sorry; thanks for the help, Moira, but you didn't have to do this. I was going to handle it right after I finished balancing the dual budgets, coordinating the MTF response standards, requisitioning the--"
As much as Moira would have enjoyed listening to Emerald go on for even longer, she had a slip of paper burning a hole in her pocket. There was plenty left, after all, no time to waste.
"I'm actually just going to head out now, Emerald, but I'll see you around?"
As Moira began walking to the door, Emerald called back out.
"Wait, what are you doing?"
//Shit. I can't tell her about the to-do list, if she finds out, she won't let me help her anymore. Come on Moira, do what you do best -- envision success, actualize your power, and seize the day!//
Unfortunately for Moira, all she managed to answer with was: "I'm helping."
//Ah well, you can't win them all.//
"Helping what? I was planning on getting to this in a day or two, I had a--"
//Shit! Abort, I need to distract her!//
"Oh, actually, I need some help."
Like a person waking from a trance, Emerald focused intently on Moira, her pale blue eyes piercing through her soul. Moira blushed.
"How can I help you, Moira?"
------
Directors Emerald Reynolds and Moira Fernsby stood in front of a nondescript, sealed door. They were in a disused section of the many utility and access tunnels that sprawled underneath their two facilities, a happy accident occurring when the two construction crews knocked a hole into their wall, creating a single massive basement.
//Command was __not__ happy when they realized that it wasn't just an anomalous basement. It was an admin error.//
"So what is this, Fernsby? This access tunnel hasn't been used in months."
Moira looked around for a pry-bar, and having found a thin shim of metal, began trying to pry the wood off of the door. As she did so, she explained.
"I was trying to figure out what happened to all the mail at the site. It's weird, but I never thought about //how// the mail goes to each office, chamber or a personal locker. Did you know we don't actually have a mail person?"
//We don't?//
"What?" Emerald said, joining her in prying the wood off. "That can't be right. It must just be an overlap issue again."
"That's what I thought. But no, there are no mail staff on payroll, or hell, even on Site!"
"Who delivers the mail?"
Instead of answering, Moira gave a knowing smile and held her finger up to her nose. Reynolds scowled.
//She knows I hate it when she keeps secrets from me, is she going to keep--//
Emeralds thoughts were interrupted by a loud crack, as the wood sealing the door split in two, breaking off and falling to the floor. A cloud of dust kicked up, and the impact rang throughout the empty halls -- but they were in.
Moira jumped in excitement, physically skipping over and blocking the doorway. She turned and looked at Emerald, her excitement threatening to boil over.
"Are you ready?" Moira asked, holding out her hand for Emerald to take. She hesitated.
//What is Moira planning?//
Before Emerald could even think, Moira grabbed her by the hand and pulled her into the room. She dramatically flung her hands around the walls, searching for a light switch. After some adorable fumbling, the chamber came to life with the switch.
The two women found themselves in a small room that they had never been in. Lettering on the wall read "SCP -- Misplaced Mail Division". In smaller text below, it read "Secured, Certified Postage". Neither woman recognized the slogan. The floors -- well, you couldn't really see the floors. Unfortunately for the two women, massive piles of letters, boxes and assorted deliveries filled the room, pouring out of tubes and pipes that lined the sides of the walls.
"What is this place?" Emerald asked, eyeing the previously undiscovered room with trepidation.
"I was reading through the original proposal for the site, I mean sites, and noticed that there was supposed to be a new system tested at this Site; an anomalous mail sorting and delivery system, intended to remove the busy work and to help efficiency." Moira began to slowly trudge her way through the mail piles, clearing a small working area on a large, flat table in the middle of the room.
"But?" Emerald knew the story wasn't finished, Moira did love to drag things out.
"But! In the wake of the Twin Sites being finished, and the headaches that came with that, nobody remembered that this existed. Nobody was hired for the misplaced mail department, nobody even realized it existed! Months later, the room was sealed up as part of a routine measure to reduce vectors of entry to secure sites, and remained closed ever since."
//Now I get it.// Emerald realized, looking around the room.
"But they never turned it off. So any mislabeled mail--"
"Ended up here. Yeah. Isn't that cool?"
Emerald stared at her energetic friend and shook her head.
"So, what's the plan then?"
Moira bent over, and stood back up with an armful of letters. "Do you want to commit a federal crime with me?"
------
It had been hours since Moira and Emerald first gained access to the lost mail room, but to an outside viewer, it seemed like it had only been minutes.
So far, Moira had made piles for current employees and former employees, which were slowly filling up as the two directors went letter by letter, ensuring that nothing was missed. While she had taken point on sorting the mail, Emerald had gone a... Different direction.
Moira watched as her friend threw another bundle of junk mail into a small metal cylinder, pulling the lid shut and watching in delight as the contents burst into flames and faded to ash in seconds -- she didn't know where, but Emerald had found an old portable incinerator, and was having a delightful time.
//See? She can have fun. I wish the others could see-- on second thought, I don't think they need the added fear of Emerald, the firebug.//
------
"Do we even have a Joseph Cunningham on staff? I don't think they're in mine."
"Cunningham? I don't believe so. Why?"
Moira gestured at the giant pile of mail in front of her.
"Why? This!"
Emerald fixed with her with a quizzical stare. "What do you mean? So what, he got a bunch of letters. They probably just sent them to the wrong Site."
"Yeah, maybe, but that wouldn't explain this." Moira thrust a letter across the deck, showing it to Emerald.
"Does that say 'Joysep Cunnunningum'?" Emerald asked, unsure if she was reading it correctly.
"It does say 'Joysep Cunnunningum', but that's not even the worst part!"
Emerald sighed, returning to the unsorted letters.
"Wait, Emerald! Don't you want to know the worst part?"
//Moira is going to tell me anyways, won't she? Better if I smile back then.//
Emerald smiled, inviting Moira to continue, a chance she would not turn down.
"The worst part is I don't know if that was meant for Joyseth Cunningham or Joseph Cunnunningum. We have other letters with both names on them."
"We do?"
"We have even more like that, just slightly different."
The two women looked at the headache it would cause if they tried to get to the bottom of this mini-mystery, and decided to embrace Reynold's new passion -- epistolary pyrokinetics.
------
"What are you staring at?" Emerald asked.
//Shit.//
Up until that point, Moira had been very happily zoned out, imagining what her life would have been like if she'd stayed out with her family. Another insignificant spec in a field of agriculture and empty dreams -- at least it would be less stressful than her real life.
The unfortunate coincidence was that she had been looking directly at Emerald for the past 5 minutes. And unfortunately, Moira didn't realize that fact until she had already been called out.
"Hey, what do you have over there?"
//Nice one self, I bet she barely noticed.// Emerald stared back, unimpressed. //Maybe she noticed a bit.//
"This? It's a package."
Moira rolled her chair over, sitting beside Emerald, both women staring at the blank, brown box.
"Does it have a label?" Moira asked, a mixture of excitement and hesitation forming.
"Nope. I wonder what's in it?"
The two women leaned back and look at each other. After a moment, they nodded and spoke in unison. "We need to--"
"--open it!" Finished Moira, resoundingly confident in her choices.
"--secure it, as per procedure." Finished Emerald, sure of her answer.
"What?" they said, staring at the other in disbelief.
"You don't want to know what's inside?" Moira was acting like a kid on Christmas, and she was proud of it. "What if it's super cool or awesome?"
"What if it's an anomaly? A cognitohazard? A bomb? You really want to take that risk?"
"... But it could be something fun." Moira knew that she was slowly losing this battle, but had a secret ace up her sleeve.
She looked at Emerald with the biggest puppy dog eyes she could muster, and stared longingly at the package. "Pleeeease can I open it Emerald?"
Emerald snorted -- Moira's head snapped to watch as Emerald began to double over in laughter, unable to keep her usual calm, levelheaded demeanor.
"I— I mean—" Emerald was struggling to catch her breath in between fits of laughter, stuttering as she spoke. "Moira."
"Yes Emerald?"
"Okay, you can open the box." Emerald said, finally calming down enough that she stopped laughing.
"Yay! But wait, what made you laugh so much?"
Emerald's eyes met hers, and for once, Moira saw the undeniable spark of mischief staring back.
"When you make your puppy dog eyes, all I can think about is when you tried that with command, when you were pitching our site's increased budgets. I can't believe it worked then."
"But it worked, didn't it?"
Moira knew the answer -- it //usually// worked out.
------
Just not today. The package ended up being a disappointment, an old dusty textbook meant for a different site -- not even Moira could make that interesting. It had only taken a few hours more, but the two women had finally got the room under control. The mail had been sorted into neat piles, with plans for how to distribute and deliver them already created by Emerald. The floor was visible, and everything was in order.
//That's what a good job looks like.// Emerald thought to herself, surveying the room. "We did a good job, Moira. Look at this place."
"It looks incredible! Thank you again, I wouldn't have been able to do this without you."
"Of course, it was my pleasure to assist you in this." Emerald gave her a gentle, if forced, smile. //Remember what Moira's told you before: people like it when you smile.//
"Oh em gee girl, we need to get that stick out of your butt! Come on, loosen up!" Moira playfully shook Emerald, who looked back with a genuine smile.
"You're right, Moira; thank you again for inviting me along. I enjoyed this, we should do this more."
//That shows that I had fun today, right? As overwhelming as Moira can be, I enjoy my time with her.//
"This? What if instead we just... I don't know, hung out casually?"
//Oh, right.// Emerald thought to herself. //That's how you make a friend.//
"That sounds lovely. You can access my calendar, feel free to book a casual event through it, and I'll ensure that I make it."
Moira shook her head, mussing up Emerald's pushed back hair. The two women turned around, and started to leave the room, when they both heard a loud crack from the middle of the mailroom.
The two spun just in time to see a deformation in spacetime fading into itself, leaving behind a floral arrangement. A gorgeous amber glass vase held an exploding bouquet of flowers, fresh and dried. The mums and hydrangeas gave way to baby's breath and greenery that filled the space with a delicately sweet aroma -- all in all, it was a sensory delight.
"What the hell are those?" Moira asked, approaching the flowers without hesitation.
"I think it's... mail?" Emerald said, unsure of the right answer as she slowly inched towards the unknown object.
"Oh, that would make sense. With the crack noise, I guess that means it was addressed wrong and-- yeah, right here, look at the tag. It says 'To The Director of Site-40--'. Guess the smudge was enough for it to end up here?"
"What are we going to do with them?"
"Well, I mean, who wouldn't like these lovely flowers? Why don't we decorate your office with them, to give it more life?" Moira looked at Emerald excitedly.
//She's been angling to redesign my office for months, and I'm not going to give in now.//
"What if you took them? As a thanks for all of the shared responsibilities you handled today? Plus they were probably meant for you anyways, I don't think anybody we work with would be sending me flowers."
"Hey! That's not true, people like you! Well... I like you!" Moira shouted, a goofy look on her face as she picked up the bouquet of flowers.
//She likes me?// Emerald blushed slightly. //How do people normally respond to that?//
"I like spending time with you too, Fernsby."
------
Moira watched as Emerald shifted her weight back and forth.
//I can't believe she just said that she enjoys spending time with me! Hell yeah, mission accomplished!//
Moira took a deep breath of the bouquet in her arms and relaxed instantly. The sweet and gentle smell of honeysuckle brought her right back into her childhood, filling her with bittersweet nostalgia.
"Shall we go?" Emerald asked, having regained her composure.
Moira nodded, and the two began to leave the newly cleaned and renovated Mail Sorting Room, a job well done.
//I need to get Emerald something in return for letting me take the flowers. I bet they were from her secret admirer, she just won't admit it...//
------
Emerald unlocked the door to her apartment, shaking off the stress and chaos of the day. As soon as the two directors had finished in the basement, the swarms of people who had been trying to find them all showed up at once. After hours more of playing catch up, Emerald had finally finished just before midnight, by far the last person working; it wasn't unusual, and she didn't mind pitching in a bit extra.
Where Emerald would normally be greeted with her standard partial organization and semi-clean apartment, she froze as she was caught off guard.
//A break-in?//
No, not a break-in. The place was //cleaner// than when she left this morning, her piles having been organized, tidied and decluttered. Everything was in it's perfect place, and there was no leftover mess or dirty plates lining the sink.
//The thief... cleaned?//
Emerald noticed the pointed petals and blossoms of white flowers scattered on the floor, leading from the front door to her bathroom. //White Gardenias. Interesting choice.//
Sensing no danger, Emerald took of her shoes and walked the floral-lined pathway to her bathroom, and opened the door. She was greeted by the gentle glow of candles and a warm lavender scent that put her mind and body at ease. The bathtub was somehow filled with piping hot water, petals floating on the surface. On the edge of her tub, next to an open bottle of wine and a glass, sat a plain white note. It was addressed to her.
"Emerald." She began, reading the letter aloud. "You work too hard, and constantly push yourself beyond your limits. I am amazed by your kindness and desire to help; so you've inspired me to help you back. Hopefully you don't find it too weird that I broke into your apartment just to clean and prepare this? Anyways, enjoy the bath, let yourself actually relax for once, and know that I wouldn't know what to do without you. Sincerely, Moira."
Emerald didn't know what to say -- she didn't even know what to think. //Moira did all of this, for me? She shouldn't have. I'm just doing my job, right?//
Even in her own mind, it still sounded like she didn't believe it.
The candle beside her crackled, pulling her from her thoughts and back into the present. //No sense letting this go to waste, right?//
She began to undress, removing the dirt, sweat and grime of the day -- as she was taking off her pants, something rustled in her pocket. //Right, better remove that before laundry.// Grabbing a receipt from the pocket, she tossed it out in the trash can. Pausing to pour herself a glass of wine, she finished undressing, slowly dipping her toes into the water.
//I don't know how she did it, but that's the perfect temperature.//
As she submerged herself into the tub, took a sip of wine, and let the stress of the day wash away, Emerald couldn't help but smile.
//Today was a pretty good day.//
Emerald closed her eyes, drifting away from the stressors of life, her day with Moira replaying in her mind.
------
As Emerald relaxed in the tub, the receipt in the trash slowly unfurled. The store's name at the top became visible.
@@ @@
[[=]]
+++ Abnormal Floral: All Your Flower Needs, Always Delivered in Under Two Hours
[[/=]]
-----
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:wikimodule">:scp-wiki:component:wikimodule</a> |normal= --]]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-05-22T19:07:00
|
[
"lgbtq",
"romance",
"slice-of-life",
"tale",
"the-twin-sites"
] |
A Tale Of Two Mailrooms - SCP Foundation
| 22
|
[
"scp-8843",
"scp-7748",
"scp-7238",
"scp-821",
"scp-8811",
"scp-1611",
"scp-8887",
"scp-7643",
"scp-8740",
"scp-8478",
"scp-8480",
"scp-5632",
"scp-2346-ex",
"scp-8688",
"survivor-s-guilt",
"why-vktm-creates",
"no-reason",
"the-lillihammer-test",
"pseudoguilt",
"keelee-dies-at-the-end",
"the-heart-grows-fonder",
"don-t-let-me-forget",
"kill-agents-and-you",
"because-of-the-shame",
"reostiation",
"the-legend-of-the-iron-goat",
"asset-florida-grey",
"love-between-the-margins",
"parker-informational-breach",
"queerious",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"twin-sites-hub"
] |
[] |
1453772739
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-tale-of-two-mailrooms
|
|
a-talk-with-a-stranger-in-the-forest
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.licensebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.collapsible-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
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<p><em>“A Talk With a Stranger in the Forest”</em> by: <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mew-ltiverse" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5271378); return false;"><img alt="Mew-ltiverse" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=5271378&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043679" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=5271378)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mew-ltiverse" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5271378); return false;">Mew-ltiverse</a></span>’s headmate “J”<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-mews-personnel-file">Read more of our stuff</a></p>
<p>⚠️ CW: Body horror, like in depth descriptions of gore</p>
<p>I also co-wrote <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/you-have-a-doppelgaenger">this</a></p>
<p>If this reads like a dream, I did it right.</p>
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<div class="content-warning creditRate">⚠️ content warning <span class="content-warning-arrow"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>I find myself walking through a forest. I don’t know how I got here. The last thing I remember, I was walking home from the store. Luckily, though, it’s not too heavy. I figure that I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. I already checked the GPS on my phone, but there’s no signal.</p>
<p>I don’t really get freaked out by getting lost. Every day is an adventure to me. Life has so much to offer, and is far too short to dwell on the negatives.</p>
<p>I figure if I walk far enough, I’ll stumble across some hikers, maybe some kids playing. As a child, I played in the woods near my house with my best friend. I chuckle. Oh, that one time I returned drenched because I fell in the river. My parents were <em>not</em> happy, but worried all the same. Moments like that are horrifying at the time, but important to me.</p>
<p>It’s been pretty peaceful. The weather is overcast, but it isn’t raining. Just enough so that I don’t have to deal with the sun burning a hole through my retinas. As I walk, I hear the birds chirping, I feel the gentle breeze against my cheeks. I take a breath in, then breathe out with a soft smile on my face. It’s been a bit since I’ve had the time to just take things in like this, it’s all been so hectic. Maybe life knew to just give me some time to myself like this.</p>
<p>As I’m walking, I notice something in the distance. It looks like some sort of building. I can’t see it very well from here. Maybe it’s a rest spot for hikers? I slowly but surely make my way to the building. The outside looks pretty rough. Ivy growing in between the wood, scratches and bites from different animals, moss coating most of the surface. The wood looks extremely weathered, like it has survived a thousand storms. Despite the worn look, there are no holes, no gaps in the wood. It doesn't look as if there are any windows, either. I begin to walk around the small building, looking for any sort of entrance, any sort of way to look inside. After a few minutes of searching, I realize that there is no door. No door and no windows.</p>
<p>This strange building makes me feel odd, but I can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of this. For good measure, I run my hands over the wood again. Maybe there’s a secret entrance? A spider crawls over my hand, causing me to jump. I take a deep breath, then laugh. It’s just a spider. A spider on a weird building with no entrances. Despite my best efforts, I can’t help but feel uneasy. I shake my head. Life is an adventure. I feel like things happen for a reason, and I found this place for a reason. What that reason was, I’m unsure.</p>
<p>Suddenly, I feel something touch my shoulder. I practically jump out of my skin, screaming. I quickly turn around to see who— or what— had just touched me.</p>
<p>In front of me, is a tall man wearing a green hoodie. His hair is long and unkempt. He gives me a tired smile. His eyes are dull, as if they didn't belong to a living, breathing person. Despite the deathly look of his face, I could swear he's not much older than me.</p>
<p>“What are you doing here?” The man asks. His voice is low, yet a bit nasally at the same time.</p>
<p>I take a good look at the man. There’s blood on his hoodie.</p>
<p>I pay no mind to it; at least, I try not to. I don’t get scared easily. I try to speak, but I feel frozen in— fear? Is it fear? I can’t tell. The longer I look at him, the more I notice. He looks exhausted, the bags under his eyes practically black. There are bandages wrapped around his thighs, over the red and brown stained grey jeans he's wearing. The bandages look as if they are attempting to hold something together. Something about him makes me feel… an emotion I can't pinpoint.</p>
<p>The man lifts both of his arms. “I can tell you’re scared.” He replies. I can tell that he is trying to soften his tone, like laying a thin carpet over a pile of dirt.</p>
<p>I can’t help but stare at the blood. It stained the chest area and sleeves. Some of it is dark brown, as if it has been there for a long time, while some of it is a brighter red. In fact, I can smell blood in the air. Whose was it? Is it his? An animal’s? This is a foreign feeling to me. I’m terrified. I feel frozen in place. Not a single part of me wants to move. Not even my eyes move, glued to this unnerving stranger.</p>
<p>“Ah.” The man replies simply, his expression telling me he realizes something. He gives me a sad smile, a smile with pain hidden deep within. I feel a pit in my chest just witnessing it.</p>
<p>He removes his hoodie. Beneath is a white t-shirt stained in blood. His arms are adorned by bloodied bandages that have begun to rot into his skin, the fabric blending into his wrists. Bits of white pus peak out from beneath the bandages, mixing with the flesh and blood. He lifts up the shirt, the fabric of the shirt sticking to his skin, making a wet ripping sound. Bits of necrotic flesh stuck to the fabric as he lifted it. In place of where his heart should be, is an empty cavity. Beginning to rot away. Some of the flesh surrounding the area is hardened and black, with other parts around it puffy and red. He looks at me, then pulls the shirt back down, letting the hoodie fall back down as well.</p>
<p>“The blood? It’s mine. I’ve been rotting for a long time.”</p>
<p>Horrifying doesn’t even begin to describe what I just witnessed. The dreadful smell, the sound of hard flesh ripping away with fabric. It was all enough to make me lightheaded. My thoughts come to a stop. I can’t articulate any of my feelings. Every time a thought comes into my head, its gone as fast as it enters.</p>
<p>We stare at each other for what feels like ages. Finally, I gain the courage to speak.</p>
<p>“What happened?” My voice shakes.</p>
<p>The man shakes his head. “I suppose that’s not a very good first impression.” He laughs sheepishly, sadness edging his tone. “I uh, haven’t talked to anyone in a while.”</p>
<p>I observe his expression. Despite his eyes showing no sign of life, I can see a hint of something deeper hidden within. I look at the ground, then back up at the man. “Why are you here?” I ask, the shakiness of my voice growing more apparent.</p>
<p>The man shrugs, an unreadable look coming across his face. He's silent for a few moments. His eyes wander, staring out into the distance “Once upon a time, I got lost on my way home." He pauses. The wind blows strands of his long dark hair in his face. "I’ve been here ever since.” His eyes trail back to me.</p>
<p>I feel my blood go cold. I am lost. I figured if I walked far enough, I’d find a way out. Is this it? Am I stuck here forever? I feel my chest tightening. My breath begins shaking. I still have so much to do. So much I want to accomplish. Did one stupid mistake really mean my life was over? I always try to find the best in things. If I knew that being so nonchalant would've caused me to end up here—</p>
<p>I feel his hand on my shoulder again.</p>
<p>“Relax.” The man says to me in a calm tone. “I was… lost in a different way from you. Don’t jump to conclusions. There’s still time for you. I… can tell this isn’t like you. Don’t let me dull your spirit. That positivity, that optimism.” There's an expression on his face that I can't quite pinpoint.</p>
<p>I flinch. “H-How do you know that?” I stutter, growing defensive. Just who is this? Is this man even human? No, he can’t be. His body is literally rotting, yet here he is, speaking and breathing. Is he breathing? I didn't know that, actually. Is he even alive?</p>
<p>“When you’ve been around as long as I have, you become able to pick up on certain things.” The man replies. He sighs, looking up at the sky. “It’s gonna get dark soon. If you turn around and exit the way you came in, you’ll find your way out.”</p>
<p>I tightly grip the bag I've been carrying, feeling the plastic against my fingers. “I-I’m not stuck here?” I feel a lump in my throat. The idea that I’d accidentally get myself stuck here because I was too naive to panic. I want nothing but to panic now. I want to scream. None of this made sense.</p>
<p>We were both quiet for a moment.</p>
<p>I look behind me. For the first time, I realize just how big the forest is. It’s almost too big. And for the first time, I feel small. Like an ant in a movie theater.</p>
<p>The man puts his hands together. “You’re getting caught up. I know it seems scary. But if you dwell on your fears, you’ll get stuck inside of them. Just turn around. Don’t close your eyes.”</p>
<p>I firmly plant my feet against the ground, clenching my fists. “I— I believe things happen for a reason!” I exclaim. “Do you think… that this happened for a reason?” I ask, unable to mask the uncertainty in my voice.</p>
<p>The man gives a sad laugh. I feel a chill run down my spine. I didn't know that a simple laugh could communicate so much emotion. “Maybe for you. But for me, things don’t have a reason to happen. Things happen because that’s life. They occur whether there’s really a reason for it to happen or not. But,” He snaps his fingers. “I like your attitude. Don’t succumb to the fear you feel. Continue to be yourself, and things will solve.”</p>
<p>I raise an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“It’s getting dark. Just follow my instructions. You’ll get home.” The man insists.</p>
<p>I shrug, staring at the ground for a moment, staring at the dead leaves and twigs. I turn my back to the man. “Why didn’t you do it, then? If leaving was so easy?” Why is a man that's rotting from the inside trying to tell me that things get better?</p>
<p>The man is silent for a moment. “You’ll understand in time.”</p>
<p>I stay still for a few moments. Then, I begin to walk back the way that I came from, then stop, and turn back towards the man. “You should come with me. If I can leave, then so should you." I insist.</p>
<p>Despite his cold dead eyes, I can still sense the surprise in his expression.</p>
<p>“Once the rotting starts, it doesn’t stop. Get out before it does.”</p>
<p>I open my mouth to reply.</p>
<p>He’s gone. The building is gone. It’s all gone. I hesitate, then start back the way I came again. I can’t pinpoint a reason that this happened. I don't like that. I wish that I could explain. That I could figure out what all of that meant.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<p>I watch from afar as he exits back the way he came. He didn't even suspect, not even once. If the rotting in my chest hadn’t destroyed my ability to feel, I know that the pain would be unbearable. The fact that I've rotted past recognition, even to myself.</p>
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<p>"<a href="/a-talk-with-a-stranger-in-the-forest">A Talk With a Stranger in the Forest</a>" by Mew-ltiverse, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-talk-with-a-stranger-in-the-forest">https://scpwiki.com/a-talk-with-a-stranger-in-the-forest</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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//“A Talk With a Stranger in the Forest”// by: [[*user Mew-ltiverse]]’s headmate “J”
@@ @@
[http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-mews-personnel-file Read more of our stuff]
⚠️ CW: Body horror, like in depth descriptions of gore
I also co-wrote [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/you-have-a-doppelgaenger this]
If this reads like a dream, I did it right.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
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I find myself walking through a forest. I don’t know how I got here. The last thing I remember, I was walking home from the store. Luckily, though, it’s not too heavy. I figure that I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. I already checked the GPS on my phone, but there’s no signal.
I don’t really get freaked out by getting lost. Every day is an adventure to me. Life has so much to offer, and is far too short to dwell on the negatives.
I figure if I walk far enough, I’ll stumble across some hikers, maybe some kids playing. As a child, I played in the woods near my house with my best friend. I chuckle. Oh, that one time I returned drenched because I fell in the river. My parents were //not// happy, but worried all the same. Moments like that are horrifying at the time, but important to me.
It’s been pretty peaceful. The weather is overcast, but it isn’t raining. Just enough so that I don’t have to deal with the sun burning a hole through my retinas. As I walk, I hear the birds chirping, I feel the gentle breeze against my cheeks. I take a breath in, then breathe out with a soft smile on my face. It’s been a bit since I’ve had the time to just take things in like this, it’s all been so hectic. Maybe life knew to just give me some time to myself like this.
As I’m walking, I notice something in the distance. It looks like some sort of building. I can’t see it very well from here. Maybe it’s a rest spot for hikers? I slowly but surely make my way to the building. The outside looks pretty rough. Ivy growing in between the wood, scratches and bites from different animals, moss coating most of the surface. The wood looks extremely weathered, like it has survived a thousand storms. Despite the worn look, there are no holes, no gaps in the wood. It doesn't look as if there are any windows, either. I begin to walk around the small building, looking for any sort of entrance, any sort of way to look inside. After a few minutes of searching, I realize that there is no door. No door and no windows.
This strange building makes me feel odd, but I can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of this. For good measure, I run my hands over the wood again. Maybe there’s a secret entrance? A spider crawls over my hand, causing me to jump. I take a deep breath, then laugh. It’s just a spider. A spider on a weird building with no entrances. Despite my best efforts, I can’t help but feel uneasy. I shake my head. Life is an adventure. I feel like things happen for a reason, and I found this place for a reason. What that reason was, I’m unsure.
Suddenly, I feel something touch my shoulder. I practically jump out of my skin, screaming. I quickly turn around to see who— or what— had just touched me.
In front of me, is a tall man wearing a green hoodie. His hair is long and unkempt. He gives me a tired smile. His eyes are dull, as if they didn't belong to a living, breathing person. Despite the deathly look of his face, I could swear he's not much older than me.
“What are you doing here?” The man asks. His voice is low, yet a bit nasally at the same time.
I take a good look at the man. There’s blood on his hoodie.
I pay no mind to it; at least, I try not to. I don’t get scared easily. I try to speak, but I feel frozen in— fear? Is it fear? I can’t tell. The longer I look at him, the more I notice. He looks exhausted, the bags under his eyes practically black. There are bandages wrapped around his thighs, over the red and brown stained grey jeans he's wearing. The bandages look as if they are attempting to hold something together. Something about him makes me feel... an emotion I can't pinpoint.
The man lifts both of his arms. “I can tell you’re scared.” He replies. I can tell that he is trying to soften his tone, like laying a thin carpet over a pile of dirt.
I can’t help but stare at the blood. It stained the chest area and sleeves. Some of it is dark brown, as if it has been there for a long time, while some of it is a brighter red. In fact, I can smell blood in the air. Whose was it? Is it his? An animal’s? This is a foreign feeling to me. I’m terrified. I feel frozen in place. Not a single part of me wants to move. Not even my eyes move, glued to this unnerving stranger.
“Ah.” The man replies simply, his expression telling me he realizes something. He gives me a sad smile, a smile with pain hidden deep within. I feel a pit in my chest just witnessing it.
He removes his hoodie. Beneath is a white t-shirt stained in blood. His arms are adorned by bloodied bandages that have begun to rot into his skin, the fabric blending into his wrists. Bits of white pus peak out from beneath the bandages, mixing with the flesh and blood. He lifts up the shirt, the fabric of the shirt sticking to his skin, making a wet ripping sound. Bits of necrotic flesh stuck to the fabric as he lifted it. In place of where his heart should be, is an empty cavity. Beginning to rot away. Some of the flesh surrounding the area is hardened and black, with other parts around it puffy and red. He looks at me, then pulls the shirt back down, letting the hoodie fall back down as well.
“The blood? It’s mine. I’ve been rotting for a long time.”
Horrifying doesn’t even begin to describe what I just witnessed. The dreadful smell, the sound of hard flesh ripping away with fabric. It was all enough to make me lightheaded. My thoughts come to a stop. I can’t articulate any of my feelings. Every time a thought comes into my head, its gone as fast as it enters.
We stare at each other for what feels like ages. Finally, I gain the courage to speak.
“What happened?” My voice shakes.
The man shakes his head. “I suppose that’s not a very good first impression.” He laughs sheepishly, sadness edging his tone. “I uh, haven’t talked to anyone in a while.”
I observe his expression. Despite his eyes showing no sign of life, I can see a hint of something deeper hidden within. I look at the ground, then back up at the man. “Why are you here?” I ask, the shakiness of my voice growing more apparent.
The man shrugs, an unreadable look coming across his face. He's silent for a few moments. His eyes wander, staring out into the distance “Once upon a time, I got lost on my way home." He pauses. The wind blows strands of his long dark hair in his face. "I’ve been here ever since.” His eyes trail back to me.
I feel my blood go cold. I am lost. I figured if I walked far enough, I’d find a way out. Is this it? Am I stuck here forever? I feel my chest tightening. My breath begins shaking. I still have so much to do. So much I want to accomplish. Did one stupid mistake really mean my life was over? I always try to find the best in things. If I knew that being so nonchalant would've caused me to end up here—
I feel his hand on my shoulder again.
“Relax.” The man says to me in a calm tone. “I was... lost in a different way from you. Don’t jump to conclusions. There’s still time for you. I… can tell this isn’t like you. Don’t let me dull your spirit. That positivity, that optimism.” There's an expression on his face that I can't quite pinpoint.
I flinch. “H-How do you know that?” I stutter, growing defensive. Just who is this? Is this man even human? No, he can’t be. His body is literally rotting, yet here he is, speaking and breathing. Is he breathing? I didn't know that, actually. Is he even alive?
“When you’ve been around as long as I have, you become able to pick up on certain things.” The man replies. He sighs, looking up at the sky. “It’s gonna get dark soon. If you turn around and exit the way you came in, you’ll find your way out.”
I tightly grip the bag I've been carrying, feeling the plastic against my fingers. “I-I’m not stuck here?” I feel a lump in my throat. The idea that I’d accidentally get myself stuck here because I was too naive to panic. I want nothing but to panic now. I want to scream. None of this made sense.
We were both quiet for a moment.
I look behind me. For the first time, I realize just how big the forest is. It’s almost too big. And for the first time, I feel small. Like an ant in a movie theater.
The man puts his hands together. “You’re getting caught up. I know it seems scary. But if you dwell on your fears, you’ll get stuck inside of them. Just turn around. Don’t close your eyes.”
I firmly plant my feet against the ground, clenching my fists. “I— I believe things happen for a reason!” I exclaim. “Do you think… that this happened for a reason?” I ask, unable to mask the uncertainty in my voice.
The man gives a sad laugh. I feel a chill run down my spine. I didn't know that a simple laugh could communicate so much emotion. “Maybe for you. But for me, things don’t have a reason to happen. Things happen because that’s life. They occur whether there’s really a reason for it to happen or not. But,” He snaps his fingers. “I like your attitude. Don’t succumb to the fear you feel. Continue to be yourself, and things will solve.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“It’s getting dark. Just follow my instructions. You’ll get home.” The man insists.
I shrug, staring at the ground for a moment, staring at the dead leaves and twigs. I turn my back to the man. “Why didn’t you do it, then? If leaving was so easy?” Why is a man that's rotting from the inside trying to tell me that things get better?
The man is silent for a moment. “You’ll understand in time.”
I stay still for a few moments. Then, I begin to walk back the way that I came from, then stop, and turn back towards the man. “You should come with me. If I can leave, then so should you." I insist.
Despite his cold dead eyes, I can still sense the surprise in his expression.
“Once the rotting starts, it doesn’t stop. Get out before it does.”
I open my mouth to reply.
He’s gone. The building is gone. It’s all gone. I hesitate, then start back the way I came again. I can’t pinpoint a reason that this happened. I don't like that. I wish that I could explain. That I could figure out what all of that meant.
@@ @@
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------
I watch from afar as he exits back the way he came. He didn't even suspect, not even once. If the rotting in my chest hadn’t destroyed my ability to feel, I know that the pain would be unbearable. The fact that I've rotted past recognition, even to myself.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
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|
2024-02-22T22:51:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"creepypasta",
"first-person",
"surrealism",
"tale"
] |
A Talk With a Stranger in the Forest - SCP Foundation
| 15
|
[
"dr-mews-personnel-file",
"you-have-a-doppelgaenger",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"creepy-pasta"
] |
[] |
1452765478
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-talk-with-a-stranger-in-the-forest
|
|
a-very-high-holiday
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>Esther Kogan is at a low point, miserable and helpless against an uncaring world. But it might not be as uncaring as she thinks it is.</p>
</div>
<div class="blockquote">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc0"><span>Direct Messages with bones</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> hey<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> you awake?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> I am always awake.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> How are you, Esther? Has your vacation been enjoyable?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> it's definitely a change of pace<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> not sure if its helping or if im going fucking crazy out here<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> and i need to talk to someone that isn't a twink or a stoner<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> (you dont smoke right?)</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> I am not capable of smoking.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> okay good lmao<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> i've just<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> fuck okay give me a second<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> i need to write this all down<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> I've been giving this whole thing some more thought</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> I assume you are referring to the <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7112">situation involving kk_mustard</a>?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> madeline.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> but yeah<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> i've <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">//</span>had<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">//</span> relationships before.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> i got my shit rocked a couple of times too<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> but none of them have fucjked me up this bad<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> ive been thinking about it nonstop for a month now<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> i even rented a fucking hotel room in canada of all g-ddamn places to get away from myself with money i <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">//</span>should<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">//</span> be saving up for emergencies</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> Given the event's traumatic nature, your intense emotional reaction seems appropriate.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> for sure yeah<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> the whole idea that one of the janitors thought that our entire relationship was just another thing they had to clean up makes me want to tear their fucking eyes out<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> (metaphorically)<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> but there's something else thats been eating away at me and i need someone else's opinion</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> Go ahead.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> do you know what "middah k'neged middah" means</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> "Measure for measure". The Jewish concept of equal retribution, both good and bad. Similar to the Hindu concept of Karma.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> yeah<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> that<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> i</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> g-d i should not be telling this to someone i've only talked to for a few months through the internet<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> Can you promise me you'll keep what im about to tell you a secret?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> I do not believe we could meet in person regardless.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> Yes, I promise to keep this entire conversation confidential.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> Okay<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> when i was younger<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> not going to disclose age for obvious reasons<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> i learned some thaumaturgicish memetic bullshit that i wasn't allowed to know<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> my father was a Kabbalist. like, an actual one.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> they had access to a lot of "forbidden knowledge" that only the firstborn ssons in the family could learn.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> But I learned it anyways<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> and eventually i<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> He found out<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> and i used it on him to make him forget i ever existed.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> I see.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> Are you still there, Esther?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> look i<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> i dont regret it. not in the slightest.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> but<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> is this whole thing divine retribution?<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> middah k'neged middah?<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> and if it is<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> why does this feel more like a cosmic fucking joke than a punishment</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> I can't provide commentary on if such metaphysical frameworks exist, nor whether the events are correlated or not.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> But to me, it does seem like you've accepted the connection already regardless of my input.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> …yeah</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> In that case, I believe the only possible insight I could provide is in processing your emotional reaction to this information.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> As much as I wish I could assist you in this, I do not believe I am particularly good at comforting. In this case, I can only listen and give surface level reassurances.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> I am sorry.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> it's okay<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> still<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> i appreciate just, being able to talk about this to someone with some actual emotional maturity.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> i know you said we probably couldn't meet in person at any point, but I would like to meet you, someday. you're pretty cool</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> I would like that too, should the opportunity somehow present itself.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> hah<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> alright<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> i'm gonna stare out the window for a couple of hours before passing out.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> thanks for talking with me<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> Tell Lyris I said hi</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> Of course, Esther. I will do so.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> I hope you have a happy Hanukkah, regardless of your current circumstances.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> FUCK IS THAT TONIGHT<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> Oh G-D damn it I forgot<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> i dont even have any fucking candles.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> ugh. okay. i'll have to get some tomorrow/<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> thank you for reminding me (genuinely)</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: black">bones:</span></strong> Of course. Rest well.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #ff00ff">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> you too <3</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">❄ ❄ ❄</span></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>The hotel room felt like a prison.</p>
<p>For all intents and purposes, her room was, indeed, a cell. Esther could leave at any time she wanted, but doing so would mean either going to the lobby and making small talk, or leaving and throwing away the money she was just barely not wasting already. Both those options sounded more torturous than what she was doing to herself now, which was absolutely nothing.</p>
<p>So, Esther sat, staring out of the hotel window.</p>
<p>Past her breath fogging up the glass, the road just ahead of her winded down the hill, decorated with trees only broken by the occasional building. By this time — god, it was already two in the fucking morning — most of the houses had turned off their lights, the people inside retiring to bed. <em>Her</em> bed — in this run-down, cheap-as-bricks hotel — was more like a cot, which further reinforced its prison-like atmosphere. At least the place was painted.</p>
<p>Pacing inside the room earlier didn't seem to help her mood. Neither did kicking the wall until the hotel staff had to ask her to stop. And neither did talking to bones, G-d bless its heart. So, out of options, the serenity of blankly staring at the outside world seemed apt.</p>
<p>As time passed and the snow began to drift more methodically onto the ground, Esther began to count the cars that occasionally drove by (twelve so far) and the number of pedestrians she spotted (only one; though he looked up at her and waved, so there was that). When her cheek began to numb painfully, she turned her chair around to stare the other direction. When that, too, began to numb her to the point of pain, she finally relented and pulled herself from the window, shuffling into the bathroom.</p>
<p>Too many turns of the sink knobs later, she splashed warm water on her face. The bathroom was stocked only with the bare necessities, so a hot bath was out of the question. She needed one. Sorely. Not just because she hadn't showered in two days (which disgusted her to no end), but also because it'd probably do her mind some good, or as much good as it could do. For now, she settled on the warm sink water that was quickly cooling down again, and once finished, dried her face to the best of her ability. It helped, sort of.</p>
<p>Leaving the bathroom left her in direct view of her prison cot — which was unmade because of her funk, which put her in more of a funk. Under typical circumstance, she'd never leave her bed in such a sorry state, but in her present absence of presence, she—<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>Knock, knock, knock.</em></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
…Wait, what the fuck?</p>
<p>Esther's ever-gnawing brain fog instantly evaporated at the sound of knocking. Who the <em>fuck</em> was tapping their knuckles on her door at three in the g-ddamn morning? The notion it was the hotel staff was laughable for several reasons, but that left a total of zero other candidates.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>Knock, knock, knock.</em></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Okay, that wasn't an accident. She cautiously reentered the bedroom (well, the only other room besides the bathroom), and cursed to herself as she realized the door didn't have a eye hole. Should she answer it? Was it possibly her hotel neighbors, here to chew her out for all the banging earlier? Did someone discover her here and want to kidnap her for G-d knows what reason?</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>Knock, knock, knock.</em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Fuck it.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Esther gripped the handle tightly and, without letting herself deliberate, opened the door.</p>
<p>The first thing she registered about the man standing in front of her is that he was almost obnoxiously Jewish. He wore a kippah on his head that almost certainly had a maggin david on it, and poking out from under his blue nylon jacket she could see four strings of tzitzit. He held a small duffel bag that had a verse written in Hebrew on it. The man also had a slightly unkempt beard that had been graying — which led her to her next realization, that he was old and very, very tired. The man's face was defined by small wrinkles and a fading-black mop of hair.</p>
<p>The third realization scared her: she vaguely recognized him. He <em>did</em> look a bit like her father, but… no, he wasn't related. It took her a few seconds before she realized it was the man that waved at her while she was staring out the window. That, unfortunately, did very little to ease her concerns.</p>
<p>"Hello," the man spoke with a slightly Yiddish, slightly Canadian accent, "are you Esther Kogan?"</p>
<p><em>That</em>, unfortunately, did quite the opposite. There were only two possible groups that could track her like this, and neither seemed pretty. The first were the Kabbalists — and if that was the case, she reckoned, she'd already be dead — and the second was…</p>
<p>Her eyes widened. She stopped breathing. The fervent beating of her heart pounded at her ears, swallowing the whole world instantly.</p>
<p>"You're… You're one of the <em>Janitors</em>?"</p>
<p>The piece of shit immediately laughed awkwardly and shook his head. "Huh? No no, I'm not a janitor. Is it the jacket? I knew I should've picked a different one."</p>
<p>Should she kill him? No, she couldn't get away with it. The Foundation didn't take kindly to killing their personnel, and if he was an older person he was probably someone significant. Which means that, most likely, she was being actively monitored and there were multiple people who could step in and quickly kill or detain or mindwipe her, so trying anything would be a death sentence. She was thankful, at least, that she had Kabbalistic memetics she could use if it came down to it.</p>
<p>…Actually.</p>
<p>If they were here to kill her or capture her, they'd would have sent at least someone with combat experience, right? She knew some magic and a shitload of mindkillers, so either this was their best agent for the job or the man in front of her wasn't here to silence her. And if he <em>was</em> here to kill her, he wouldn't have waved at her earlier, or knocked on her door. Was he a Kabbalist?</p>
<p>"Are you a Kabbalist?"</p>
<p>The man blinked. "You mean, with a capital K?"</p>
<p>She squinted at him. He shifted in place.</p>
<p>"No, I'm not a Kabbalist. I've had to interact with them a few times, yes, but I don't have the genes to ever actually be one. That's uh, 'genes', with a G. It's a genetic thing." Pause. "I'm from the Foundation."</p>
<p>Rage boiled in her chest. Holding her tongue, she asked as calmly as she could muster, "What the <em>fuck</em> do you want?"</p>
<p>He flinched at the curse word. Biting his lip — he did that a lot, based on the chafing — he replied, "It's a bit of a long story, and I'm freezing my butt off out here. Could I come in?"</p>
<p>Was he a lunatic? "<em>Are you a lunatic?</em>"</p>
<p>"Only a lunatic could knock on a Kabbalist's door by himself at three AM, no?"</p>
<p>She didn't really have a retort for that.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">❄ ❄ ❄</span></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>There was only one chair in the tiny hotel room, so Esther sat on her (still unmade) bed. It was clear to her that the man was uncomfortable, but he at least had the decency to not voice any complaints. His duffel bag rested besides him, and she glanced at it with suspicion. If the man <em>was</em> there to capture her, then the bag likely had some Clarkian technomagic bullshit device inside it that would stop her from using her abilities. If it came down to it, she might still be able to use <a href="https://scpwiki.com/jude-s-bizarre-adventure">Hamon</a> to escape.</p>
<p>The man coughed as he placed his jacket on the table next to her laptop (revealing a tallit and labcoat underneath), before awkwardly scooting over to face her. He seated both of his hands in his lap, rubbing them quickly to warm them, before noticing her sideward gaze at the bag.</p>
<p>"Ah. I'll uh, I'll get to the bag in a second."</p>
<p>Esther sighed angrily. "I'd prefer you get to it now."</p>
<p>"Just let me say my piece first. Please. I promise I'll be quick and then I'll be out of your hair."</p>
<p>"It would've been better if you never got <em>in</em> my hair to begin with. You people only ruin everything you touch. None of you understand when to leave well enough <em>alone</em>." She was practically hissing at him. "The only reason I'm even tolerating your presence at all is because you clearly put a lot of effort into showing me you're Jewish, and that means <em>something</em> to me."</p>
<p>The man tilted his head. "I did? Oh— yes, I suppose I do come off pretty Orthodox. That wasn't, I mean— I'm not trying to trick you or something. This is sort of just what I normally wear."</p>
<p>"Bullshit. You're wearing a <em>tallit</em> on top of a <em>labcoat</em> at <em>three in the morning</em>."</p>
<p>"Look I—" He paused, glancing at the window, as though he was planning a daring escape, "Can we not— can we not talk about my fashion sense, please? I know I came at three AM, but it <em>is</em> three in the morning and I do have work tomorrow."</p>
<p>Oh my G-d. Oh my <em>G-d</em>. She was going to lose it. She must have had a stroke staring out the window earlier and ended up in some horrific perversion of Gehenna where she was forced to deal with senile old men for eternity.</p>
<p>Deep breaths, Esther.</p>
<p>"Okay. Say your piece, and <em>get the fuck out of my room.</em>"</p>
<p>The man released a deep breath of his own. Esther noticed that his hands were shaking as he began to speak. Was he <em>scared</em> of her?</p>
<p>"Alright. Thanks." He fidgeted a bit, before taking a short breath and regaining his composure properly. "So, just so we're on the same page: I'm a senior researcher at the SCP Foundation. Not going to be saying my name, because I'd probably get in trouble if they found out I'm here. I came here to, ah, give you a few gifts." He paused, waiting for a reaction. She didn't give him one. "Do you have any questions so far?"</p>
<p>"What are you, fucking Santa Claus?"</p>
<p>"Ho ho ho. But, no. He's in containment."</p>
<p>"<em>What?</em>"</p>
<p>A cough. "Uh, that was a joke. <a href="https://scpwiki.com/scp-5925">Kind of.</a> It's classified. Sorry, next question."</p>
<p>"How the hell did you find me?"</p>
<p>She could tell something shifted in his body posture, but it was subtle enough that she couldn't pinpoint it exactly. "Ah, well, the Foundation has a pretty extensive record on you and your group chats, and there's only so many Esther Kogans who flew to Canada this past week." After witnessing the disgust and horror she painted on her face, he added: "If it makes you feel any better, the Foundation's record on <em>me</em> is probably a lot worse. They probably have a record of everything I've eaten in the past sixteen years. Not exaggerating."</p>
<p>"That doesn't make me feel better in the slightest."</p>
<p>"Oh. Sorry." The man scratched at his kippah. "Anything else?"</p>
<p><em>Deep breaths, Esther.</em> "Yeah. Three more: why the hell are you giving <em>me</em> gifts, what the <em>fuck</em> does that entail, and what if I don't want your stupid gifts?"</p>
<p>To the man's credit, he was getting used to her colorful vernacular. "I mean, I don't <em>think</em> you'll reject them. But uh, to answer the first two are— well, it's probably best to just show them, I guess. Can I?"</p>
<p>She hesitated. Did she <em>want</em> to see what was in that bag? For all intents and purposes it was probably something mundane, but…</p>
<p>Well, even if he was dangerous, she was pretty sure she could hurt him a lot more than he could hurt her.</p>
<p>She nodded.</p>
<p>The man unzipped the bag, and begun to rummage around. It took a lot of effort from him, but after a few seconds, he pulled out…</p>
<p>Oh, of course. A menorah. Fucking <em>duh</em>.</p>
<p>"This is for you. It's not a particularly fancy one, but uh, I figured that you probably forgot to pack one when coming up here, so I thought I'd give you one I had lying around. I also have some candles and a lighter."</p>
<p>"That's…" Esther swallowed her malcontent briefly, "…very nice of you. Thanks."</p>
<p>The man seemed to glow under the praise. "I'm glad you like it! If you need me to, I can teach you the b—"</p>
<p>"<em>No</em>," she blurted a little more harshly than she intended, "I was raised Orthodox. I know how to light a menorah."</p>
<p>The Foundationeer returned from his brief high and adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Just making sure. I guess it was <em>hashkacha pratit</em> that I could deliver this to you."</p>
<p>"I'll be the judge of that," she muttered in response.</p>
<p>The silence that followed was unbearable. She avoided eye contact with the man and instead opted to stare at the silver menorah. It wasn't cheap, she could at least tell that — it probably cost at least $40 or the equivalent in whatever currency they used in Canada. The engravings were vaguely reminiscent of a design she saw back in Three Portlands while walking home from Shul.</p>
<p>It was becoming increasingly clear that this man in front of her genuinely did not mean her harm. But… he was still part of a system that fucked her over multiple times. He was a cog in a larger, objectively evil machine, and as nice as he supposedly was, she couldn't forgive him for that.</p>
<p>"Alright, uh, I suppose I should move onto the second thing. Can you promise me that you'll let me finish after I show you?"</p>
<p>She snapped her attention back up, tossing the menorah lightly aside onto the bed. It made a small <em>thump</em> as it landed. "What? Sure."</p>
<p>He smiled, and reaching into the bag again. This time, it took nearly no time for him to pull out what he wa—</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p><em>Oh.</em></p>
<p>In his hand was a bundle of wool, hand-knit together into a sweater. The wool was dyed a light purple and blue, haphazardly due to inexperience. To the average person, it was perfectly ordinary winter apparel, but when worn it had the thaumic capability to morphing itself to give the impression of being hugged. To the average person, it was nothing more than a supernatural sweater.</p>
<p>To her, it was Madeline's sweater. The one she imbued with magic. The one she designed to make it feel as though she was always being hugged by her, even when they were separated by vast distance.</p>
<p>The one that caused the Foundation to rip her girlfriend away from her.</p>
<p>Esther's mind exploded with a multitude of contradictory emotions. Should she kill him? Should she hug him? Should she burst into tears and vomit the takeout she had earlier? Should she say <em>anything</em>?</p>
<p>The man eventually cut through her silence for her. "This… this is for you. I'm not involved in the acquisition of anomalies, but, I mistyped a number and accidentally landed on the file for your sweater. I looked you up, and after a bit of digging, I used my sway in the Foundation to possess the anomaly for ah, research purposes." He paused, trying to read the multitude of emotions constantly vying for her expression. "I reclassified it as a item of interest, and no one's gonna look if one of those goes missing."</p>
<p>"…Why…?"</p>
<p>"It's going to sound silly, but it was mostly just for a Hannukah gift." He looked down and sighed, a grimace suddenly forming on his face. "To tell you the truth, I know the Foundation isn't the greatest organization in the world. I've done a lot of things I regret while working there. But… I thought I'd try to at least try to undo a little of the damage done to a fellow Yid. That's pretty much the main reason I'm here."</p>
<p>Esther didn't speak at first. She held the sweater close to her, gripping it as though it would disappear if she let it go. Between the wires of wool she could feel the magic she weaved into it still ebb and flow, waiting patiently to fulfill a purpose that would never be realized again. Her eyes leaked a little — <em>just</em> a little — against her best attempts at quelling the emotions rising in her chest.</p>
<p>Then, after less than a minute of silent eulogies to herself, she regained her composure and looked the Jewish man in the eye.</p>
<p>"…You practiced that speech, didn't you?"</p>
<p>He shrugged. "Guilty."</p>
<p>"Alright." She slowly let go of the sweater, dropping it into her lap. "Give me your final gift, and then please leave."</p>
<p>This time, instead of reaching into his bag, his hand jumped to one of his lab coat pockets, and pulled out one of the most corporate-rolled blunts Esther had ever seen in her entire life.</p>
<p>"I figured a weed cigarette might be a nice way to end off the visit. I know your whole group is kind of into that."</p>
<p>"Thanks, but I don't smoke."</p>
<p>The man's face contorted into shock so quickly that Esther couldn't help but laugh at his confusion. Before he could reply, she qualified, "I do. Only sometimes though. And never call it a 'weed cigarette' again."</p>
<p>He sighed with relief. "I was worried the name wasn't <em>actually</em> ironic. That would have really sucked."</p>
<p>She didn't reply to him. There was a lot she had to process, still, and she began to feel the weight of an emotional clusterfuck at three A.M. weigh on her head. The man across from her could at least read <em>that</em> from her face.</p>
<p>"It'd probably be best if I got going," the man said.</p>
<p>"Yeah," Esther said despondently.</p>
<p>"Alright," the nylon jacket slipped back on, "Thanks for giving me a bit of your time. I'm sorry I couldn't have come at a more convenient hour. I hope it was worth it for you."</p>
<p>She didn't reply, only reached down and grasped the sweater in her lap again, steadying her breaths. When the man opened the door and began to step out, she called out, "Wait."</p>
<p>He glanced back in her direction.</p>
<p>"Thank you."</p>
<p>He smiled. "Of course. Have a <em>freilichen Purim</em>, Esther."</p>
<p>"Go fuck yourself."</p>
<p>He gave one last laugh, and then he was gone.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">❄ ❄ ❄</span></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>Setting up a menorah is a fairly straightforward process. It was the first night, so she only needed two candles: the actual first night's candle itself, and the Shamash. It was tricky sticking the candles in (she needed to melt the bottom of the Shamash twice before it stayed upright), but it was finished in short order.</p>
<p>With the lighter out and on, fire burning brightly against the white blanket outside the window, she quickly recited the first two blessings. With the third — <em>Shehecheyanu</em>, the prayer for thanking G-d for allowing her to reach this moment — she purposefully prolonged its recitation, keeping the feeling of the words in her mouth as long as she could say them.</p>
<p>Then, she lit.</p>
<p>After she finished lighting the first and only candle, she began to softly hum the tune of <em>Hannerot Hallalu</em>, the same way she <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KYiVrBIASXg">used to sing it back home</a>. Those days were long gone, and she certainly could never go back. But that thought didn't weigh so heavy on her heart anymore.</p>
<p>When she was done with the psalm, she lifted the blunt to the Shamash until it caught, and leaned back into the chair. As she stared into the void recessed against the soft glow of the menorah, and a familiar sweater gently wrapped her in a hug, Esther took solace knowing that — regardless of the dark — there was still a little light left in the world.</p>
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<p>Cite this page as:</p>
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<p>"<a href="/a-very-high-holiday">A Very High Holiday</a>" by Yossipossi, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-very-high-holiday">https://scpwiki.com/a-very-high-holiday</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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text=Esther Kogan is at a low point, miserable and helpless against an uncaring world. But it might not be as uncaring as she thinks it is.
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[[=]]
[[module Rate]]
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[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[=]]
++ Direct Messages with bones
[[/=]]
----
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** hey
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** you awake?
**##black|bones:##** I am always awake.
**##black|bones:##** How are you, Esther? Has your vacation been enjoyable?
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** it's definitely a change of pace
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** not sure if its helping or if im going fucking crazy out here
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** and i need to talk to someone that isn't a twink or a stoner
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** (you dont smoke right?)
**##black|bones:##** I am not capable of smoking.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** okay good lmao
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** i've just
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** fuck okay give me a second
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** i need to write this all down
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** I've been giving this whole thing some more thought
**##black|bones:##** I assume you are referring to the [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7112 situation involving kk_mustard]?
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** madeline.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** but yeah
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** i've @@//@@had@@//@@ relationships before.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** i got my shit rocked a couple of times too
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** but none of them have fucjked[!-- INTENTIONAL TYPO --] me up this bad
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** ive been thinking about it nonstop for a month now
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** i even rented a fucking hotel room in canada of all g-ddamn places to get away from myself with money i @@//@@should@@//@@ be saving up for emergencies
**##black|bones:##** Given the event's traumatic nature, your intense emotional reaction seems appropriate.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** for sure yeah
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** the whole idea that one of the janitors thought that our entire relationship was just another thing they had to clean up makes me want to tear their fucking eyes out
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** (metaphorically)
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** but there's something else thats been eating away at me and i need someone else's opinion
**##black|bones:##** Go ahead.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** do you know what "middah k'neged middah" means
**##black|bones:##** "Measure for measure". The Jewish concept of equal retribution, both good and bad. Similar to the Hindu concept of Karma.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** yeah
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** that
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** i
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** g-d i should not be telling this to someone i've only talked to for a few months through the internet
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** Can you promise me you'll keep what im about to tell you a secret?
**##black|bones:##** I do not believe we could meet in person regardless.
**##black|bones:##** Yes, I promise to keep this entire conversation confidential.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** Okay
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** when i was younger
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** not going to disclose age for obvious reasons
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** i learned some thaumaturgicish memetic bullshit that i wasn't allowed to know
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** my father was a Kabbalist. like, an actual one.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** they had access to a lot of "forbidden knowledge" that only the firstborn ssons[!-- INTENTIONAL TYPO --] in the family could learn.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** But I learned it anyways
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** and eventually i
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** He found out
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** and i used it on him to make him forget i ever existed.
**##black|bones:##** I see.
**##black|bones:##** Are you still there, Esther?
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** look i
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** i dont regret it. not in the slightest.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** but
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** is this whole thing divine retribution?
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** middah k'neged middah?
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** and if it is
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** why does this feel more like a cosmic fucking joke than a punishment
**##black|bones:##** I can't provide commentary on if such metaphysical frameworks exist, nor whether the events are correlated or not.
**##black|bones:##** But to me, it does seem like you've accepted the connection already regardless of my input.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** ...yeah
**##black|bones:##** In that case, I believe the only possible insight I could provide is in processing your emotional reaction to this information.
**##black|bones:##** As much as I wish I could assist you in this, I do not believe I am particularly good at comforting. In this case, I can only listen and give surface level reassurances.
**##black|bones:##** I am sorry.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** it's okay
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** still
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** i appreciate just, being able to talk about this to someone with some actual emotional maturity.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** i know you said we probably couldn't meet in person at any point, but I would like to meet you, someday. you're pretty cool
**##black|bones:##** I would like that too, should the opportunity somehow present itself.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** hah
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** alright
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** i'm gonna stare out the window for a couple of hours before passing out.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** thanks for talking with me
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** Tell Lyris I said hi
**##black|bones:##** Of course, Esther. I will do so.
**##black|bones:##** I hope you have a happy Hanukkah, regardless of your current circumstances.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** FUCK IS THAT TONIGHT
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** Oh G-D damn it I forgot
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** i dont even have any fucking candles.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** ugh. okay. i'll have to get some tomorrow/ [!-- INTENTIONAL TYPO --]
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** thank you for reminding me (genuinely)
**##black|bones:##** Of course. Rest well.
**###ff00ff|lesbian_gengar:##** you too <3
[[/div]]
@@ @@
= **@@❄ ❄ ❄@@**
@@ @@
The hotel room felt like a prison.
For all intents and purposes, her room was, indeed, a cell. Esther could leave at any time she wanted, but doing so would mean either going to the lobby and making small talk, or leaving and throwing away the money she was just barely not wasting already. Both those options sounded more torturous than what she was doing to herself now, which was absolutely nothing.
So, Esther sat, staring out of the hotel window.
Past her breath fogging up the glass, the road just ahead of her winded down the hill, decorated with trees only broken by the occasional building. By this time — god, it was already two in the fucking morning — most of the houses had turned off their lights, the people inside retiring to bed. //Her// bed — in this run-down, cheap-as-bricks hotel — was more like a cot, which further reinforced its prison-like atmosphere. At least the place was painted.
Pacing inside the room earlier didn't seem to help her mood. Neither did kicking the wall until the hotel staff had to ask her to stop. And neither did talking to bones, G-d bless its heart. So, out of options, the serenity of blankly staring at the outside world seemed apt.
As time passed and the snow began to drift more methodically onto the ground, Esther began to count the cars that occasionally drove by (twelve so far) and the number of pedestrians she spotted (only one; though he looked up at her and waved, so there was that). When her cheek began to numb painfully, she turned her chair around to stare the other direction. When that, too, began to numb her to the point of pain, she finally relented and pulled herself from the window, shuffling into the bathroom.
Too many turns of the sink knobs later, she splashed warm water on her face. The bathroom was stocked only with the bare necessities, so a hot bath was out of the question. She needed one. Sorely. Not just because she hadn't showered in two days (which disgusted her to no end), but also because it'd probably do her mind some good, or as much good as it could do. For now, she settled on the warm sink water that was quickly cooling down again, and once finished, dried her face to the best of her ability. It helped, sort of.
Leaving the bathroom left her in direct view of her prison cot — which was unmade because of her funk, which put her in more of a funk. Under typical circumstance, she'd never leave her bed in such a sorry state, but in her present absence of presence, she—
@@ @@
= //Knock, knock, knock.//
@@ @@
...Wait, what the fuck?
Esther's ever-gnawing brain fog instantly evaporated at the sound of knocking. Who the //fuck// was tapping their knuckles on her door at three in the g-ddamn morning? The notion it was the hotel staff was laughable for several reasons, but that left a total of zero other candidates.
@@ @@
= //Knock, knock, knock.//
@@ @@
Okay, that wasn't an accident. She cautiously reentered the bedroom (well, the only other room besides the bathroom), and cursed to herself as she realized the door didn't have a eye hole. Should she answer it? Was it possibly her hotel neighbors, here to chew her out for all the banging earlier? Did someone discover her here and want to kidnap her for G-d knows what reason?
@@ @@
= //Knock, knock, knock.//
= Fuck it.
@@ @@
Esther gripped the handle tightly and, without letting herself deliberate, opened the door.
The first thing she registered about the man standing in front of her is that he was almost obnoxiously Jewish. He wore a kippah on his head that almost certainly had a maggin david on it, and poking out from under his blue nylon jacket she could see four strings of tzitzit. He held a small duffel bag that had a verse written in Hebrew on it. The man also had a slightly unkempt beard that had been graying — which led her to her next realization, that he was old and very, very tired. The man's face was defined by small wrinkles and a fading-black mop of hair.
The third realization scared her: she vaguely recognized him. He //did// look a bit like her father, but... no, he wasn't related. It took her a few seconds before she realized it was the man that waved at her while she was staring out the window. That, unfortunately, did very little to ease her concerns.
"Hello," the man spoke with a slightly Yiddish, slightly Canadian accent, "are you Esther Kogan?"
//That//, unfortunately, did quite the opposite. There were only two possible groups that could track her like this, and neither seemed pretty. The first were the Kabbalists — and if that was the case, she reckoned, she'd already be dead — and the second was...
Her eyes widened. She stopped breathing. The fervent beating of her heart pounded at her ears, swallowing the whole world instantly.
"You're... You're one of the //Janitors//?"
The piece of shit immediately laughed awkwardly and shook his head. "Huh? No no, I'm not a janitor. Is it the jacket? I knew I should've picked a different one."
Should she kill him? No, she couldn't get away with it. The Foundation didn't take kindly to killing their personnel, and if he was an older person he was probably someone significant. Which means that, most likely, she was being actively monitored and there were multiple people who could step in and quickly kill or detain or mindwipe her, so trying anything would be a death sentence. She was thankful, at least, that she had Kabbalistic memetics she could use if it came down to it.
...Actually.
If they were here to kill her or capture her, they'd would have sent at least someone with combat experience, right? She knew some magic and a shitload of mindkillers, so either this was their best agent for the job or the man in front of her wasn't here to silence her. And if he //was// here to kill her, he wouldn't have waved at her earlier, or knocked on her door. Was he a Kabbalist?
"Are you a Kabbalist?"
The man blinked. "You mean, with a capital K?"
She squinted at him. He shifted in place.
"No, I'm not a Kabbalist. I've had to interact with them a few times, yes, but I don't have the genes to ever actually be one. That's uh, 'genes', with a G. It's a genetic thing." Pause. "I'm from the Foundation."
Rage boiled in her chest. Holding her tongue, she asked as calmly as she could muster, "What the //fuck// do you want?"
He flinched at the curse word. Biting his lip — he did that a lot, based on the chafing — he replied, "It's a bit of a long story, and I'm freezing my butt off out here. Could I come in?"
Was he a lunatic? "//Are you a lunatic?//"
"Only a lunatic could knock on a Kabbalist's door by himself at three AM, no?"
She didn't really have a retort for that.
@@ @@
= **@@❄ ❄ ❄@@**
@@ @@
There was only one chair in the tiny hotel room, so Esther sat on her (still unmade) bed. It was clear to her that the man was uncomfortable, but he at least had the decency to not voice any complaints. His duffel bag rested besides him, and she glanced at it with suspicion. If the man //was// there to capture her, then the bag likely had some Clarkian technomagic bullshit device inside it that would stop her from using her abilities. If it came down to it, she might still be able to use [https://scpwiki.com/jude-s-bizarre-adventure Hamon] to escape.
The man coughed as he placed his jacket on the table next to her laptop (revealing a tallit and labcoat underneath), before awkwardly scooting over to face her. He seated both of his hands in his lap, rubbing them quickly to warm them, before noticing her sideward gaze at the bag.
"Ah. I'll uh, I'll get to the bag in a second."
Esther sighed angrily. "I'd prefer you get to it now."
"Just let me say my piece first. Please. I promise I'll be quick and then I'll be out of your hair."
"It would've been better if you never got //in// my hair to begin with. You people only ruin everything you touch. None of you understand when to leave well enough //alone//." She was practically hissing at him. "The only reason I'm even tolerating your presence at all is because you clearly put a lot of effort into showing me you're Jewish, and that means //something// to me."
The man tilted his head. "I did? Oh— yes, I suppose I do come off pretty Orthodox. That wasn't, I mean— I'm not trying to trick you or something. This is sort of just what I normally wear."
"Bullshit. You're wearing a //tallit// on top of a //labcoat// at //three in the morning//."
"Look I—" He paused, glancing at the window, as though he was planning a daring escape, "Can we not— can we not talk about my fashion sense, please? I know I came at three AM, but it //is// three in the morning and I do have work tomorrow."
Oh my G-d. Oh my //G-d//. She was going to lose it. She must have had a stroke staring out the window earlier and ended up in some horrific perversion of Gehenna where she was forced to deal with senile old men for eternity.
Deep breaths, Esther.
"Okay. Say your piece, and //get the fuck out of my room.//"
The man released a deep breath of his own. Esther noticed that his hands were shaking as he began to speak. Was he //scared// of her?
"Alright. Thanks." He fidgeted a bit, before taking a short breath and regaining his composure properly. "So, just so we're on the same page: I'm a senior researcher at the SCP Foundation. Not going to be saying my name, because I'd probably get in trouble if they found out I'm here. I came here to, ah, give you a few gifts." He paused, waiting for a reaction. She didn't give him one. "Do you have any questions so far?"
"What are you, fucking Santa Claus?"
"Ho ho ho. But, no. He's in containment."
"//What?//"
A cough. "Uh, that was a joke. [https://scpwiki.com/scp-5925 Kind of.] It's classified. Sorry, next question."
"How the hell did you find me?"
She could tell something shifted in his body posture, but it was subtle enough that she couldn't pinpoint it exactly. "Ah, well, the Foundation has a pretty extensive record on you and your group chats, and there's only so many Esther Kogans who flew to Canada this past week." After witnessing the disgust and horror she painted on her face, he added: "If it makes you feel any better, the Foundation's record on //me// is probably a lot worse. They probably have a record of everything I've eaten in the past sixteen years. Not exaggerating."
"That doesn't make me feel better in the slightest."
"Oh. Sorry." The man scratched at his kippah. "Anything else?"
//Deep breaths, Esther.// "Yeah. Three more: why the hell are you giving //me// gifts, what the //fuck// does that entail, and what if I don't want your stupid gifts?"
To the man's credit, he was getting used to her colorful vernacular. "I mean, I don't //think// you'll reject them. But uh, to answer the first two are— well, it's probably best to just show them, I guess. Can I?"
She hesitated. Did she //want// to see what was in that bag? For all intents and purposes it was probably something mundane, but...
Well, even if he was dangerous, she was pretty sure she could hurt him a lot more than he could hurt her.
She nodded.
The man unzipped the bag, and begun to rummage around. It took a lot of effort from him, but after a few seconds, he pulled out...
Oh, of course. A menorah. Fucking //duh//.
"This is for you. It's not a particularly fancy one, but uh, I figured that you probably forgot to pack one when coming up here, so I thought I'd give you one I had lying around. I also have some candles and a lighter."
"That's..." Esther swallowed her malcontent briefly, "...very nice of you. Thanks."
The man seemed to glow under the praise. "I'm glad you like it! If you need me to, I can teach you the b—"
"//No//," she blurted a little more harshly than she intended, "I was raised Orthodox. I know how to light a menorah."
The Foundationeer returned from his brief high and adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Just making sure. I guess it was //hashkacha pratit// that I could deliver this to you."
"I'll be the judge of that," she muttered in response.
The silence that followed was unbearable. She avoided eye contact with the man and instead opted to stare at the silver menorah. It wasn't cheap, she could at least tell that — it probably cost at least $40 or the equivalent in whatever currency they used in Canada. The engravings were vaguely reminiscent of a design she saw back in Three Portlands while walking home from Shul.
It was becoming increasingly clear that this man in front of her genuinely did not mean her harm. But... he was still part of a system that fucked her over multiple times. He was a cog in a larger, objectively evil machine, and as nice as he supposedly was, she couldn't forgive him for that.
"Alright, uh, I suppose I should move onto the second thing. Can you promise me that you'll let me finish after I show you?"
She snapped her attention back up, tossing the menorah lightly aside onto the bed. It made a small //thump// as it landed. "What? Sure."
He smiled, and reaching into the bag again. This time, it took nearly no time for him to pull out what he wa—
Oh.
//Oh.//
In his hand was a bundle of wool, hand-knit together into a sweater. The wool was dyed a light purple and blue, haphazardly due to inexperience. To the average person, it was perfectly ordinary winter apparel, but when worn it had the thaumic capability to morphing itself to give the impression of being hugged. To the average person, it was nothing more than a supernatural sweater.
To her, it was Madeline's sweater. The one she imbued with magic. The one she designed to make it feel as though she was always being hugged by her, even when they were separated by vast distance.
The one that caused the Foundation to rip her girlfriend away from her.
Esther's mind exploded with a multitude of contradictory emotions. Should she kill him? Should she hug him? Should she burst into tears and vomit the takeout she had earlier? Should she say //anything//?
The man eventually cut through her silence for her. "This... this is for you. I'm not involved in the acquisition of anomalies, but, I mistyped a number and accidentally landed on the file for your sweater. I looked you up, and after a bit of digging, I used my sway in the Foundation to possess the anomaly for ah, research purposes." He paused, trying to read the multitude of emotions constantly vying for her expression. "I reclassified it as a item of interest, and no one's gonna look if one of those goes missing."
"...Why...?"
"It's going to sound silly, but it was mostly just for a Hannukah gift." He looked down and sighed, a grimace suddenly forming on his face. "To tell you the truth, I know the Foundation isn't the greatest organization in the world. I've done a lot of things I regret while working there. But... I thought I'd try to at least try to undo a little of the damage done to a fellow Yid. That's pretty much the main reason I'm here."
Esther didn't speak at first. She held the sweater close to her, gripping it as though it would disappear if she let it go. Between the wires of wool she could feel the magic she weaved into it still ebb and flow, waiting patiently to fulfill a purpose that would never be realized again. Her eyes leaked a little — //just// a little — against her best attempts at quelling the emotions rising in her chest.
Then, after less than a minute of silent eulogies to herself, she regained her composure and looked the Jewish man in the eye.
"...You practiced that speech, didn't you?"
He shrugged. "Guilty."
"Alright." She slowly let go of the sweater, dropping it into her lap. "Give me your final gift, and then please leave."
This time, instead of reaching into his bag, his hand jumped to one of his lab coat pockets, and pulled out one of the most corporate-rolled blunts Esther had ever seen in her entire life.
"I figured a weed cigarette might be a nice way to end off the visit. I know your whole group is kind of into that."
"Thanks, but I don't smoke."
The man's face contorted into shock so quickly that Esther couldn't help but laugh at his confusion. Before he could reply, she qualified, "I do. Only sometimes though. And never call it a 'weed cigarette' again."
He sighed with relief. "I was worried the name wasn't //actually// ironic. That would have really sucked."
She didn't reply to him. There was a lot she had to process, still, and she began to feel the weight of an emotional clusterfuck at three A.M. weigh on her head. The man across from her could at least read //that// from her face.
"It'd probably be best if I got going," the man said.
"Yeah," Esther said despondently.
"Alright," the nylon jacket slipped back on, "Thanks for giving me a bit of your time. I'm sorry I couldn't have come at a more convenient hour. I hope it was worth it for you."
She didn't reply, only reached down and grasped the sweater in her lap again, steadying her breaths. When the man opened the door and began to step out, she called out, "Wait."
He glanced back in her direction.
"Thank you."
He smiled. "Of course. Have a //freilichen Purim//, Esther."
"Go fuck yourself."
He gave one last laugh, and then he was gone.
@@ @@
= **@@❄ ❄ ❄@@**
@@ @@
Setting up a menorah is a fairly straightforward process. It was the first night, so she only needed two candles: the actual first night's candle itself, and the Shamash. It was tricky sticking the candles in (she needed to melt the bottom of the Shamash twice before it stayed upright), but it was finished in short order.
With the lighter out and on, fire burning brightly against the white blanket outside the window, she quickly recited the first two blessings. With the third — //Shehecheyanu//, the prayer for thanking G-d for allowing her to reach this moment — she purposefully prolonged its recitation, keeping the feeling of the words in her mouth as long as she could say them.
Then, she lit.
After she finished lighting the first and only candle, she began to softly hum the tune of //Hannerot Hallalu//, the same way she [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KYiVrBIASXg used to sing it back home]. Those days were long gone, and she certainly could never go back. But that thought didn't weigh so heavy on her heart anymore.
When she was done with the psalm, she lifted the blunt to the Shamash until it caught, and leaned back into the chair. As she stared into the void recessed against the soft glow of the menorah, and a familiar sweater gently wrapped her in a hug, Esther took solace knowing that — regardless of the dark — there was still a little light left in the world.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-01-01T23:16:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"art-exchange",
"bittersweet",
"bones",
"esther-kogan",
"gamers-against-weed",
"lgbtq",
"religious-fiction",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
A Very High Holiday - SCP Foundation
| 50
|
[
"scp-7112",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"scp-series-8-tales-edition",
"holiday-hub",
"art-exchange-hub"
] |
[] |
1452013587
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-very-high-holiday
|
|
a-voicemail-to-my-mother
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><span style="font-size:70%;"><strong>Beep.</strong></span></p>
<p>Hey, Ma.<br/>
It’s me again.<br/>
You don’t pick up anymore. You don’t care.<br/>
But I keep talking, because if I don’t,<br/>
then it’s real, and<br/>
I can’t<br/>
handle<br/>
that.<br/>
…<br/>
Can you?<br/>
The sound of the beep after every message, it’s louder than the words I say.<br/>
Louder than you ever were.</p>
<p>Do you remember when you held me?<br/>
You were the sun then.<br/>
Warm. Bright. Alive.<br/>
Now you’re nothing but<br/>
darkness<br/>
clinging to the walls.</p>
<p><em>No, that’s not right. You’re less than that.</em><br/>
…<br/>
They said it was nature, what happened.<br/>
They said it was just life doing what life does.<br/>
But what is life without you?<br/>
I am<br/>
dead wood<br/>
on a dying tree.<br/>
Dry. Cracked. Reaching for light that doesn’t exist anymore.<br/>
Because you’re gone.<br/>
…<br/>
Gone.<br/>
You took yourself away, and you didn’t even<br/>
ask me<br/>
if it was okay to leave.<br/>
I’m still waiting.<br/>
Here.<br/>
Right where you left me.</p>
<p><em>Silence</em><br/>
is louder than grief.</p>
<p>I wish you could see me now.<br/>
But I don’t.<br/>
Because if you did, you’d see a mess.<br/>
A monster made of all the<br/>
things<br/>
I couldn’t become.<br/>
Do you even remember what I used to be?<br/>
The little boy who crawled into your bed, who thought you were<br/>
invincible.<br/>
But you weren’t.<br/>
…<br/>
You weren’t.<br/>
…<br/>
Do you dream about me?<br/>
I dream about you.<br/>
Every.<br/>
Single.<br/>
Night.<br/>
But in the dreams, you don’t say anything.<br/>
You just stand there.<br/>
Watching me.<br/>
Your eyes… black.<br/>
Empty.<br/>
Like you’re waiting for me to follow you.<br/>
…<br/>
I wake up in a sweat. Every time.<br/>
Reaching out for you,<br/>
but you’re not there.<br/>
You never will be again.</p>
<p>I’m sorry.<br/>
I know I’ve failed you.<br/>
You expected more from me. You said I’d do great things.<br/>
Great things.<br/>
But I haven’t done<br/>
anything.<br/>
Not one thing worth remembering.<br/>
<em>Would you even recognize me now?</em><br/>
…<br/>
No.<br/>
No, you wouldn’t.<br/>
You’d look at me and see a hollow thing,<br/>
an empty shell,<br/>
the boy who couldn’t keep you alive.</p>
<p>I still have your letters.<br/>
I found them in that drawer I wasn’t supposed to open.<br/>
They’re falling apart now, like everything else.<br/>
You wrote them before I was born.<br/>
Before I even existed,<br/>
you had dreams.<br/>
…<br/>
Do you remember those dreams?<br/>
Because I don’t think I do anymore.</p>
<p>There’s a part of me that still feels like that child.<br/>
The one who thought the world would stop spinning if you just held me long enough.<br/>
But the world didn’t stop.<br/>
It just… left me behind.</p>
<p>Now I talk to ghosts.<br/>
To you.<br/>
…<br/>
What’s left of you, anyway.<br/>
I think of that night sometimes.<br/>
The night they told me you were gone.<br/>
And I knew.<br/>
Before they even said it, I knew.<br/>
It’s like my heart broke before the words left their mouths.<br/>
So quiet.<br/>
So soft.<br/>
I don’t know if hearts make noise when they break.<br/>
But I heard mine.</p>
<p>Do you want to know what I miss most?<br/>
Not the big things.<br/>
No.<br/>
Not your death.<br/>
Not the finality of it.<br/>
No, it’s the small things.<br/>
The way you laughed.<br/>
The way you hummed when you cooked.<br/>
The way you tilted your head when you thought too hard.<br/>
Those are the things I hold onto.<br/>
…<br/>
But even those are fading now, slipping through my fingers like water.</p>
<p>I never got to say goodbye.<br/>
Never told you how much I loved you.<br/>
Still love you.<br/>
…<br/>
Now I have all these words, and nowhere to put them.<br/>
I talk to this voicemail like it’ll bring you back.<br/>
But you’re not coming back.<br/>
Are you?</p>
<p>Ma,<br/>
if you can hear this,<br/>
wherever you are,<br/>
I’m still here.<br/>
Waiting.<br/>
…<br/>
For the phone to ring.<br/>
For your voice, just once,<br/>
to tell me you haven’t forgotten.</p>
<p>But all I ever hear is the────<br/>
<span style="font-size:70%;"><strong>Beep.</strong></span></p>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[size 70%]]**Beep.**[[/size]]
Hey, Ma.
It’s me again.
You don’t pick up anymore. You don’t care.
But I keep talking, because if I don’t,
then it’s real, and
I can’t
handle
that.
. . .
Can you?
The sound of the beep after every message, it’s louder than the words I say.
Louder than you ever were.
Do you remember when you held me?
You were the sun then.
Warm. Bright. Alive.
Now you’re nothing but
darkness
clinging to the walls.
//No, that’s not right. You’re less than that.//
. . .
They said it was nature, what happened.
They said it was just life doing what life does.
But what is life without you?
I am
dead wood
on a dying tree.
Dry. Cracked. Reaching for light that doesn’t exist anymore.
Because you’re gone.
. . .
Gone.
You took yourself away, and you didn’t even
ask me
if it was okay to leave.
I’m still waiting.
Here.
Right where you left me.
//Silence//
is louder than grief.
I wish you could see me now.
But I don’t.
Because if you did, you’d see a mess.
A monster made of all the
things
I couldn’t become.
Do you even remember what I used to be?
The little boy who crawled into your bed, who thought you were
invincible.
But you weren’t.
. . .
You weren’t.
. . .
Do you dream about me?
I dream about you.
Every.
Single.
Night.
But in the dreams, you don’t say anything.
You just stand there.
Watching me.
Your eyes... black.
Empty.
Like you’re waiting for me to follow you.
. . .
I wake up in a sweat. Every time.
Reaching out for you,
but you’re not there.
You never will be again.
I’m sorry.
I know I’ve failed you.
You expected more from me. You said I’d do great things.
Great things.
But I haven’t done
anything.
Not one thing worth remembering.
//Would you even recognize me now?//
. . .
No.
No, you wouldn’t.
You’d look at me and see a hollow thing,
an empty shell,
the boy who couldn’t keep you alive.
I still have your letters.
I found them in that drawer I wasn’t supposed to open.
They’re falling apart now, like everything else.
You wrote them before I was born.
Before I even existed,
you had dreams.
. . .
Do you remember those dreams?
Because I don’t think I do anymore.
There’s a part of me that still feels like that child.
The one who thought the world would stop spinning if you just held me long enough.
But the world didn’t stop.
It just... left me behind.
Now I talk to ghosts.
To you.
. . .
What’s left of you, anyway.
I think of that night sometimes.
The night they told me you were gone.
And I knew.
Before they even said it, I knew.
It’s like my heart broke before the words left their mouths.
So quiet.
So soft.
I don’t know if hearts make noise when they break.
But I heard mine.
Do you want to know what I miss most?
Not the big things.
No.
Not your death.
Not the finality of it.
No, it’s the small things.
The way you laughed.
The way you hummed when you cooked.
The way you tilted your head when you thought too hard.
Those are the things I hold onto.
. . .
But even those are fading now, slipping through my fingers like water.
I never got to say goodbye.
Never told you how much I loved you.
Still love you.
. . .
Now I have all these words, and nowhere to put them.
I talk to this voicemail like it’ll bring you back.
But you’re not coming back.
Are you?
Ma,
if you can hear this,
wherever you are,
I’m still here.
Waiting.
. . .
For the phone to ring.
For your voice, just once,
to tell me you haven’t forgotten.
But all I ever hear is the────
[[size 70%]]**Beep.**[[/size]]
|
2024-10-15T16:57:00
|
[
"bleak",
"poetry",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
A Voicemail to My Mother - SCP Foundation
| 34
|
[] |
[] |
[] |
1457102929
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-voicemail-to-my-mother
|
|
absence-makes-the-heart
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>She looked about the same as everyone else after she died. Her skin had turned blue, or that sickly coloration that comes with cold storage for a body. She'd been wheeled out so everyone on Alpha-9 could positively identify her, a formality more than anything, and they'd tossed the fabric covering her stiff, cold body so Jackie could nod her head. She'd noticed that Iris' body had a lot more scars than she had been expecting, but she didn't linger. Even if she was gone at this point, there was a reason she'd kept herself covered up so much, and Iris still commanded respect. Even more so now, with the innate sanctity of a body. That shock of blonde hair, laid out on the cold metal gurney, was the only cushion Iris was afforded. Even so, she looked calm. Jackie couldn't bring herself to call her face 'peaceful.'</p>
<p>The mortuary technician tossed the cover back over Iris' head and addressed the four people in attendance, telling them that he was to begin cremation immediately - standard procedure for expired anomalies. Foxx left first, nodding to his teammates as he went and offering a couple 'I'm sorrys' and 'if you need anythings' on his way out. Adams looked at the lump on the gurney get rolled over to the wall, and when the cremator was activated, she turned and left, all without a word. That only left Anne and Jackie, the former staring at the body as it was loaded, practically unblinking. Jackie couldn't tell what she was thinking, but rarely was she quiet and still for this long. For her part, Jackie stayed too; with Iris gone, she now had nobody to talk to at Site-17, and nothing to do until she got transferred back to 19.</p>
<p>Her body was loaded in, the sheet removed, and the door shut. The technician pressed a button and watched a screen for a few minutes before deciding things were going alright and turning to leave. He faltered when he saw Anne and Jackie, still watching in the window to the morgue, but he didn't stop. After a moment, Jackie heard a door open and shut, then it was just the two of them. There wasn't much to see or hear in the hallway, and Anne looked every bit a corpse as the one they just saw, so Jackie simply watched a temperature reading on a monitor climb and said nothing. Such was the silence that Jackie felt chained to the ground, but then again, she had nowhere to be but there.</p>
<p>"Optimal combustion…" Anne murmured. It took Jackie a moment to even realize something had been said, initially assuming it was just a noise from the air vents.</p>
<p>"What?" Jackie winced as she spoke, unprepared for her voice to break the quiet.</p>
<p>Anne gave a quick sideways glance towards Jackie before turning back to the room. Jackie could see she wasn't crying, but her eyes were cold and hard. "…He was talking about it before. Getting her… getting the body to 'optimal combustion,'" she said in a small voice. "I guess that's all she is now. A log."</p>
<p>Jackie didn't have anything to say to that. She'd seen enough bodies to view them in much the same way. Typically, she didn't think about the person they used to be nearly as much as where to dispose of them to limit the spread of disease. They tended to be more 'carcasses' than 'bodies' to her.</p>
<p>Once the quiet was broken, though, it was hard to let it stay quiet. And it's not like the slowly rising digital thermometer was a very good distraction. "I'm surprised you're still here," Anne said, her voice closer to a normal speaking tone than before, even if it wasn't quite there yet.</p>
<p>No response. Jackie wasn't really aware of why she was still standing there either. Even if she had nothing to do, there must have been better places to stand and look at a wall than the morgue. Maybe she just didn't want to have to see everyone else hearing the news. It sounded like a pain.</p>
<p>"…You knew her longer than I did." Anne turned her head to Jackie, and she didn't look back this time. "Did you really care?"</p>
<p>Jackie broke eye contact, but she wasn't sure why. There was nothing for her to feel guilty about. "We worked together. Same as anyone else."</p>
<p>Anne clenched her jaw, but it seemed like she was satisfied with that answer, or at least believed it. She turned back to the wall and let the constant hum of the air ducts overtake her.</p>
<p>Her concentration, or lack thereof, broken, Jackie stood awkwardly for a few seconds before turning to leave, instinctively making as little noise as possible. And yet. Something stopped her before she left the room, and she turned back to Anne.</p>
<p>"I never asked you," she started. Anne's eyes looked in her direction, their concentration broken. "Why you asked to join in the first place."</p>
<p>"Didn't think you cared," Anne scoffed half-heartedly.</p>
<p>"Let's just say I'm sating my own curiosity." Jackie took a breath. "I just want to know."</p>
<p>Anne looked back at the cremator's door and raised a hand, almost touching the glass, before she winced in what looked like shame and brought her hand back to her side. "I don't know. I guess I just thought… I just wanted her to be different."</p>
<p>Jackie clenched her jaw and looked at the ground, then back up to Anne. <em>Me too,</em> she didn't say, as she turned and left without so much as a nod, leaving Anne and Iris alone.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Aleksander spun his flip lighter in his fingers, tapping each side against the armrest of his chair as he did so. Perhaps it was just because he was nervous, or perhaps because it was something to focus on besides the other two women in the room. September looked bone tired, far past the kind of everyday exhaustion she was capable of covering up, and Adams hadn't seemed comfortable once since she woke up. That was understandable, and it's not like Aleksander was feeling particularly chipper himself, but none of that made being with the two of them any more bearable.</p>
<p>"I just spoke with Carol Rodgers," September sighed, putting down a carefully arranged stack of paper and rubbing her forehead. "Now that the cremation has been successful, the interment of SCP-105's remains comes next. Now, do either of you have any… strong opinions on if it should be the standard anomaly disposal or with KIA operators?"</p>
<p>Aleksander thought for a moment and shook his head. He hadn't known Iris very well, so he shouldn't speak for her. He turned to Adams, who looked like she was thinking about it pretty hard despite her distant expression.</p>
<p>"I think…" Adams trailed off and shook her head. Seems like she realized the same thing Aleksander had.</p>
<p>"Right, well, since Rodgers' socialization project is the reason the anomalies even know each other, she offered to take care of… notifying everyone." September handed a sheet of paper with the designations of a handful of anomaly designations to Aleksander. He recognized a couple - 3009 and 4818, two teenagers he'd seen Iris talking to when he had visited. "Counselors will be telling those close to her about her passing in private, offer grief counseling, and then notify the general population tomorrow morning."</p>
<p>He shared the blame of what happened along with Adams. And Iris herself, of course, but she wasn't here to make amends, so he folded the paper up and shoved it into his pocket. The least he could do was check in on the girls now that Iris was gone, but he'd do that on his own time. That wasn't why they were here.</p>
<p>"So." September enunciated the word so as to assert that the conversation was moving along. "Leadership has made a decision as to your next assignment related to Alpha-9, and asked for me to pass it along to you." Aleksander understood 'leadership,' when used in this context, didn't mean the Site-17 leadership, but something nebulous and spoken about in hushed tones. As a new Foundation hire, he understood it wasn't something he should be prying into if he wanted to keep his job, so he didn't press for specifics.</p>
<p>September produced a stack of half a dozen or so manila folders and pushed them across her desk towards Aleksander and Adams. Aleksander waited a moment for Adams to take a look at the documents, but she didn't turn her attention away from her newly attached arm as she picked at its skin. He remembered what he had felt like when he woke up after getting his organs swapped out following the accident, so he hadn't been pushing her, but if it was eating into work, then…</p>
<p>"If you'll take a look at the dossiers, you'll find a small handful of, uh, 'candidates,'" she said, barely concealing her incredulity. "Replacements for Iris. Due to your positions close to the task force, the two of you are to screen candidates to fill up the hole in the task force's roster."</p>
<p>Aleksander took the stack and looked through the folders. "Daniel, no shot, Leora, just a kid, Marya, too unpredictable, Rainer, too dangerous." He closed the folders with a soft <em>whap</em> and looked at September. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"</p>
<p>September slumped down in her chair. "Alright. Off the record? Sure," she groaned, to Aleksander's surprise. "Me, personally? I think that's the only answer you could give. Iris took the job in the first place so nobody else would, but there wasn't a good shot anyone else even fit for the role." She took a deep breath and recomposed herself. "<em>But that's just me.</em> Maybe you know something I don't."</p>
<p>It was unconvincing, but it served its purpose of distancing September's opinion from her job. Aleksander waited for Adams to say something, but she barely seemed like she was paying attention. "Was that everything?" He asked.</p>
<p>"Yeah. Clef's asking for the reports in a week, but that's just so he can throw them out sooner. You've got two. After that the decision's out of your hands," September replied. Aleksander nodded and stood up, and Adams followed suit a second later once she noticed. "Alexei - SCP-2273 opted out of any sort of consideration for this, but expect it to be forced through in the next couple days anyways. You're free to go," she finished with a nod.</p>
<p>Before Aleksander and Adams were even out of the room, she had turned her attention back to some other work on her laptop. Aleksander shrugged internally and made his way out of the Factotum's office, holding the door open for Adams and closing it behind her, which she acknowledged with a slight nod.</p>
<p>"Hey, uh, Andrea?" Aleksander called after her with a measured voice. They were still right outside the Factotum's office, and her secretary was still sitting there, so he didn't want to say anything too loud. He shot the secretary - Jessica, her name was - a look, and she cowered back behind her desktop. He didn't think it was <em>that</em> intense of a look, but whatever.</p>
<p>"Huh? Uh, yeah?" Adams seemed to at least partially snap back to reality upon hearing her name.</p>
<p>"You alright?" Aleksander didn't want to press too hard, but he expected Adams was too professional to come out and say it herself. "I know you and Iris were friends, so-"</p>
<p>"No." Adams shook her head. "We weren't, we just worked together."</p>
<p>It took Aleksander a moment before he spoke again, as Adams stopped talking as abruptly as she had started. "…Uh huh. Well, I just saw you looking at your arm a lot, is all."</p>
<p>Adams broke eye contact, but didn't say anything. Aleksander wouldn't push the Iris thing if she didn't want to talk about it, but she couldn't hide how much the arm was bothering her. "Hey, I got pretty messed up before too, right? It was weird when they first put me back together, but you get used to it." Adams was still spacing out, so Aleksander gave her a light punch to the arm. "Plus it looks like they sewed you up better than my old job did with me. My chest still looks fucked up, but on you, you can't even see the join," he finished with a low chuckle.</p>
<p>"But that's…" Adams made a face for a second before she returned to her listless expression. "No. It's fine, I'll be fine."</p>
<p>Aleksander shoved one of his hands into his coat pocket while the other tapped the files against his knee. He thought about Iris for a moment, about those girls who used to orbit her, then about how long it would take to speak with them, and how late the bars around the city were open. Technically, his job was just to look over his files, but having an upset coworker and a depressed workplace wasn't good for work, either.</p>
<p>"Look, I'm gonna go talk to the girls real quick. Lucille was real torn up when a teacher she liked passed a couple years ago, so… Well, you know. I'll just see if they need anything." Foxx cleared his throat to brush past that, expecting some kind of protest but getting none. "Then, tell you what, we can go to that real expensive bar downtown you were talking about."</p>
<p>Adams groaned. "Foxx, I don't-"</p>
<p>"Honest-to-god, just as a coworker," Aleksander said with his hands in the air, keeping his tone quiet. "I've been there, and it's good to blow off some steam and relax a little. Just… you know. Remember you're still you."</p>
<p>A few more seconds of silence. Aleksander could tell that Jessica was holding her breath behind her computer and eavesdropping, but he didn't care. He was worried about Adams, and even if she did talk to September, that woman didn't seem like the type to involve herself in other people's business. Eventually, Adams nodded, then pinched her nose.</p>
<p>"Yeah. Yeah, shit. I think I just need to get out for once." Adams started to relax, and Aleksander felt himself doing the same - not that he was aware he was even tense in the first place. "So, what? You pick me up at eight?"</p>
<p>Aleksander smiled. "Sounds good to me."</p>
<p>"Alright then. See you at eight." Adams started to leave, but turned around for a second. "And… thanks, Aleksander."</p>
<p>With that she took her leave. Once she was out of the room, Aleksander took a breath that slowly morphed into a sigh. Honestly, he didn't know much about the two girls Iris looked after aside from their names and numbers. Still, even though Iris knew the risks, it was at least partially the fault of Aleksander - Aleksander's equipment, rather, that it went down like it did. Iris didn't have much in the way of affairs, but what she did have deserved to be taken care of.</p>
<p>He checked the clock. 3:34, so he had about three and a half hours to sort all that out before he had to get ready himself. Aleksander shrugged and walked towards Jessica as she sank further into her chair the closer he got. At least she'd know where to find that Stacey kid.</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Breathe in. Breathe out. Don't grip the countertop so tightly. Relax. Straighten up your back and try to smile. At least make a neutral face.</em></p>
<p>A while ago, that mantra used to be something that was a lot more professional-sounding. Ten years of repetition lead to it being whittled down to its essentials, rough edges and all. But it was what Andrea needed as she looked at herself in the mirror, her dress looking nice enough, her hair looking straight enough, her makeup looking convincing enough.</p>
<p><em>Breathe in. Breathe out. Make sure your dress is on right. Stop pressing your nails into your palms. Push out your chest and smile this time.</em></p>
<p>Foxx was right, she'd been feeling strange since she woke up after the last operation. She could, and indeed did, attribute some of that to learning that her job security for the near future bit the dust, but ultimately she wasn't ever going to be let go by the Foundation if they'd gone through the trouble of wiping her memories after hiring her. Which was a normal thing for a lot of staff members, she knew. She knew that.</p>
<p><em>Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax already. Hold your hands together if you have to. Smile. Smile already. Not like that. Do it right.</em></p>
<p>She just needed to get her mind off of things, go and relax. She was too focused on how <em>wrong</em> everything's been feeling since she woke up, she just needed to get back in the swing of things. Live a little, take a load off, focus on shooting the shit instead of her arm. Her perfectly fine arm.</p>
<p><em>Breathe in. Breathe out. I said relax. Stop staring at your arm.</em></p>
<p>Andrea kept a clean apartment, so her mirror wasn't smudged. Her arm was spotless in the reflection, clean as the mirror. Even though that thing had ripped it off. Pushed her to the ground and twisted her arm in a way it should never bend and pulled and pulled and pulled until Andrea could feel things she didn't know she had in her tearing apart and snapping and then kept on pulling. Even though she tore Andrea's skin apart like she was made of plastic grocery bags.</p>
<p><em>Breathe in. Breathe out. Stop it.</em></p>
<p>She watched a hand trace up her arm and pull the strap of her dress down past her shoulder. The skin there was clear, same color as the rest of her skin. No scars, nothing. A miracle of medical science, and that was that. But even so. The reflection of Andrea's other hand pushed at the skin under her shoulder. It wasn't even sore, and that part of her hadn't even been attached to her when she lost consciousness.</p>
<p><em>Stop it.</em></p>
<p>The skin was perfect. Just like her body no matter how much she ate. Just like her health no matter what she did. Just like her face no matter how much she aged. The hand in the reflection pushed into the skin on her upper arm. Only now did the skin look any different.</p>
<p><em>Stop it.</em></p>
<p>The hand kept pressing in. The arm in the reflection started to become deformed and the hand started to shake from the exertion. The thumb rubbed back and forth as if searching for imperfections, but even this close to the bone it could find none. No metal bars, or pins, or lumps. Nothing but perfection. The same as the body has always been.</p>
<p><em>Stop it.</em></p>
<p>The thumb broke through the smooth, perfect skin and dug into the muscle. As it continued pushing back and forth, the gap widened, and sludge started to pour out. Not blood, but greyish-red sludge. Like the kind that poured out of the thing that took her arm. Not the thing that poured out of Iris when she-</p>
<p><em>Knock, knock.</em></p>
<p>Two knocks on the door. Firm and polite. The reflection looked up, and Andrea breathes in again, though it was more of a gasp. Her eyes darted down to her shoulder covered in <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">__________</span> and she cursed. She couldn't go out, but she needed to talk to Foxx. She's a professional. So she turned away from the mirror and focused on her door for the entire time it took her to walk over to and open it. Foxx doesn't knock again in all that time.</p>
<p>Andea opened the door halfway, keeping her injured shoulder out of view. Foxx, dressed in a suit that for once wasn't too much, looked up and smiled for Andrea the second he sees her. For someone who was just talking to a bereaved teenager, it looked very convincing.</p>
<p>"Hey! Ready to go?" Foxx did his best to look relaxed. Andrea tried to, but her attempt was far from her best.</p>
<p>She looked at the floor. "I, uh… I'm sorry, something came up." Andrea cleared her throat, took a breath in, then took a breath out. "I don't think I can go out tonight."</p>
<p>After a moment, Andrea looked up to see if Foxx hadn't heard her, and saw that past his smile, his eyes looked hurt. "Andrea. I'm gonna come in for a second, okay?"</p>
<p>"Wait, uh-" But before Andrea could think of a response, Foxx pushed the door open and she took a step back. She wanted to turn her imperfect shoulder away from him, but found herself rooted in place. She simply… didn't know where to go.</p>
<p>His eyes looked at the glob on her shoulder and he thought for a moment. Then he sighed, and reached into his pocket to procure a handkerchief. An honest-to-god handkerchief. "Alright, so, you got a little crap on yourself. No big deal."</p>
<p>Foxx stepped in front of her, and again, Andrea found herself unable to move. He took his handkerchief, dabbed up the viscous liquid, rubbed the spot where it was before, and… then stepped back again with a smile as he jammed the cloth back into his pocket. "See? Not a big deal."</p>
<p>"But-" Andrea stopped in her tracks. Her arm was perfect again. No hole in the skin, no scars, no imperfections. Same as it ever was. She opened her mouth-</p>
<p><em>Stop it.</em></p>
<p>And closed it again. Took a breath in, then out, then looked at Foxx. "Thanks. Uh, sorry about that. Ready to go when you are."</p>
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She looked about the same as everyone else after she died. Her skin had turned blue, or that sickly coloration that comes with cold storage for a body. She'd been wheeled out so everyone on Alpha-9 could positively identify her, a formality more than anything, and they'd tossed the fabric covering her stiff, cold body so Jackie could nod her head. She'd noticed that Iris' body had a lot more scars than she had been expecting, but she didn't linger. Even if she was gone at this point, there was a reason she'd kept herself covered up so much, and Iris still commanded respect. Even more so now, with the innate sanctity of a body. That shock of blonde hair, laid out on the cold metal gurney, was the only cushion Iris was afforded. Even so, she looked calm. Jackie couldn't bring herself to call her face 'peaceful.'
The mortuary technician tossed the cover back over Iris' head and addressed the four people in attendance, telling them that he was to begin cremation immediately - standard procedure for expired anomalies. Foxx left first, nodding to his teammates as he went and offering a couple 'I'm sorrys' and 'if you need anythings' on his way out. Adams looked at the lump on the gurney get rolled over to the wall, and when the cremator was activated, she turned and left, all without a word. That only left Anne and Jackie, the former staring at the body as it was loaded, practically unblinking. Jackie couldn't tell what she was thinking, but rarely was she quiet and still for this long. For her part, Jackie stayed too; with Iris gone, she now had nobody to talk to at Site-17, and nothing to do until she got transferred back to 19.
Her body was loaded in, the sheet removed, and the door shut. The technician pressed a button and watched a screen for a few minutes before deciding things were going alright and turning to leave. He faltered when he saw Anne and Jackie, still watching in the window to the morgue, but he didn't stop. After a moment, Jackie heard a door open and shut, then it was just the two of them. There wasn't much to see or hear in the hallway, and Anne looked every bit a corpse as the one they just saw, so Jackie simply watched a temperature reading on a monitor climb and said nothing. Such was the silence that Jackie felt chained to the ground, but then again, she had nowhere to be but there.
"Optimal combustion..." Anne murmured. It took Jackie a moment to even realize something had been said, initially assuming it was just a noise from the air vents.
"What?" Jackie winced as she spoke, unprepared for her voice to break the quiet.
Anne gave a quick sideways glance towards Jackie before turning back to the room. Jackie could see she wasn't crying, but her eyes were cold and hard. "...He was talking about it before. Getting her... getting the body to 'optimal combustion,'" she said in a small voice. "I guess that's all she is now. A log."
Jackie didn't have anything to say to that. She'd seen enough bodies to view them in much the same way. Typically, she didn't think about the person they used to be nearly as much as where to dispose of them to limit the spread of disease. They tended to be more 'carcasses' than 'bodies' to her.
Once the quiet was broken, though, it was hard to let it stay quiet. And it's not like the slowly rising digital thermometer was a very good distraction. "I'm surprised you're still here," Anne said, her voice closer to a normal speaking tone than before, even if it wasn't quite there yet.
No response. Jackie wasn't really aware of why she was still standing there either. Even if she had nothing to do, there must have been better places to stand and look at a wall than the morgue. Maybe she just didn't want to have to see everyone else hearing the news. It sounded like a pain.
"...You knew her longer than I did." Anne turned her head to Jackie, and she didn't look back this time. "Did you really care?"
Jackie broke eye contact, but she wasn't sure why. There was nothing for her to feel guilty about. "We worked together. Same as anyone else."
Anne clenched her jaw, but it seemed like she was satisfied with that answer, or at least believed it. She turned back to the wall and let the constant hum of the air ducts overtake her.
Her concentration, or lack thereof, broken, Jackie stood awkwardly for a few seconds before turning to leave, instinctively making as little noise as possible. And yet. Something stopped her before she left the room, and she turned back to Anne.
"I never asked you," she started. Anne's eyes looked in her direction, their concentration broken. "Why you asked to join in the first place."
"Didn't think you cared," Anne scoffed half-heartedly.
"Let's just say I'm sating my own curiosity." Jackie took a breath. "I just want to know."
Anne looked back at the cremator's door and raised a hand, almost touching the glass, before she winced in what looked like shame and brought her hand back to her side. "I don't know. I guess I just thought... I just wanted her to be different."
Jackie clenched her jaw and looked at the ground, then back up to Anne. //Me too,// she didn't say, as she turned and left without so much as a nod, leaving Anne and Iris alone.
----
Aleksander spun his flip lighter in his fingers, tapping each side against the armrest of his chair as he did so. Perhaps it was just because he was nervous, or perhaps because it was something to focus on besides the other two women in the room. September looked bone tired, far past the kind of everyday exhaustion she was capable of covering up, and Adams hadn't seemed comfortable once since she woke up. That was understandable, and it's not like Aleksander was feeling particularly chipper himself, but none of that made being with the two of them any more bearable.
"I just spoke with Carol Rodgers," September sighed, putting down a carefully arranged stack of paper and rubbing her forehead. "Now that the cremation has been successful, the interment of SCP-105's remains comes next. Now, do either of you have any... strong opinions on if it should be the standard anomaly disposal or with KIA operators?"
Aleksander thought for a moment and shook his head. He hadn't known Iris very well, so he shouldn't speak for her. He turned to Adams, who looked like she was thinking about it pretty hard despite her distant expression.
"I think..." Adams trailed off and shook her head. Seems like she realized the same thing Aleksander had.
"Right, well, since Rodgers' socialization project is the reason the anomalies even know each other, she offered to take care of... notifying everyone." September handed a sheet of paper with the designations of a handful of anomaly designations to Aleksander. He recognized a couple - 3009 and 4818, two teenagers he'd seen Iris talking to when he had visited. "Counselors will be telling those close to her about her passing in private, offer grief counseling, and then notify the general population tomorrow morning."
He shared the blame of what happened along with Adams. And Iris herself, of course, but she wasn't here to make amends, so he folded the paper up and shoved it into his pocket. The least he could do was check in on the girls now that Iris was gone, but he'd do that on his own time. That wasn't why they were here.
"So." September enunciated the word so as to assert that the conversation was moving along. "Leadership has made a decision as to your next assignment related to Alpha-9, and asked for me to pass it along to you." Aleksander understood 'leadership,' when used in this context, didn't mean the Site-17 leadership, but something nebulous and spoken about in hushed tones. As a new Foundation hire, he understood it wasn't something he should be prying into if he wanted to keep his job, so he didn't press for specifics.
September produced a stack of half a dozen or so manila folders and pushed them across her desk towards Aleksander and Adams. Aleksander waited a moment for Adams to take a look at the documents, but she didn't turn her attention away from her newly attached arm as she picked at its skin. He remembered what he had felt like when he woke up after getting his organs swapped out following the accident, so he hadn't been pushing her, but if it was eating into work, then...
"If you'll take a look at the dossiers, you'll find a small handful of, uh, 'candidates,'" she said, barely concealing her incredulity. "Replacements for Iris. Due to your positions close to the task force, the two of you are to screen candidates to fill up the hole in the task force's roster."
Aleksander took the stack and looked through the folders. "Daniel, no shot, Leora, just a kid, Marya, too unpredictable, Rainer, too dangerous." He closed the folders with a soft //whap// and looked at September. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"
September slumped down in her chair. "Alright. Off the record? Sure," she groaned, to Aleksander's surprise. "Me, personally? I think that's the only answer you could give. Iris took the job in the first place so nobody else would, but there wasn't a good shot anyone else even fit for the role." She took a deep breath and recomposed herself. "//But that's just me.// Maybe you know something I don't."
It was unconvincing, but it served its purpose of distancing September's opinion from her job. Aleksander waited for Adams to say something, but she barely seemed like she was paying attention. "Was that everything?" He asked.
"Yeah. Clef's asking for the reports in a week, but that's just so he can throw them out sooner. You've got two. After that the decision's out of your hands," September replied. Aleksander nodded and stood up, and Adams followed suit a second later once she noticed. "Alexei - SCP-2273 opted out of any sort of consideration for this, but expect it to be forced through in the next couple days anyways. You're free to go," she finished with a nod.
Before Aleksander and Adams were even out of the room, she had turned her attention back to some other work on her laptop. Aleksander shrugged internally and made his way out of the Factotum's office, holding the door open for Adams and closing it behind her, which she acknowledged with a slight nod.
"Hey, uh, Andrea?" Aleksander called after her with a measured voice. They were still right outside the Factotum's office, and her secretary was still sitting there, so he didn't want to say anything too loud. He shot the secretary - Jessica, her name was - a look, and she cowered back behind her desktop. He didn't think it was //that// intense of a look, but whatever.
"Huh? Uh, yeah?" Adams seemed to at least partially snap back to reality upon hearing her name.
"You alright?" Aleksander didn't want to press too hard, but he expected Adams was too professional to come out and say it herself. "I know you and Iris were friends, so-"
"No." Adams shook her head. "We weren't, we just worked together."
It took Aleksander a moment before he spoke again, as Adams stopped talking as abruptly as she had started. "...Uh huh. Well, I just saw you looking at your arm a lot, is all."
Adams broke eye contact, but didn't say anything. Aleksander wouldn't push the Iris thing if she didn't want to talk about it, but she couldn't hide how much the arm was bothering her. "Hey, I got pretty messed up before too, right? It was weird when they first put me back together, but you get used to it." Adams was still spacing out, so Aleksander gave her a light punch to the arm. "Plus it looks like they sewed you up better than my old job did with me. My chest still looks fucked up, but on you, you can't even see the join," he finished with a low chuckle.
"But that's..." Adams made a face for a second before she returned to her listless expression. "No. It's fine, I'll be fine."
Aleksander shoved one of his hands into his coat pocket while the other tapped the files against his knee. He thought about Iris for a moment, about those girls who used to orbit her, then about how long it would take to speak with them, and how late the bars around the city were open. Technically, his job was just to look over his files, but having an upset coworker and a depressed workplace wasn't good for work, either.
"Look, I'm gonna go talk to the girls real quick. Lucille was real torn up when a teacher she liked passed a couple years ago, so... Well, you know. I'll just see if they need anything." Foxx cleared his throat to brush past that, expecting some kind of protest but getting none. "Then, tell you what, we can go to that real expensive bar downtown you were talking about."
Adams groaned. "Foxx, I don't-"
"Honest-to-god, just as a coworker," Aleksander said with his hands in the air, keeping his tone quiet. "I've been there, and it's good to blow off some steam and relax a little. Just... you know. Remember you're still you."
A few more seconds of silence. Aleksander could tell that Jessica was holding her breath behind her computer and eavesdropping, but he didn't care. He was worried about Adams, and even if she did talk to September, that woman didn't seem like the type to involve herself in other people's business. Eventually, Adams nodded, then pinched her nose.
"Yeah. Yeah, shit. I think I just need to get out for once." Adams started to relax, and Aleksander felt himself doing the same - not that he was aware he was even tense in the first place. "So, what? You pick me up at eight?"
Aleksander smiled. "Sounds good to me."
"Alright then. See you at eight." Adams started to leave, but turned around for a second. "And... thanks, Aleksander."
With that she took her leave. Once she was out of the room, Aleksander took a breath that slowly morphed into a sigh. Honestly, he didn't know much about the two girls Iris looked after aside from their names and numbers. Still, even though Iris knew the risks, it was at least partially the fault of Aleksander - Aleksander's equipment, rather, that it went down like it did. Iris didn't have much in the way of affairs, but what she did have deserved to be taken care of.
He checked the clock. 3:34, so he had about three and a half hours to sort all that out before he had to get ready himself. Aleksander shrugged and walked towards Jessica as she sank further into her chair the closer he got. At least she'd know where to find that Stacey kid.
----
//Breathe in. Breathe out. Don't grip the countertop so tightly. Relax. Straighten up your back and try to smile. At least make a neutral face.//
A while ago, that mantra used to be something that was a lot more professional-sounding. Ten years of repetition lead to it being whittled down to its essentials, rough edges and all. But it was what Andrea needed as she looked at herself in the mirror, her dress looking nice enough, her hair looking straight enough, her makeup looking convincing enough.
//Breathe in. Breathe out. Make sure your dress is on right. Stop pressing your nails into your palms. Push out your chest and smile this time.//
Foxx was right, she'd been feeling strange since she woke up after the last operation. She could, and indeed did, attribute some of that to learning that her job security for the near future bit the dust, but ultimately she wasn't ever going to be let go by the Foundation if they'd gone through the trouble of wiping her memories after hiring her. Which was a normal thing for a lot of staff members, she knew. She knew that.
//Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax already. Hold your hands together if you have to. Smile. Smile already. Not like that. Do it right.//
She just needed to get her mind off of things, go and relax. She was too focused on how //wrong// everything's been feeling since she woke up, she just needed to get back in the swing of things. Live a little, take a load off, focus on shooting the shit instead of her arm. Her perfectly fine arm.
//Breathe in. Breathe out. I said relax. Stop staring at your arm.//
Andrea kept a clean apartment, so her mirror wasn't smudged. Her arm was spotless in the reflection, clean as the mirror. Even though that thing had ripped it off. Pushed her to the ground and twisted her arm in a way it should never bend and pulled and pulled and pulled until Andrea could feel things she didn't know she had in her tearing apart and snapping and then kept on pulling. Even though she tore Andrea's skin apart like she was made of plastic grocery bags.
//Breathe in. Breathe out. Stop it.//
She watched a hand trace up her arm and pull the strap of her dress down past her shoulder. The skin there was clear, same color as the rest of her skin. No scars, nothing. A miracle of medical science, and that was that. But even so. The reflection of Andrea's other hand pushed at the skin under her shoulder. It wasn't even sore, and that part of her hadn't even been attached to her when she lost consciousness.
//Stop it.//
The skin was perfect. Just like her body no matter how much she ate. Just like her health no matter what she did. Just like her face no matter how much she aged. The hand in the reflection pushed into the skin on her upper arm. Only now did the skin look any different.
//Stop it.//
The hand kept pressing in. The arm in the reflection started to become deformed and the hand started to shake from the exertion. The thumb rubbed back and forth as if searching for imperfections, but even this close to the bone it could find none. No metal bars, or pins, or lumps. Nothing but perfection. The same as the body has always been.
//Stop it.//
The thumb broke through the smooth, perfect skin and dug into the muscle. As it continued pushing back and forth, the gap widened, and sludge started to pour out. Not blood, but greyish-red sludge. Like the kind that poured out of the thing that took her arm. Not the thing that poured out of Iris when she-
//Knock, knock.//
Two knocks on the door. Firm and polite. The reflection looked up, and Andrea breathes in again, though it was more of a gasp. Her eyes darted down to her shoulder covered in @@__________@@ and she cursed. She couldn't go out, but she needed to talk to Foxx. She's a professional. So she turned away from the mirror and focused on her door for the entire time it took her to walk over to and open it. Foxx doesn't knock again in all that time.
Andea opened the door halfway, keeping her injured shoulder out of view. Foxx, dressed in a suit that for once wasn't too much, looked up and smiled for Andrea the second he sees her. For someone who was just talking to a bereaved teenager, it looked very convincing.
"Hey! Ready to go?" Foxx did his best to look relaxed. Andrea tried to, but her attempt was far from her best.
She looked at the floor. "I, uh... I'm sorry, something came up." Andrea cleared her throat, took a breath in, then took a breath out. "I don't think I can go out tonight."
After a moment, Andrea looked up to see if Foxx hadn't heard her, and saw that past his smile, his eyes looked hurt. "Andrea. I'm gonna come in for a second, okay?"
"Wait, uh-" But before Andrea could think of a response, Foxx pushed the door open and she took a step back. She wanted to turn her imperfect shoulder away from him, but found herself rooted in place. She simply... didn't know where to go.
His eyes looked at the glob on her shoulder and he thought for a moment. Then he sighed, and reached into his pocket to procure a handkerchief. An honest-to-god handkerchief. "Alright, so, you got a little crap on yourself. No big deal."
Foxx stepped in front of her, and again, Andrea found herself unable to move. He took his handkerchief, dabbed up the viscous liquid, rubbed the spot where it was before, and... then stepped back again with a smile as he jammed the cloth back into his pocket. "See? Not a big deal."
"But-" Andrea stopped in her tracks. Her arm was perfect again. No hole in the skin, no scars, no imperfections. Same as it ever was. She opened her mouth-
//Stop it.//
And closed it again. Took a breath in, then out, then looked at Foxx. "Thanks. Uh, sorry about that. Ready to go when you are."
[[div class="footer-wikiwalk-nav"]]
[[=]]
[[[devils advocate hub|Devil's Advocate Hub]]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
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2024-04-07T20:23:00
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[
"_licensebox",
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Absence Makes the Heart Grow Stronger - SCP Foundation
| 25
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[
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/absence-makes-the-heart
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agent-in-orange
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<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Adark/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p>The fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the interview room. The heavy door swung open, two guards walked in escorting the D-class inside. Dr. Elena Santos adjusted her glasses, her eyes narrowing with an intensity that belied her youth. She observed him carefully, catching the fluid grace in his movements: each step precise and purposeful. He didn’t have the shuffling gait or vacant stare typical of D-class personnel; this one seemed like he had a decent situational awareness.</p>
<p>"Please, have a seat," Dr. William Hayes instructed with a steady but firm voice. His weathered face bore the lines of a man who had spent decades in the Ethics Committee. At seventy-two, he was the most senior member present, carrying thirty years of experience like a mantle.</p>
<p>The D-class settled into the chair with perfect posture, with his hands resting calmly on the table.</p>
<p>"I understand you've invoked Protocol Epsilon," Dr. Hayes continued without breaking eye contact. "Just to be certain, do you know what that entails?"</p>
<p>"Of course," the man replied calmly. "It's the right of any Foundation personnel to request a meeting with the Ethics Committee."</p>
<p>Dr. Santos’s expression flickered between surprise and suspicion as she exchanged a look with Dr. Hayes. "It’s rather unusual for D-class personnel to be aware of Protocol Epsilon," she said with a sharp and challenging voice.</p>
<p>"That’s because I’m not your typical D-class." His gaze was piercing as if daring them to see through him. "I am Agent Marcus Chen, Omega-1 operative. I’m here to report serious ethical violations."</p>
<p>An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Dr. Santos’s eyes narrowed with the unmistakable glint of intrigue. "Let me get this straight, you claim to be a member of Mobile Task Force Omega-1? Law’s Left Hand?"</p>
<p>"Exactly," Chen affirmed. "And I'm currently undercover as a D-class."</p>
<p>Dr. Hayes's expression remained inscrutable. "We have no record of an Agent Chen in Omega-1," he stated, his voice carrying the weight of someone accustomed to unearthing the truth.</p>
<p>"My records were deleted," Chen replied calmly. "We'll get to that part shortly."</p>
<p>Dr. Santos leaned back slightly. "Please state the last mission you participated in, the name of your superior officer, and the team members involved," she requested with suspicion evident in her voice, her eyes never leaving Chen's face.</p>
<p>Chen responded without hesitation as if he was expecting this question. "We got an anonymous report that Dr. Helena Frost at Site-26 was supposedly running cognitohazard experiments on D-classes without following any of the safety protocols. So, we were deployed to find out if there was any truth to it."</p>
<p>He leaned back, his expression hard. “The entire thing was bogus. Dr. Frost was doing exactly what she was supposed to. Whoever filed that report had no idea what they were talking about."</p>
<p>He continued smoothly, "My superior was Commander Rowan Pierce. My teammates were Agents Lila Grant and Leo Park."</p>
<p>The tension in the room thickened as Dr. Hayes and Dr. Santos exchanged a glance. The mission, and every detail he described was indeed real, and classified.</p>
<p>Chen leaned back. His hands folded neatly in his lap with his gaze steady. "I know it’s a lot to take in. Let me start from the beginning."</p>
<p>Dr. Hayes’s pen hovered mid-air. Dr. Santos appeared as she was about to interrupt, but she decided to let him speak.</p>
<p>"Three months ago, you began investigating discrepancies in D-class intakes. The numbers didn't match court records or prison transfers."</p>
<p>Dr. Santos’s eyes widened. Dr. Hayes's pen paused mid-note. That investigation was highly confidential.</p>
<p>"You suspected that homeless individuals were being abducted to be used as D-class personnel" Chen went on. "But you needed proof. That's where I came in. My mission was straightforward: infiltrate as a homeless person, allow myself to be taken, and report back through official channels."</p>
<p>"A convenient narrative," Dr. Santos interjected, probing for inconsistencies. "Yet you've provided no real proof of your identity."</p>
<p>Chen smiled. "I understand your skepticism, Dr. Santos. I'd be concerned if you accepted my story without question. Allow me to detail the events and then you can decide."</p>
<p>After a long, deliberate pause he adjusted his position slightly, the orange fabric of his jumpsuit rustling softly. "I set myself up downtown, avoiding any established homeless communities. I figured isolated individuals would be preferred targets. For two weeks, I made myself visible but alone."</p>
<p>"On October 1st, a black van approached me. Two agents emerged; not contractors or low-level operatives, but elite Foundation agents. I've been with MTF units long enough to recognise our own."</p>
<p>"What happened next?" Dr. Hayes asked.</p>
<p>"They offered me hot food and shelter. Following protocol, I accepted. Once inside the van, I lost consciousness - sedatives in the ventilation system, most likely. I woke up in a white room. But it wasn't a standard D-class intake facility. There were two guards stationed inside - not regular security. They were Alpha-1. Their insignias are unmistakable."</p>
<p>A ripple of surprise passed through the room. Dr. Santos felt her pulse quicken. Alpha-1, Red Right Hand, was the O5 Council's personal mobile task force.</p>
<p>"You expect us to believe that the O5 had their elite task force overseeing a routine D-class intake?" Dr. Santos's skepticism was evident.</p>
<p>"That's precisely my point," Chen emphasised with a hint of excitement in his voice. "This wasn’t a routine intake. As far as I know, routine D-class intake involves death row inmates, not homeless civilians."</p>
<p>Dr. Santos’s face reddened as she realised she’d jumped in too aggressively, aiming to poke holes in Chen’s story before fully digesting his words; and inadvertently making an ass of herself. She quickly regained her composure, straightening in her chair. "What happened next?" she asked, her voice now measured.</p>
<p>"After a few hours, they escorted me to a chamber. A containment room of some sort, guarded by Alpha-1. They instructed me to enter and sealed the door behind me."</p>
<p>"What was inside?" Dr. Santos asked impatiently, slightly leaning forward.</p>
<p>"At first glance, nothing. But I started feeling it after just a few seconds. A pervasive emptiness, as if something was siphoning away my thoughts. I believe it was an anti-memetic entity that was trying to take away my memories." Chen paused for a second. "Later I found out that it was an erasure process, designed to delete not just memories, but the very existence of a person. It was erasing me from records, from the minds of those who knew me."</p>
<p>"Yet you remember," Dr. Hayes noted, his eyes narrowing, the question slipping out with a practiced calm. "How did you retain your memories if you were subjected to such an anomaly?"</p>
<p>"I was equipped with mnestics prior to the mission," Chen explained. "A safeguard against anti-memetic threats. They were concealed on my person."</p>
<p>Dr. Santos arched an eyebrow. "D-class intake protocols involve thorough searches. How did you manage to smuggle mnestics past them?"</p>
<p>Chen hesitated for a moment, a hint of discomfort crossing his features. "They were… strategically concealed. Let's just say Alpha-1's search isn't thorough in… some certain areas of the body. Smuggling them in wasn't pleasant, but it was necessary."</p>
<p>There was a moment of silence as Dr. Hayes studied him, then gave a small nod. "And how exactly did you find out you were being erased?"</p>
<p>"After being processed at this site as a D-class, I attempted to relay my mission code to the guards. It should have triggered immediate extraction. Instead, they looked at me as if I were insane. I tried with several others, all with the same result."</p>
<p>He paused for a second, then reached into his pocket and produced a photograph, placing it gently on the table. "This is a picture of me with my wife and children. Except now, I'm not in it. I've been completely removed."</p>
<p>Dr. Santos picked up the photo, her gaze sharpening as she examined it. The image showed a woman and two children, all smiling toward the camera, but there was an unmistakable gap - an empty space at the edge, subtle but profoundly unnatural, as though someone had been carefully edited out. The family seemed to lean slightly toward the gap, caught mid-pose, with empty air filling the space that Chen once occupied. She traced her finger along the edge of the image, lips pressed into a thin line.</p>
<p>Chen’s gaze lowered, his voice barely above a whisper. "They won't even remember me. It's as if I never existed."</p>
<p>Dr. Santos placed the photo back on the table, her fingers lingering for a moment before she looked up at Chen. The emptiness in the image was haunting, but pressing further felt futile; she doubted anything more could be uncovered from questioning it.</p>
<p>Clearing her throat, she shifted her approach. "Alright," she began, redirecting her focus. "Mnestics are tightly regulated," her tone scrutinising. "How did you acquire them without leaving a trace in our records?"</p>
<p>"As I mentioned, I was issued mnestics specifically for this mission," Chen replied. "But any documentation would have been erased along with everything else about me."</p>
<p>"How convenient," Dr. Santos murmured, though her eyes betrayed a hint of concern.</p>
<p>"You're welcome to verify." Chen said calmly. "Check your mnestic inventories. You'll find a discrepancy - a missing bottle that can't be accounted for. The anti-memetic could have erased the records, but it can't account for the physical absence of that bottle itself."</p>
<p>The committee members exchanged glances. Dr. Santos recalled a recent inventory audit that had indeed flagged a missing bottle.</p>
<p>"You've already begun investigating, haven't you?" Chen observed. "Let me guess, the security footage shows no unauthorised access, but there's a gap - a few seconds where the recording is missing?"</p>
<p>Dr. Hayes’s steady composure flickered with a hint of sharpness cutting through his usual restraint. He leaned forward. "How do you know that?" He asked sharply with each word deliberate.</p>
<p>"Because I took the mnestics." Chen explained. "There has to be camera footage of that, but the erasure process didn't just target me - it targeted all evidence of my actions. Now, there has to be a gap in the camera footage instead of the records of me taking the bottle." Chen smiled.</p>
<p>A heavy silence settled over the room, thick and unyielding. Dr. Santos felt her skepticism begin to fracture, a chill creeping into her thoughts as Chen’s words sank in. The implications, if he was telling the truth, were unsettling.</p>
<p>She glanced over at Dr. Hayes, seeking a grounding presence. He met her gaze, his posture steady, composed - but there, just barely visible beneath his calm facade, was the faintest glint of fear in his eyes. It was enough to confirm that the gravity of Chen’s words was not lost on him either.</p>
<p>"We'll need time to verify your claims," she said finally with a carefully measured voice.</p>
<p>"Of course," Chen replied with a calm demeanour. "But I suggest you act swiftly. There's no telling how many others have already been erased."</p>
<p>Dr. Hayes closed his notebook loudly. "Agent Chen, we will investigate this matter thoroughly. For now, you will remain under observation."</p>
<p>"I understand." Chen said, standing as the guards entered the room to escort him out. "Thank you for your time."</p>
<p>Dr. Santos stared after him, her expression taut, fingers curling and uncurling against the table. She turned slowly to Dr. Hayes, eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and simmering anger. Her lips parted, struggling for words that wouldn’t come, until finally, a breathy, shaken whisper escaped:</p>
<p>"What… the fuck?"</p>
<p>Dr. Hayes rubbed his temples, a rare sign of fatigue. "I don't like coincidences. The missing mnestics, the gaps in security footage - it aligns with some irregularities we've been noticing."</p>
<p>"If someone is abducting civilians and erasing agents, we need to act immediately," Dr. Santos urged, her analytical mind already formulating a plan.</p>
<p>"Elena," Dr. Hayes murmured gently as they gathered their documents, a quiet caution in his tone. "Be careful. If he’s telling the truth, we’re stepping into dangerous waters. This investigation may involve people you don’t want as enemies - people who don’t take kindly to being investigated."</p>
<p>She met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a steely determination. "I know, William. We've let O5 do a lot of shady things in the past, but abducting civilians as D-classes? Using anti-memetic anomalies to erase people from existence? We can't turn a blind eye on this."</p>
<p>Dr. Hayes held her gaze for a long moment. He nodded almost imperceptibly before looking away.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>3 weeks earlier</em></p>
</div>
<p>"The judge is already arranged; the trial’s just a formality," the lawyer began with an even and detached voice. "You’ll be sentenced to death. The Foundation should step in afterwards, claiming you for their D-class program."</p>
<p>Marcus Chen, clad in an orange jumpsuit and restrained by handcuffs, sat across from his lawyer in the dimly lit, windowless room. His gaze was sharp, unyielding, as the lawyer slid a document across the table.</p>
<p>"Our agent did her part. She filed an anonymous report about herself" the lawyer said. "Omega-1 was sent in to investigate. These are the mission details." Chen leaned forward, scrutinising the paper, committing each line to memory.</p>
<p>"And the mnestics?" Chen asked with a calm voice.</p>
<p>"Handled,” the lawyer replied smoothly. "A bottle was stolen, and all relevant security footage has been erased. Their audits will flag it, no doubt."</p>
<p>The lawyer’s eyes flicked over his notes one last time before he looked Chen in the eye. "Remember, you don’t need them to completely believe you. Just enough to raise questions, stir their doubts, and start an investigation. The Foundation’s greatest weakness has always been its own paranoia. Their left hand doesn't trust their right, and the head trusts neither."</p>
<p>Chen gave a slight nod. "And once they start investigating the O5?"</p>
<p>The lawyer’s lips curled into a calculated smile. "The O5 will push back, hard. Their anger will ignite an internal conflict" he said. "We'll handle the rest."</p>
<p>Chen returned the smile, a spark of anticipation in his eyes. The Chaos Insurgency had waited patiently, biding its time, gathering its resources and embedding its agents in just the right positions within the Foundation’s ranks. Now, all they had to do was watch the Foundation turn on itself, tearing its own structures apart in pursuit of a conspiracy that didn’t exist.</p>
</div></body></html>
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[[=]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/=]]
The fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the interview room. The heavy door swung open, two guards walked in escorting the D-class inside. Dr. Elena Santos adjusted her glasses, her eyes narrowing with an intensity that belied her youth. She observed him carefully, catching the fluid grace in his movements: each step precise and purposeful. He didn’t have the shuffling gait or vacant stare typical of D-class personnel; this one seemed like he had a decent situational awareness.
"Please, have a seat," Dr. William Hayes instructed with a steady but firm voice. His weathered face bore the lines of a man who had spent decades in the Ethics Committee. At seventy-two, he was the most senior member present, carrying thirty years of experience like a mantle.
The D-class settled into the chair with perfect posture, with his hands resting calmly on the table.
"I understand you've invoked Protocol Epsilon," Dr. Hayes continued without breaking eye contact. "Just to be certain, do you know what that entails?"
"Of course," the man replied calmly. "It's the right of any Foundation personnel to request a meeting with the Ethics Committee."
Dr. Santos’s expression flickered between surprise and suspicion as she exchanged a look with Dr. Hayes. "It’s rather unusual for D-class personnel to be aware of Protocol Epsilon," she said with a sharp and challenging voice.
"That’s because I’m not your typical D-class." His gaze was piercing as if daring them to see through him. "I am Agent Marcus Chen, Omega-1 operative. I’m here to report serious ethical violations."
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Dr. Santos’s eyes narrowed with the unmistakable glint of intrigue. "Let me get this straight, you claim to be a member of Mobile Task Force Omega-1? Law’s Left Hand?"
"Exactly," Chen affirmed. "And I'm currently undercover as a D-class."
Dr. Hayes's expression remained inscrutable. "We have no record of an Agent Chen in Omega-1," he stated, his voice carrying the weight of someone accustomed to unearthing the truth.
"My records were deleted," Chen replied calmly. "We'll get to that part shortly."
Dr. Santos leaned back slightly. "Please state the last mission you participated in, the name of your superior officer, and the team members involved," she requested with suspicion evident in her voice, her eyes never leaving Chen's face.
Chen responded without hesitation as if he was expecting this question. "We got an anonymous report that Dr. Helena Frost at Site-26 was supposedly running cognitohazard experiments on D-classes without following any of the safety protocols. So, we were deployed to find out if there was any truth to it."
He leaned back, his expression hard. “The entire thing was bogus. Dr. Frost was doing exactly what she was supposed to. Whoever filed that report had no idea what they were talking about."
He continued smoothly, "My superior was Commander Rowan Pierce. My teammates were Agents Lila Grant and Leo Park."
The tension in the room thickened as Dr. Hayes and Dr. Santos exchanged a glance. The mission, and every detail he described was indeed real, and classified.
Chen leaned back. His hands folded neatly in his lap with his gaze steady. "I know it’s a lot to take in. Let me start from the beginning."
Dr. Hayes’s pen hovered mid-air. Dr. Santos appeared as she was about to interrupt, but she decided to let him speak.
"Three months ago, you began investigating discrepancies in D-class intakes. The numbers didn't match court records or prison transfers."
Dr. Santos’s eyes widened. Dr. Hayes's pen paused mid-note. That investigation was highly confidential.
"You suspected that homeless individuals were being abducted to be used as D-class personnel" Chen went on. "But you needed proof. That's where I came in. My mission was straightforward: infiltrate as a homeless person, allow myself to be taken, and report back through official channels."
"A convenient narrative," Dr. Santos interjected, probing for inconsistencies. "Yet you've provided no real proof of your identity."
Chen smiled. "I understand your skepticism, Dr. Santos. I'd be concerned if you accepted my story without question. Allow me to detail the events and then you can decide."
After a long, deliberate pause he adjusted his position slightly, the orange fabric of his jumpsuit rustling softly. "I set myself up downtown, avoiding any established homeless communities. I figured isolated individuals would be preferred targets. For two weeks, I made myself visible but alone."
"On October 1st, a black van approached me. Two agents emerged; not contractors or low-level operatives, but elite Foundation agents. I've been with MTF units long enough to recognise our own."
"What happened next?" Dr. Hayes asked.
"They offered me hot food and shelter. Following protocol, I accepted. Once inside the van, I lost consciousness - sedatives in the ventilation system, most likely. I woke up in a white room. But it wasn't a standard D-class intake facility. There were two guards stationed inside - not regular security. They were Alpha-1. Their insignias are unmistakable."
A ripple of surprise passed through the room. Dr. Santos felt her pulse quicken. Alpha-1, Red Right Hand, was the O5 Council's personal mobile task force.
"You expect us to believe that the O5 had their elite task force overseeing a routine D-class intake?" Dr. Santos's skepticism was evident.
"That's precisely my point," Chen emphasised with a hint of excitement in his voice. "This wasn’t a routine intake. As far as I know, routine D-class intake involves death row inmates, not homeless civilians."
Dr. Santos’s face reddened as she realised she’d jumped in too aggressively, aiming to poke holes in Chen’s story before fully digesting his words; and inadvertently making an ass of herself. She quickly regained her composure, straightening in her chair. "What happened next?" she asked, her voice now measured.
"After a few hours, they escorted me to a chamber. A containment room of some sort, guarded by Alpha-1. They instructed me to enter and sealed the door behind me."
"What was inside?" Dr. Santos asked impatiently, slightly leaning forward.
"At first glance, nothing. But I started feeling it after just a few seconds. A pervasive emptiness, as if something was siphoning away my thoughts. I believe it was an anti-memetic entity that was trying to take away my memories." Chen paused for a second. "Later I found out that it was an erasure process, designed to delete not just memories, but the very existence of a person. It was erasing me from records, from the minds of those who knew me."
"Yet you remember," Dr. Hayes noted, his eyes narrowing, the question slipping out with a practiced calm. "How did you retain your memories if you were subjected to such an anomaly?"
"I was equipped with mnestics prior to the mission," Chen explained. "A safeguard against anti-memetic threats. They were concealed on my person."
Dr. Santos arched an eyebrow. "D-class intake protocols involve thorough searches. How did you manage to smuggle mnestics past them?"
Chen hesitated for a moment, a hint of discomfort crossing his features. "They were… strategically concealed. Let's just say Alpha-1's search isn't thorough in... some certain areas of the body. Smuggling them in wasn't pleasant, but it was necessary."
There was a moment of silence as Dr. Hayes studied him, then gave a small nod. "And how exactly did you find out you were being erased?"
"After being processed at this site as a D-class, I attempted to relay my mission code to the guards. It should have triggered immediate extraction. Instead, they looked at me as if I were insane. I tried with several others, all with the same result."
He paused for a second, then reached into his pocket and produced a photograph, placing it gently on the table. "This is a picture of me with my wife and children. Except now, I'm not in it. I've been completely removed."
Dr. Santos picked up the photo, her gaze sharpening as she examined it. The image showed a woman and two children, all smiling toward the camera, but there was an unmistakable gap - an empty space at the edge, subtle but profoundly unnatural, as though someone had been carefully edited out. The family seemed to lean slightly toward the gap, caught mid-pose, with empty air filling the space that Chen once occupied. She traced her finger along the edge of the image, lips pressed into a thin line.
Chen’s gaze lowered, his voice barely above a whisper. "They won't even remember me. It's as if I never existed."
Dr. Santos placed the photo back on the table, her fingers lingering for a moment before she looked up at Chen. The emptiness in the image was haunting, but pressing further felt futile; she doubted anything more could be uncovered from questioning it.
Clearing her throat, she shifted her approach. "Alright," she began, redirecting her focus. "Mnestics are tightly regulated," her tone scrutinising. "How did you acquire them without leaving a trace in our records?"
"As I mentioned, I was issued mnestics specifically for this mission," Chen replied. "But any documentation would have been erased along with everything else about me."
"How convenient," Dr. Santos murmured, though her eyes betrayed a hint of concern.
"You're welcome to verify." Chen said calmly. "Check your mnestic inventories. You'll find a discrepancy - a missing bottle that can't be accounted for. The anti-memetic could have erased the records, but it can't account for the physical absence of that bottle itself."
The committee members exchanged glances. Dr. Santos recalled a recent inventory audit that had indeed flagged a missing bottle.
"You've already begun investigating, haven't you?" Chen observed. "Let me guess, the security footage shows no unauthorised access, but there's a gap - a few seconds where the recording is missing?"
Dr. Hayes’s steady composure flickered with a hint of sharpness cutting through his usual restraint. He leaned forward. "How do you know that?" He asked sharply with each word deliberate.
"Because I took the mnestics." Chen explained. "There has to be camera footage of that, but the erasure process didn't just target me - it targeted all evidence of my actions. Now, there has to be a gap in the camera footage instead of the records of me taking the bottle." Chen smiled.
A heavy silence settled over the room, thick and unyielding. Dr. Santos felt her skepticism begin to fracture, a chill creeping into her thoughts as Chen’s words sank in. The implications, if he was telling the truth, were unsettling.
She glanced over at Dr. Hayes, seeking a grounding presence. He met her gaze, his posture steady, composed - but there, just barely visible beneath his calm facade, was the faintest glint of fear in his eyes. It was enough to confirm that the gravity of Chen’s words was not lost on him either.
"We'll need time to verify your claims," she said finally with a carefully measured voice.
"Of course," Chen replied with a calm demeanour. "But I suggest you act swiftly. There's no telling how many others have already been erased."
Dr. Hayes closed his notebook loudly. "Agent Chen, we will investigate this matter thoroughly. For now, you will remain under observation."
"I understand." Chen said, standing as the guards entered the room to escort him out. "Thank you for your time."
Dr. Santos stared after him, her expression taut, fingers curling and uncurling against the table. She turned slowly to Dr. Hayes, eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and simmering anger. Her lips parted, struggling for words that wouldn’t come, until finally, a breathy, shaken whisper escaped:
"What... the fuck?"
Dr. Hayes rubbed his temples, a rare sign of fatigue. "I don't like coincidences. The missing mnestics, the gaps in security footage - it aligns with some irregularities we've been noticing."
"If someone is abducting civilians and erasing agents, we need to act immediately," Dr. Santos urged, her analytical mind already formulating a plan.
"Elena," Dr. Hayes murmured gently as they gathered their documents, a quiet caution in his tone. "Be careful. If he’s telling the truth, we’re stepping into dangerous waters. This investigation may involve people you don’t want as enemies - people who don’t take kindly to being investigated."
She met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a steely determination. "I know, William. We've let O5 do a lot of shady things in the past, but abducting civilians as D-classes? Using anti-memetic anomalies to erase people from existence? We can't turn a blind eye on this."
Dr. Hayes held her gaze for a long moment. He nodded almost imperceptibly before looking away.
------
[[=]]
//3 weeks earlier//
[[/=]]
"The judge is already arranged; the trial’s just a formality," the lawyer began with an even and detached voice. "You’ll be sentenced to death. The Foundation should step in afterwards, claiming you for their D-class program."
Marcus Chen, clad in an orange jumpsuit and restrained by handcuffs, sat across from his lawyer in the dimly lit, windowless room. His gaze was sharp, unyielding, as the lawyer slid a document across the table.
"Our agent did her part. She filed an anonymous report about herself" the lawyer said. "Omega-1 was sent in to investigate. These are the mission details." Chen leaned forward, scrutinising the paper, committing each line to memory.
"And the mnestics?" Chen asked with a calm voice.
"Handled,” the lawyer replied smoothly. "A bottle was stolen, and all relevant security footage has been erased. Their audits will flag it, no doubt."
The lawyer’s eyes flicked over his notes one last time before he looked Chen in the eye. "Remember, you don’t need them to completely believe you. Just enough to raise questions, stir their doubts, and start an investigation. The Foundation’s greatest weakness has always been its own paranoia. Their left hand doesn't trust their right, and the head trusts neither."
Chen gave a slight nod. "And once they start investigating the O5?"
The lawyer’s lips curled into a calculated smile. "The O5 will push back, hard. Their anger will ignite an internal conflict" he said. "We'll handle the rest."
Chen returned the smile, a spark of anticipation in his eyes. The Chaos Insurgency had waited patiently, biding its time, gathering its resources and embedding its agents in just the right positions within the Foundation’s ranks. Now, all they had to do was watch the Foundation turn on itself, tearing its own structures apart in pursuit of a conspiracy that didn’t exist.
|
2024-11-10T01:26:00
|
[
"ethics-committee",
"tale"
] |
Agent in Orange - SCP Foundation
| 16
|
[] |
[] |
[] |
1457307363
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/agent-in-orange
|
|
akiva-counter-operating-instructions
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>The N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter is a handheld digital device for quantifying the divine presence of a location, the piety of individuals, and the sanctity of relics.</p>
</div>
<div class="page">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:300%;"><strong>CLASSIFIED INFORMATION</strong><br/>
<strong>FOR INTERNAL USE ONLY</strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-size:220%;"><strong>DO NOT REPRODUCE OR DISSEMINATE</strong></span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:280%;"><br/>
<strong>N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter</strong><br/>
<strong>Operating Instructions</strong><br/></span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:150%;"><br/>
<strong>Produced by the Department of Tactical Theology</strong><br/>
<strong>in partnership with the Department of Manufacturing</strong><br/></span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
</div>
<div class="page">
<h2 id="toc0"><span>Table of Contents</span></h2>
<p><strong><a href="#overview">Overview</a></strong><br/>
<strong><a href="#packing-list">Packing List</a></strong><br/>
<strong><a href="#akiva">Akiva Radiation</a></strong><br/>
<strong><a href="#akiva-counter">How The Akiva Counter Works</a></strong><br/>
<strong><a href="#reference-tables">Akiva Radiation Reference Tables</a></strong><br/>
<strong><a href="#ambient-akiva">Ambient Akiva</a></strong><br/>
<strong><a href="#akiva-individuals">Individuals</a></strong><br/>
<strong><a href="#akiva-objects">Objects</a></strong><br/>
<strong><a href="#calibration">Calibration</a></strong><br/>
<strong><a href="#operation">Operation</a></strong><br/>
<strong><a href="#safety">Safety</a></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><a name="overview"></a></p>
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:250px;"><img alt="Akiva-Counter.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/akiva-counter-operating-instructions/Akiva-Counter.png"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter</p>
</div>
</div>
<h2 id="toc1"><span>Overview</span></h2>
<p>This document provides the background information and operating instructions necessary for the calibration and proper use of the N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter. This handheld digital device was designed by and manufactured for the Foundation's <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/tactical-theology-hub">Department of Tactical Theology</a>, for the purpose of quantifying Akiva radiation. Operators should carefully read this document, and adhere to the following instructions.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><a name="packing-list"></a></p>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>Packing List</span></h2>
<p>The following items are enclosed:</p>
<ul>
<li>N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter</li>
<li>Akiva Counter Operating Instructions</li>
<li>3 Entheogen Cartridges</li>
<li>Micro USB charging and data transfer cable</li>
</ul>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>1</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><a name="akiva"></a></p>
<div class="page">
<h2 id="toc3"><span>Akiva Radiation</span></h2>
<p>In the field of Tactical Theology, the use of religion to contain or neutralize divine entities, few discoveries have had more impact than the detection of Akiva radiation. Akiva radiation refers to fluctuations in the anomalous field responsible for interactions between belief and reality, typically quantified in centiAkiva (cAk). Although this Akiva field does not consist of particles, changes in the field can affect non-anomalous matter and energy, enabling fluctuations in the Akiva field caused by human belief to produce tangible alterations to reality.</p>
<p>Fluctuations in the Akiva field can only be produced by sapient entities, primarily humans, although human belief is capable of elevating or depressing the Akiva field around specific objects or locations. Further fluctuations in the Akiva field can be produced by the manifestation of a divine entity. It is unclear whether this increase in Akiva radiation reflects the human belief in the entity that is manifesting, or whether it is due to the divine being's faith in its own abilities.</p>
<p>It should be noted that a particular kind of belief is required to produce changes in the Akiva field. It is not affected by mere awareness of narratives featuring mythological entities, or by simply acknowledging the existence of another person, and so it appears that perceiving a being as both real and supernatural is required to affect the Akiva field, with the greatest changes occurring when the existence of the entity is regarded as justifying or requiring specific actions. While some refer to these beings as "gods" or "deities", these terms are not appropriate descriptors for all divine entities, as the veneration of saints, the belief in angels, and the reverence of ancestors also produce fluctuations in the Akiva field, despite these being perceived as theologically distinct from deities.</p>
<p>Fervently-held philosophical and political beliefs may also perturb the Akiva field, even when individuals openly profess their atheism. Abstract concepts such as "justice" or "the nation" can function similarly to divine entities, being non-material yet still compelling concrete action. The most notable example of this phenomenon is the so-called "Specter of Communism", which achieved apotheosis during the early 20th Century, but this phenomenon is not unique to any particular political philosophy. The best-studied example of nationalistic sentiment influencing the Akiva field is the American civil religion, which elevates Akiva counts around objects like the US Constitution, and in locations such as Washington, D.C.</p>
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<p>2</p>
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</div>
<p><a name="akiva-counter"></a></p>
<div class="page">
<h2 id="toc4"><span>How The Akiva Counter Works</span></h2>
<p>Humans have been aware of divine presence as something that can be sensed since ancient times, but this experience of the numinous could not be numerically quantified until the Paranormal Renaissance in the 19th Century. The earliest thaumometric instruments developed during this period quantified the Akiva field by measuring supernatural manifestations, such as the period of time that olive oil burned for in a menorah, or the rate at which blood flowed from the eyes of a statue of the Virgin Mary. While ingenious in their construction, these primitive Akiva counters were notoriously unreliable outside of their own specific religious context.</p>
<p>In the 1960s, the recently formed Department of Tactical Theology phased out these older designs, replacing them with Akiva detectors based on <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-brief-explanation-on-demonics">demonics, electronic circuits that summoned and incorporated demons</a>. While a properly calibrated Demonic Detector could much more reliably quantify manifestations of the divine, the demons that made them work were exorcised by high levels of Akiva radiation, and so these devices required frequent repair and recalibration. Greater awareness of the dangers of demonic technology in the 1980s resulted in their replacement by modern Akiva counters, based entirely on non-anomalous scientific principles.</p>
<p>The N-THEO (New Theological HT<sub>2A</sub> Entheogen Organic) line of Akiva Counters were created by a team lead by Foundation biochemist Doctor Gerald Dennison. Although not originally employed by the Department of Tactical Theology, he contacted the department in 1982, proposing a new method for detecting fluctuations in the Akiva field based on recent research into a class of psychedelics known as entheogens, substances which Doctor Dennison had extensive experience with. These drugs, when used as part of religious or shamanic rituals, are capable of inducing altered states of consciousness that aid the perception of the divine. Doctor Dennison hypothesised that the Akiva field affected the affinity of entheogen molecules for receptors within the brain, a theory that was later proven to be correct.</p>
<p>Although early designs required cultures of human neurons to be maintained within the device to be exposed to the entheogen mescaline, later versions of the device refined the process. The current model, the N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter, utilizes a cartridge containing multiple temperature-controlled chambers, each filled with a mixture of mescaline and recombinantly produced 5-HT<sub>2A</sub>, a serotonin receptor modified to produce a detectable fluorescent signal following agonist binding. As an entheogen, mescaline's affinity for the 5-HT<sub>2A</sub> serotonin receptor is increased by elevated levels of Akiva radiation. After calibration of the device using relics with known and consistent Akiva counts, the Akiva radiation emitted by other sources can be quantified and digitally recorded based on the detected fluorescence. This enables the ambient Akiva field at any given location to be measured, and also enables the Akiva radiation emitted by individuals and objects to be detected and quantified relative to the background.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>3</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><a name="reference-tables"></a></p>
<div class="page">
<h2 id="toc5"><span>Reference Tables</span></h2>
<p>The following information is intended to enable interpretation of the Akiva counts of locations, individuals and objects. For accurate measurements, a background reading of ambient Akiva radiation should be made in the absence of the individual or object, before repeating the measurement after bringing the individual or object into the room. While Akiva radiation is generally only detectable in the immediate vicinity of a person or object, higher than expected values will be recorded if large numbers of believers or objects with religious significance are in the same room. For optimal performance, measurements should be made under controlled conditions in a secular setting.</p>
<p>Akiva counts cannot go below zero, as this represents a complete absence of divine presence, although certain entities and objects can bring the value very close to zero.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><a name="ambient-akiva"></a></p>
<h2 id="toc6"><span>Ambient Akiva</span></h2>
<p>Before attempting to assess the effect of an individual or object on the Akiva field, it is essential to first quantify the background level of Akiva radiation in the location that the measurement is to be made in. While the Akiva field is primarily affected by the presence of believers or objects of religious significance, elevated levels of Akiva radiation are detectable in places of worship, even if all worshippers and religious symbols are removed.</p>
<p>To accurately assess a building's ambient level of Akiva radiation when unoccupied, multiple measurements should in taken in locations throughout the building, as prominent places such as the pulpit of a church or the minaret of a mosque will have notably higher readings than the rest of the building.</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th>Rating (centiAkiva)</th>
<th>Location</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>0</td>
<td>[<a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/spikebrennan-s-proposal">REDACTED</a>]</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>0.01-5</td>
<td>Desolate, profane, or desecrated space</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>5-15</td>
<td>Typical background level in a secular environment</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>15-25</td>
<td>Former place of worship</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>25-75</td>
<td>Place of worship in regular use</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>75-99</td>
<td>Site of pilgrimage</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>>99</td>
<td>Focal point of a major world religion</td>
</tr>
</table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>4</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="page">
<p>The exact level of ambient Akiva radiation in a place of worship is affected by the number of worshippers that regularly meet there, their average level of piety, and the length of time that the location has been in use for. Higher Akiva readings are detected at sites that have a history of spiritual significance to people who do not regularly attend, such as the cathedrals and monasteries that pilgrims travel to. The highest levels of ambient Akiva radiation can be detected at the focal points of major world religions, such as Mecca, Jerusalem, and Vatican City.</p>
<p>The Akiva reading of a place of worship will decrease if the location is no longer regularly used, with the definition of regular use being at least partially dependent on the religious sect utilizing it. Even if a building is formally deconsecrated and repurposed for a secular function, Akiva radiation within it will remain elevated as long as the location is recognizable as a former place of worship.</p>
<p>Outside of places of worship, Akiva levels in secular environments vary based on human population density and the general level of religious observance, although there are remote and sparely populated regions with unexpectedly high levels of Akiva radiation. Experiments performed by unmanned probes sent into outer space have determined that the Akiva Field has a <a href="/scp-3570">cosmic background constant</a> of 0.07 centiAkiva, and so Akiva counts will not get lower than this value except through anomalous means. Akiva levels below 5 centiAkiva are associated with a palpable sense of "divine absence", and include remote and inhospitable environments, former crime scenes, and most Foundation Facilities.<br/>
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<p>5</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><a name="akiva-individuals"></a></p>
<div class="page">
<h2 id="toc7"><span>Individual Akiva Emissions</span></h2>
<p>Akiva readings of individuals correspond to rankings on the <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-475">Brandon-Spencer Piety Scale</a>, with higher Akiva readings correlating with a greater willingness to make decisions based on faith in the supernatural. This measurement is particularly relevant to Tactical Theology, as <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1844">certain anomalous entities</a> can only be contained or neutralized by individuals with elevated levels of piety. Involvement with organized religion correlates with, but is not necessary for, an elevated Akiva count. Although formal recognition as a religious leader typically corresponds to an higher Akiva reading, this is not universally true, and Akiva counts provide a more accurate measurement of piety than self-reported religious observance.</p>
<p>Individual Akiva levels will be affected when within a place of worship, increasing or decreasing the ambient Akiva field. Since Akiva readings are made relative to the background level, for accurate and consistent results individual Akiva readings should be made within a secular setting (<20 centiAkiva).</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th>Rating relative to background (centiAkiva)</th>
<th>Individual</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><0</td>
<td>Antithetical to ambient Akiva</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>0-5</td>
<td>Non-human animal with no perceived religious significance</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>1-25</td>
<td>Non-religious individual</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>25-50</td>
<td>Non-practicing believer</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>50-89</td>
<td>Regularly practicing believer</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>90-134</td>
<td>Notably pious believer, religious leader</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>135-159</td>
<td>Devout religious leader</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>160-199</td>
<td>Prophet, Saint</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>>200</td>
<td>Messiah, Demigod, Deity</td>
</tr>
</table>
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<p>6</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="page">
<p>While most individuals emit a relatively stable level of Akiva radiation on a day-to-day basis, temporary spikes in Akiva readings are a normal part of religious observance, with individual prayer and contemplation typically resulting in increases of around 15 centiAkiva, and communal religious gatherings may briefly double or even triple an individual's level of piety. Temporary reductions in Akiva readings have also been reported, generally in individuals experiencing a crisis of faith.</p>
<p>While attempts have been made to correlate Akiva readings with various psychological measures, it is difficult to generalize. Although exceptionally high Akiva readings are often associated with increased altruism, elevated Akiva readings have also been reported in individuals suffering from grandiose delusions, manic behavior and pathological narcissism.</p>
<p>Akiva readings close to zero are generally detected around individuals with little or no interest in or engagement with the spiritual, supernatural or divine. When measured within secular settings, individuals with a strong commitment to atheism frequently have a higher Akiva reading than non-practicing believers, and extreme commitment to a secular political ideology has been reported to produce effects on the Akiva field that are indistinguishable from devout religious belief.</p>
<p>Since the Akiva emissions of individuals are quantified relative to the ambient level of Akiva radiation, it is possible for negative values to be registered relative to this background. In religious contexts, a reduction in the Akiva field is typically caused by antithetical belief, a strongly held objection to the religious observance occurring at that place of worship. This may be motivated by an atheistic opposition to all religion, or by a conflicting religious belief that regards the observed practices as heretical or idolatrous.</p>
<p>In secular settings, a reduction in the ambient Akiva level around an individual is usually only caused by Tartarean entities or certain forms of post-mortem reanimation. These entities can also suppress the Akiva Field within places of worship, but these effects are generally short-lived, since these entities are repelled or destroyed by sufficiently high levels of Akiva radiation. A notable exception is religious contexts in which Tartarean entities are perceived as divine, which enable these beings to increase the ambient Akiva field without being harmed by the emitted Akiva radiation.</p>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>7</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="page">
<p>While a high Akiva reading is not anomalous, it is associated with the ability to prophesy accurate information about the past, present and future, perform miraculous healings and probability alterations, and exorcise Tartarean and spectral entities, with further increases in Akiva radiation being detected during these extranormal events. Additionally, the anomalous effects studied and produced by thaumatologists are frequently accompanied by elevated levels of Akiva radiation, and it has been proposed that a certain level of faith is required to perform these anomalous reality alterations. However, this may simply be because thaumaturgy has traditionally been practiced as part of a religious or spiritual tradition, and invocations of deities and spirits continue to be used by many modern practitioners of "magic". Ontokinesis has also been associated with elevated levels of Akiva radiation, although usually only when the ontokineticist regards their abilities as a divine gift, or perceives them to be a manifestation of their own divinity. This phenomenon has not been well studied, due to the inherent dangers of reality benders with grandiose delusions.</p>
<p>Exceptionally high Akiva readings have been measured around individuals recognized by others as messiahs, demigods and deities, although many of these beings are capable of suppressing their Akiva emissions to the level of a pious human. If travelling incognito, proclamation or recognition of their divine identity will correspond to a dramatic increase in measured Akiva radiation.</p>
<p>The origin of these divine entities is the subject of ongoing debate, as there is evidence in favor of multiple hypotheses. It has been argued that these beings were <a href="/scp-3480">once human, but used thaumaturgy or ontokinesis to convince others of their divinity</a>. Others theorize that these beings are extradimensional entities originating from realities with more permissive physical laws, or that they are egregores, <a href="/scp-6659">created and sustained by belief in their existence</a>, with any miraculous reality alterations occurring in accordance with human expectations. While Akiva counters may aid in identifying divinity, they offer limited insight as to its origins.</p>
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<p>8</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><a name="akiva-objects"></a></p>
<div class="page">
<h2 id="toc8"><span>Objects</span></h2>
<p>The Akiva reading of an inanimate object appears to be determined by its perceived religious significance, and is affected by a number of factors, including the number and piety of the believers that revere the artifact, the length of time that it has been revered for, how frequently it is interacted with, and how holy it is perceived to be. The values listed below indicate the typical range for different classes of artifact.</p>
<p>As with individuals, the Akiva emissions of objects should be assessed with an ambient level of Akiva radiation <20 centiAkiva. Compared to measurements taken in a secular context, Akiva readings of the same object within a place of worship may be lower, if the object is only one of many within the building, or higher, if the object is placed at a focal point in the building or is perceived to have particular significance within that place of worship.</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th>Rating relative to background (centiAkiva)</th>
<th>Object</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><0</td>
<td>Antithetical to ambient Akiva</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>0-4</td>
<td>Inanimate object with no perceived religious significance</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>5-30</td>
<td>Object or clothing regularly used as part of a religious ritual</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>15-60</td>
<td>Religious scripture or symbol</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>30-100</td>
<td>Icon or idol</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>80-149</td>
<td>Holy relic</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>>135</td>
<td>Body of a saint</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>>150</td>
<td>Major holy relic</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>Measurements of Akiva radiation made before and after religious services indicate that the use of any object in an act of religious observance gives it at least at some religious significance, but the increase is dependent on how significant the object is perceived to be. While a piece of bread typically has negligible religious significance, its consecration as part of the Eucharist results in an elevated Akiva reading. This increase is greatest and most durable during a Catholic Mass, due to a belief in transubstantiation that is absent from most Protestant sects. Akiva radiation will gradually return to normal levels if an object is discarded or repurposed for secular use.</p>
<p>Pareidolia may also elevate the Akiva reading of an inanimate object, with increases in Akiva radiation being detectable around objects that coincidentally resemble religious symbols, such as pieces of bread that are toasted in patterns resembling depictions of the face of Jesus.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>9</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="page">
<p>Religious symbols and scripture tend to have permanently elevated Akiva levels, only returning to baseline levels if the object is destroyed in a manner that leaves it unrecognizable as an object of religious significance. A number of factors determine exactly how much Akiva Radiation is emitted by these objects, including how sacred the physical object is believed to be by the individuals that make use of it. For example, Jewish Torah and Islamic Qu'ran consistently have higher Akiva counts than Christian Bibles produced through identical methods and used with identical frequency, likely due to differing beliefs on the sacral quality of the text itself.</p>
<p>Analogue or digital recordings of religious symbols, texts, songs or sermons will also result in the storage medium emitting Akiva radiation. If an electronic device is not exclusively used for religious purposes, it will only emit Akiva radiation when displaying or playing religious content.</p>
<p>Consistently high Akiva readings are detected around objects officially recognized as holy relics, such as the bones of saints and fragments of the True Cross, making these objects useful for the calibration of Akiva counters. Whether claims made about these objects are actually true does not appear to be important, as carbon dating confirms that none of the fragments of the True Cross used by the Foundation to calibrate Akiva counters actually existed at the time of Jesus of Nazareth's death.</p>
<p>The highest Akiva counts are measured around holy relics that are explicitly mentioned in religious scripture. The exact Akiva counts of objects such as the Kaaba are difficult to quantify, because their surroundings are also regarded as holy, and there are few opportunities to transport major holy relics to a laboratory for study in a secular environment.</p>
<p>It is possible for a holy relic to suppress rather than enhance the Akiva field, if brought into a place of worship with an antithetical source of Akiva radiation. This effect is most apparent if a religious icon is brought into a place of worship used by an iconoclastic sect that regards any depiction of divine entities as blasphemous. Suppression of the Akiva field within places of worship has also been observed with certain objects of atheistic significance, such as <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4519">SCP-4519</a>. Additionally, a small number of "unholy relics" have been documented, usually associated with diabolism. These objects are capable of suppressing the ambient Akiva field even in secular environments, although they will be damaged by sufficiently elevated Akiva levels.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>10</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><a name="calibration"></a></p>
<div class="page">
<h2 id="toc9"><span>Calibration</span></h2>
<p>Akiva Counters must initially be calibrated using relics with known and consistent Akiva readings, with a baseline value being provided by a mundane object with no spiritual significance. Since all individuals affect the Akiva field around them to a varying extent, a handheld Akiva Counter must be calibrated and used by the same operator, with any change of user or significant change in the current user's piety requiring recalibration of the device.</p>
<p>Before calibrating the N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter, fully charge the device using a micro USB charging cable, then open up the back of the device and insert an Entheogen Cartridge into the designated slot inside.</p>
<p>To calibrate the N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter, carefully follow the following instructions, in an environment with a background Akiva level <20 centiAkiva:</p>
<ol>
<li>Switch on the Akiva Counter, then wait for 1 minute.</li>
<li>To minimize operator interference, the operator should spend this minute focusing their attention on the device and the numbers on its display.</li>
<li>Press and hold the "CAL" button for 3 seconds.</li>
<li>Press and hold the "COUNT" button for 3 seconds to record the background level of Akiva radiation, in the absence of any objects.</li>
<li>Bring the first calibration relic into the room.</li>
<li>Hold the device in one hand, and hold it close to the calibration relic. For optimal performance, the device should be held exactly 3 cm away from the calibration relic when the reading is taken.</li>
<li>Press the "COUNT" button to record an Akiva reading.</li>
<li>Repeat the previous three steps for each Calibration relic.</li>
<li>Press and hold the "CAL" button for 3 seconds to skip a pre-programmed Calibration step. Calibration will automatically end when the last relic is counted or skipped.</li>
</ol>
<p>The Akiva Counter has now been calibrated.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>Although skipping calibration steps is possible if an artifact is unavailable, it is not recommended, as this will reduce the accuracy of any readings made. Non-anomalous objects are used whenever possible. <a href="/scp-4960">SCP-4960</a> is not strictly necessary, but does provides a convenient upper bound for most Akiva counts, minimizing the need for extrapolation. The anomaly is currently provided with a stable level of worship, so fluctuations in its Akiva emissions are infrequent.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>11</p>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<a name="operation"></a>
<div class="page">
<p>The standard pre-programmed sequence of calibration relics is shown below. A different set of artifacts may be programmed into the device using the USB data transfer cable.</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th>Value (centiAkiva)</th>
<th>Object</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>-6</td>
<td><a href="/undervegas-hub">"Undervegas"</a> branded playing cards, imported from Hell by <a href="/scp-4661">Site-666</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>0</td>
<td>Blank book</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>10</td>
<td>Holy water</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>16</td>
<td>Mass produced Bible, New International Version</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>24</td>
<td>Mass produced Quran (cannot be substituted for a translation)</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>30</td>
<td>Eucharist consecrated by a Catholic preist</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>80</td>
<td>Fragment of the True Cross</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>136</td>
<td>3 grams of bone from Saint Albertus Magnus, patron saint of scientists</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>204</td>
<td><a href="/scp-4960">SCP-4960</a>, a physical manifestation of the goddess Kedesh-Nanaya</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h2 id="toc10"><span>Operation</span></h2>
<p>To utilize a calibrated Akiva Counter, carefully follow the following instructions:</p>
<ol>
<li>Switch on the Akiva Counter, then wait for 1 minute.</li>
<li>To minimize operator interference, the operator should spend this minute focusing their attention on the device and the numbers on its display.</li>
<li>Press and hold the "COUNT" button for three seconds to record the background level of Akiva radiation, in the absence of any individuals or objects.</li>
<li>Press the "COUNT" button in close proximity to an individual or object to record a background-adjusted Akiva count. For optimal performance, the device should be held exactly 3 cm away from an object when a reading is taken, and should be pointed at the head in the case of human subjects.</li>
<li>Press the "LOG" button to see a record of previous Akiva readings and the time at which each was taken. Use the "COUNT" and "CAL" buttons to cycle through the list of previous Akiva readings.</li>
<li>Press "LOG" again to close the list.</li>
</ol>
<p>Recorded results can be exported from the device using a micro USB cable, and will be formatted as a .csv file.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>12</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><a name="safety"></a></p>
<div class="page">
<h2 id="toc11"><span>Safety</span></h2>
<ul>
<li>Do not attempt to perform measurements when the battery is low.</li>
<li>Do not expose the device to temperatures less than 0°C or in excess of 50°C for extended periods. If the device is exposed to these temperatures while unpowered, discard and replace the Entheogen Cartridge.</li>
<li>Do not subject the Akiva Counter to heavy impacts.</li>
<li>The Akiva Counter should remain dry. Place the device within a sealed plastic bag in conditions of high humidity or when dispensing Holy Water.</li>
<li>Do not pray, chant or sing while operating the device.</li>
<li>Do not blaspheme, curse or use religious profanity while holding the device.</li>
<li>Turn off the device when not in use.</li>
</ul>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h2 id="toc12"><span><strong>WARNING!</strong></span></h2>
<p>Akiva radiation in excess of 400 centiAkiva is considered lethal, with human exposure consistently resulting in immediate death by seizure, stroke, immolation, or transformation into salt.</p>
<p>Akiva radiation in excess of 200 centiAkiva has also been linked to adverse health outcomes, including but not limited to death, disease, disability, animal attacks and extreme weather events.</p>
<p>Elevated levels of Akiva Radiation may also be benign or even beneficial, resulting in miraculous healing, prophesy, a profound experience of the numinous, or the advantageous occurrence of low-probability events.</p>
<p>High levels of Akiva radiation have also been associated with an increased chance of pregnancy, even in individuals otherwise deemed to be infertile, and in rare cases even in the absence of sexual intercourse.</p>
<p>Given the unpredictable effects of divine intervention, users of the N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter operate the device at their own risk, and are advised to immediately leave the area if an Akiva reading in excess of 200 centiAkiva is detected.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>13</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/akiva-counter-operating-instructions">Akiva Counter Operating Instructions</a>" by Jerden, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/akiva-counter-operating-instructions">https://scpwiki.com/akiva-counter-operating-instructions</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> DoTT.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/aethris" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5158506); return false;"><img alt="Aethris" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=5158506&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736540992" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=5158506)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/aethris" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5158506); return false;">Aethris</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en">CC BY SA 3.0</a><br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facility-dossier-reliquary-area-27">https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facility-dossier-reliquary-area-27</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> ind.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/osobist" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(993772); return false;"><img alt="Osobist" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=993772&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736540992" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=993772)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/osobist" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(993772); return false;">Osobist</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en">CC BY SA 3.0</a><br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/list-of-foundation-s-internal-departments">https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/list-of-foundation-s-internal-departments</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Akiva-Counter<br/>
<strong>Original Name:</strong> Soeks_01M.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Likhachev0, modified by Jerden<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en">CC BY SA 3.0</a><br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Soeks_01M.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Soeks_01M.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=The N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter is a handheld digital device for quantifying the divine presence of a location, the piety of individuals, and the sanctity of relics.]]
=====
[[module CSS]]
div.page{
float: center;
border: solid 4px #444444;
padding: 15px 15px 15px 15px;
margin-bottom: 20px;
box-shadow: 2px 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2 );
width: 1pw;
}
.logo-container {
display: flex;
flex-wrap: wrap;
align-content: center;
justify-content: space-around;
align-self: flex-end
gap: 1rem 1rem;
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div class="page"]]
[[=]]
[[size 300%]]**CLASSIFIED INFORMATION**
**FOR INTERNAL USE ONLY**[[/size]]
[[size 220%]]**DO NOT REPRODUCE OR DISSEMINATE**[[/size]]
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
[[size 280%]]
**N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter**
**Operating Instructions**
[[/size]]
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
[[size 150%]]
**Produced by the Department of Tactical Theology**
**in partnership with the Department of Manufacturing**
[[/size]]
[[/=]]
[[div class="logo-container"]]
[[image http://scp-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/main/scp-logo-en-400.png width="150px"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/secure-facility-dossier-reliquary-area-27/DoTT.png width="150px"]]
[[image https://scp-ru.wdfiles.com/local--files/list-of-foundation-s-internal-departments/ind.png width="150px"]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[/div]]
[[div class="page"]]
++ Table of Contents
**[#overview Overview]**
**[#packing-list Packing List]**
**[#akiva Akiva Radiation]**
**[#akiva-counter How The Akiva Counter Works]**
**[#reference-tables Akiva Radiation Reference Tables]**
**[#ambient-akiva Ambient Akiva]**
**[#akiva-individuals Individuals]**
**[#akiva-objects Objects]**
**[#calibration Calibration]**
**[#operation Operation]**
**[#safety Safety]**
@@ @@
[[# overview]]
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/akiva-counter-operating-instructions/Akiva-Counter.png| caption=N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter| width=250px
]]
++ Overview
This document provides the background information and operating instructions necessary for the calibration and proper use of the N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter. This handheld digital device was designed by and manufactured for the Foundation's [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/tactical-theology-hub | Department of Tactical Theology]]], for the purpose of quantifying Akiva radiation. Operators should carefully read this document, and adhere to the following instructions.
@@ @@
[[# packing-list]]
++ Packing List
The following items are enclosed:
* N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter
* Akiva Counter Operating Instructions
* 3 Entheogen Cartridges
* Micro USB charging and data transfer cable
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[[=]]
1
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[# akiva]]
[[div class="page"]]
++ Akiva Radiation
In the field of Tactical Theology, the use of religion to contain or neutralize divine entities, few discoveries have had more impact than the detection of Akiva radiation. Akiva radiation refers to fluctuations in the anomalous field responsible for interactions between belief and reality, typically quantified in centiAkiva (cAk). Although this Akiva field does not consist of particles, changes in the field can affect non-anomalous matter and energy, enabling fluctuations in the Akiva field caused by human belief to produce tangible alterations to reality.
Fluctuations in the Akiva field can only be produced by sapient entities, primarily humans, although human belief is capable of elevating or depressing the Akiva field around specific objects or locations. Further fluctuations in the Akiva field can be produced by the manifestation of a divine entity. It is unclear whether this increase in Akiva radiation reflects the human belief in the entity that is manifesting, or whether it is due to the divine being's faith in its own abilities.
It should be noted that a particular kind of belief is required to produce changes in the Akiva field. It is not affected by mere awareness of narratives featuring mythological entities, or by simply acknowledging the existence of another person, and so it appears that perceiving a being as both real and supernatural is required to affect the Akiva field, with the greatest changes occurring when the existence of the entity is regarded as justifying or requiring specific actions. While some refer to these beings as "gods" or "deities", these terms are not appropriate descriptors for all divine entities, as the veneration of saints, the belief in angels, and the reverence of ancestors also produce fluctuations in the Akiva field, despite these being perceived as theologically distinct from deities.
Fervently-held philosophical and political beliefs may also perturb the Akiva field, even when individuals openly profess their atheism. Abstract concepts such as "justice" or "the nation" can function similarly to divine entities, being non-material yet still compelling concrete action. The most notable example of this phenomenon is the so-called "Specter of Communism", which achieved apotheosis during the early 20th Century, but this phenomenon is not unique to any particular political philosophy. The best-studied example of nationalistic sentiment influencing the Akiva field is the American civil religion, which elevates Akiva counts around objects like the US Constitution, and in locations such as Washington, D.C.
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[[=]]
2
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[# akiva-counter]]
[[div class="page"]]
++ How The Akiva Counter Works
Humans have been aware of divine presence as something that can be sensed since ancient times, but this experience of the numinous could not be numerically quantified until the Paranormal Renaissance in the 19th Century. The earliest thaumometric instruments developed during this period quantified the Akiva field by measuring supernatural manifestations, such as the period of time that olive oil burned for in a menorah, or the rate at which blood flowed from the eyes of a statue of the Virgin Mary. While ingenious in their construction, these primitive Akiva counters were notoriously unreliable outside of their own specific religious context.
In the 1960s, the recently formed Department of Tactical Theology phased out these older designs, replacing them with Akiva detectors based on [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-brief-explanation-on-demonics | demonics, electronic circuits that summoned and incorporated demons]]]. While a properly calibrated Demonic Detector could much more reliably quantify manifestations of the divine, the demons that made them work were exorcised by high levels of Akiva radiation, and so these devices required frequent repair and recalibration. Greater awareness of the dangers of demonic technology in the 1980s resulted in their replacement by modern Akiva counters, based entirely on non-anomalous scientific principles.
The N-THEO (New Theological HT,,2A,, Entheogen Organic) line of Akiva Counters were created by a team lead by Foundation biochemist Doctor Gerald Dennison. Although not originally employed by the Department of Tactical Theology, he contacted the department in 1982, proposing a new method for detecting fluctuations in the Akiva field based on recent research into a class of psychedelics known as entheogens, substances which Doctor Dennison had extensive experience with. These drugs, when used as part of religious or shamanic rituals, are capable of inducing altered states of consciousness that aid the perception of the divine. Doctor Dennison hypothesised that the Akiva field affected the affinity of entheogen molecules for receptors within the brain, a theory that was later proven to be correct.
Although early designs required cultures of human neurons to be maintained within the device to be exposed to the entheogen mescaline, later versions of the device refined the process. The current model, the N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter, utilizes a cartridge containing multiple temperature-controlled chambers, each filled with a mixture of mescaline and recombinantly produced 5-HT,,2A,,, a serotonin receptor modified to produce a detectable fluorescent signal following agonist binding. As an entheogen, mescaline's affinity for the 5-HT,,2A,, serotonin receptor is increased by elevated levels of Akiva radiation. After calibration of the device using relics with known and consistent Akiva counts, the Akiva radiation emitted by other sources can be quantified and digitally recorded based on the detected fluorescence. This enables the ambient Akiva field at any given location to be measured, and also enables the Akiva radiation emitted by individuals and objects to be detected and quantified relative to the background.
[[=]]
3
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[# reference-tables]]
[[div class="page"]]
++ Reference Tables
The following information is intended to enable interpretation of the Akiva counts of locations, individuals and objects. For accurate measurements, a background reading of ambient Akiva radiation should be made in the absence of the individual or object, before repeating the measurement after bringing the individual or object into the room. While Akiva radiation is generally only detectable in the immediate vicinity of a person or object, higher than expected values will be recorded if large numbers of believers or objects with religious significance are in the same room. For optimal performance, measurements should be made under controlled conditions in a secular setting.
Akiva counts cannot go below zero, as this represents a complete absence of divine presence, although certain entities and objects can bring the value very close to zero.
@@ @@
[[# ambient-akiva]]
++ Ambient Akiva
Before attempting to assess the effect of an individual or object on the Akiva field, it is essential to first quantify the background level of Akiva radiation in the location that the measurement is to be made in. While the Akiva field is primarily affected by the presence of believers or objects of religious significance, elevated levels of Akiva radiation are detectable in places of worship, even if all worshippers and religious symbols are removed.
To accurately assess a building's ambient level of Akiva radiation when unoccupied, multiple measurements should in taken in locations throughout the building, as prominent places such as the pulpit of a church or the minaret of a mosque will have notably higher readings than the rest of the building.
||~ Rating (centiAkiva) ||~ Location ||
|| 0 || [[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/spikebrennan-s-proposal REDACTED]] ||
|| 0.01-5 || Desolate, profane, or desecrated space ||
|| 5-15 || Typical background level in a secular environment ||
|| 15-25 || Former place of worship ||
|| 25-75 || Place of worship in regular use ||
|| 75-99 || Site of pilgrimage ||
|| >99 || Focal point of a major world religion ||
[[=]]
4
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="page"]]
The exact level of ambient Akiva radiation in a place of worship is affected by the number of worshippers that regularly meet there, their average level of piety, and the length of time that the location has been in use for. Higher Akiva readings are detected at sites that have a history of spiritual significance to people who do not regularly attend, such as the cathedrals and monasteries that pilgrims travel to. The highest levels of ambient Akiva radiation can be detected at the focal points of major world religions, such as Mecca, Jerusalem, and Vatican City.
The Akiva reading of a place of worship will decrease if the location is no longer regularly used, with the definition of regular use being at least partially dependent on the religious sect utilizing it. Even if a building is formally deconsecrated and repurposed for a secular function, Akiva radiation within it will remain elevated as long as the location is recognizable as a former place of worship.
Outside of places of worship, Akiva levels in secular environments vary based on human population density and the general level of religious observance, although there are remote and sparely populated regions with unexpectedly high levels of Akiva radiation. Experiments performed by unmanned probes sent into outer space have determined that the Akiva Field has a [[[scp-3570| cosmic background constant]]] of 0.07 centiAkiva, and so Akiva counts will not get lower than this value except through anomalous means. Akiva levels below 5 centiAkiva are associated with a palpable sense of "divine absence", and include remote and inhospitable environments, former crime scenes, and most Foundation Facilities.
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5
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[# akiva-individuals]]
[[div class="page"]]
++ Individual Akiva Emissions
Akiva readings of individuals correspond to rankings on the [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-475 |Brandon-Spencer Piety Scale]]], with higher Akiva readings correlating with a greater willingness to make decisions based on faith in the supernatural. This measurement is particularly relevant to Tactical Theology, as [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1844 | certain anomalous entities]]] can only be contained or neutralized by individuals with elevated levels of piety. Involvement with organized religion correlates with, but is not necessary for, an elevated Akiva count. Although formal recognition as a religious leader typically corresponds to an higher Akiva reading, this is not universally true, and Akiva counts provide a more accurate measurement of piety than self-reported religious observance.
Individual Akiva levels will be affected when within a place of worship, increasing or decreasing the ambient Akiva field. Since Akiva readings are made relative to the background level, for accurate and consistent results individual Akiva readings should be made within a secular setting (<20 centiAkiva).
||~ Rating relative to background (centiAkiva) ||~ Individual ||
|| <0 || Antithetical to ambient Akiva ||
|| 0-5 || Non-human animal with no perceived religious significance ||
|| 1-25 || Non-religious individual ||
|| 25-50 || Non-practicing believer ||
|| 50-89 || Regularly practicing believer ||
|| 90-134 || Notably pious believer, religious leader ||
|| 135-159 || Devout religious leader ||
|| 160-199 || Prophet, Saint ||
|| >200 || Messiah, Demigod, Deity ||
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[[=]]
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[[/=]]
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[[div class="page"]]
While most individuals emit a relatively stable level of Akiva radiation on a day-to-day basis, temporary spikes in Akiva readings are a normal part of religious observance, with individual prayer and contemplation typically resulting in increases of around 15 centiAkiva, and communal religious gatherings may briefly double or even triple an individual's level of piety. Temporary reductions in Akiva readings have also been reported, generally in individuals experiencing a crisis of faith.
While attempts have been made to correlate Akiva readings with various psychological measures, it is difficult to generalize. Although exceptionally high Akiva readings are often associated with increased altruism, elevated Akiva readings have also been reported in individuals suffering from grandiose delusions, manic behavior and pathological narcissism.
Akiva readings close to zero are generally detected around individuals with little or no interest in or engagement with the spiritual, supernatural or divine. When measured within secular settings, individuals with a strong commitment to atheism frequently have a higher Akiva reading than non-practicing believers, and extreme commitment to a secular political ideology has been reported to produce effects on the Akiva field that are indistinguishable from devout religious belief.
Since the Akiva emissions of individuals are quantified relative to the ambient level of Akiva radiation, it is possible for negative values to be registered relative to this background. In religious contexts, a reduction in the Akiva field is typically caused by antithetical belief, a strongly held objection to the religious observance occurring at that place of worship. This may be motivated by an atheistic opposition to all religion, or by a conflicting religious belief that regards the observed practices as heretical or idolatrous.
In secular settings, a reduction in the ambient Akiva level around an individual is usually only caused by Tartarean entities or certain forms of post-mortem reanimation. These entities can also suppress the Akiva Field within places of worship, but these effects are generally short-lived, since these entities are repelled or destroyed by sufficiently high levels of Akiva radiation. A notable exception is religious contexts in which Tartarean entities are perceived as divine, which enable these beings to increase the ambient Akiva field without being harmed by the emitted Akiva radiation.
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[[div class="page"]]
While a high Akiva reading is not anomalous, it is associated with the ability to prophesy accurate information about the past, present and future, perform miraculous healings and probability alterations, and exorcise Tartarean and spectral entities, with further increases in Akiva radiation being detected during these extranormal events. Additionally, the anomalous effects studied and produced by thaumatologists are frequently accompanied by elevated levels of Akiva radiation, and it has been proposed that a certain level of faith is required to perform these anomalous reality alterations. However, this may simply be because thaumaturgy has traditionally been practiced as part of a religious or spiritual tradition, and invocations of deities and spirits continue to be used by many modern practitioners of "magic". Ontokinesis has also been associated with elevated levels of Akiva radiation, although usually only when the ontokineticist regards their abilities as a divine gift, or perceives them to be a manifestation of their own divinity. This phenomenon has not been well studied, due to the inherent dangers of reality benders with grandiose delusions.
Exceptionally high Akiva readings have been measured around individuals recognized by others as messiahs, demigods and deities, although many of these beings are capable of suppressing their Akiva emissions to the level of a pious human. If travelling incognito, proclamation or recognition of their divine identity will correspond to a dramatic increase in measured Akiva radiation.
The origin of these divine entities is the subject of ongoing debate, as there is evidence in favor of multiple hypotheses. It has been argued that these beings were [[[scp-3480| once human, but used thaumaturgy or ontokinesis to convince others of their divinity]]]. Others theorize that these beings are extradimensional entities originating from realities with more permissive physical laws, or that they are egregores, [[[scp-6659 | created and sustained by belief in their existence]]], with any miraculous reality alterations occurring in accordance with human expectations. While Akiva counters may aid in identifying divinity, they offer limited insight as to its origins.
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[[/div]]
[[# akiva-objects]]
[[div class="page"]]
++ Objects
The Akiva reading of an inanimate object appears to be determined by its perceived religious significance, and is affected by a number of factors, including the number and piety of the believers that revere the artifact, the length of time that it has been revered for, how frequently it is interacted with, and how holy it is perceived to be. The values listed below indicate the typical range for different classes of artifact.
As with individuals, the Akiva emissions of objects should be assessed with an ambient level of Akiva radiation <20 centiAkiva. Compared to measurements taken in a secular context, Akiva readings of the same object within a place of worship may be lower, if the object is only one of many within the building, or higher, if the object is placed at a focal point in the building or is perceived to have particular significance within that place of worship.
||~ Rating relative to background (centiAkiva) ||~ Object||
|| <0 || Antithetical to ambient Akiva ||
|| 0-4 || Inanimate object with no perceived religious significance ||
|| 5-30 || Object or clothing regularly used as part of a religious ritual ||
|| 15-60 || Religious scripture or symbol ||
|| 30-100 || Icon or idol ||
|| 80-149 || Holy relic ||
|| >135|| Body of a saint ||
|| >150 || Major holy relic ||
Measurements of Akiva radiation made before and after religious services indicate that the use of any object in an act of religious observance gives it at least at some religious significance, but the increase is dependent on how significant the object is perceived to be. While a piece of bread typically has negligible religious significance, its consecration as part of the Eucharist results in an elevated Akiva reading. This increase is greatest and most durable during a Catholic Mass, due to a belief in transubstantiation that is absent from most Protestant sects. Akiva radiation will gradually return to normal levels if an object is discarded or repurposed for secular use.
Pareidolia may also elevate the Akiva reading of an inanimate object, with increases in Akiva radiation being detectable around objects that coincidentally resemble religious symbols, such as pieces of bread that are toasted in patterns resembling depictions of the face of Jesus.
[[=]]
9
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="page"]]
Religious symbols and scripture tend to have permanently elevated Akiva levels, only returning to baseline levels if the object is destroyed in a manner that leaves it unrecognizable as an object of religious significance. A number of factors determine exactly how much Akiva Radiation is emitted by these objects, including how sacred the physical object is believed to be by the individuals that make use of it. For example, Jewish Torah and Islamic Qu'ran consistently have higher Akiva counts than Christian Bibles produced through identical methods and used with identical frequency, likely due to differing beliefs on the sacral quality of the text itself.
Analogue or digital recordings of religious symbols, texts, songs or sermons will also result in the storage medium emitting Akiva radiation. If an electronic device is not exclusively used for religious purposes, it will only emit Akiva radiation when displaying or playing religious content.
Consistently high Akiva readings are detected around objects officially recognized as holy relics, such as the bones of saints and fragments of the True Cross, making these objects useful for the calibration of Akiva counters. Whether claims made about these objects are actually true does not appear to be important, as carbon dating confirms that none of the fragments of the True Cross used by the Foundation to calibrate Akiva counters actually existed at the time of Jesus of Nazareth's death.
The highest Akiva counts are measured around holy relics that are explicitly mentioned in religious scripture. The exact Akiva counts of objects such as the Kaaba are difficult to quantify, because their surroundings are also regarded as holy, and there are few opportunities to transport major holy relics to a laboratory for study in a secular environment.
It is possible for a holy relic to suppress rather than enhance the Akiva field, if brought into a place of worship with an antithetical source of Akiva radiation. This effect is most apparent if a religious icon is brought into a place of worship used by an iconoclastic sect that regards any depiction of divine entities as blasphemous. Suppression of the Akiva field within places of worship has also been observed with certain objects of atheistic significance, such as [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4519 | SCP-4519]]]. Additionally, a small number of "unholy relics" have been documented, usually associated with diabolism. These objects are capable of suppressing the ambient Akiva field even in secular environments, although they will be damaged by sufficiently elevated Akiva levels.
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[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[# calibration]]
[[div class="page"]]
++ Calibration
Akiva Counters must initially be calibrated using relics with known and consistent Akiva readings, with a baseline value being provided by a mundane object with no spiritual significance. Since all individuals affect the Akiva field around them to a varying extent, a handheld Akiva Counter must be calibrated and used by the same operator, with any change of user or significant change in the current user's piety requiring recalibration of the device.
Before calibrating the N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter, fully charge the device using a micro USB charging cable, then open up the back of the device and insert an Entheogen Cartridge into the designated slot inside.
To calibrate the N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter, carefully follow the following instructions, in an environment with a background Akiva level <20 centiAkiva:
# Switch on the Akiva Counter, then wait for 1 minute.
# To minimize operator interference, the operator should spend this minute focusing their attention on the device and the numbers on its display.
# Press and hold the "CAL" button for 3 seconds.
# Press and hold the "COUNT" button for 3 seconds to record the background level of Akiva radiation, in the absence of any objects.
# Bring the first calibration relic into the room.
# Hold the device in one hand, and hold it close to the calibration relic. For optimal performance, the device should be held exactly 3 cm away from the calibration relic when the reading is taken.
# Press the "COUNT" button to record an Akiva reading.
# Repeat the previous three steps for each Calibration relic.
# Press and hold the "CAL" button for 3 seconds to skip a pre-programmed Calibration step. Calibration will automatically end when the last relic is counted or skipped.
The Akiva Counter has now been calibrated.
@@ @@
Although skipping calibration steps is possible if an artifact is unavailable, it is not recommended, as this will reduce the accuracy of any readings made. Non-anomalous objects are used whenever possible. [[[SCP-4960]]] is not strictly necessary, but does provides a convenient upper bound for most Akiva counts, minimizing the need for extrapolation. The anomaly is currently provided with a stable level of worship, so fluctuations in its Akiva emissions are infrequent.
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[[=]]
11
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[# operation]]
[[div class="page"]]
The standard pre-programmed sequence of calibration relics is shown below. A different set of artifacts may be programmed into the device using the USB data transfer cable.
||~ Value (centiAkiva) ||~ Object||
|| -6 || [[[undervegas-hub | "Undervegas"]]] branded playing cards, imported from Hell by [[[SCP-4661 | Site-666]]] ||
|| 0 || Blank book ||
|| 10 || Holy water ||
|| 16 || Mass produced Bible, New International Version ||
|| 24 || Mass produced Quran (cannot be substituted for a translation) ||
|| 30 || Eucharist consecrated by a Catholic preist ||
|| 80 || Fragment of the True Cross ||
|| 136 || 3 grams of bone from Saint Albertus Magnus, patron saint of scientists ||
|| 204 || [[[SCP-4960]]], a physical manifestation of the goddess Kedesh-Nanaya ||
@@ @@
++ Operation
To utilize a calibrated Akiva Counter, carefully follow the following instructions:
# Switch on the Akiva Counter, then wait for 1 minute.
# To minimize operator interference, the operator should spend this minute focusing their attention on the device and the numbers on its display.
# Press and hold the "COUNT" button for three seconds to record the background level of Akiva radiation, in the absence of any individuals or objects.
# Press the "COUNT" button in close proximity to an individual or object to record a background-adjusted Akiva count. For optimal performance, the device should be held exactly 3 cm away from an object when a reading is taken, and should be pointed at the head in the case of human subjects.
# Press the "LOG" button to see a record of previous Akiva readings and the time at which each was taken. Use the "COUNT" and "CAL" buttons to cycle through the list of previous Akiva readings.
# Press "LOG" again to close the list.
Recorded results can be exported from the device using a micro USB cable, and will be formatted as a .csv file.
@@ @@
[[=]]
12
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[# safety]]
[[div class="page"]]
++ Safety
* Do not attempt to perform measurements when the battery is low.
* Do not expose the device to temperatures less than 0°C or in excess of 50°C for extended periods. If the device is exposed to these temperatures while unpowered, discard and replace the Entheogen Cartridge.
* Do not subject the Akiva Counter to heavy impacts.
* The Akiva Counter should remain dry. Place the device within a sealed plastic bag in conditions of high humidity or when dispensing Holy Water.
* Do not pray, chant or sing while operating the device.
* Do not blaspheme, curse or use religious profanity while holding the device.
* Turn off the device when not in use.
@@ @@
++ **WARNING!**
Akiva radiation in excess of 400 centiAkiva is considered lethal, with human exposure consistently resulting in immediate death by seizure, stroke, immolation, or transformation into salt.
Akiva radiation in excess of 200 centiAkiva has also been linked to adverse health outcomes, including but not limited to death, disease, disability, animal attacks and extreme weather events.
Elevated levels of Akiva Radiation may also be benign or even beneficial, resulting in miraculous healing, prophesy, a profound experience of the numinous, or the advantageous occurrence of low-probability events.
High levels of Akiva radiation have also been associated with an increased chance of pregnancy, even in individuals otherwise deemed to be infertile, and in rare cases even in the absence of sexual intercourse.
Given the unpredictable effects of divine intervention, users of the N-THEO Gen IV Akiva Counter operate the device at their own risk, and are advised to immediately leave the area if an Akiva reading in excess of 200 centiAkiva is detected.
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[[=]]
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[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Filename:** DoTT.png
> **Author:** [[*user Aethris]]
> **License:** [https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en CC BY SA 3.0]
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facility-dossier-reliquary-area-27
> **Filename:** ind.png
> **Author:** [[*user Osobist]]
> **License:** [https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en CC BY SA 3.0]
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/list-of-foundation-s-internal-departments
> **Filename:** Akiva-Counter
> **Original Name:** Soeks_01M.jpg
> **Author:** Likhachev0, modified by Jerden
> **License:** [https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en CC BY SA 3.0]
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Soeks_01M.jpg
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-04-25T10:16:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"featured",
"no-dialogue",
"religious-fiction",
"science-fiction",
"tactical-theology",
"tale",
"worldbuilding"
] |
Akiva Counter Operating Instructions - SCP Foundation
| 94
|
[
"akiva-counter-operating-instructions#overview",
"akiva-counter-operating-instructions#packing-list",
"akiva-counter-operating-instructions#akiva",
"akiva-counter-operating-instructions#akiva-counter",
"akiva-counter-operating-instructions#reference-tables",
"akiva-counter-operating-instructions#ambient-akiva",
"akiva-counter-operating-instructions#akiva-individuals",
"akiva-counter-operating-instructions#akiva-objects",
"akiva-counter-operating-instructions#calibration",
"akiva-counter-operating-instructions#operation",
"akiva-counter-operating-instructions#safety",
"tactical-theology-hub",
"a-brief-explanation-on-demonics",
"spikebrennan-s-proposal",
"scp-3570",
"scp-475",
"scp-1844",
"scp-3480",
"scp-6659",
"scp-4519",
"scp-4960",
"undervegas-hub",
"scp-4661",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide",
"secure-facility-dossier-reliquary-area-27",
"list-of-foundation-s-internal-departments"
] |
[
"tactical-theology-hub",
"featured-tale-archive-ii"
] |
[
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/akiva-counter-operating-instructions/Akiva-Counter.png"
] |
1453444201
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/akiva-counter-operating-instructions
|
|
alex-thorley-becomes-a-producer
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
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<p>At that moment, there was no work, no bagel, no Foundation. There was only music.</p>
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<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
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<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
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<p><strong>Recommended Reading Music?</strong></p>
<p>I don't think these tracks are suitable for reading, but they're definitely good tracks and the main inspiration for this article.<br/>
Also definitely <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">not</span> a chance to show off my obscure taste for music.</p>
<p><a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/5xqOpAnJTwIHskhXKJ1gA9">Track 1</a> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/28EcnxNVQvVr8lZF8pqwZ2">Track 2</a> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/5tZmoUKN7KmAu5ghfj0IFi">Track 3</a></p>
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<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aminimalist-bhl/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
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Silence in the studio.</p>
<p>It's bloody hot in here. The padded walls do more than keep sound in. You stop staring at the black screen of the laptop and turn to stare at something else. There is a CD in your hands, and you need to get outside the city. The mixing knobs linger with grease and sweat from your fingers.</p>
<p>The lighting is poor and damp. It's more successful at making you sleepy and tired than illuminating the room. You take a glance at the dark recording room, but nothing greets your sight.</p>
<p>You decide to leave the dust-coated bagel on the laptop keyboard. You turn off the lights, and shut the door.</p>
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<p>The skyscrapers are grey, and so is the sky. The leaves do not sway. You stand in the center of a massive junction, completely devoid of traffic. The lights keep flashing, though. You pick a direction and start walking. The clouds above you drift slowly off towards somewhere.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Occasionally, your skin thrums to your heartbeat. Like a beating drum, sounding somewhere in the distance. Confined in a black room, hot, flashing, sweating. You've never been to a rave before.</p>
<p>The air feels dense and warm. Your clothes stick to your skin. You want to take your jumper off, but you don't. You pass through locked stores and shops, selling pale fruits and colorless curiosities.</p>
<p>You long for color.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Halfway out of the city. You're not sure how you can tell. The towers of concrete are uniform in style, almost repeating. You decide it must have something to do with some of the buildings gradually being more unrepaired. Some are missing windows. Some are missing altogether.</p>
<p>The asphalt burns your soles. You spot a motorcycle in the distant alley. It looks vintage, muscular. Its metallic sheen is pleasing to look at. You drag the vehicle on the middle of the road. You've never rode a motorcycle before. There is no police, no traffic rules. The road stretches straightly forward.</p>
<p>There's a speed limit sign ahead. It says nothing.</p>
<p>A small breeze blows as you start the motorcycle. You wonder if it will rain.</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
The road ends, transitioning into a vast, infinite opening. The ground is completely flat and reflective, like a huge mirror. It's making it a little hard to discern the sky from the land. The remaining buildings, now only a concrete shell, speed past you. The city behind you slowly shrinks. First a black mound. Then a line. Then a dot. Then nothing.</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
You are truly out of the city now.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>You drive your motorcycle a little faster.<br/>
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<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
You stand up from the ground, a little shocked but unscathed. The sky seems a bit darker than before. The motorcycle has drifted off a few hundred meters in front of you, already at its destination. You walk to it, and see a DJ controller atop a small table. To your left and right are a set of stereo speakers, elevated to your height.</p>
<p><tt>»INSERT DISC</tt></p>
<p>You insert the CD in a conveniently placed CD player nearby.</p>
<p><tt>»WARNING: DATA CORRUPTION DETECTED. POTENTIAL FAILURE IMMINENT.</tt></p>
<p><tt>PROCEED? Y/N</tt></p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><tt>»yes</tt></p>
<p><tt>»NOW PLAYING: [THIS MUSIC DOES NOT EXIST].mp3</tt></p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>The speakers pop to life. You look up from the monitor and see metal girders now elevated in front of you, supporting floodlights and lasers shining on the nonexistent dancefloor, shimmering with their monochromatic visual effects. The cue button glows.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>Synth. Guitar. Drum. Kick. The pale grey world trembles with your music. It shudders, and so do you. Lights and flashes in unison with the rhythm. A crowd of dancing Alex Thorleys manifest in front of you. They seem to enjoy your taste of music as well.</p>
<p>At that moment, there was no work, no bagel, no Foundation.</p>
<p>There was only music.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
You could feel the world pulsing with your every turn of the knob, every flick of the bars. The ground turns more transparent, allowing you to see the clouds below. The fog machines turn on, and the beams of lights refract in the fog, producing little particles of color.</p>
<p>You find yourself alone, and the music louder and clearer. No one is here to question you. No one is here to give you jobs and chores. You have found solace in the drums and the saw waves, more than the silence could ever offer. You are not ignorant of the fact that all of this is merely an illusion, and you are still sitting on your chair in Site-19, in the lukewarm and humid air, staring at your computer screen.</p>
<p>The moment feels so fragile, so unreal. You know that all of this will end soon, and simply a touch from others might break it, and you would be thrust back into your mundane life that you dreaded so much, with all the bagels and sushis and work and whatnot. You are also well aware that everything that ever exist will fade into oblivion someday, and you do not matter all that much, not to the foundation nor to the world.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>But Alex Thorley didn't care, for at that moment, there was music.</p>
<p>You are immersed in the music that you made, that you truly take pride in. And that was enough.</p>
<p>You snap out of your trance and keep adjusting the knobs. Far out into the distance, you could see distant silhouettes big as mountains, hidden by the fog, dancing along to your music.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>And the earth trembles to their footsteps, as if relieving a sigh.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
And Alex Thorley smiles.</p>
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<p>Cite this page as:</p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/alex-thorley-becomes-a-producer">Alex Thorley Becomes A Producer</a>" by (user deleted), from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/alex-thorley-becomes-a-producer">https://scpwiki.com/alex-thorley-becomes-a-producer</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p><strong>Filename:</strong> unreality1.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="error-inline"><em>VoxHardcore</em> does not match any existing user name</span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
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<strong>Name:</strong> time lapse photography of city building<br/>
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<strong>Author:</strong> Yassine Khalfalli<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Unsplash<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/black-and-gray-laptop-computer-on-black-table-rpAUDvI47ZY">https://unsplash.com/photos/black-and-gray-laptop-computer-on-black-table-rpAUDvI47ZY</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> unreality.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="error-inline"><em>VoxHardcore</em> does not match any existing user name</span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=At that moment, there was no work, no bagel, no Foundation. There was only music.]]
=====
[[>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[=]]
**Recommended Reading Music?**
I don't think these tracks are suitable for reading, but they're definitely good tracks and the main inspiration for this article.
Also definitely --not-- a chance to show off my obscure taste for music.
[[[https://open.spotify.com/track/5xqOpAnJTwIHskhXKJ1gA9 |Track 1]]] [[[https://open.spotify.com/track/28EcnxNVQvVr8lZF8pqwZ2 |Track 2]]] [[[https://open.spotify.com/track/5tZmoUKN7KmAu5ghfj0IFi |Track 3]]]
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:minimalist-bhl">:scp-wiki:theme:minimalist-bhl</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
body {
background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(245, 245, 245, 1) 0%, rgba(245, 245, 245, 0.4) 100%), url("http://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/local--files/alex-thorley-becomes-a-dj-producer/unreality.jpg");
background-repeat:no-repeat;
background-size:cover;
background-attachment: scroll, fixed;
background-position:50% 70%;
color:F5F5F5;
}
[[/module]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
Silence in the studio.
It's bloody hot in here. The padded walls do more than keep sound in. You stop staring at the black screen of the laptop and turn to stare at something else. There is a CD in your hands, and you need to get outside the city. The mixing knobs linger with grease and sweat from your fingers.
The lighting is poor and damp. It's more successful at making you sleepy and tired than illuminating the room. You take a glance at the dark recording room, but nothing greets your sight.
You decide to leave the dust-coated bagel on the laptop keyboard. You turn off the lights, and shut the door.
@@ @@
@@ @@
-----
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
The skyscrapers are grey, and so is the sky. The leaves do not sway. You stand in the center of a massive junction, completely devoid of traffic. The lights keep flashing, though. You pick a direction and start walking. The clouds above you drift slowly off towards somewhere.
@@ @@
Occasionally, your skin thrums to your heartbeat. Like a beating drum, sounding somewhere in the distance. Confined in a black room, hot, flashing, sweating. You've never been to a rave before.
The air feels dense and warm. Your clothes stick to your skin. You want to take your jumper off, but you don't. You pass through locked stores and shops, selling pale fruits and colorless curiosities.
You long for color.
@@ @@
@@ @@
Halfway out of the city. You're not sure how you can tell. The towers of concrete are uniform in style, almost repeating. You decide it must have something to do with some of the buildings gradually being more unrepaired. Some are missing windows. Some are missing altogether.
The asphalt burns your soles. You spot a motorcycle in the distant alley. It looks vintage, muscular. Its metallic sheen is pleasing to look at. You drag the vehicle on the middle of the road. You've never rode a motorcycle before. There is no police, no traffic rules. The road stretches straightly forward.
There's a speed limit sign ahead. It says nothing.
A small breeze blows as you start the motorcycle. You wonder if it will rain.
@@ @@
@@ @@
-----
@@ @@
@@ @@
The road ends, transitioning into a vast, infinite opening. The ground is completely flat and reflective, like a huge mirror. It's making it a little hard to discern the sky from the land. The remaining buildings, now only a concrete shell, speed past you. The city behind you slowly shrinks. First a black mound. Then a line. Then a dot. Then nothing.
@@ @@
@@ @@
You are truly out of the city now.
@@ @@
You drive your motorcycle a little faster.
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
-----
@@ @@
You stand up from the ground, a little shocked but unscathed. The sky seems a bit darker than before. The motorcycle has drifted off a few hundred meters in front of you, already at its destination. You walk to it, and see a DJ controller atop a small table. To your left and right are a set of stereo speakers, elevated to your height.
{{>>INSERT DISC}}
You insert the CD in a conveniently placed CD player nearby.
{{>>WARNING: DATA CORRUPTION DETECTED. POTENTIAL FAILURE IMMINENT.}}
{{PROCEED? Y/N}}
...
...
{{>>yes}}
{{>>NOW PLAYING: [THIS MUSIC DOES NOT EXIST].mp3}}
...
...
...
The speakers pop to life. You look up from the monitor and see metal girders now elevated in front of you, supporting floodlights and lasers shining on the nonexistent dancefloor, shimmering with their monochromatic visual effects. The cue button glows.
@@ @@
Synth. Guitar. Drum. Kick. The pale grey world trembles with your music. It shudders, and so do you. Lights and flashes in unison with the rhythm. A crowd of dancing Alex Thorleys manifest in front of you. They seem to enjoy your taste of music as well.
At that moment, there was no work, no bagel, no Foundation.
There was only music.
@@ @@
@@ @@
You could feel the world pulsing with your every turn of the knob, every flick of the bars. The ground turns more transparent, allowing you to see the clouds below. The fog machines turn on, and the beams of lights refract in the fog, producing little particles of color.
You find yourself alone, and the music louder and clearer. No one is here to question you. No one is here to give you jobs and chores. You have found solace in the drums and the saw waves, more than the silence could ever offer. You are not ignorant of the fact that all of this is merely an illusion, and you are still sitting on your chair in Site-19, in the lukewarm and humid air, staring at your computer screen.
The moment feels so fragile, so unreal. You know that all of this will end soon, and simply a touch from others might break it, and you would be thrust back into your mundane life that you dreaded so much, with all the bagels and sushis and work and whatnot. You are also well aware that everything that ever exist will fade into oblivion someday, and you do not matter all that much, not to the foundation nor to the world.
@@ @@
But Alex Thorley didn't care, for at that moment, there was music.
You are immersed in the music that you made, that you truly take pride in. And that was enough.
You snap out of your trance and keep adjusting the knobs. Far out into the distance, you could see distant silhouettes big as mountains, hidden by the fog, dancing along to your music.
@@ @@
And the earth trembles to their footsteps, as if relieving a sigh.
@@ @@
And Alex Thorley smiles.
[[footnoteblock]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Filename:** unreality1.png
> **Author:** [[*user VoxHardcore]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:**
> **Derivative Of:**
>
> **Name:** time lapse photography of city building
> **Author:** Rafael de Nadai
> **License:** Unsplash
> **Source Link:** https://unsplash.com/photos/time-lapse-photography-of-city-building-b0eg-PYGICQ
> **Filename:** unreality2.jpg
> **Author:** [[*user VoxHardcore]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:**
> **Derivative Of:**
>
> **Name:** black and gray laptop computer on black table
> **Author:** Yassine Khalfalli
> **License:** Unsplash
> **Source Link:** https://unsplash.com/photos/black-and-gray-laptop-computer-on-black-table-rpAUDvI47ZY
> **Filename:** unreality.jpg
> **Author:** [[*user VoxHardcore]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:**
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-06-28T19:31:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"alex-thorley",
"pridefest2024",
"second-person",
"surrealism",
"tale",
"unreality-dept"
] |
Alex Thorley Becomes A Producer - SCP Foundation
| 2
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"pridefest"
] |
[] |
1454335239
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/alex-thorley-becomes-a-producer
|
|
alex-thorley-confuses-a-guy
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>Alex Thorley stared blankly at Thomas MacLean.</p>
<p>Thomas MacLean glared suspiciously at Alex Thorley.</p>
<p>Eventually, Alex Thorley blinked.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right; margin-right: 2em; margin-top: -20px;">
<p>by <a href="/koths-korner">Kothardarastrix</a></p>
</div>
<p>Though Director Thomas MacLean was more than ten years retired from combat, he nonetheless endeavored to remain as close to fighting shape as was still feasible at his age. He hadn’t quite managed to fend off a cookie-induced dad bod, but there were still enough muscles under that gut to really hurt somebody if the need ever arose. Muscles weren’t everything, though, so he had also made a habit of walking a more or less complete circuit of <a href="/secure-facility-dossier-area-14">Area-14</a>’s subterranean hallways every morning. Cardio aside, it was also a great way to keep tabs on his facility and its employees, making sure everybody was where they were supposed to be and doing what they were supposed to be doing.</p>
<p>That’s why, on what MacLean estimated to be his three-thousand-and-somethingth trip through Section S1, he noticed the extra office immediately.</p>
<p>"Jerry," he said into a walkie-talkie, "I think we’ve got a loose anomaly in S1."</p>
<p>"Where?" responded Jericho Epstein (no relation), containment supervisor of Area-14.</p>
<p>"South hallway, between <a href="/scp-7241">Walldén</a>’s office and…Conrad’s. Looks like an office door, but there’s never been one here. Nameplate says-"</p>
<p>As if on cue, the mystery door swung open. MacLean immediately drew his pistol, ready to blast whatever extradimensional monster popped out back into the place it’d popped from. Disappointingly, he was confronted only by a completely normal-looking person.</p>
<p>"Oh," they said, distantly, "where am I this time?" They didn’t seem to notice the gun, which was perplexing.</p>
<p>"Who the hell are you?" MacLean demanded.</p>
<p>With the same amount of confusion they always had, the newcomer jutted their thumb at the nameplate on the door.</p>
<p>"Alex Thorley," they mumbled.</p>
<hr/>
<p>There was a clock in Director MacLean’s office. It was black, and it had "AC/DC" on it in angular red letters. For five minutes, its steady ticking had been the only sound in that office besides breathing and the harmonizing hums of air filtration and electric light.</p>
<p>Alex Thorley stared blankly at Thomas MacLean.</p>
<p>Thomas MacLean glared suspiciously at Alex Thorley.</p>
<p>Eventually, Alex Thorley blinked.</p>
<p>Director MacLean picked up the corded phone on his desk. Like most things at Area-14, it was both very secure and very outdated. He dialed a number that always had adverse effects on his blood pressure.</p>
<p>"I need you to confirm someone’s clearance for me."</p>
<p>On the wall behind the desk, a frame housed an assortment of medals. Thorley didn’t know what they meant, not even the Foundation Star.</p>
<p>"Some guy-"</p>
<p>Thorley cleared their throat.</p>
<p>Slowly, MacLean lowered the phone.</p>
<p>"They/them," Thorley said, to the dying aloe Vera on the edge of MacLean’s desk.</p>
<p>MacLean grunted an apology, then brought the phone back to his ear. "Some person calling themself Alex Thorley. Says they’re from a 'Department of Unreality,' whatever that means."</p>
<p>Thorley nodded. Their blank eyes rolled slowly to a Celtic cross on another wall, hanging slightly above eye level.</p>
<p>"No, I was <em>not</em> informed," MacLean said indignantly.</p>
<p>One of Thorley’s fingernails tapped against a snow globe. MacLean glared at them, but they didn’t notice. The globe contained a miniature replica of some building Thorley didn’t recognize.</p>
<p>"What do you mean, ‘major’ facilities?"</p>
<p>Thorley’s stomach rumbled. Bagels.</p>
<p>"Fine. Hold on."</p>
<p>MacLean turned to his computer, to which a mostly-blank file had just been sent. He grew visibly angrier as he read it, but Thorley didn’t notice. They were wondering if AC/DC was a band.</p>
<p>"Are you sure this isn’t memetic? Antimememetic? Cognitohazard? What about one of those bureaucracy hazards?"</p>
<p>Thorley looked down at themself. They didn’t feel very bureaucratic.</p>
<p>Grumbling unintelligibly, MacLean hung up the phone with as much irritation as one could safely apply to a line with RAISA on the other end. He glared at Alex Thorley.</p>
<p>Alex Thorley stared back.</p>
<p>MacLean crossed his arms.</p>
<p>Alex Thorley blinked.</p>
<p>"So let me get this straight," MacLean complained, "you just show up in my secure facility, where the slightest mistake could get thousands of people horribly killed, and I’m just supposed to let you wander around, not doing anything, until your <a href="/the-castaway-from-unreality">weird teleporting office</a> decides to make you someone else’s problem?"</p>
<p>Thorley thought about that for a second. "Um," they said. That was it.</p>
<p>"Um what?" the director demanded.</p>
<p>"That sounds right. Mostly."</p>
<p>"Mostly?"</p>
<p>"I don’t not do anything."</p>
<p>"Then what <em>do</em> you do?" he said, with exasperation.</p>
<p>"Nothing."</p>
<p>MacLean looked at Thorley like one of them was going crazy.</p>
<p>"Is that…different from not doing anything?"</p>
<p>Thorley thought about it.</p>
<p>"I think so."</p>
<p>"You think so."</p>
<p>"I think."</p>
<p>MacLean was, frankly, at a loss. His decades on the most traditionally militaristic Mobile Task Force had not given him much experience with esoteric bullshit, nor had his time as director of the Foundation’s most traditionally militaristic facility. He was used to guns and monsters, not whatever this was.</p>
<p>"Do you…contain things? Things that aren’t real or something?"</p>
<p>Thorley scratched their ear.</p>
<p>"<a href="/scp-7195">I have a cat</a>. Sometimes."</p>
<p>It wasn’t clear if that had been meant as an answer to his question.</p>
<p>"Do you do research? Or…<em>un</em>search?" MacLean wasn’t sure if a nonsensical answer would be better or worse than none at all.</p>
<p>"Huh?" Thorley asked. They hadn’t been listening. MacLean wondered if they were sleepwalking.</p>
<p>"Researcher Thorley," he said, using all his military discipline to keep his Irish temper down, "surely there has got to be some sort of task, or responsibility, or job description for whatever it is that you do. Something with spreadsheets maybe?"</p>
<p>Thorley put a hand to their chin. "I guess I eat pretty often."</p>
<p>MacLean scowled. He did not have time for this nonsense!</p>
<p>Hmm. Nonsense.</p>
<p>He glanced at the bottom right drawer of his desk. That drawer was full of nonsense. Recordings of <a href="/scp-058">SCP-058</a>’s ceaseless gibbering, and hundreds of pages of rambling notes that the late Dr. Conrad Scott had made while trying - and failing - to decipher them. Dr. Scott, beside whose office Thorley’s had appeared. Did that mean something? Probably not. This was probably just some mind-affecting thing that had somehow slipped past all the departments in charge of that and done a very bad job of impersonating a real member of personnel. But if it <em>did</em> mean something…</p>
<p>"Does the phrase ‘<a href="/the-drooling-path">the drooling path</a>’ mean anything to you?" He felt foolish even asking.</p>
<p>Thorley thought. "Should it?"</p>
<p>MacLean raised an eyebrow. "Should it?"</p>
<p>Thorley looked around the room. They stared at each of the back corners for a different amount of time. "I don’t think so."</p>
<p>Then they looked directly at MacLean, and for the first time, there was an expression on that blank slate of a face. Not one he could recognize, though. "Does it mean something to you?" Thorley asked.</p>
<p>"Should it?" MacLean replied, taken aback.</p>
<p>"Should it?" Thorley repeated, unreadable expression unchanging.</p>
<p>Something was happening. "Yes," he felt his mouth say.</p>
<p>Thorley nodded very, very slowly. "Yes."</p>
<p>"Yes," MacLean agreed automatically, to something.</p>
<p>For ten seconds, they sat in silence. AC/DC ticked along down the highway to noon.</p>
<p>MacLean looked at Thorley. They were the most bland person he had ever seen. He wasn’t sure that he could’ve picked out a single identifying characteristic, from their brownish-blackish-reddish-blondish hair to their bluish-brownish-greenish-grayish eyes to their whitish-grayish-yellowish-brownish clothes. It felt like they'd fade seamlessly into the buzzing fluorescence of that windowless concrete tomb if MacLean looked at them too hard. It was weird. Really weird. <em>Too</em> weird.</p>
<p>"Ugh," he grunted, rubbing his eyes. "I don’t know what you are or how you fooled RAISA, but I cannot let an uncontained anomaly wander around my Area."</p>
<p>"What am I supposed to do, then?" Thorley didn’t even sound annoyed, but the director was annoyed enough for both of them.</p>
<p>"I’m going to take you back to your office and you’re going to stay there until it's somewhere else." He would’ve much rather stuffed this thing in a containment cell, but if RAISA really thought they were a legitimate member of personnel that was unlikely to turn out well.</p>
<p>"Okay," they agreed, with a readiness that took him by surprise. They didn’t seem to be in any hurry, though, not even when he stood up and gestured towards the door. He was about to clarify that this had been an order when Thorley finally spoke up.</p>
<p>"Can I have some food first?"</p>
<hr/>
<p>Despite the two armed guards that accompanied the Director and the Reality Liaison, Thorley almost got lost and wandered off two separate times in the short distance between MacLean’s office and theirs. Eventually, MacLean decided to just grab Thorley’s shoulder and half-lead, half-push them along. They didn’t seem to mind, being more engrossed in the lukewarm hot pocket that MacLean had reluctantly provided from his office mini fridge.</p>
<p>MacLean had half expected Thorley’s office to stop existing before they got back to it, but it remained stubbornly real nonetheless. He went ahead and opened it, since Thorley either hadn’t bothered or hadn’t remembered to lock it on the way out.</p>
<p>There was a whole entire African elephant inside.</p>
<p>"What the hell?!" MacLean swore.</p>
<p>The elephant blinked at him.</p>
<p>"What?" Thorley asked, running their vague eyes over the otherwise nearly empty room. Besides the gigantic pachyderm, the only thing in it was a neatly unused desk, scooted up against a random stretch of off-white wall.</p>
<p>"You don’t see that?" he blurted.</p>
<p>"I…see my office?"</p>
<p>The director turned to the guards. "Do <em>you</em> see that?"</p>
<p>They nodded in mutual befuddlement.</p>
<p>"See what?" Thorley repeated, looking slowly between the director, the guards, and the-</p>
<p><a href="/scp-8591">The elephant in the room.</a></p>
<p>MacLean’s fists clenched. No. Absolutely not.</p>
<p>"Never mind," he grunted through gritted teeth. With one hand, he motivated Thorley through the door less gently than was polite but less roughly than he’d have liked. With the other, he pulled it shut.</p>
<p>"Have a nice day," he muttered. Then he turned to the guards.</p>
<p>"Don’t let anything out of this office."</p>
<p>"Aye, sir."</p>
<p>At that, he resumed his so-strangely-interrupted walk…for about ten steps. Then he stopped, looked back at the guards, and said the last of many ridiculous things that had crossed his lips since the Department of Unreality reared its surreal head.</p>
<p>"And don’t let <em>nothing</em> out of it either!"</p>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
Alex Thorley stared blankly at Thomas MacLean.
Thomas MacLean glared suspiciously at Alex Thorley.
Eventually, Alex Thorley blinked.
]]
=====
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[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div style="text-align: right; margin-right: 2em; margin-top: -20px;"]]
by [[[Koths Korner| Kothardarastrix]]]
[[/div]]
Though Director Thomas MacLean was more than ten years retired from combat, he nonetheless endeavored to remain as close to fighting shape as was still feasible at his age. He hadn’t quite managed to fend off a cookie-induced dad bod, but there were still enough muscles under that gut to really hurt somebody if the need ever arose. Muscles weren’t everything, though, so he had also made a habit of walking a more or less complete circuit of [[[secure-facility-dossier-area-14 |Area-14]]]’s subterranean hallways every morning. Cardio aside, it was also a great way to keep tabs on his facility and its employees, making sure everybody was where they were supposed to be and doing what they were supposed to be doing.
That’s why, on what MacLean estimated to be his three-thousand-and-somethingth trip through Section S1, he noticed the extra office immediately.
"Jerry," he said into a walkie-talkie, "I think we’ve got a loose anomaly in S1."
"Where?" responded Jericho Epstein (no relation), containment supervisor of Area-14.
"South hallway, between [[[scp-7241 |Walldén]]]’s office and…Conrad’s. Looks like an office door, but there’s never been one here. Nameplate says-"
As if on cue, the mystery door swung open. MacLean immediately drew his pistol, ready to blast whatever extradimensional monster popped out back into the place it’d popped from. Disappointingly, he was confronted only by a completely normal-looking person.
"Oh," they said, distantly, "where am I this time?" They didn’t seem to notice the gun, which was perplexing.
"Who the hell are you?" MacLean demanded.
With the same amount of confusion they always had, the newcomer jutted their thumb at the nameplate on the door.
"Alex Thorley," they mumbled.
----
There was a clock in Director MacLean’s office. It was black, and it had "AC/DC" on it in angular red letters. For five minutes, its steady ticking had been the only sound in that office besides breathing and the harmonizing hums of air filtration and electric light.
Alex Thorley stared blankly at Thomas MacLean.
Thomas MacLean glared suspiciously at Alex Thorley.
Eventually, Alex Thorley blinked.
Director MacLean picked up the corded phone on his desk. Like most things at Area-14, it was both very secure and very outdated. He dialed a number that always had adverse effects on his blood pressure.
"I need you to confirm someone’s clearance for me."
On the wall behind the desk, a frame housed an assortment of medals. Thorley didn’t know what they meant, not even the Foundation Star.
"Some guy-"
Thorley cleared their throat.
Slowly, MacLean lowered the phone.
"They/them," Thorley said, to the dying aloe Vera on the edge of MacLean’s desk.
MacLean grunted an apology, then brought the phone back to his ear. "Some person calling themself Alex Thorley. Says they’re from a 'Department of Unreality,' whatever that means."
Thorley nodded. Their blank eyes rolled slowly to a Celtic cross on another wall, hanging slightly above eye level.
"No, I was //not// informed," MacLean said indignantly.
One of Thorley’s fingernails tapped against a snow globe. MacLean glared at them, but they didn’t notice. The globe contained a miniature replica of some building Thorley didn’t recognize.
"What do you mean, ‘major’ facilities?"
Thorley’s stomach rumbled. Bagels.
"Fine. Hold on."
MacLean turned to his computer, to which a mostly-blank file had just been sent. He grew visibly angrier as he read it, but Thorley didn’t notice. They were wondering if AC/DC was a band.
"Are you sure this isn’t memetic? Antimememetic? Cognitohazard? What about one of those bureaucracy hazards?"
Thorley looked down at themself. They didn’t feel very bureaucratic.
Grumbling unintelligibly, MacLean hung up the phone with as much irritation as one could safely apply to a line with RAISA on the other end. He glared at Alex Thorley.
Alex Thorley stared back.
MacLean crossed his arms.
Alex Thorley blinked.
"So let me get this straight," MacLean complained, "you just show up in my secure facility, where the slightest mistake could get thousands of people horribly killed, and I’m just supposed to let you wander around, not doing anything, until your [[[the-castaway-from-unreality |weird teleporting office]]] decides to make you someone else’s problem?"
Thorley thought about that for a second. "Um," they said. That was it.
"Um what?" the director demanded.
"That sounds right. Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"I don’t not do anything."
"Then what //do// you do?" he said, with exasperation.
"Nothing."
MacLean looked at Thorley like one of them was going crazy.
"Is that…different from not doing anything?"
Thorley thought about it.
"I think so."
"You think so."
"I think."
MacLean was, frankly, at a loss. His decades on the most traditionally militaristic Mobile Task Force had not given him much experience with esoteric bullshit, nor had his time as director of the Foundation’s most traditionally militaristic facility. He was used to guns and monsters, not whatever this was.
"Do you…contain things? Things that aren’t real or something?"
Thorley scratched their ear.
"[[[scp-7195 |I have a cat]]]. Sometimes."
It wasn’t clear if that had been meant as an answer to his question.
"Do you do research? Or…//un//search?" MacLean wasn’t sure if a nonsensical answer would be better or worse than none at all.
"Huh?" Thorley asked. They hadn’t been listening. MacLean wondered if they were sleepwalking.
"Researcher Thorley," he said, using all his military discipline to keep his Irish temper down, "surely there has got to be some sort of task, or responsibility, or job description for whatever it is that you do. Something with spreadsheets maybe?"
Thorley put a hand to their chin. "I guess I eat pretty often."
MacLean scowled. He did not have time for this nonsense!
Hmm. Nonsense.
He glanced at the bottom right drawer of his desk. That drawer was full of nonsense. Recordings of [[[SCP-058]]]’s ceaseless gibbering, and hundreds of pages of rambling notes that the late Dr. Conrad Scott had made while trying - and failing - to decipher them. Dr. Scott, beside whose office Thorley’s had appeared. Did that mean something? Probably not. This was probably just some mind-affecting thing that had somehow slipped past all the departments in charge of that and done a very bad job of impersonating a real member of personnel. But if it //did// mean something…
"Does the phrase ‘[[[the drooling path]]]’ mean anything to you?" He felt foolish even asking.
Thorley thought. "Should it?"
MacLean raised an eyebrow. "Should it?"
Thorley looked around the room. They stared at each of the back corners for a different amount of time. "I don’t think so."
Then they looked directly at MacLean, and for the first time, there was an expression on that blank slate of a face. Not one he could recognize, though. "Does it mean something to you?" Thorley asked.
"Should it?" MacLean replied, taken aback.
"Should it?" Thorley repeated, unreadable expression unchanging.
Something was happening. "Yes," he felt his mouth say.
Thorley nodded very, very slowly. "Yes."
"Yes," MacLean agreed automatically, to something.
For ten seconds, they sat in silence. AC/DC ticked along down the highway to noon.
MacLean looked at Thorley. They were the most bland person he had ever seen. He wasn’t sure that he could’ve picked out a single identifying characteristic, from their brownish-blackish-reddish-blondish hair to their bluish-brownish-greenish-grayish eyes to their whitish-grayish-yellowish-brownish clothes. It felt like they'd fade seamlessly into the buzzing fluorescence of that windowless concrete tomb if MacLean looked at them too hard. It was weird. Really weird. //Too// weird.
"Ugh," he grunted, rubbing his eyes. "I don’t know what you are or how you fooled RAISA, but I cannot let an uncontained anomaly wander around my Area."
"What am I supposed to do, then?" Thorley didn’t even sound annoyed, but the director was annoyed enough for both of them.
"I’m going to take you back to your office and you’re going to stay there until it's somewhere else." He would’ve much rather stuffed this thing in a containment cell, but if RAISA really thought they were a legitimate member of personnel that was unlikely to turn out well.
"Okay," they agreed, with a readiness that took him by surprise. They didn’t seem to be in any hurry, though, not even when he stood up and gestured towards the door. He was about to clarify that this had been an order when Thorley finally spoke up.
"Can I have some food first?"
----
Despite the two armed guards that accompanied the Director and the Reality Liaison, Thorley almost got lost and wandered off two separate times in the short distance between MacLean’s office and theirs. Eventually, MacLean decided to just grab Thorley’s shoulder and half-lead, half-push them along. They didn’t seem to mind, being more engrossed in the lukewarm hot pocket that MacLean had reluctantly provided from his office mini fridge.
MacLean had half expected Thorley’s office to stop existing before they got back to it, but it remained stubbornly real nonetheless. He went ahead and opened it, since Thorley either hadn’t bothered or hadn’t remembered to lock it on the way out.
There was a whole entire African elephant inside.
"What the hell?!" MacLean swore.
The elephant blinked at him.
"What?" Thorley asked, running their vague eyes over the otherwise nearly empty room. Besides the gigantic pachyderm, the only thing in it was a neatly unused desk, scooted up against a random stretch of off-white wall.
"You don’t see that?" he blurted.
"I…see my office?"
The director turned to the guards. "Do //you// see that?"
They nodded in mutual befuddlement.
"See what?" Thorley repeated, looking slowly between the director, the guards, and the-
[[[scp-8591 |The elephant in the room.]]]
MacLean’s fists clenched. No. Absolutely not.
"Never mind," he grunted through gritted teeth. With one hand, he motivated Thorley through the door less gently than was polite but less roughly than he’d have liked. With the other, he pulled it shut.
"Have a nice day," he muttered. Then he turned to the guards.
"Don’t let anything out of this office."
"Aye, sir."
At that, he resumed his so-strangely-interrupted walk…for about ten steps. Then he stopped, looked back at the guards, and said the last of many ridiculous things that had crossed his lips since the Department of Unreality reared its surreal head.
"And don’t let //nothing// out of it either!"
|
2024-04-06T18:24:00
|
[
"alex-thorley",
"comedy",
"tale",
"unreality-dept"
] |
Alex Thorley Confuses a Guy - SCP Foundation
| 40
|
[
"koths-korner",
"secure-facility-dossier-area-14",
"scp-7241",
"the-castaway-from-unreality",
"scp-7195",
"scp-058",
"the-drooling-path",
"scp-8591"
] |
[
"unreality-hub"
] |
[] |
1453264145
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/alex-thorley-confuses-a-guy
|
|
alex-thorley-unclogs-the-drain
|
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<p>Dad, have you seen my shirt? Prom is tonight, I have to be at her house by, like, six.</p>
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My drain is clogged.
<p>The drain's pretty tight. There's a really slick, gooey moisture too when I stick my fingers in it. I feel my mouth purse. I've been picking hair out of it for a little while now.</p>
<p>I have a hair-catcher, but I have to take it out to clean it and stuff, so it's not always in there, and sometimes stuff gets under it anyway. Cleaning the drain isn't so bad. It isn't gross, it's my hair. Plus, I got it wet when I turned on the shower. So, it's not like it has that chalky burning feel to it. It has a texture that hurts me when it's dry. I have to wash my hands a few times to make it go away.</p>
<p>There isn't a lot of hair in the drain, actually. When I turn on the shower, it backs up crazy high in a pretty short amount of time. I had it on for a minute or two before I started cleaning, and it took up most of my bathtub in only a few minutes.</p>
<p>The yellow ring around the tub that water leaves behind, it's still there, so that's something I'll have to clean later too. But the little strands of hair I'm pulling out now, no way this is what's clogging it.</p>
<p>I have a plastic bag next to me that I'm throwing the hair in. It's a bag from Target. It was just in the recycling bin in the hallway, my neighbor probably put it in there. Easy and convenient for putting hair away. I feel like I'm tearing up my knuckles a bit, getting so deep in there. I wonder what's going on down there. I keep it clean so I'm not worried about bugs or anything, but I hope I don't have to go get Drain-o or talk to my <a href="/disintegration">landlord</a> or even worse hire a plumber; I really just want this to work.</p>
<p>…Something like a wet cloth…</p>
<p>There's something lodged pretty deep in there. I pull my hand out and I just look at it for a while. I'm trying to decide if the sensation burns or not. It feels fine, but it's really new, so I turn on the faucet and I run my finger under it for a little bit.</p>
<p>I have a memory about doing something like this. This wasn't that long ago even, maybe 4 or 5 years ago.<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<p><em>It was somebody else's bathroom. I was kneeling over the bathtub fishing around in the drain. I was pulling out hair, and it looked like mine, but I'm not sure if it was or not. There was a counter next to the shower, and on it there was a blow-dryer plugged into a socket by the mirror, and a long purple dress, and some earrings clipped to it. I kept digging around in the drain, pulling out the hair and leaving them in the middle of the tub and that's when I felt a kind of wet cloth texture.</em></p>
<p><em>I had to pull away and wave and waggle my hand in the open air, because the texture was hurting me.</em></p>
<p><em>I stood up and turned on the shower and it was fine.</em></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
Because of that, I wondered if it'd just be fine if I turned on the shower now that I touched it. I stood up and I turned on the hot water and I stood back and watched as it <em>splittt spzzt</em> then started pouring down. I looked down at the tub, at the drain, and I saw the water was catching and it stayed in the tub, slowly filling…
<p>I turned off the water and I knelt down. I caught it early so it didn't fill up the tub, but I had to wait for a good half-minute before it was back in the drain and the drain itself was visible enough for me to go digging in it again. Unused water has a particular feel to it. It reminds me of linoleum. It's cold in an unsterile way, like it's chipped or jagged. I watched it flush down the drain and I felt my lips un-purse.</p>
<p>I thought about the wet cloth thing. I probably have to pull whatever that thing is out. I hoped it wasn't anything gross as I stuck my fingers in there again and started wriggling around as deeply as I could; sweat broke out on my forehead and my knuckles and my hips.</p>
<p>I felt it. The cloth thing.</p>
<p>I got it between my ring finger and my middle finger, just barely; I started maneuvering my fingers a little bit one up and one down, waggling them over the cloth until I caught the tip of it. I pulled, and it gave easily. I pulled again, and it came up just a little more.</p>
<p>So I pulled.</p>
<p>And I pulled.</p>
<p>And I pulled.</p>
<p>And…</p>
<p>It began to come out of the drain. It was grey and wet and I couldn't tell what it was yet. So I pulled again and I put my other hand on it and I pulled with both hands trying to wrestle this thing free — and it made a <em>spzzt pop</em> and I fell backwards and the thing came out with me.</p>
<p>I stood up and I threw the thing on the ground and when I turned to look at it, I saw it was a grey dress shirt. It was unbuttoned. It looked a little too small to be mine. It was wet, but it looked clean and fine.</p>
<p>The drain made a flushing gurgling sound; it spat out some water suddenly, just a little bit, and the water just sat in the middle of the tub. I turned and put my hands on my hips and I looked at it, realizing how heavily my chest was heaving.</p>
<p><em>Phew.</em><br/>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/alex-thorley-unclogs-the-drain">Alex Thorley unclogs the drain</a>" by FLOORBOARDS, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/alex-thorley-unclogs-the-drain">https://scpwiki.com/alex-thorley-unclogs-the-drain</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
Dad, have you seen my shirt? Prom is tonight, I have to be at her house by, like, six.
]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:scp-trans-pride">:scp-wiki:theme:scp-trans-pride</a> |trans-pride-logo= --] |trans-pride-footer= --]]]
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[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
My drain is clogged.
The drain's pretty tight. There's a really slick, gooey moisture too when I stick my fingers in it. I feel my mouth purse. I've been picking hair out of it for a little while now.
I have a hair-catcher, but I have to take it out to clean it and stuff, so it's not always in there, and sometimes stuff gets under it anyway. Cleaning the drain isn't so bad. It isn't gross, it's my hair. Plus, I got it wet when I turned on the shower. So, it's not like it has that chalky burning feel to it. It has a texture that hurts me when it's dry. I have to wash my hands a few times to make it go away.
There isn't a lot of hair in the drain, actually. When I turn on the shower, it backs up crazy high in a pretty short amount of time. I had it on for a minute or two before I started cleaning, and it took up most of my bathtub in only a few minutes.
The yellow ring around the tub that water leaves behind, it's still there, so that's something I'll have to clean later too. But the little strands of hair I'm pulling out now, no way this is what's clogging it.
I have a plastic bag next to me that I'm throwing the hair in. It's a bag from Target. It was just in the recycling bin in the hallway, my neighbor probably put it in there. Easy and convenient for putting hair away. I feel like I'm tearing up my knuckles a bit, getting so deep in there. I wonder what's going on down there. I keep it clean so I'm not worried about bugs or anything, but I hope I don't have to go get Drain-o or talk to my [[[disintegration |landlord]]] or even worse hire a plumber; I really just want this to work.
...Something like a wet cloth...
There's something lodged pretty deep in there. I pull my hand out and I just look at it for a while. I'm trying to decide if the sensation burns or not. It feels fine, but it's really new, so I turn on the faucet and I run my finger under it for a little bit.
I have a memory about doing something like this. This wasn't that long ago even, maybe 4 or 5 years ago.
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
//It was somebody else's bathroom. I was kneeling over the bathtub fishing around in the drain. I was pulling out hair, and it looked like mine, but I'm not sure if it was or not. There was a counter next to the shower, and on it there was a blow-dryer plugged into a socket by the mirror, and a long purple dress, and some earrings clipped to it. I kept digging around in the drain, pulling out the hair and leaving them in the middle of the tub and that's when I felt a kind of wet cloth texture.//
//I had to pull away and wave and waggle my hand in the open air, because the texture was hurting me.//
//I stood up and turned on the shower and it was fine.//
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
Because of that, I wondered if it'd just be fine if I turned on the shower now that I touched it. I stood up and I turned on the hot water and I stood back and watched as it //splittt spzzt// then started pouring down. I looked down at the tub, at the drain, and I saw the water was catching and it stayed in the tub, slowly filling...
I turned off the water and I knelt down. I caught it early so it didn't fill up the tub, but I had to wait for a good half-minute before it was back in the drain and the drain itself was visible enough for me to go digging in it again. Unused water has a particular feel to it. It reminds me of linoleum. It's cold in an unsterile way, like it's chipped or jagged. I watched it flush down the drain and I felt my lips un-purse.
I thought about the wet cloth thing. I probably have to pull whatever that thing is out. I hoped it wasn't anything gross as I stuck my fingers in there again and started wriggling around as deeply as I could; sweat broke out on my forehead and my knuckles and my hips.
I felt it. The cloth thing.
I got it between my ring finger and my middle finger, just barely; I started maneuvering my fingers a little bit one up and one down, waggling them over the cloth until I caught the tip of it. I pulled, and it gave easily. I pulled again, and it came up just a little more.
So I pulled.
And I pulled.
And I pulled.
And...
It began to come out of the drain. It was grey and wet and I couldn't tell what it was yet. So I pulled again and I put my other hand on it and I pulled with both hands trying to wrestle this thing free -- and it made a //spzzt pop// and I fell backwards and the thing came out with me.
I stood up and I threw the thing on the ground and when I turned to look at it, I saw it was a grey dress shirt. It was unbuttoned. It looked a little too small to be mine. It was wet, but it looked clean and fine.
The drain made a flushing gurgling sound; it spat out some water suddenly, just a little bit, and the water just sat in the middle of the tub. I turned and put my hands on my hips and I looked at it, realizing how heavily my chest was heaving.
//Phew.//
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|
2024-05-22T18:00:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"alex-thorley",
"but-a-dream",
"first-person",
"kindness",
"mystery",
"no-dialogue",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
Alex Thorley unclogs the drain - SCP Foundation
| 42
|
[
"disintegration",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"the-father-the-son-and-the-holy-spirit-hub",
"but-a-dream"
] |
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1453772318
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/alex-thorley-unclogs-the-drain
|
|
alittlepush
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>Sometimes all you need is a little push.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>A Little Push</span></h1>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<p>In the cool sunlight of the fall, Hana Thompson sits outside of the Sleeping Salamander and idly stirs her latte. Before her on the table are a collection of small, leather-bound novellas, and the most recent edition of Serena Verdae's school paper, weighed down by her notepad.</p>
<p>It's blank. For the past hour or so, she had struggled to write anything in it at all. Her thoughts were elsewhere, not were they should be, and each scratch and cross-out of her pen in her notebook reminds her of this.</p>
<p><em>Oh, Vesper. What can I even do to save her? She's stuck on that island for most of the year when she's not here. Am I enough for her?</em></p>
<p>A woman sits down across from Hana, a tired look on her face, as her extra large coffee threatens to spill over onto the table, disrupting Hana from her reverie.</p>
<p>"Lost in thought, Hana?"</p>
<p>After a second, Hana realizes; it's Heather.</p>
<p>"Yeah, I guess you could say so." She pauses for a moment, fiddling with her pen. "Remember the other day when you met my friends? Or, rather uh, friend and… <em>friend</em>?"</p>
<p>"Right. Meri? The one who is very clearly a friend, and <em>only</em> a friend." Heather smirked. "What about her?"</p>
<p>Hana blushes and looks away, hiding her expression in her drink before taking a deep breath.</p>
<p>"So I was talking to Vesper last night about her and I asked them about our future. As you do, you know?"</p>
<p>"Obviously." Heather pauses. "So? Is there a big wedding in the future I should prepare for?"</p>
<p>"If there is, they didn't mention it."</p>
<p>Hana looks away for a moment. A gust of wind knocks loose orange and red leaves from the tree, causing them to sway to the ground below. Hana sighs.</p>
<p>"One of the many <em>convenient</em> rules about divination is that you can only learn about your own or other's deaths if you specifically ask." Hana said, rolling her eyes. "Doesn't stop Vesper from being really vague about it, though."</p>
<p>"I've never put much stock in 'faith', you know?" Heather begins, leaning back and crossing her legs. "You seem upset. What did Vesper say?"</p>
<p>“<em>You’re going to love each other until the day you die.</em> The day <em>you</em> die. Plural.”</p>
<p>Hana pauses, taking a moment to collect herself.</p>
<p>“Did I ever tell you what Meri asked me when we first met back at 19?”</p>
<p>"See, that's why I hate prophecies, they get into your head and make you think." Heather says, frowning. "What did Meri ask you?"</p>
<p>"She asked me if I would '<em>be her knight</em>' after I told her about my misadventures here my first summer outside containment."</p>
<p>Hana places her head in her hands.</p>
<p>"I don't know how to protect her, Heather. I don't even know what she needs in a 'knight'. She was so shaken and scared of <em>everything</em> and I wanted to give her something to believe in. I don't want her to get hurt or die because of—"</p>
<p>"Hey." Heather interrupts, putting a hand on Hana's shoulder. "Let's breath for a second, huh kid?"</p>
<p>Hana looks up, sheepishly.</p>
<p>"First off, protecting somebody is easy. All you have to do is try, right?" She smiles at Hana. "Secondly, 'her knight'? You're more of a lesbian stereotype than I am."</p>
<p>"I think that's what I'm worried about too." Hana scoots forward in her chair and sighs. "I've never had a serious relationship with a girl before, and she hasn't either. I'm probably the first person she's met that's her age and who knows if she even likes girls! What if she doesn't end up liking me like that? You met her, what do you think?"</p>
<p>"I think that you're spiraling, Hana. Okay, so," Heather says as she leans forward conspiratorially, "You like her, right?"</p>
<p>Hana sighs.</p>
<p>"I thought I didn't before but… there's something about her. She's beautiful and curious. She wants to know so much about the world." Hana lowers her voice. "And she doesn't see me as a monster. She doesn't know what I did."</p>
<p>"Stop. Hana, look at me."</p>
<p>Heather reaches over and playfully bops Hana on the head.</p>
<p>"Don't be stupid. You're not a monster, okay? You were a fucking teenager." Heather shakes her head, before pausing, cocking it to one side. "Back up a second. Does she even know what a lesbian is?"</p>
<p>Hana shrugs.</p>
<p>"Most of her knowledge is from fairytales or old books as far as I'm aware. I don't know what anyone else told her on the island."</p>
<p>"Oh my god." Heather laughs, almost like a bark. "You're that oblivious?"</p>
<p>Hana turns her head, confused.</p>
<p>"I'm not sure I get what you mean."</p>
<p>"Okay. Fairytales, we all know them, they're all the same. When I describe a 'fair maiden, who lives alone, far away on an island', what would you call her?"</p>
<p>"A princess?"</p>
<p>"Right. Now in fairytales, who rescues the princess?"</p>
<p>"The kni— ohhhh. I get what you're saying."</p>
<p>Hana sighs.</p>
<p>"I'm not quite the storybook knight, though. I'm not chivalrous, I don't have a noble steed or squire, hell, I hardly look like a Prince Charming."</p>
<p>"Ignore that. Stay with me for a second."</p>
<p>Heather leans in, smiling.</p>
<p>"What happens at the end? The princess and the knight fuck off onto their own adventures?"</p>
<p>"The knight and the princess live happily ever after, but—"</p>
<p>"But what? Why can't you be her knight, Hana?"</p>
<p>"Because I'm a girl!" Hana blurts out.</p>
<p>Silence falls over the pair, but life goes on around them. Cars pass on the street, birds fly overhead, and people walk up and down the sidewalk, not paying the pair any mind.</p>
<p>Hana's face burns red as she looks down at the pavement.</p>
<p>"Congratulations, Hana, you just came out again." Heather replies, laughing. "I swear, I think I almost said that word for word! Well… I guess I can't know anymore, can I?"</p>
<p>Heather stares at the cars going by.</p>
<p>"Okay, what's the real problem here? Why would that be an issue? Fuck, Hana, does Meri even know what heteronormativity is?"</p>
<p>"No, but… I do. God, when I thought about what she said again I wanted to buzz my hair and start to go to the gym more often just so it would look… like that, you know?"</p>
<p>Hana takes a deep swig of her drink.</p>
<p>"Because what if she does learn and then she starts to feel weird about it? She's half-deer I'm sure she already has her own thoughts about not fitting in."</p>
<p>"Hana, have you ever noticed how much you are obsessed with the idea of being 'normal'?"</p>
<p>Heather sighs, taking a drink.</p>
<p>"Normal is a lie."</p>
<p>"Normal just <em>feels</em> more comfortable. It's so much easier to imagine my life like those movies, you know? It's nice to feel like I fit—"</p>
<p>"Hana. Look at me? Do I fit in?" Heather asks, gesturing at her large stature. "Do I look <em>normal</em>?"</p>
<p>"You look like you're comfortable." Hana brings her cup to her lips. "And like a lesbian. All you're missing are the cargo shorts and carabineer clip."</p>
<p>"Ha."</p>
<p>Heather takes a deep breath of her coffee before she frowns.</p>
<p>"Hana, I'm going to tell you something very few people know. Because I need you to know that I get it, trust me, I do."</p>
<p>Heather begins to fidget with her hands, the noise of the world around them fading away.</p>
<p>"I call myself a lesbian, because it's just easier. I'm somewhere closer to Bi or Queer, but… You know the jokes? The assumptions? The men who think, just because you're bisexual, even if you're fucking dating a woman, that maybe, <em>just</em> maybe, if they flirt with you, well, they might fix you?"</p>
<p>Heather laughs to herself.</p>
<p>"I have had to find out not only who I love, but also who I am. And you know what I learned? I learned that it's not about others, it's not about labels, it all comes down to two things. You, and the person you love. Being a lesbian is like a shield; I can yell it from the heavens, and be proud of it too, because, yeah, I am a lesbian. I'm a big fucking lesbian, and I am desperately 'in lesbians' with Lillian. Even if it's not right, even if it's not <em>exact</em>, I'd rather fit into a group than have to fucking go through explaining everything any time somebody asks me who Lillian is."</p>
<p>Heather stares into the caramel swirls of her latte.</p>
<p>"Sorry, I rambled. Does that… does that make sense?"</p>
<p>"Yeah it does, I think I'm just— I don't want to lose this, you know? I feel like I've already lost enough sleep about this, and I'm not sure if she or I are ready to make this leap yet."</p>
<p>Hana pauses and sighs.</p>
<p>"I'm not sure I'm ready to be her knight."</p>
<p>"I know you're bi, but fuck, Hana, you're being such a 'disaster lesbian' right now. Have you tried talking to her about it?" Heather pauses. "My advice is to just kiss her, but, you know, I've never given the best advice."</p>
<p>Heather pauses, and looks at Hana with genuine sympathy.</p>
<p>"What's the worst that could happen?"</p>
<p>"She would think I'm weird or clingy or overbearing and never want to talk to me again?"</p>
<p>"Hana, she's a fucking half-deer girl who grew up on an island by herself. I don't think you need to worry about being 'weird'. Plus, would you stop talking to her?"</p>
<p>"I don't know, I— I'm kind of her only friend here? I wouldn't want her to feel isolated in two places."</p>
<p>"Exactly. No matter what happens, or what she thinks about you, you would do anything to be there for her when she needs it, right? That no matter how she feels, you will always care about her?"</p>
<p>Hana thinks for a moment.</p>
<p>"Yeah, yeah I would." She leans forward. "Listen, Heather, I don't think this is some high school crush or 80s movie romance. This <em>feels</em> real. I want this to be real." Her eyes water slightly. "I even thought of adding her to my memory grounding exercises, you know?"</p>
<p>"I'm going to say something, and it is going to sound like bullshit, but I promise you — this is true, and I live my life by this." Heather blushes slightly. "I got rid of my memories because I couldn't imagine losing Lillian; I started dating her because the both of us were tired of dreaming, tired of waiting for the 'movie moment' to come by, tired of chasing a dream."</p>
<p>"And months later, I am living the dream. We made it real— but somebody had to take the first leap. If Lillian and I hadn't gone for it, if we hadn't—"</p>
<p>Heather swallows hard, fighting back tears, before continuing.</p>
<p>"If we hadn't, I wouldn't still be here. You wouldn't even remember me. The truth is that you and Meri, you've been dealt a rough hand, and now you're stuck as part of the Foundation, defining your lives around 'normalcy' — now are you going to wait, dreaming of being 'normal', or are you going to let yourself live your life, take risks, and ask the girl out?"</p>
<p>"It really is like Vesper said, huh?" Hana laughs, nervously. "'Til death do us part and all that."</p>
<p>"Fuck, I forgot about that." Heather shakes her head. "Fate is tell you that the two of you belong together, and you're <em>still</em> fighting it?"</p>
<p>"Didn't you say earlier that you hated prophecies?" Hana smiles. "We can't control fate, but I think I would be happy with this one."</p>
<p>"God. Do <em>not</em> get me started on prophecies again, I've fucking had it up to here with trying to interpret that shit." Heather smiles back. "So?"</p>
<p>"I'll do it when the moment's right, probably some time before winter break. We'll go for a picnic or a walk or go to the conservatory, I'll grab her favorite drink and snacks and then boom! Ask her to be my girlfriend. Ask her to be my girlfriend…"</p>
<p>Hana shakes her head.</p>
<p>"No that's so cheesy— oh! Instead, I'll be really knight-like about it and, and I'll—"</p>
<p>"Hana, give me your phone."</p>
<p>Heather holds out her hand, expectantly.</p>
<p>"Why? What are you doing with my phone?"</p>
<p>"Do you trust me?"</p>
<p>"More than a lot of the other adults in my life? Yes. But look I don't want things to go to fast, alright? Baby steps. Baby steps."</p>
<p>"Great. Phone please."</p>
<p>Hana, defeated, reaches into the pocket of her baby blue jacket and hands her phone to Heather.</p>
<p>"Don't go through my texts or photos, please. It's hard enough keeping stuff hidden when I get back to site."</p>
<p>"Scout's honor, I'm just going to—"</p>
<p>Heather pauses, as she deftly navigates the phone. She pauses for a second, giving Hana an appraising look. Hana squirms under her gaze, before Heather smiles — a look of pure mischief.</p>
<p>"Okay. Done. You can have your phone back when I head out."</p>
<p>"What! What if she answers? I want to see what she says." Hana places her head on the table. "It's over. She's never going to want to talk to me again."</p>
<p>Hana's phone buzzes, as if waiting for the funniest moment. Heather looks at the screen, smirks, and puts the phone away.</p>
<p>"So. What else is going on in your world?"</p>
<p>"Heather… what did it say? Please?" Hana's voice is still muffled by the table.</p>
<p>"I'll read you her reply. 'Oh. I did not know you thought that. I would enjoy that.' Does that answer your question, Hana?" Heather says, barely managing to hold back her laughter.</p>
<p>"Heather…" Hana hangs onto the final <em>r</em>. Finally, she picks her head up from the table. Her face is burning red, and a hand covers her mouth.</p>
<p>"You're <em>so</em> lucky that went well. If, god if she said she didn't want to talk to me anymore I would've—" She takes a deep breath before laughing. "Thank you, Heather. I don't think I would have had the strength to do that on my own."</p>
<p>"Trust me, it's a lot easier when you're not the one who is hopelessly in love." Heather laughs alongside Hana. "This is why people listen to me, I'm obviously a genius."</p>
<p>"Yeah, sure."</p>
<p>Hana giggles. She takes a moment to fix her hair, and flatten out her jacket.</p>
<p>"So, Heather. How has life been treating <em>you</em> lately?"</p>
<p>"Did I tell you about the day I could only speak French? '<em>Un cauchemar</em>' as I found out."</p>
<p>As Heather began to recount yet another tale of memetic mayhem, Hana took a deep breath, and for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like the world was falling apart. The wind was still blowing, the leaves still falling, time still ticking away — and yet, she felt safe. Prepared. Ready to protect her princess.</p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<h3 id="toc1"><span>Princess</span></h3>
<div class="text-container">
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">Hey Meri, I need to tell you something. I think that you are beautiful, and I would love to spend more one-on-one time with you.<br/>
<br/>
Would you want to go on a picnic some time?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">Oh. I did not know you thought that. I would enjoy that.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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<p>Cite this page as:</p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/alittlepush">A Little Push</a>" by Queerious, AstersQuill, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/alittlepush">https://scpwiki.com/alittlepush</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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text=Sometimes all you need is a little push.]]
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[[==]]
In the cool sunlight of the fall, Hana Thompson sits outside of the Sleeping Salamander and idly stirs her latte. Before her on the table are a collection of small, leather-bound novellas, and the most recent edition of Serena Verdae's school paper, weighed down by her notepad.
It's blank. For the past hour or so, she had struggled to write anything in it at all. Her thoughts were elsewhere, not were they should be, and each scratch and cross-out of her pen in her notebook reminds her of this.
//Oh, Vesper. What can I even do to save her? She's stuck on that island for most of the year when she's not here. Am I enough for her?//
A woman sits down across from Hana, a tired look on her face, as her extra large coffee threatens to spill over onto the table, disrupting Hana from her reverie.
"Lost in thought, Hana?"
After a second, Hana realizes; it's Heather.
"Yeah, I guess you could say so." She pauses for a moment, fiddling with her pen. "Remember the other day when you met my friends? Or, rather uh, friend and... //friend//?"
"Right. Meri? The one who is very clearly a friend, and //only// a friend." Heather smirked. "What about her?"
Hana blushes and looks away, hiding her expression in her drink before taking a deep breath.
"So I was talking to Vesper last night about her and I asked them about our future. As you do, you know?"
"Obviously." Heather pauses. "So? Is there a big wedding in the future I should prepare for?"
"If there is, they didn't mention it."
Hana looks away for a moment. A gust of wind knocks loose orange and red leaves from the tree, causing them to sway to the ground below. Hana sighs.
"One of the many //convenient// rules about divination is that you can only learn about your own or other's deaths if you specifically ask." Hana said, rolling her eyes. "Doesn't stop Vesper from being really vague about it, though."
"I've never put much stock in 'faith', you know?" Heather begins, leaning back and crossing her legs. "You seem upset. What did Vesper say?"
“//You’re going to love each other until the day you die.// The day //you// die. Plural.”
Hana pauses, taking a moment to collect herself.
“Did I ever tell you what Meri asked me when we first met back at 19?”
"See, that's why I hate prophecies, they get into your head and make you think." Heather says, frowning. "What did Meri ask you?"
"She asked me if I would '//be her knight//' after I told her about my misadventures here my first summer outside containment."
Hana places her head in her hands.
"I don't know how to protect her, Heather. I don't even know what she needs in a 'knight'. She was so shaken and scared of //everything// and I wanted to give her something to believe in. I don't want her to get hurt or die because of--"
"Hey." Heather interrupts, putting a hand on Hana's shoulder. "Let's breath for a second, huh kid?"
Hana looks up, sheepishly.
"First off, protecting somebody is easy. All you have to do is try, right?" She smiles at Hana. "Secondly, 'her knight'? You're more of a lesbian stereotype than I am."
"I think that's what I'm worried about too." Hana scoots forward in her chair and sighs. "I've never had a serious relationship with a girl before, and she hasn't either. I'm probably the first person she's met that's her age and who knows if she even likes girls! What if she doesn't end up liking me like that? You met her, what do you think?"
"I think that you're spiraling, Hana. Okay, so," Heather says as she leans forward conspiratorially, "You like her, right?"
Hana sighs.
"I thought I didn't before but... there's something about her. She's beautiful and curious. She wants to know so much about the world." Hana lowers her voice. "And she doesn't see me as a monster. She doesn't know what I did."
"Stop. Hana, look at me."
Heather reaches over and playfully bops Hana on the head.
"Don't be stupid. You're not a monster, okay? You were a fucking teenager." Heather shakes her head, before pausing, cocking it to one side. "Back up a second. Does she even know what a lesbian is?"
Hana shrugs.
"Most of her knowledge is from fairytales or old books as far as I'm aware. I don't know what anyone else told her on the island."
"Oh my god." Heather laughs, almost like a bark. "You're that oblivious?"
Hana turns her head, confused.
"I'm not sure I get what you mean."
"Okay. Fairytales, we all know them, they're all the same. When I describe a 'fair maiden, who lives alone, far away on an island', what would you call her?"
"A princess?"
"Right. Now in fairytales, who rescues the princess?"
"The kni-- ohhhh. I get what you're saying."
Hana sighs.
"I'm not quite the storybook knight, though. I'm not chivalrous, I don't have a noble steed or squire, hell, I hardly look like a Prince Charming."
"Ignore that. Stay with me for a second."
Heather leans in, smiling.
"What happens at the end? The princess and the knight fuck off onto their own adventures?"
"The knight and the princess live happily ever after, but--"
"But what? Why can't you be her knight, Hana?"
"Because I'm a girl!" Hana blurts out.
Silence falls over the pair, but life goes on around them. Cars pass on the street, birds fly overhead, and people walk up and down the sidewalk, not paying the pair any mind.
Hana's face burns red as she looks down at the pavement.
"Congratulations, Hana, you just came out again." Heather replies, laughing. "I swear, I think I almost said that word for word! Well... I guess I can't know anymore, can I?"
Heather stares at the cars going by.
"Okay, what's the real problem here? Why would that be an issue? Fuck, Hana, does Meri even know what heteronormativity is?"
"No, but... I do. God, when I thought about what she said again I wanted to buzz my hair and start to go to the gym more often just so it would look... like that, you know?"
Hana takes a deep swig of her drink.
"Because what if she does learn and then she starts to feel weird about it? She's half-deer I'm sure she already has her own thoughts about not fitting in."
"Hana, have you ever noticed how much you are obsessed with the idea of being 'normal'?"
Heather sighs, taking a drink.
"Normal is a lie."
"Normal just //feels// more comfortable. It's so much easier to imagine my life like those movies, you know? It's nice to feel like I fit--"
"Hana. Look at me? Do I fit in?" Heather asks, gesturing at her large stature. "Do I look //normal//?"
"You look like you're comfortable." Hana brings her cup to her lips. "And like a lesbian. All you're missing are the cargo shorts and carabineer clip."
"Ha."
Heather takes a deep breath of her coffee before she frowns.
"Hana, I'm going to tell you something very few people know. Because I need you to know that I get it, trust me, I do."
Heather begins to fidget with her hands, the noise of the world around them fading away.
"I call myself a lesbian, because it's just easier. I'm somewhere closer to Bi or Queer, but... You know the jokes? The assumptions? The men who think, just because you're bisexual, even if you're fucking dating a woman, that maybe, //just// maybe, if they flirt with you, well, they might fix you?"
Heather laughs to herself.
"I have had to find out not only who I love, but also who I am. And you know what I learned? I learned that it's not about others, it's not about labels, it all comes down to two things. You, and the person you love. Being a lesbian is like a shield; I can yell it from the heavens, and be proud of it too, because, yeah, I am a lesbian. I'm a big fucking lesbian, and I am desperately 'in lesbians' with Lillian. Even if it's not right, even if it's not //exact//, I'd rather fit into a group than have to fucking go through explaining everything any time somebody asks me who Lillian is."
Heather stares into the caramel swirls of her latte.
"Sorry, I rambled. Does that... does that make sense?"
"Yeah it does, I think I'm just-- I don't want to lose this, you know? I feel like I've already lost enough sleep about this, and I'm not sure if she or I are ready to make this leap yet."
Hana pauses and sighs.
"I'm not sure I'm ready to be her knight."
"I know you're bi, but fuck, Hana, you're being such a 'disaster lesbian' right now. Have you tried talking to her about it?" Heather pauses. "My advice is to just kiss her, but, you know, I've never given the best advice."
Heather pauses, and looks at Hana with genuine sympathy.
"What's the worst that could happen?"
"She would think I'm weird or clingy or overbearing and never want to talk to me again?"
"Hana, she's a fucking half-deer girl who grew up on an island by herself. I don't think you need to worry about being 'weird'. Plus, would you stop talking to her?"
"I don't know, I-- I'm kind of her only friend here? I wouldn't want her to feel isolated in two places."
"Exactly. No matter what happens, or what she thinks about you, you would do anything to be there for her when she needs it, right? That no matter how she feels, you will always care about her?"
Hana thinks for a moment.
"Yeah, yeah I would." She leans forward. "Listen, Heather, I don't think this is some high school crush or 80s movie romance. This //feels// real. I want this to be real." Her eyes water slightly. "I even thought of adding her to my memory grounding exercises, you know?"
"I'm going to say something, and it is going to sound like bullshit, but I promise you -- this is true, and I live my life by this." Heather blushes slightly. "I got rid of my memories because I couldn't imagine losing Lillian; I started dating her because the both of us were tired of dreaming, tired of waiting for the 'movie moment' to come by, tired of chasing a dream."
"And months later, I am living the dream. We made it real-- but somebody had to take the first leap. If Lillian and I hadn't gone for it, if we hadn't--"
Heather swallows hard, fighting back tears, before continuing.
"If we hadn't, I wouldn't still be here. You wouldn't even remember me. The truth is that you and Meri, you've been dealt a rough hand, and now you're stuck as part of the Foundation, defining your lives around 'normalcy' -- now are you going to wait, dreaming of being 'normal', or are you going to let yourself live your life, take risks, and ask the girl out?"
"It really is like Vesper said, huh?" Hana laughs, nervously. "'Til death do us part and all that."
"Fuck, I forgot about that." Heather shakes her head. "Fate is tell you that the two of you belong together, and you're //still// fighting it?"
"Didn't you say earlier that you hated prophecies?" Hana smiles. "We can't control fate, but I think I would be happy with this one."
"God. Do //not// get me started on prophecies again, I've fucking had it up to here with trying to interpret that shit." Heather smiles back. "So?"
"I'll do it when the moment's right, probably some time before winter break. We'll go for a picnic or a walk or go to the conservatory, I'll grab her favorite drink and snacks and then boom! Ask her to be my girlfriend. Ask her to be my girlfriend..."
Hana shakes her head.
"No that's so cheesy-- oh! Instead, I'll be really knight-like about it and, and I'll--"
"Hana, give me your phone."
Heather holds out her hand, expectantly.
"Why? What are you doing with my phone?"
"Do you trust me?"
"More than a lot of the other adults in my life? Yes. But look I don't want things to go to fast, alright? Baby steps. Baby steps."
"Great. Phone please."
Hana, defeated, reaches into the pocket of her baby blue jacket and hands her phone to Heather.
"Don't go through my texts or photos, please. It's hard enough keeping stuff hidden when I get back to site."
"Scout's honor, I'm just going to--"
Heather pauses, as she deftly navigates the phone. She pauses for a second, giving Hana an appraising look. Hana squirms under her gaze, before Heather smiles -- a look of pure mischief.
"Okay. Done. You can have your phone back when I head out."
"What! What if she answers? I want to see what she says." Hana places her head on the table. "It's over. She's never going to want to talk to me again."
Hana's phone buzzes, as if waiting for the funniest moment. Heather looks at the screen, smirks, and puts the phone away.
"So. What else is going on in your world?"
"Heather... what did it say? Please?" Hana's voice is still muffled by the table.
"I'll read you her reply. 'Oh. I did not know you thought that. I would enjoy that.' Does that answer your question, Hana?" Heather says, barely managing to hold back her laughter.
"Heather..." Hana hangs onto the final //r//. Finally, she picks her head up from the table. Her face is burning red, and a hand covers her mouth.
"You're //so// lucky that went well. If, god if she said she didn't want to talk to me anymore I would've--" She takes a deep breath before laughing. "Thank you, Heather. I don't think I would have had the strength to do that on my own."
"Trust me, it's a lot easier when you're not the one who is hopelessly in love." Heather laughs alongside Hana. "This is why people listen to me, I'm obviously a genius."
"Yeah, sure."
Hana giggles. She takes a moment to fix her hair, and flatten out her jacket.
"So, Heather. How has life been treating //you// lately?"
"Did I tell you about the day I could only speak French? '//Un cauchemar//' as I found out."
As Heather began to recount yet another tale of memetic mayhem, Hana took a deep breath, and for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like the world was falling apart. The wind was still blowing, the leaves still falling, time still ticking away -- and yet, she felt safe. Prepared. Ready to protect her princess.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
+++ Princess
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Hey Meri, I need to tell you something. I think that you are beautiful, and I would love to spend more one-on-one time with you. _
_
Would you want to go on a picnic some time?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Oh. I did not know you thought that. I would enjoy that.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/==]]
-----
[[=]]
[[module rate]]
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=Queerious, AstersQuill]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-10-09T00:49:00
|
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A Little Push - SCP Foundation
| 25
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/alittlepush
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|
all-that-glitter-s-is-fool-s-gold
|
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<p>Chrysophilius Marshall, like any good billionaire playboy, has a favorite escort. She’s fun, she’s no commitment, she’s chill to all the way the max.<br/>
Oh, if only it was that simple.</p>
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<div class="content-descriptor"><span style="display: syntax error near `{$gore} ==`">Graphic depiction of blood, gore or mutilation of body parts</span><br/>
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<p>All That Glitters is Fool’s Gold by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/xexnoncores" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9159226); return false;"><img alt="xexnoncores" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=9159226&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736578911" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=9159226)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/xexnoncores" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9159226); return false;">xexnoncores</a></span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size:2.0em;">October 18th, 2022<br/></span></p>
<p>“He seriously expected you guys to take the test while the computer lab was down?”</p>
<p>“Yep,” Zelda replies, shoving a forkful of ramen into her mouth. The TV illuminates her face like an ashy ghost. “He said he didn’t care if a squirrel crawled into the building’s electrical circuit and exploded—we either took it or we failed the class.”</p>
<p>“Fuck that dude,” <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5470">Xenia</a> responds, sipping her soda. “And he did all that knowing half his students didn’t have a working laptop?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Zelda winces, and Xenia snickers. The noodles must be too hot.</p>
<p>“Hope he dies.”</p>
<p>“Haha, I hope he holds out until at least the end of my semester so I don’t have to wait until next fall for the class to be available again.”</p>
<p>Again she goes back to that painful feeling. Xenia shakes her head internally, but at least Zelda had good sense so as to not like wasting food.</p>
<p>“I hope he dies and you get the credit instantly,” Xenia huffs, rolling her eyes as another car crash plays on the screen. “You deserve it.”</p>
<p>“Nah, I really don’t…but thank you thou—”</p>
<p>A shrieking tone rings out. Zelda swallows too quickly and coughs into her arm as she digs for her phone.</p>
<p>“Who is it?”</p>
<p>Zelda doesn’t answer her, expression going pallid quickly as soon as the name scrolls. Like a switch, she slips into a deep, sultry voice, deeper than it already was, anyway.</p>
<p>“Hey. What’s up?”</p>
<p>Xenia cocks her head as Zelda steps off the bed and purses her lips tightly.</p>
<p>“…What?” Xenia can hear the cayenne soaking her tongue in an unfortunately wet performance. “It’s…9 pm on a school night. …Okay yeah, my classes aren’t until 3 tomorrow but—”</p>
<p>“What the…”</p>
<p>Zelda runs a hand across her face, biting her bottom lip. The voice on the other end of the line is frantic, despondent.</p>
<p>“Okay, okay! I get it, I get it. You had a bad day at work. I’ll be there in thirty through the subw—well, are you sending a car to pick me up? Then I’m taking the subway. I’m sorry to keep you waiting, I really am, but l-like I said—!”</p>
<p>She goes quiet for a second. Xenia tries to focus her hearing on the obnoxiousness drooling through her best friend’s ear, but when Zelda notices she turns the volume down and begins whispering.</p>
<p>“…Alright. I’ll be there soon. Do you want the purple dress or the blue one? …Okay, red pumps or—red, got it. You have condoms, right?”</p>
<p>Xenia bristles. <em>No fucking way, is this—</em></p>
<p>“…Well, you know my rules, no condoms no—alright, alright I get it. You just want the lowbrow course. H-Hey, you don’t have to yell, okay? …I’m sorry. You had a bad day, right. Yeah, yeah, I really am, I promise. See you later, and stay safe.”</p>
<p>She hangs up and whirls around to Xenia, currently picking her jaw up off the floor with the darkest expression she’s made this year.</p>
<p>“What the hell was that?! Don’t tell me that’s the guy that pays for all of your—”</p>
<p>Zelda runs off as soon as she thinks she has the opening. Through her cramped hallway and into her bathroom, white counters glowing despite being clogged with makeup trays thrown about everywhere. Xenia tags her with stomping feet.</p>
<p>“He sounds awful!” she spits. Zelda doesn’t say anything, instead layering foundation on without reserve, wet ruby lipstick next.</p>
<p>“Do you have condoms?” she asks, as if that was a normal question here.</p>
<p>Xenia balks, blinking wildly. “What the—does he not—?!”</p>
<p>“Please, just tell me yes or no. I know he’s going to change his mind from just wanting oral, and I don’t have time to go to the drug store. He’s just…unpredictable like that.”</p>
<p>“Why the hell are you entertaining this guy?! Can he not buy them himself?!”</p>
<p>Zelda shakes her head, grabbing a brush and wrangling it through her hair. It’s a beautiful shade of brioche brown, roasted to perfection.</p>
<p>“We can talk later—”</p>
<p>“We’re not talking about this <em>later</em>, we’re talking about this <em>now!</em> I can’t believe you hid this guy’s shittiness from me, I—I’m not letting you get taken advantage of just because he—!”</p>
<p>“Xenia, <em>please!</em>“</p>
<p>Zelda’s voice cracks whenever she gets upset. It breaks like a vase, from the bottom up first, always in a way that shows she’s struggling to push through the pressure that comes with whatever’s ailing her. She hates it so much, because it snaps back into that disgusting soprano she took testosterone to get away from.</p>
<p>She turns to her, two-thirds of the way done. “…We can talk about it later. I promise. I’m sorry I never told you about him sooner. But…I’m under an NDA, so I can’t tell you anything pertinent.”</p>
<p>Her purple dress shimmers. The singular red stripe running through the middle down to her shoes bleeds like an open wound in the bleaching fluorescent light.</p>
<p>“Now, tell me if you have condoms. Please, for me. I promise he’s not cheap, he just…forgets a lot of things.”</p>
<p>That moon face falls, brown eyes withering. But Xenia only nods, trying her best not to pinch her mouth into an angry slit.</p>
<p>“…Yeah, I do. What size?”</p>
<p>“Average works. He’s not that special.”</p>
<p>“I would hope not. You have your pepper spray?”</p>
<p>“He makes me not bring it.”</p>
<p>“Fucker—”</p>
<p>Zelda finishes putting the last of her eyeshadow on as Xenia goes to get her bag from the bedroom.</p>
<p>“I’m not arguing with a guy who pays me thirty grand every time he wants head,” she says as Xenia returns, gritting her teeth.</p>
<p>“You should at least have some self-respect,” Xenia replies, handing her two bright yellow packets.</p>
<p>“I do,” Zelda quips, standing back to look at her handiwork. “I stopped taking work from guys who paid me like dirt because of this one. I stopped stooping to the Black Tiger downtown, where practically every other night some drunk douche was trying to sexually assault me for three dollars.”</p>
<p>Xenia frowns deeper, but only because of the circumstances. The two have known each other for five years, and it was hard to deny that before whoever this was, Zelda had a rough life. Being kicked out by her uncle at 13 didn’t do wonders for her mental health, nor her ability to hold down a job that paid a damn. It was a couch-to-couch surfing life, living between the margins of the margins of people who halfway gave a shit and those who smacked her around when she inevitably couldn’t come up with the rent after a night where she just couldn’t bring herself to suck someone off.</p>
<p>Even Xenia’s mom, for as little as they hated each other after soothing out their relationship a decade ago (after she finally stopped going by Kimberley) thought Zelda was a bum until she started going to college. She said she was going to become a marine biologist, trotting up and down the Californian coast to help save the sea otter population.</p>
<p>There’s a silence between them as Xenia runs over the fact that as much as she’s burning with frustration, Zelda did stop coming home with bruises and horror stories. Maybe a few terrified faces, but the guy was probably shit at sex or asked her to do something dumb. Rich types were always like that—they didn’t know the true extent underground fetish scenes reached, and they wanted in on the action without the less-than-well-off freaks who made it real. Without the work of the cruisers who pleasured them in dirty bars, the dominatrixes who whipped them around in cold steel dungeons, the models who truly embraced armpit pics.</p>
<p>“…Just stay safe,” Xenia mutters, eyes falling as Zelda takes a deep inhale. She turns to her and halfway smiles, ignoring the rumbling of her phone, most likely texts she’s receiving at light-speed right now.</p>
<p>“I will. I…I appreciate it. Do you want anything when I come back?”</p>
<p>Xenia shrugs. “Just you in one piece.”</p>
<p>“Oh c’mon, you have to have something you want from the corner store. I don’t mind.”</p>
<p>“I do,” Xenia responds gruffly, drumming her hands against the wall. “You. Seriously, all I want is for you to have an okay time tonight. <em>Please</em> call me if he fucks you up in some way. If he does, I’ll get my friend Jude to figure out where he lives.”</p>
<p>“A-Ahaha…” Zelda stutters, nervously twirling her fingers with the hem of her dress. “That…That won’t be necessary, I promise. Really.”</p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb"><em>You won’t even be able to figure out how to get in…</em> she thinks as she grabs her purse and pushes her way through the bathroom door and out the apartment. The condoms are in her pockets.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">He's</span> <span style="color: #c46aeb">never as bad as she thinks. By how much she’s never sure, but it’s enough to keep her going without the pressure of the idea she was giving up a significant portion of her soul for the grind.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Breathe, Zelda. Breathe. He’ll be cordial tonight, surely.</span></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">The trip is never without a cup of nerves.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Zelda clutches her hands close to her chest as the elevator slides up soundlessly. It’s such a smooth ride she wonders if it’s even moving at all, especially because no one is interrupting her. Nobody’s ever gotten on while she was climbing to visit.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">It’s an emptiness she can’t shake off. A six-sided notion of fracture, sparkling with gem-studded unease. A glittering chalice of hollowed vices, tittering perfectly every doubt she had about herself: her voice, her skin, her makeup, her hair. Okay, he didn’t care about her hair much—but she didn’t understand why. She didn’t want to ask and she didn’t want to know.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Maybe that was the part of her he saw as normal. Maybe that was the part of her he didn’t care about.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Maybe that was the part he wasn’t attracted to.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Another breath. It’s been two minutes. It takes five to arrive at his…does she want to say condo? That’s what he calls it. That’s not what it is, but it’s what he calls it. The more accurate statement would be that it’s a castle, a gigantic castle shoved inside what was supposed to be the fiftieth floor of a luxury high rise—but he calls it a condo.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">…Why is this taking so long? She hit all of the buttons in the right order, didn’t she? 9-2-1-1-1-7-7-7. Followed by the big switch that appears right outside of the panel in short order. That’s the code to get in. The door will fling open any minute now…</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">She looks down at her phone. 9:46 pm. Then 9:47 pm.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">She’s late.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Her thoughts swirl and consume her banally as a black shadow slides over her form, bringing with it a change in interior. The elevator slips quietly from sleek, steel panels of minimalist vacation rentals advertisements to a rich, auric tapestry of flowery bas-reliefs. Mounted riders with bayonets and starry flags cruise along the railings, forever circling a faced sun staring down from the ceiling. It is engraved in the style of early Western medieval art, with twelve trumpets facing upwards towards it in dance, all enrobed in butterflies.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Zelda doesn’t notice the transformation until the anachronistic digital display dings. She gasps, keeping her hands away from the men on horses, who consider her shadow to be a distraction from their march.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">The door slides open and she rubs her eyes. A glut of radiant light swells and breaks to a beautifully yellow hallway choked with golden-hued baubles, trinkets, wonders, and impossibilities. She steps out before it all comes into focus, up until she’s brought to reality by a familiarly thick British accent yelling.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“Bloody hell Mason, I said tomorrow. <em>Tomorrow!</em> Not Thursday, not Friday, not Saturday—tomorrow, you useless fucking cunt!”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Her entire body shudders.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“If I don’t have an equity statement on my desk by 8:30 am tomorrow, I am seizing this pathetic digital alchemy scheme of yours! All of your invested crypto too, you hear me?! You answer to <em>my</em> advice, shitnuts, not your ass-mouthed wife’s!</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">There he is. Chrysophilius Marshall. Who sometimes went by “Skitter” for…some reason unbeknownst to her. Was it because his middle was Scooter?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">She freezes while waiting for his footsteps to catch up to her. Here, his voice is difficult to echo because of all the stuff cluttering everywhere but the walkways.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">The off-kiltering sears her sense of reality. Nearly stumbling over a hyperbolic essocube, she tells herself this is all normal. He’s normal, this stuff is normal. Totally. Completely. Unabashedly.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">She does this literally every time she’s here, because it was how she coped with the fact her NDA covered…well, all of this, described officially as “anomalous paraphernalia”. Each corner was a new TV that warped the edges of her vision, every nook and cranny a jar full of unknowns chattering in pataphysical tongues.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Hey, are those emerald eyes staring at her? Is that three-headed bird in the cage above her real? The dragon flying around her feet was just a robot, right?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">It’s as if a second camera is shoved into the back of her head when he finally makes eye contact with her.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“Oh?”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">His eyes light up.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“Oh! Oh! Zelda!”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">No time to react as he rushes and hugs her. Hard.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“Zelda, you’re here! My goodness, I’ve missed you!”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Her entire body goes stone as his heavy cologne and thickly-clothed arms envelope her in a pseudo-loving embrace. But as he leans in for a kiss, he cocks his head, pulling back.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“Oh Zelda, what’s wrong? Did the underground not treat you well? You’re as stiff as wood!”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">She shakes her head.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“Hey, I told you to take a cab,” he remarks with a sigh. Is it a dismissive sigh? “There’s too many rats down there for a pretty face like yours. You wouldn’t want your dress getting ruined by some random sod, now would you?”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">She shakes her head again one more time, not responding at all. His reaction is to tilt his own in the other direction, blinking wildly.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“…Do you want some wine to loosen you up then? I have some vintage Merlot I just brought back from my business trip to Paris. Five grand per bottle each, straight from the Alsace vineyards!”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Mentioning the price of things isn’t a conscious act of domination on his part. That’s what Zelda thinks anyway, with how casual and nonchalant the aphorisms always are. Money was simply something that existed to someone like him, a something that never even registered in his mind as possibly ever being a problem. For other people? Sure, but he was not other people. He was one of the heirs to Marshall, Carter and Dark Ltd. An “inheritor of the world” as his boss Iris put it, an executor to all of its inner workings and supernatural machinations.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">That was what he had told her, anyway. Babbled over the course of many, many one-sided conversations about himself, all more shallow than she expected too, especially when she pretended to be interested and pressed for details. Which was supposed to be more disturbing to her: the fact he was a nepo-baby billionaire, or the fact he wasn’t entirely honest about what he did for a living?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Zelda shakes her head again until she finds herself nodding halfway through, because alcohol will make this easier, actually. It will be easier because he’ll stop her at a single glass, not out of greed, but a charmingly ironic sense of safety. Chrysophilius always said he’d hate to do her drunk, because he couldn’t stand girls who weren’t coherent enough to say his long, pretentious yet weirdly charming name that sounds like the word ‘chrysalis’, which brought to mind jeweled scarab beetles and the way they skittered around on dry stone and bark.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">She’ll take what she can get.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“Wonderful,” he says with a bit of breath in his voice. “I think you’ll really appreciate this—it has a deep, full body to it that’s a bit hard to come by. It’s been such a pleasure drinking on the plane—a shame they limited me to only buying five.”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“Only five? They said that to you?”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">He snickers. “Yeah, you should have seen them. I said ‘hey, lookie here, I’m getting one of these for a nice lady I’m keeping back in NYC—you gotta let me get some extra for her to take home. You wouldn’t want a guy like me to let her down, yeah?’ But they wouldn’t budge.”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb"><em>He wants to give me a gift?</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“But alas, ugh—I kept getting stonewalled. They whined about ‘other customers’ wanting to ‘enjoy the experience too’ like—hello, I can pay more than their second-rate pockets ever could! I deserved the extras. Do they want to make money or not?!”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">He gulps, pulling her in close. She looks up to him glassily, hanging off his arm faintly and daintily. It’s a display he likes, because he’s not as tall as he wants to be, but she’s still shorter than him. So he gets to have the pretend experience of hoisting her up like she’s to be his fiancé, cauterized to his hip forever.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">It lasts all of three seconds before he clicks his tongue and plunges down to reality.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“…I’m sorry I can’t send you home with any of these, Zelda.”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Wh…Why does he sound genuinely hurt?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">If she were stupid, she would have thought to herself why he didn’t think to give up one of the five he got. But she knows better. She knows better because Chrysophilius Marshall does not share—he only gives away what he thinks he does not need, if you’re lucky to catch the small part of the world he doesn’t think he has to have.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Pulling her by the wrist off his quickly souring mood, they tug each other down the halls wordlessly. She ends up being the one to find the wine first, and turning his cavalier candor around as swiftly as it came. It’s not that hard to see the bottles when they’re pitch black against a wall smothered in sunlight hues.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“A-Ah,” he stutters, catching himself. A swirl of surprise froths at the edge of his mind. “Are…Are you as excited as I am?”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb"><em>I dunno,</em> she thinks. She wants to go to bed more than anything else. The wine will help her get there. But it will also help her calm down from the images of Xenia quickly impressing themselves upon her brain with every new treasure her eyes glaze over. Every new room too, and foyer-like structure. Dozens, if not hundreds stretched out in every direction, everywhere, floor to unseeable ceiling, stuffed to bursting with practically everything they could possibly fit.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">She can hear that voice telling her to run, to get out of here. Xenia actually knew about this kind of stuff more than Zelda expected when they got to know each other—apparently she created a lot of items similar to these in her spare time on the computer. She had a whole friend group who did it, and they spoke in memes and incomprehensible slang on Discord servers while complaining about ‘janitors’ and how late-stage capitalism was destroying the video games industry.</span></p>
<div class="text-change-colour">
<p>Almost fun, but Zelda felt intimidated by the idea of getting to know people like that. People who spoke in grandiose ideals instead of staunch practicality, whose idea of the world was so wide it smothered their capacity for empathy and blinded them to the blasè they possessed talking about someone like her as if she wasn’t real, and in the room listening.</p>
<p>…Hey, was that room filled with…mannequins? Life-sized mannequins made of…crystals?</p>
<p>The one to her side has nothing but a bunch of eye-shaped books all trying their best to stare at nothing while continuously rotating in the air.</p>
<p>Chrysophilius sees her hesitation and squeezes her hand, getting close to her ear.</p>
<p>“You can pick wherever you want us to relax in,” he offers with a whisper. “My treat.”</p>
<p><em>What are you thinking about?</em> he wonders. He rarely asks about the world she comes from because it scares him. It scares him as much as it disgusts him. He knew somewhat of the degree of filth she wallowed in once, he saw that from the clothes she wore when he first approached her at that gaming tournament, but he didn’t want to know the specifics. The specifics were unimportant, unimportant to the caramel voice he picked her out for and pursued her to catch. Unimportant to the skinny frame she had, complimented by a buxom chest, and her…</p>
</div>
<div class="text-change-colourC">
<p>She looks around aimlessly. The ceiling above their head shifts, sliding with new angles to reveal even newer hallways.</p>
<p>One, two, three, four. A set of stairs falls down to their sides, slick steps perfectly polished and reflecting their faces.</p>
<p>Five, six, seven, eight. She grabs his other hand on a whirling heel, trying to orient herself to a seeable zenith. Any star faced with wealth of this magnitude would struggle not to blush.</p>
<p>“Oh, is all of this giving you motion sickness, Zelda?”</p>
<p>Snapping his fingers, everything stops. Everything stops, from the hundreds of multidimensional wind-up clocks to the thousands of eagle-headed matryoshka dolls leaking hand-shaped residue. It all stops so suddenly that the silence is an even worse salve to her faltering, but at least she can hear her own thoughts now. At least she can hear the blood in her ears.</p>
<p>He looks down on her as she looks back up at him. For her, this was more than the usual spectacle he put on—something bad must have happened today.</p>
<p>For him, he resumes his train of thought from earlier. About what her deep voice brought, made by modern technology.</p>
<p>He’s not sure how to describe her bottom half. It wasn’t something he thought about until he got in bed with her the first time, and just…stared. Stared for long enough she slipped into suicidal ideation until he hoisted himself up and began making out with her. It wasn’t a turn-off, and it wasn’t even that unusual from what a normal vagina looked like, it just…made him feel uneasy somewhere deep down in a manner he didn’t quite know how to unpack yet. In the very same manner of why he didn’t want his father Amos to know about her, why he felt so unusually guilty masturbating to feminine men.</p>
<p>It looked like…</p>
<p>But it wasn’t. It <em>was</em> a hole, despite its resemblance otherwise.</p>
<p>Ugh, why could Iris and Robert talk so freely about such things…?! The latter was even more shameless than he was too. How did he not die from embarrassment talking about the number of feet pictures he bought?</p>
<p>Whatever he felt, he was hopeful he was doing his part of making things right in the world. Even though this was as humble as elevating someone like her above whatever dirt she was born in, he’ll take it.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Finally, she gets her act together and points to a random room in a random direction. Chyrsophilius leans over to get a better look, and smiles wide.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“…Oh? That one? I didn’t know you liked…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">He blushes, putting a thinly-gloved hand to his neck until Zelda follows his gaze and realizes what she’s done.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“Of course,” she says with a heavy sigh, and he beams. “How many figurines are in there?”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“Hm…I lost count a while ago. I know the number of anime they all come from constitutes at least four hundred.”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“H-Have you even watched that many…?”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">He shrugs. “Unsure. At work, I have it on in the background all the time, but I don’t know if that’s really watching them, hehe…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Those eyes of his sparkle again. So rich like fresh earth, complimenting all of this extravagant warmth. Zelda clicks her tongue, her annoyance fading from prickly nuisance to gossamer unevenness in record time. It’s hard to keep up the facade of knife-shaved stalwartness around him when he gets like this—when his pupils widen and he looks at her with what she thinks is a breaking of the service pact they both signed. The resonance between his house, his money, and his demeanor falls to the wayside when it’s just his soft, boyish face and his fluffy, chin-length blonde hair between the two of them, barren and seeking.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">…How peculiar. Zelda never said it aloud, but that cut always felt…incongruously off for a businessman. What was he trying to do there?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">She lets the dissonance jostle around her brain as she takes his hand and drags him up the stairs. For who she did that for, she’s not sure.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“…Oh god.”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">The room dims as she walks in, but not enough. The figurines face her pallidly, plastic eyes and resin poses too close to one another for comfort. Almost like an industrial pig farm, each one poised for easy and dirty consumption.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Chrysophilius winces, but tries not to let his pride take a hit.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“Sorry!” he chirps. “I uh, I wanted to keep them all in one room because all of my other stuff will corrode them if I don’t. Watch your step!”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">He makes a face too embarrassed for Zelda’s liking, so she stops her gawking before it gets to her as well. To his credit, this collection isn’t nearly as gaudy or tacky as she expected it to be—there’s only a few that look like they come from hentai, and even those are…tame. Disgustingly disproportionate with breasts the size of watermelons, but tame.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">…Okay, breathe. Breathe, Zelda. He has a bed in here. That’s good, she won’t have to hurt her back sucking him off on the hard floor. She’s not going to consider the implications of why said bed is here.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb"><em>Did one of these just blink at me?</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">He knocks her out of her stupor by grabbing her collar and pulling her in close. His eyes narrow cuttingly, taking a serious glint. The room’s stillness and quiet seems to worm itself down his back like a cockroach’s footsteps.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“…Okay, no more playing around, Zelda. Let’s get down to business, shall we?”</span></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">He doesn’t hesitate to kiss her, pulling her onto the bed with him. It’s been long enough to wait, long enough to pretend he doesn’t need to relieve himself from a delayed flight this morning, several suppliers failing to show for their appointments, and that idiot Mason not being on time like he always was.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Also…he was supposed to meet Madam Percival tomorrow for his quarterly performance report. That was his boss’s boss…he needs all the good luck he can get now.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Her lipsticks smears all over his face as he keeps himself there for longer than either can breathe. When they break, they take deep inhales and go back to it again, with him pushing his tongue in all the way, heart beating fast. Zelda shivers, but such is her usual routine. She's cute when she reacts, no matter what it is.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">When they pull themselves apart, his hand pats her sides unexpectedly.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“…You brought condoms?”</span></p>
<div class="text-change-colourD">
<p>She says nothing. He pats his lap and she gets up on it, taking both packets out. Her lipstick tastes like nothing to him except thin, hot mush.</p>
<p>“Good, good…good girl for knowing what I really wanted tonight. I do love your pretty face all covered in snow, but your hole is the real star of the show here, you know?”</p>
<p>Zelda cringes so hard internally she would have passed out had her heart not been beating in speed with his. His attempts at being sultry never land. Credit to him for at least not being as vulgar or as stupid as her less-affluent clients, but men were largely the same when it came to this kind of thing. They worshipped their own bodies and functions, but all of the poetic phrase they ascribed to it reeked of humiliation, of trying too hard, of trying to cover up the fact they were just really excited to get it on.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Flinging the packets aside, he swirls her around to the long part of the bed and pins her. The dimness casts an umber-hued shadow over his face and the rest facing her, blotting his clothes blacker than they already were.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">She, on the other hand, has all of the color scraped from her outfit.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">His face bleeds with red blushes and bitten lips. A dog would possess more collected-togetherness than he has now, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. The static in his head is building, and it needs to be released.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“Lovely dress you put on for me,” he says in a tone that can’t hide how tight his pants are becoming. “I’ve never seen this one before…did you buy this with my money?”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">He grabs her breasts and squeezes. Oh yes, she wore the loose bra today. She really <em>was</em> good at this.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“Of course,” she replies plainly. “Most of my stuff is bought with the money you give me.”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“Yes, yes…!” he titters, playfully and gently. “I made you so <em>pretty,</em> Zelda, I made you so pretty…! Look at how pretty I made you…!”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">He sounds proud of himself, and he is. It lit a fire in his chest to know he treated her better than anyone else who had ever looked at her, that all of this wasn’t for nothing. She was practically glowing after two years steeped in his money, as anyone lucky enough to know him should.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">She exposes her neck and he doesn’t hesitate in pleasing himself, going down on her while grinding her crotch. He bites her, panting, one hand playing with her chest, the other pulling her dress up.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">His tongue is hot, and wet. It’s going anywhere he can think of, over whatever flesh he can see and possess.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“Please, say my name in that deep voice of yours…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">She squeaks.“Chrysophilius…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">He grunts, biting her again. There’s no care for the fact she’ll have to show herself in front of professors tomorrow. “More.”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“Chrysophilius…please…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“Oh <em>yes,</em> you cute little thing…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200"><em>All girls should have voices like you,</em> he thinks as blood surges through his hips. He whines as the thought finishes, a subtle thread of hatred sewing them together while his cock presses up against her clit. It sticks out softly through her black silken underwear.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">He pulls her close to reassure himself, to convince himself he’s fucking a real woman. To convince himself against the images laced around his head from days long gone, from days of boarding schools pierced by unspeakable humiliation performed in locker rooms.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Holding hands with boys and having long hair made you a—</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Breaking a little bit, he bites her again, this time much harder than he knew himself capable of. She whimpers, squirming beneath him.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">She whimpers in a way that’s real, not wet with honey or the saccharine ambrosia he’s paying her for. He grinds faster, trying to fill his mind with endorphins to flush out the doubt. It’s what he does best—money was a wonderful filler whenever you were sad, because you could just buy something for a rush of dopamine. And money didn’t just buy things, it could buy people too. Entertainers, secretaries, waitresses—it could buy the most precious thing between two people there was: sex! It could buy you sex with a gorgeous girl, as customizable as you wanted, and if he got tired of her, well, onto the next one!</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">That was living, wasn’t it?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“…Fuck,” he swears under his breath, getting off of her, panting. His head blanks, but not from pleasure. He finally undoes his pants, the hot coiling in his legs and crotch fading.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“That isn’t working. Turn over.”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Zelda sits up as he glares not at her, but himself. The sneer slashes his normally quaint face in two, one half held up by abashed shadows, the other stumbling on its rotational weight.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Butterflies were able to fly so long as you didn’t touch the golden dust keeping their wings together too heavily. He gets the most aroused whenever he’s denying himself, whenever his anxiety mixes with the sweat on his back and brow to plunge him into sticky mind messes.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">When she hesitates, he grunts and grabs one of the condoms off the floor.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“I said turn <em>over</em>, Zelda. I’m going to unzip that dress of yours and do this the usual way.”</span></p>
<div class="text-change-colourD">
<p>It pays to be mercurial all the way down into the hell he made his money from. Because she obeys him quietly, and he grabs her hair as soon as she’s exposed. Without restraint or pleasure, he yanks the velvet shoulders down and performs the same routine on her bra.</p>
<p>His mood settles as he pulls her back up, looking down her bare back. Zelda whines, a prickling flurry of emotions popping in her head like spent carbonation, a flat Chardonnay losing its shine.</p>
<p>“A-Ah, Chrysophilius…”</p>
<p>Breathe. Breathe. She can ask him something surely. She can ask him something to soothe this breaking cliff between them, this spill of liquefying guts.</p>
<p>“…Can you please be a bit…gentler…? Y-You didn’t tell me we were going to…”</p>
</div>
<span style="color: #cfb200">Immediately, his face softens. His hand falls from her hair, and she relaxes.</span>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">He ponders a response looking at her naked skin. It’s shiny, peachly tawny, dotted with a cluster of moles on her left shoulder blade. Supple too, arriving down at a tight hourglass shape before splaying out into what was a beautiful ass.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“…Of course,” he mutters even more delicately than she did. “All good women say that, they all want to be treated like the flowers they a-are…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">That reassures him in the moment. It reassures him as he aligns everything back up again. This is what all of the boys at boarding schools had up as posters on their walls—buxom babes with snatched proportions, locks so shiny it was practically a currency in itself, plush assets flashing outwards for their ogling. This was what they all gathered around for after curfew to watch on shitty VHS tapes, eventually less shitty stolen DVDs, most often with non-descript men, but occasionally, each other. The latter was hotter, because the former scared him—the sex between his mom and dad didn’t sound like that. There was never any moaning or ecstasy, only arguments.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">He presses a hand to her spine and she bristles. The reaction comes out as a groan, but he takes it as a moan and slips a condom on without hesitation.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“God, your hips…”</span></p>
<div class="text-change-colourD">
<p>Humming, he squeezes nondescriptly.</p>
<p>She realizes they’d completely forgotten the wine as he spreads his legs and slides his erection over her.</p>
</div>
<span style="color: #cfb200">“F-Fuck…”</span>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">His hands run over her bare legs again as he’s grinding. Nothing’s going in.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“H-Hey,” he says, his head fogging with the sensation of a revving motor. “C-Can you say my name while I…?”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Distracted by his own pleasure, he whines as his uneven rhythm quickens. She purses her lips, pressing her ass a bit further into him.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“Chrysophilius, you’re doing such a good job…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Did she do that to make him—</span></p>
<div class="text-change-colourD">
<p>“Oh fuck <em>yes,</em>” he nervously keens, shaking as he goes faster. When he finally opens his eyes again, he bends over to finally finish to the top but—</p>
<p>Zelda freezes when he doesn’t do anything. She can feel his thick heat on her bare skin, but it’s not going anywhere. It’s not going anywhere it should be, where he wants it to go.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Chrysophilius gulps as he examines both of her holes. They’re so delightfully colored.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">But he’s only ever used one. The ‘proper’ one, the one girls had made for men.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">…Is he going to get in trouble for wanting the other…?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">She…She had such a deep voice, but that didn’t make her a…a…</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Hesitation always kills the mood, but he does his best to buoy it back up anyway. In his mind, she’s always perfectly okay with what he wanted, always perfectly aroused in a way that’ll align with his own. So she’s going to be perfectly okay with a question like this, right?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“…Can I…uh…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Wow, smooth move handsome. That’ll impress her for sure.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“I…I, uh…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Why can’t he get the words out…?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“Z-Zelda,” he forces himself to say, sliding his hand up and down again across her ass. He gives it an unsatisfying squeeze, finally looking at her in the eyes he feels exist on the back of her head.</span></p>
<div class="text-change-colourD">
<p>“Can…Can I do you in your…your uh, backdoor? P-Please?”</p>
<p>Chrysophilius Marshall does not say please. He has never said please, because he is to be served.</p>
<p>And yet the question collapses for the both of them anyway as she pulls up to look at his face with his limp dick on her ass. He pulls it back with a flustered expression, trying to turn himself into the iron he was wearing before. The room soaks in his ineptitude, bleeding through his apprehensive insecurities. Auric chitin burns as her eyes darken involuntarily.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“I…what?” she stammers.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">He stumbles internally on how upset she sounds. Wait, is she upset? What if she’s just…surprised?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“I-I…I s-said w-what I said…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Such a shaky voice.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“I…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Chrysophilius finds himself moving in time with a heartbeat. With a heartbeat not his own, but one cloyed through the shifting dimensions of his house, the moving memories in his mind. His bottom half moves with a disgust assaulting his brain to the rhythm of his mother’s inaudible voice, a voice that once rang out in a house that felt bigger than his could ever dream of.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">His upper half moves with slippery dereliction. With wanton abandon, halfway flashbacks.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">At seven years old, he heard his mother call his father a faggot. He does not remember this and will never again, but the word buried itself into his spine with a sharp, ugly drill. It buried deep with an attraction he could not control and mated with it furiously, viciously, maliciously. With its teeth, tearing precious, vulnerable flesh apart until there was only blood, only haphazard gazes towards what he liked, only cursing under his breath when male strippers came up in illicit business meetings to greet him. Suddenly, without warning and without fail, he found himself in another room. Suddenly, he found himself unable to consider his own body attractive in relation to them, a bleaching of the intended purpose society and his mother put upon him.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">She yelled at Amos again when he was ten. That time he remembers. It was the same word, the same hideous word, all wrapped up in maternal hate. He wouldn’t have sex with her, and that was what she called him as a result. Chrysophilius never understood this, because his dad had sex with a lot of women that weren’t his mother. He did it so often he knew them by name, because occasionally they’d say hi to him over the holidays at school.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Could you still be a faggot and have sex with women?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Was…Did that make him…?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Her voice…her body…her lower half…</span></p>
<div class="text-change-colourD">
<p>N-No, he w-wasn’t…</p>
<p>He doesn’t notice his nails are digging into her and that she’s struggling to escape his grip. Instead of relinquishing, he pulls her in tighter as she gasps, his lithe arms tensing.</p>
<p>“…Please,” is all he can say.</p>
<p>She stops. He’s pressed up against her ass still, but there’s nothing between them anymore. No more arousal, no more flared feelings, no more illusions.</p>
<p>He’s never gotten like this. What the hell? Does she call Xenia? Does she call 911? God, what is she supposed to do? She can’t move, but she doesn’t want to risk it. In times like this, she has her own set of triggers to deal with. Men that held her down where she couldn’t writhe free were death sentences—they were death sentences in the sense of a death of her pride, her autonomy, her dignity and her sense of safety.</p>
<p>They were a death in physicality, in a violent battering of her will and her often tenuous contract with them, supported by no social safety net and nothing but the empty words of condolences after a situation she’d never have been in if she had the money and the means of escape.</p>
<p>It’s a death by possession, of holding and claiming. Her heart, her liver, her spleen, her tongue.</p>
<p>Each and every one of them took it all. They took it all, and ate for themselves her spoiled body and its rotting treasures. All for a single moment of ecstasy, a single moment of happiness often offensively driven by her pain.</p>
<p>No movement from either. He’s still holding her, still keeping her against himself.</p>
<p>Her mind screams, squealing like a pig with the ax above its head.</p>
<p>Too tight, too tight. Too tight to breathe for her, now. His muscles are a cage, a nasty and chewing set of bars.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“…I’m sorry,” is all he can mumble, and she doesn’t hear. He fights her struggling, holding her closer, but before he does, he pulls his pants up. He pulls his pants up for his own sake, not hers, because the shame is flooding and salting him. It’s burning the wheat fields, yellow and rich in their yields. Unending in the butterflies which will come to land on their minuscule flowers and carry pollen somewhere else just as fertile.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">She nearly punches him, about to totally snap and until he cries and pushes his head into her shoulder.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">There are no words between them as she loosens and again he falls deeper into her. He falls cavernously into what he sees as a one-sided despair, because he does not know her and, like the good object she is, he does not know how to. He does not know how to, even though he is human, and has matched flesh with her before, because she is at once both a woman and something that defiles him, something that makes everyone proud of him until she opens her mouth.</span></p>
<div class="text-change-colourD">
<p>So what is he to do?</p>
<p>What is he to do?</p>
<p>He cries, louder. Zelda is jolted out of her flight instincts to settle on this tree choking in water. There is no affection in her adjusting movements, only pity scraped from the bottom of human consciousness, offered by emotional instinct.</p>
<p>“Ch-Chrysophilius…”</p>
</div>
<div class="text-change-colourD">
<p>Burying himself in her chest, he shakes like a pair of sunset wings trapped in a ferocious gale. His mind does not want to be soothed by her presence, but it needs it. It needs it, it needs a warm body, as all humans do.</p>
<p>Her eyes look so alarmingly into his own, wide with concern and fear. For both him, and what he must have built up to explode so violently and pathetically tonight—but for herself, as well.</p>
<p>It’s so hard to look away. That piacular face strains itself in tears and whimpers the way Zelda knows all too well.</p>
</div>
<div class="text-change-colourD">
<p>There was a rule in the world of a Veil existing—of normalcy, of a curtain drawn over a plethora of mysteries unknown to the public. It was a beautiful white thing, thin as gossamer and yet so oppressively opaque as to frustrate, even infuriate.</p>
<p>Between them, there is a similar veil slowly lifting, against both of their wills, both of their wishes. The mysteries they have been hiding from each have been on purpose, stemming from status slurring into attraction, from the power money provides in the most basic, bestial expression of its very basal existence: telling someone else what to do.</p>
<p>The veil is lifting because they are both gloriously, unfortunately human. They have breached the limits of what the raw spirit can ignore, the nonsensical laws of emotion which their DNA coded them into, how far they can repel each other before north slams into south and they are stuck like a stillborn in the birth canal.</p>
<p>A limit exists on the pain someone can endure before turning to something to help. Something is the key word here—Chrysophilius made his life filling every part of it to the brim with somethings, each as unceremoniously unspectacular as the last, and yet dripping with wonder anyway. A curiosity existed after all under the suffocating weight of the gold he drowned himself in—it may not have been a metal which played nice with others, or was very reactive at all to the most essential of functions—but with a spark, and enough time, it too could corrode.</p>
<p>It too could turn into something else.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Zelda finally says fuck it and pulls herself away. Chrysophilius grabs her and wails.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“P-Please!”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“What do you want, Chrysophilius?! What the <em>fuck</em> is wrong with you tonight?!”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Oh shit. That comes out angrier than she expects. She shudders at her own cruelty in a way he rarely did, watching him cycle through iterative collapse after iterative collapse until finally he just screams. He just screams from all of the pent-up pressure, his hands muffling his own sin.</span></p>
<div class="text-change-colourB">
<p>“<em>I don’t wanna be a goddamn faggot for l-liking you!!!</em>”</p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Silence.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Pure, gilded silence.</span></p>
<div class="text-change-colourB">
<p>A silence wrapped in alloys, quashed beneath the weight of its own weak palms.</p>
<p>The world feels like nothing for the both of them. Tarnishing amens breach, beckoning ruin from smashed cages.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">All she can do is stare, stare with wide eyes, stare with eyes wider than any possibility or radius that ever existed as a dawn of realizations slide down her back.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">All he can do is cry loudly. All he can do is cry, all he can do is wail, all he can do is screech for something, something, anything. He has no social capital left in this limited, infinitesimal scenario.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">There is no one to tell this to except the one who caused it.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Against everything she knows is good, Zelda sits back down on the bed. Her mind blanks staring at him, rolling over the feelings she had when she was ten, fifteen, and eighteen. The back-alley men she did it with and the wondering of whether she was a guy or a girl, since she did it so freely with both. There was no label to describe the kind of person she was—and the invisibility was suffocating. It was as alienating as aliens could get—she was an outsider among the lesbians and not welcome amidst the gay men. Among the other various groups with various names, they too saw her as a freak and aborted any hope of membership with them.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">That feeling didn’t go away with her first T-shot, even as she felt a relief of belonging to her own body. Having access to the DIY stuff meant she still skated along the edges of recognizability—there was no doctor to pin down what was wrong with her, no psychologist to tell her that her dysphoria made her one very specific thing.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">It was only the smiles of those people…</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">The people who were there for her before she could finally go to the doctor and pay for her appointments without insurance.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Without them…</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">She puts a hand on his shoulder as he cries and sees himself as alone in the universe. When he realizes her comfort, he stills, shivering slowly sliding to a crawl.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Soon, it becomes nothing at all. He peels his face out of his gloves to look up at her. Tears stain his face, sticky and disgustingly glistening.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“…Z-Zelda…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Scooting closer to him, she wraps her arms around him and hugs. She hugs him against her own good judgment, because the veil is gone. It has been destroyed. There will be no more pretenses about them anymore. They have moved from a transaction of currency to a transaction of emotion, that slippery, costless notion.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Still, she does not have the courage to ask him why he said that. She can only assume from her experience and incompletely fill in poorly thought-out blanks.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“…I’m still here for you,” she says. “I…Um…That word…it sucks. B-But I’m still here for you…if you want me to be.”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">She gives him the option because it could be her way out. If he rejects her now, she’ll have a clean getaway. The one thing she was confident in was his lack of violence, strangely—it was the only reason she was still here and not halfway across the country once he paid her that first thirty grand.</span></p>
<div class="text-change-colourD">
<p>Someone like her won’t be worth much to him as a freak of nature.</p>
<p>He chooses to lean into her like he’s hanging on for his life. His fingers latch onto her as hooks do.</p>
<p>“…Can you stay w-with me tonight…?” he begs, shattering completely. The words can’t die in his throat, because precious metals never lose their value. Whenever he’s thrust into a position of weakness, he yields out of a feeling of emasculation.</p>
<p>“I…I have classes tomorrow,” she reminds him.</p>
<p>“I-I’ll triple your p-pay…!”</p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">The money is becoming so much she doesn’t know what to do with it anymore. She keeps most of it in the bank account he gave her.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“…Please…” he stammers. His voice breaks a soprano and he puts his entire weight into her.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“I…I…”</span></p>
<span style="color: #c46aeb">Xenia will be sick with worry if she doesn’t come home…</span><br/>
<div class="text-change-colourB">
<p>“Zelda, p-please…!”</p>
<p>He’s pleading as he did when he was young. Eight, and wanting his mom to hug him like all the other boys’ mothers did. Wanting her to not leave him alone for days on end when he came back from holidays, with just his TV, his video games, and his own thoughts in a big, empty house.</p>
<p>“Please, I’ll do whatever—! Whatever you want, please, j-just don’t leave me by myself…!!!”</p>
<p>His last stand is grabbing her unzipped dress and pulling her so close and fast into him that he nearly rips it. His sobs break, refusing to die peaceful rests as his grip resumes the strength it had earlier.</p>
<p>Zelda flinches, and he notices, but doesn’t care.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Her last stand will be…</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“…O-Okay, I will! But you…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">She looks around, her thoughts spinning on what to ask. The room is so tight it traps her relatively meager ambitions and threatens to kill them, but she still manages to salvage something from the cracks in the walls.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“What I want from you is—”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">A deep breath. It’s a supernova of potential she can grab out of this, yeah?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Jeez, is this making her just as…what was the word? Materialistic? Was that her now…?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">The desperation was more palpable than blood. If he wants, he could peel it off her right here and now in thick, wet strips that would fester like molten corpses thrown into a crucible.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">He presses a hand to her chest looking for her heartbeat. His nerves rot spectacularly as he awaits an answer, each passing second a total lack of reprieve.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“…Fifteen million.”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Chrysophilius perks up. He blinks away his tears, his jasper eyes wide and splitting, but bleeding platinum now. It will soon harden into gold.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“…F-Fifteen…million?”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Is she worth that much…?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“Y-yeah,” she replies. “Fifteen million from you. Split up between…like…I dunno, three fighting game tournaments at that center we both first met at. You can find someone to get all that done, r-right…?”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">It still refuses to register to him. Where did she get this sudden burst of confidence? She never asked for anything extra before.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“I-I said what I said,” she replies when he doesn’t answer still, unaware she is copying his cadence from earlier in asserting what she wants. “I’ll stay with you tonight if you can do that for me. I want those people to have the time of their lives, too…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">When he begins to frown, she leans in and whispers in his ear with a hand tracing his chest.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“I know you can do that…you’re the nice, strong guy I’ve come to appreciate, Chrysophilius…”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">How much of that is a lie?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Whatever the answer is, he smiles and sniffles, hugging her and pulling down to the bed. Their veins pulse together, metronomes clicking in tandem pandemonium.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">“O-Okay, j-just for you…!”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">Now he gets to reassert his position again. He gets to play pretend as the breadwinner here, the husband to a wife. All she’s doing is asking for a little treat after all, nothing serious.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“And when I do…!”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">He beams again, that glistering smile stripping the air and the dimness between them, resuming the gold rush of usual business.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #cfb200">“You have to attend with me! We’ll both go together, and I wanna hold your hand!”</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb"><em>…Fuck.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Of course he’d push the envelope like that.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">But she supposes she deserves it, because she did it too, didn’t she?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">…Whatever. All she has to do is focus on the now, and focus on the maybe good deed she did getting this guy to pour into the local community like that. Who knows if he’ll find some way to fuck it up, but she couldn’t care less. She couldn’t care less.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">Tonight’s been strange enough as it is. There’s nothing left to do except to try and sleep on someone that desperately needs to be a stranger.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">He is in all of the ways that matter…</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #c46aeb">The anime figurines stare at her while the two drift off into an uneasy sleep, clutched together in ragged arms. Each and every one of their painted eyes is a perpetual motion machine, a piece of easy, targeted idealism, wrapped up in more money than she or anyone she ever knew would get to hold in their lifetime.</span></p>
<div class="text-change-colourC">
<p>They feel no pain for her, no pity or sorrow for the door she has opened, but will no longer be able to close. The stage has been set, the trap has been sprung; each of their bodies pale in her realness, the flesh and bone she has sold and cut, because the brood parasite butterfly, one-of-a-kind in its genus, has found where it is to lie. It will lie, lie to himself, lie to his money, lie to his driver as he wakes up; he will lie in bed with her until the sun rises, unseen from these avaricious rooms that have no restraint on what they will swallow.</p>
<p>The sugar pill is working, cooking them both as black ambrosia pours over skin joined and minds sutured.</p>
<p>All that is left now to do is wait for the regret to set in.</p>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
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Chrysophilius Marshall, like any good billionaire playboy, has a favorite escort. She’s fun, she’s no commitment, she’s chill to all the way the max.
Oh, if only it was that simple.
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|sexually-explicit=1
|custom=1 |custom-content= Graphic depictions of transphobic and misogynistic objectification.]]
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|name=xexnoncores]]
**This work has CWs in addition to the already present for:** usage of homophobic/transphobic slurs, mentions of sexual assault, internalized homophobia/transphobia, and child abuse.
**Viewer discretion is heavily advised.**
All That Glitters is Fool’s Gold by [[*user xexnoncores]]
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= [[size 2.0em]]
October 18th, 2022
[[/size]]
“He seriously expected you guys to take the test while the computer lab was down?”
“Yep,” Zelda replies, shoving a forkful of ramen into her mouth. The TV illuminates her face like an ashy ghost. “He said he didn’t care if a squirrel crawled into the building’s electrical circuit and exploded—we either took it or we failed the class.”
“Fuck that dude,” [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5470 Xenia] responds, sipping her soda. “And he did all that knowing half his students didn’t have a working laptop?”
“Yeah.” Zelda winces, and Xenia snickers. The noodles must be too hot.
“Hope he dies.”
“Haha, I hope he holds out until at least the end of my semester so I don’t have to wait until next fall for the class to be available again.”
Again she goes back to that painful feeling. Xenia shakes her head internally, but at least Zelda had good sense so as to not like wasting food.
“I hope he dies and you get the credit instantly,” Xenia huffs, rolling her eyes as another car crash plays on the screen. “You deserve it.”
“Nah, I really don’t…but thank you thou—”
A shrieking tone rings out. Zelda swallows too quickly and coughs into her arm as she digs for her phone.
“Who is it?”
Zelda doesn’t answer her, expression going pallid quickly as soon as the name scrolls. Like a switch, she slips into a deep, sultry voice, deeper than it already was, anyway.
“Hey. What’s up?”
Xenia cocks her head as Zelda steps off the bed and purses her lips tightly.
“…What?” Xenia can hear the cayenne soaking her tongue in an unfortunately wet performance. “It’s…9 pm on a school night. …Okay yeah, my classes aren’t until 3 tomorrow but—”
“What the…”
Zelda runs a hand across her face, biting her bottom lip. The voice on the other end of the line is frantic, despondent.
“Okay, okay! I get it, I get it. You had a bad day at work. I’ll be there in thirty through the subw—well, are you sending a car to pick me up? Then I’m taking the subway. I’m sorry to keep you waiting, I really am, but l-like I said—!”
She goes quiet for a second. Xenia tries to focus her hearing on the obnoxiousness drooling through her best friend’s ear, but when Zelda notices she turns the volume down and begins whispering.
“…Alright. I’ll be there soon. Do you want the purple dress or the blue one? …Okay, red pumps or—red, got it. You have condoms, right?”
Xenia bristles. //No fucking way, is this—//
“…Well, you know my rules, no condoms no—alright, alright I get it. You just want the lowbrow course. H-Hey, you don’t have to yell, okay? …I’m sorry. You had a bad day, right. Yeah, yeah, I really am, I promise. See you later, and stay safe.”
She hangs up and whirls around to Xenia, currently picking her jaw up off the floor with the darkest expression she’s made this year.
“What the hell was that?! Don’t tell me that’s the guy that pays for all of your—”
Zelda runs off as soon as she thinks she has the opening. Through her cramped hallway and into her bathroom, white counters glowing despite being clogged with makeup trays thrown about everywhere. Xenia tags her with stomping feet.
“He sounds awful!” she spits. Zelda doesn’t say anything, instead layering foundation on without reserve, wet ruby lipstick next.
“Do you have condoms?” she asks, as if that was a normal question here.
Xenia balks, blinking wildly. “What the—does he not—?!”
“Please, just tell me yes or no. I know he’s going to change his mind from just wanting oral, and I don’t have time to go to the drug store. He’s just…unpredictable like that.”
“Why the hell are you entertaining this guy?! Can he not buy them himself?!”
Zelda shakes her head, grabbing a brush and wrangling it through her hair. It’s a beautiful shade of brioche brown, roasted to perfection.
“We can talk later—”
“We’re not talking about this //later//, we’re talking about this //now!// I can’t believe you hid this guy’s shittiness from me, I—I’m not letting you get taken advantage of just because he—!”
“Xenia, //please!//“
Zelda’s voice cracks whenever she gets upset. It breaks like a vase, from the bottom up first, always in a way that shows she’s struggling to push through the pressure that comes with whatever’s ailing her. She hates it so much, because it snaps back into that disgusting soprano she took testosterone to get away from.
She turns to her, two-thirds of the way done. “…We can talk about it later. I promise. I’m sorry I never told you about him sooner. But…I’m under an NDA, so I can’t tell you anything pertinent.”
Her purple dress shimmers. The singular red stripe running through the middle down to her shoes bleeds like an open wound in the bleaching fluorescent light.
“Now, tell me if you have condoms. Please, for me. I promise he’s not cheap, he just…forgets a lot of things.”
That moon face falls, brown eyes withering. But Xenia only nods, trying her best not to pinch her mouth into an angry slit.
“…Yeah, I do. What size?”
“Average works. He’s not that special.”
“I would hope not. You have your pepper spray?”
“He makes me not bring it.”
“Fucker—”
Zelda finishes putting the last of her eyeshadow on as Xenia goes to get her bag from the bedroom.
“I’m not arguing with a guy who pays me thirty grand every time he wants head,” she says as Xenia returns, gritting her teeth.
“You should at least have some self-respect,” Xenia replies, handing her two bright yellow packets.
“I do,” Zelda quips, standing back to look at her handiwork. “I stopped taking work from guys who paid me like dirt because of this one. I stopped stooping to the Black Tiger downtown, where practically every other night some drunk douche was trying to sexually assault me for three dollars.”
Xenia frowns deeper, but only because of the circumstances. The two have known each other for five years, and it was hard to deny that before whoever this was, Zelda had a rough life. Being kicked out by her uncle at 13 didn’t do wonders for her mental health, nor her ability to hold down a job that paid a damn. It was a couch-to-couch surfing life, living between the margins of the margins of people who halfway gave a shit and those who smacked her around when she inevitably couldn’t come up with the rent after a night where she just couldn’t bring herself to suck someone off.
Even Xenia’s mom, for as little as they hated each other after soothing out their relationship a decade ago (after she finally stopped going by Kimberley) thought Zelda was a bum until she started going to college. She said she was going to become a marine biologist, trotting up and down the Californian coast to help save the sea otter population.
There’s a silence between them as Xenia runs over the fact that as much as she’s burning with frustration, Zelda did stop coming home with bruises and horror stories. Maybe a few terrified faces, but the guy was probably shit at sex or asked her to do something dumb. Rich types were always like that—they didn’t know the true extent underground fetish scenes reached, and they wanted in on the action without the less-than-well-off freaks who made it real. Without the work of the cruisers who pleasured them in dirty bars, the dominatrixes who whipped them around in cold steel dungeons, the models who truly embraced armpit pics.
“…Just stay safe,” Xenia mutters, eyes falling as Zelda takes a deep inhale. She turns to her and halfway smiles, ignoring the rumbling of her phone, most likely texts she’s receiving at light-speed right now.
“I will. I…I appreciate it. Do you want anything when I come back?”
Xenia shrugs. “Just you in one piece.”
“Oh c’mon, you have to have something you want from the corner store. I don’t mind.”
“I do,” Xenia responds gruffly, drumming her hands against the wall. “You. Seriously, all I want is for you to have an okay time tonight. //Please// call me if he fucks you up in some way. If he does, I’ll get my friend Jude to figure out where he lives.”
“A-Ahaha…” Zelda stutters, nervously twirling her fingers with the hem of her dress. “That…That won’t be necessary, I promise. Really.”
##c46aeb|//You won’t even be able to figure out how to get in…// she thinks as she grabs her purse and pushes her way through the bathroom door and out the apartment. The condoms are in her pockets.##
##CFB200|He's## ##c46aeb|never as bad as she thinks. By how much she’s never sure, but it’s enough to keep her going without the pressure of the idea she was giving up a significant portion of her soul for the grind. ##
##c46aeb|Breathe, Zelda. Breathe. He’ll be cordial tonight, surely.##
------
##c46aeb|The trip is never without a cup of nerves.##
##c46aeb|Zelda clutches her hands close to her chest as the elevator slides up soundlessly. It’s such a smooth ride she wonders if it’s even moving at all, especially because no one is interrupting her. Nobody’s ever gotten on while she was climbing to visit.##
##c46aeb|It’s an emptiness she can’t shake off. A six-sided notion of fracture, sparkling with gem-studded unease. A glittering chalice of hollowed vices, tittering perfectly every doubt she had about herself: her voice, her skin, her makeup, her hair. Okay, he didn’t care about her hair much—but she didn’t understand why. She didn’t want to ask and she didn’t want to know. ##
##c46aeb|Maybe that was the part of her he saw as normal. Maybe that was the part of her he didn’t care about. ##
##c46aeb|Maybe that was the part he wasn’t attracted to. ##
##c46aeb|Another breath. It’s been two minutes. It takes five to arrive at his…does she want to say condo? That’s what he calls it. That’s not what it is, but it’s what he calls it. The more accurate statement would be that it’s a castle, a gigantic castle shoved inside what was supposed to be the fiftieth floor of a luxury high rise—but he calls it a condo. ##
##c46aeb|…Why is this taking so long? She hit all of the buttons in the right order, didn’t she? 9-2-1-1-1-7-7-7. Followed by the big switch that appears right outside of the panel in short order. That’s the code to get in. The door will fling open any minute now…##
##c46aeb|She looks down at her phone. 9:46 pm. Then 9:47 pm.##
##c46aeb|She’s late. ##
##c46aeb|Her thoughts swirl and consume her banally as a black shadow slides over her form, bringing with it a change in interior. The elevator slips quietly from sleek, steel panels of minimalist vacation rentals advertisements to a rich, auric tapestry of flowery bas-reliefs. Mounted riders with bayonets and starry flags cruise along the railings, forever circling a faced sun staring down from the ceiling. It is engraved in the style of early Western medieval art, with twelve trumpets facing upwards towards it in dance, all enrobed in butterflies.##
##c46aeb|Zelda doesn’t notice the transformation until the anachronistic digital display dings. She gasps, keeping her hands away from the men on horses, who consider her shadow to be a distraction from their march.##
##c46aeb|The door slides open and she rubs her eyes. A glut of radiant light swells and breaks to a beautifully yellow hallway choked with golden-hued baubles, trinkets, wonders, and impossibilities. She steps out before it all comes into focus, up until she’s brought to reality by a familiarly thick British accent yelling. ##
##c46aeb|“Bloody hell Mason, I said tomorrow. //Tomorrow!// Not Thursday, not Friday, not Saturday—tomorrow, you useless fucking cunt!”##
##c46aeb|Her entire body shudders.##
##c46aeb|“If I don’t have an equity statement on my desk by 8:30 am tomorrow, I am seizing this pathetic digital alchemy scheme of yours! All of your invested crypto too, you hear me?! You answer to //my// advice, shitnuts, not your ass-mouthed wife’s!##
##c46aeb|There he is. Chrysophilius Marshall. Who sometimes went by “Skitter” for…some reason unbeknownst to her. Was it because his middle was Scooter?##
##c46aeb|She freezes while waiting for his footsteps to catch up to her. Here, his voice is difficult to echo because of all the stuff cluttering everywhere but the walkways. ##
##c46aeb|The off-kiltering sears her sense of reality. Nearly stumbling over a hyperbolic essocube, she tells herself this is all normal. He’s normal, this stuff is normal. Totally. Completely. Unabashedly.##
##c46aeb|She does this literally every time she’s here, because it was how she coped with the fact her NDA covered…well, all of this, described officially as “anomalous paraphernalia”. Each corner was a new TV that warped the edges of her vision, every nook and cranny a jar full of unknowns chattering in pataphysical tongues. ##
##c46aeb|Hey, are those emerald eyes staring at her? Is that three-headed bird in the cage above her real? The dragon flying around her feet was just a robot, right?##
##c46aeb|It’s as if a second camera is shoved into the back of her head when he finally makes eye contact with her.##
##c46aeb|“Oh?”##
##c46aeb|His eyes light up.##
##c46aeb|“Oh! Oh! Zelda!”##
##c46aeb|No time to react as he rushes and hugs her. Hard.##
##c46aeb|“Zelda, you’re here! My goodness, I’ve missed you!”##
##c46aeb|Her entire body goes stone as his heavy cologne and thickly-clothed arms envelope her in a pseudo-loving embrace. But as he leans in for a kiss, he cocks his head, pulling back.##
##c46aeb|“Oh Zelda, what’s wrong? Did the underground not treat you well? You’re as stiff as wood!”##
##c46aeb|She shakes her head. ##
##c46aeb|“Hey, I told you to take a cab,” he remarks with a sigh. Is it a dismissive sigh? “There’s too many rats down there for a pretty face like yours. You wouldn’t want your dress getting ruined by some random sod, now would you?”##
##c46aeb|She shakes her head again one more time, not responding at all. His reaction is to tilt his own in the other direction, blinking wildly. ##
##c46aeb|“…Do you want some wine to loosen you up then? I have some vintage Merlot I just brought back from my business trip to Paris. Five grand per bottle each, straight from the Alsace vineyards!”##
##c46aeb|Mentioning the price of things isn’t a conscious act of domination on his part. That’s what Zelda thinks anyway, with how casual and nonchalant the aphorisms always are. Money was simply something that existed to someone like him, a something that never even registered in his mind as possibly ever being a problem. For other people? Sure, but he was not other people. He was one of the heirs to Marshall, Carter and Dark Ltd. An “inheritor of the world” as his boss Iris put it, an executor to all of its inner workings and supernatural machinations. ##
##c46aeb|That was what he had told her, anyway. Babbled over the course of many, many one-sided conversations about himself, all more shallow than she expected too, especially when she pretended to be interested and pressed for details. Which was supposed to be more disturbing to her: the fact he was a nepo-baby billionaire, or the fact he wasn’t entirely honest about what he did for a living? ##
##c46aeb|Zelda shakes her head again until she finds herself nodding halfway through, because alcohol will make this easier, actually. It will be easier because he’ll stop her at a single glass, not out of greed, but a charmingly ironic sense of safety. Chrysophilius always said he’d hate to do her drunk, because he couldn’t stand girls who weren’t coherent enough to say his long, pretentious yet weirdly charming name that sounds like the word ‘chrysalis’, which brought to mind jeweled scarab beetles and the way they skittered around on dry stone and bark.##
##c46aeb|She’ll take what she can get. ##
##c46aeb|“Wonderful,” he says with a bit of breath in his voice. “I think you’ll really appreciate this—it has a deep, full body to it that’s a bit hard to come by. It’s been such a pleasure drinking on the plane—a shame they limited me to only buying five.”##
##c46aeb|“Only five? They said that to you?”##
##c46aeb|He snickers. “Yeah, you should have seen them. I said ‘hey, lookie here, I’m getting one of these for a nice lady I’m keeping back in NYC—you gotta let me get some extra for her to take home. You wouldn’t want a guy like me to let her down, yeah?’ But they wouldn’t budge.”##
##c46aeb|//He wants to give me a gift?// ##
##c46aeb|“But alas, ugh—I kept getting stonewalled. They whined about ‘other customers’ wanting to ‘enjoy the experience too’ like—hello, I can pay more than their second-rate pockets ever could! I deserved the extras. Do they want to make money or not?!”##
##c46aeb|He gulps, pulling her in close. She looks up to him glassily, hanging off his arm faintly and daintily. It’s a display he likes, because he’s not as tall as he wants to be, but she’s still shorter than him. So he gets to have the pretend experience of hoisting her up like she’s to be his fiancé, cauterized to his hip forever.##
##c46aeb|It lasts all of three seconds before he clicks his tongue and plunges down to reality.##
##c46aeb|“…I’m sorry I can’t send you home with any of these, Zelda.”##
##c46aeb|Wh…Why does he sound genuinely hurt?##
##c46aeb|If she were stupid, she would have thought to herself why he didn’t think to give up one of the five he got. But she knows better. She knows better because Chrysophilius Marshall does not share—he only gives away what he thinks he does not need, if you’re lucky to catch the small part of the world he doesn’t think he has to have.##
##c46aeb|Pulling her by the wrist off his quickly souring mood, they tug each other down the halls wordlessly. She ends up being the one to find the wine first, and turning his cavalier candor around as swiftly as it came. It’s not that hard to see the bottles when they’re pitch black against a wall smothered in sunlight hues.##
##c46aeb|“A-Ah,” he stutters, catching himself. A swirl of surprise froths at the edge of his mind. “Are…Are you as excited as I am?”##
##c46aeb|//I dunno,// she thinks. She wants to go to bed more than anything else. The wine will help her get there. But it will also help her calm down from the images of Xenia quickly impressing themselves upon her brain with every new treasure her eyes glaze over. Every new room too, and foyer-like structure. Dozens, if not hundreds stretched out in every direction, everywhere, floor to unseeable ceiling, stuffed to bursting with practically everything they could possibly fit.##
##c46aeb|She can hear that voice telling her to run, to get out of here. Xenia actually knew about this kind of stuff more than Zelda expected when they got to know each other—apparently she created a lot of items similar to these in her spare time on the computer. She had a whole friend group who did it, and they spoke in memes and incomprehensible slang on Discord servers while complaining about ‘janitors’ and how late-stage capitalism was destroying the video games industry.##
[[div class="text-change-colour"]]
Almost fun, but Zelda felt intimidated by the idea of getting to know people like that. People who spoke in grandiose ideals instead of staunch practicality, whose idea of the world was so wide it smothered their capacity for empathy and blinded them to the blasè they possessed talking about someone like her as if she wasn’t real, and in the room listening.
…Hey, was that room filled with…mannequins? Life-sized mannequins made of…crystals?
The one to her side has nothing but a bunch of eye-shaped books all trying their best to stare at nothing while continuously rotating in the air.
Chrysophilius sees her hesitation and squeezes her hand, getting close to her ear.
“You can pick wherever you want us to relax in,” he offers with a whisper. “My treat.”
//What are you thinking about?// he wonders. He rarely asks about the world she comes from because it scares him. It scares him as much as it disgusts him. He knew somewhat of the degree of filth she wallowed in once, he saw that from the clothes she wore when he first approached her at that gaming tournament, but he didn’t want to know the specifics. The specifics were unimportant, unimportant to the caramel voice he picked her out for and pursued her to catch. Unimportant to the skinny frame she had, complimented by a buxom chest, and her…
[[/div]]
[[div class="text-change-colourC"]]
She looks around aimlessly. The ceiling above their head shifts, sliding with new angles to reveal even newer hallways.
One, two, three, four. A set of stairs falls down to their sides, slick steps perfectly polished and reflecting their faces.
Five, six, seven, eight. She grabs his other hand on a whirling heel, trying to orient herself to a seeable zenith. Any star faced with wealth of this magnitude would struggle not to blush.
“Oh, is all of this giving you motion sickness, Zelda?”
Snapping his fingers, everything stops. Everything stops, from the hundreds of multidimensional wind-up clocks to the thousands of eagle-headed matryoshka dolls leaking hand-shaped residue. It all stops so suddenly that the silence is an even worse salve to her faltering, but at least she can hear her own thoughts now. At least she can hear the blood in her ears.
He looks down on her as she looks back up at him. For her, this was more than the usual spectacle he put on—something bad must have happened today.
For him, he resumes his train of thought from earlier. About what her deep voice brought, made by modern technology.
He’s not sure how to describe her bottom half. It wasn’t something he thought about until he got in bed with her the first time, and just…stared. Stared for long enough she slipped into suicidal ideation until he hoisted himself up and began making out with her. It wasn’t a turn-off, and it wasn’t even that unusual from what a normal vagina looked like, it just…made him feel uneasy somewhere deep down in a manner he didn’t quite know how to unpack yet. In the very same manner of why he didn’t want his father Amos to know about her, why he felt so unusually guilty masturbating to feminine men.
It looked like…
But it wasn’t. It //was// a hole, despite its resemblance otherwise.
Ugh, why could Iris and Robert talk so freely about such things…?! The latter was even more shameless than he was too. How did he not die from embarrassment talking about the number of feet pictures he bought?
Whatever he felt, he was hopeful he was doing his part of making things right in the world. Even though this was as humble as elevating someone like her above whatever dirt she was born in, he’ll take it. [[/div]]
##c46aeb|Finally, she gets her act together and points to a random room in a random direction. Chyrsophilius leans over to get a better look, and smiles wide.##
##c46aeb|“…Oh? That one? I didn’t know you liked…”##
##c46aeb|He blushes, putting a thinly-gloved hand to his neck until Zelda follows his gaze and realizes what she’s done.##
##c46aeb|“Of course,” she says with a heavy sigh, and he beams. “How many figurines are in there?”##
##c46aeb|“Hm…I lost count a while ago. I know the number of anime they all come from constitutes at least four hundred.”##
##c46aeb|“H-Have you even watched that many…?”##
##c46aeb|He shrugs. “Unsure. At work, I have it on in the background all the time, but I don’t know if that’s really watching them, hehe…”##
##c46aeb|Those eyes of his sparkle again. So rich like fresh earth, complimenting all of this extravagant warmth. Zelda clicks her tongue, her annoyance fading from prickly nuisance to gossamer unevenness in record time. It’s hard to keep up the facade of knife-shaved stalwartness around him when he gets like this—when his pupils widen and he looks at her with what she thinks is a breaking of the service pact they both signed. The resonance between his house, his money, and his demeanor falls to the wayside when it’s just his soft, boyish face and his fluffy, chin-length blonde hair between the two of them, barren and seeking.##
##c46aeb|…How peculiar. Zelda never said it aloud, but that cut always felt…incongruously off for a businessman. What was he trying to do there?##
##c46aeb|She lets the dissonance jostle around her brain as she takes his hand and drags him up the stairs. For who she did that for, she’s not sure.##
##c46aeb|“…Oh god.”##
##c46aeb|The room dims as she walks in, but not enough. The figurines face her pallidly, plastic eyes and resin poses too close to one another for comfort. Almost like an industrial pig farm, each one poised for easy and dirty consumption.##
##c46aeb|Chrysophilius winces, but tries not to let his pride take a hit. ##
##c46aeb|“Sorry!” he chirps. “I uh, I wanted to keep them all in one room because all of my other stuff will corrode them if I don’t. Watch your step!”##
##c46aeb|He makes a face too embarrassed for Zelda’s liking, so she stops her gawking before it gets to her as well. To his credit, this collection isn’t nearly as gaudy or tacky as she expected it to be—there’s only a few that look like they come from hentai, and even those are…tame. Disgustingly disproportionate with breasts the size of watermelons, but tame. ##
##c46aeb|…Okay, breathe. Breathe, Zelda. He has a bed in here. That’s good, she won’t have to hurt her back sucking him off on the hard floor. She’s not going to consider the implications of why said bed is here.##
##c46aeb|//Did one of these just blink at me?//##
##c46aeb|He knocks her out of her stupor by grabbing her collar and pulling her in close. His eyes narrow cuttingly, taking a serious glint. The room’s stillness and quiet seems to worm itself down his back like a cockroach’s footsteps.##
##c46aeb|“…Okay, no more playing around, Zelda. Let’s get down to business, shall we?”##
------
##CFB200|He doesn’t hesitate to kiss her, pulling her onto the bed with him. It’s been long enough to wait, long enough to pretend he doesn’t need to relieve himself from a delayed flight this morning, several suppliers failing to show for their appointments, and that idiot Mason not being on time like he always was. ##
##CFB200|Also…he was supposed to meet Madam Percival tomorrow for his quarterly performance report. That was his boss’s boss…he needs all the good luck he can get now.##
##CFB200|Her lipsticks smears all over his face as he keeps himself there for longer than either can breathe. When they break, they take deep inhales and go back to it again, with him pushing his tongue in all the way, heart beating fast. Zelda shivers, but such is her usual routine. She's cute when she reacts, no matter what it is.##
##CFB200|When they pull themselves apart, his hand pats her sides unexpectedly.##
##CFB200|“…You brought condoms?”##
[[div class="text-change-colourD"]]
She says nothing. He pats his lap and she gets up on it, taking both packets out. Her lipstick tastes like nothing to him except thin, hot mush.
“Good, good…good girl for knowing what I really wanted tonight. I do love your pretty face all covered in snow, but your hole is the real star of the show here, you know?”
Zelda cringes so hard internally she would have passed out had her heart not been beating in speed with his. His attempts at being sultry never land. Credit to him for at least not being as vulgar or as stupid as her less-affluent clients, but men were largely the same when it came to this kind of thing. They worshipped their own bodies and functions, but all of the poetic phrase they ascribed to it reeked of humiliation, of trying too hard, of trying to cover up the fact they were just really excited to get it on. [[/div]]
##CFB200|Flinging the packets aside, he swirls her around to the long part of the bed and pins her. The dimness casts an umber-hued shadow over his face and the rest facing her, blotting his clothes blacker than they already were.##
##CFB200|She, on the other hand, has all of the color scraped from her outfit.##
##CFB200|His face bleeds with red blushes and bitten lips. A dog would possess more collected-togetherness than he has now, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. The static in his head is building, and it needs to be released.##
##CFB200|“Lovely dress you put on for me,” he says in a tone that can’t hide how tight his pants are becoming. “I’ve never seen this one before…did you buy this with my money?”##
##CFB200|He grabs her breasts and squeezes. Oh yes, she wore the loose bra today. She really //was// good at this.##
##CFB200|“Of course,” she replies plainly. “Most of my stuff is bought with the money you give me.”##
##CFB200|“Yes, yes…!” he titters, playfully and gently. “I made you so //pretty,// Zelda, I made you so pretty…! Look at how pretty I made you…!”##
##CFB200|He sounds proud of himself, and he is. It lit a fire in his chest to know he treated her better than anyone else who had ever looked at her, that all of this wasn’t for nothing. She was practically glowing after two years steeped in his money, as anyone lucky enough to know him should.##
##CFB200|She exposes her neck and he doesn’t hesitate in pleasing himself, going down on her while grinding her crotch. He bites her, panting, one hand playing with her chest, the other pulling her dress up.##
##CFB200|His tongue is hot, and wet. It’s going anywhere he can think of, over whatever flesh he can see and possess.##
##CFB200|“Please, say my name in that deep voice of yours…”##
##CFB200|She squeaks.“Chrysophilius…”##
##CFB200|He grunts, biting her again. There’s no care for the fact she’ll have to show herself in front of professors tomorrow. “More.”##
##CFB200|“Chrysophilius…please…”##
##CFB200|“Oh //yes,// you cute little thing…”##
##CFB200|//All girls should have voices like you,// he thinks as blood surges through his hips. He whines as the thought finishes, a subtle thread of hatred sewing them together while his cock presses up against her clit. It sticks out softly through her black silken underwear.##
##CFB200|He pulls her close to reassure himself, to convince himself he’s fucking a real woman. To convince himself against the images laced around his head from days long gone, from days of boarding schools pierced by unspeakable humiliation performed in locker rooms.##
##CFB200|Holding hands with boys and having long hair made you a—##
##CFB200|Breaking a little bit, he bites her again, this time much harder than he knew himself capable of. She whimpers, squirming beneath him. ##
##CFB200|She whimpers in a way that’s real, not wet with honey or the saccharine ambrosia he’s paying her for. He grinds faster, trying to fill his mind with endorphins to flush out the doubt. It’s what he does best—money was a wonderful filler whenever you were sad, because you could just buy something for a rush of dopamine. And money didn’t just buy things, it could buy people too. Entertainers, secretaries, waitresses—it could buy the most precious thing between two people there was: sex! It could buy you sex with a gorgeous girl, as customizable as you wanted, and if he got tired of her, well, onto the next one!##
##CFB200|That was living, wasn’t it?##
##CFB200|“…Fuck,” he swears under his breath, getting off of her, panting. His head blanks, but not from pleasure. He finally undoes his pants, the hot coiling in his legs and crotch fading.##
##CFB200|“That isn’t working. Turn over.”##
##CFB200|Zelda sits up as he glares not at her, but himself. The sneer slashes his normally quaint face in two, one half held up by abashed shadows, the other stumbling on its rotational weight.##
##CFB200|Butterflies were able to fly so long as you didn’t touch the golden dust keeping their wings together too heavily. He gets the most aroused whenever he’s denying himself, whenever his anxiety mixes with the sweat on his back and brow to plunge him into sticky mind messes.##
##CFB200|When she hesitates, he grunts and grabs one of the condoms off the floor.##
##CFB200|“I said turn //over//, Zelda. I’m going to unzip that dress of yours and do this the usual way.”##
[[div class="text-change-colourD"]]
It pays to be mercurial all the way down into the hell he made his money from. Because she obeys him quietly, and he grabs her hair as soon as she’s exposed. Without restraint or pleasure, he yanks the velvet shoulders down and performs the same routine on her bra.
His mood settles as he pulls her back up, looking down her bare back. Zelda whines, a prickling flurry of emotions popping in her head like spent carbonation, a flat Chardonnay losing its shine.
“A-Ah, Chrysophilius…”
Breathe. Breathe. She can ask him something surely. She can ask him something to soothe this breaking cliff between them, this spill of liquefying guts.
“…Can you please be a bit…gentler…? Y-You didn’t tell me we were going to…” [[/div]]##CFB200|Immediately, his face softens. His hand falls from her hair, and she relaxes.##
##CFB200|He ponders a response looking at her naked skin. It’s shiny, peachly tawny, dotted with a cluster of moles on her left shoulder blade. Supple too, arriving down at a tight hourglass shape before splaying out into what was a beautiful ass. ##
##CFB200|“…Of course,” he mutters even more delicately than she did. “All good women say that, they all want to be treated like the flowers they a-are…”##
##CFB200|That reassures him in the moment. It reassures him as he aligns everything back up again. This is what all of the boys at boarding schools had up as posters on their walls—buxom babes with snatched proportions, locks so shiny it was practically a currency in itself, plush assets flashing outwards for their ogling. This was what they all gathered around for after curfew to watch on shitty VHS tapes, eventually less shitty stolen DVDs, most often with non-descript men, but occasionally, each other. The latter was hotter, because the former scared him—the sex between his mom and dad didn’t sound like that. There was never any moaning or ecstasy, only arguments.##
##CFB200|He presses a hand to her spine and she bristles. The reaction comes out as a groan, but he takes it as a moan and slips a condom on without hesitation.##
##CFB200|“God, your hips…”##
[[div class="text-change-colourD"]]
Humming, he squeezes nondescriptly.
She realizes they’d completely forgotten the wine as he spreads his legs and slides his erection over her. [[/div]]##CFB200|“F-Fuck…”##
##CFB200|His hands run over her bare legs again as he’s grinding. Nothing’s going in.##
##CFB200|“H-Hey,” he says, his head fogging with the sensation of a revving motor. “C-Can you say my name while I…?”##
##CFB200|Distracted by his own pleasure, he whines as his uneven rhythm quickens. She purses her lips, pressing her ass a bit further into him. ##
##CFB200|“Chrysophilius, you’re doing such a good job…”##
##CFB200|Did she do that to make him—##
[[div class="text-change-colourD"]]
“Oh fuck //yes,//” he nervously keens, shaking as he goes faster. When he finally opens his eyes again, he bends over to finally finish to the top but—
Zelda freezes when he doesn’t do anything. She can feel his thick heat on her bare skin, but it’s not going anywhere. It’s not going anywhere it should be, where he wants it to go. [[/div]]
##CFB200|Chrysophilius gulps as he examines both of her holes. They’re so delightfully colored. ##
##CFB200|But he’s only ever used one. The ‘proper’ one, the one girls had made for men.##
##CFB200|…Is he going to get in trouble for wanting the other…? ##
##CFB200|She…She had such a deep voice, but that didn’t make her a…a…##
##CFB200|Hesitation always kills the mood, but he does his best to buoy it back up anyway. In his mind, she’s always perfectly okay with what he wanted, always perfectly aroused in a way that’ll align with his own. So she’s going to be perfectly okay with a question like this, right?##
##CFB200|“…Can I…uh…”##
##CFB200|Wow, smooth move handsome. That’ll impress her for sure.##
##CFB200|“I…I, uh…”##
##CFB200|Why can’t he get the words out…?##
##CFB200|“Z-Zelda,” he forces himself to say, sliding his hand up and down again across her ass. He gives it an unsatisfying squeeze, finally looking at her in the eyes he feels exist on the back of her head.##
[[div class="text-change-colourD"]]
“Can…Can I do you in your…your uh, backdoor? P-Please?”
Chrysophilius Marshall does not say please. He has never said please, because he is to be served.
And yet the question collapses for the both of them anyway as she pulls up to look at his face with his limp dick on her ass. He pulls it back with a flustered expression, trying to turn himself into the iron he was wearing before. The room soaks in his ineptitude, bleeding through his apprehensive insecurities. Auric chitin burns as her eyes darken involuntarily. [[/div]]
##CFB200|“I…what?” she stammers. ##
##CFB200|He stumbles internally on how upset she sounds. Wait, is she upset? What if she’s just…surprised?##
##CFB200|“I-I…I s-said w-what I said…”##
##CFB200|Such a shaky voice. ##
##CFB200|“I…”##
##CFB200|Chrysophilius finds himself moving in time with a heartbeat. With a heartbeat not his own, but one cloyed through the shifting dimensions of his house, the moving memories in his mind. His bottom half moves with a disgust assaulting his brain to the rhythm of his mother’s inaudible voice, a voice that once rang out in a house that felt bigger than his could ever dream of.##
##CFB200|His upper half moves with slippery dereliction. With wanton abandon, halfway flashbacks. ##
##CFB200|At seven years old, he heard his mother call his father a faggot. He does not remember this and will never again, but the word buried itself into his spine with a sharp, ugly drill. It buried deep with an attraction he could not control and mated with it furiously, viciously, maliciously. With its teeth, tearing precious, vulnerable flesh apart until there was only blood, only haphazard gazes towards what he liked, only cursing under his breath when male strippers came up in illicit business meetings to greet him. Suddenly, without warning and without fail, he found himself in another room. Suddenly, he found himself unable to consider his own body attractive in relation to them, a bleaching of the intended purpose society and his mother put upon him.##
##CFB200|She yelled at Amos again when he was ten. That time he remembers. It was the same word, the same hideous word, all wrapped up in maternal hate. He wouldn’t have sex with her, and that was what she called him as a result. Chrysophilius never understood this, because his dad had sex with a lot of women that weren’t his mother. He did it so often he knew them by name, because occasionally they’d say hi to him over the holidays at school.##
##CFB200|Could you still be a faggot and have sex with women?##
##CFB200|Was…Did that make him…?##
##CFB200|Her voice…her body…her lower half…##
[[div class="text-change-colourD"]]
N-No, he w-wasn’t…
He doesn’t notice his nails are digging into her and that she’s struggling to escape his grip. Instead of relinquishing, he pulls her in tighter as she gasps, his lithe arms tensing.
“…Please,” is all he can say.
She stops. He’s pressed up against her ass still, but there’s nothing between them anymore. No more arousal, no more flared feelings, no more illusions.
He’s never gotten like this. What the hell? Does she call Xenia? Does she call 911? God, what is she supposed to do? She can’t move, but she doesn’t want to risk it. In times like this, she has her own set of triggers to deal with. Men that held her down where she couldn’t writhe free were death sentences—they were death sentences in the sense of a death of her pride, her autonomy, her dignity and her sense of safety.
They were a death in physicality, in a violent battering of her will and her often tenuous contract with them, supported by no social safety net and nothing but the empty words of condolences after a situation she’d never have been in if she had the money and the means of escape.
It’s a death by possession, of holding and claiming. Her heart, her liver, her spleen, her tongue.
Each and every one of them took it all. They took it all, and ate for themselves her spoiled body and its rotting treasures. All for a single moment of ecstasy, a single moment of happiness often offensively driven by her pain.
No movement from either. He’s still holding her, still keeping her against himself.
Her mind screams, squealing like a pig with the ax above its head.
Too tight, too tight. Too tight to breathe for her, now. His muscles are a cage, a nasty and chewing set of bars.[[/div]]
##CFB200|“…I’m sorry,” is all he can mumble, and she doesn’t hear. He fights her struggling, holding her closer, but before he does, he pulls his pants up. He pulls his pants up for his own sake, not hers, because the shame is flooding and salting him. It’s burning the wheat fields, yellow and rich in their yields. Unending in the butterflies which will come to land on their minuscule flowers and carry pollen somewhere else just as fertile.##
##CFB200|She nearly punches him, about to totally snap and until he cries and pushes his head into her shoulder.##
##CFB200|There are no words between them as she loosens and again he falls deeper into her. He falls cavernously into what he sees as a one-sided despair, because he does not know her and, like the good object she is, he does not know how to. He does not know how to, even though he is human, and has matched flesh with her before, because she is at once both a woman and something that defiles him, something that makes everyone proud of him until she opens her mouth.##
[[div class="text-change-colourD"]]
So what is he to do?
What is he to do?
He cries, louder. Zelda is jolted out of her flight instincts to settle on this tree choking in water. There is no affection in her adjusting movements, only pity scraped from the bottom of human consciousness, offered by emotional instinct.
“Ch-Chrysophilius…”[[/div]]
[[div class="text-change-colourD"]]
Burying himself in her chest, he shakes like a pair of sunset wings trapped in a ferocious gale. His mind does not want to be soothed by her presence, but it needs it. It needs it, it needs a warm body, as all humans do.
Her eyes look so alarmingly into his own, wide with concern and fear. For both him, and what he must have built up to explode so violently and pathetically tonight—but for herself, as well.
It’s so hard to look away. That piacular face strains itself in tears and whimpers the way Zelda knows all too well.[[/div]]
[[div class="text-change-colourD"]]
There was a rule in the world of a Veil existing—of normalcy, of a curtain drawn over a plethora of mysteries unknown to the public. It was a beautiful white thing, thin as gossamer and yet so oppressively opaque as to frustrate, even infuriate.
Between them, there is a similar veil slowly lifting, against both of their wills, both of their wishes. The mysteries they have been hiding from each have been on purpose, stemming from status slurring into attraction, from the power money provides in the most basic, bestial expression of its very basal existence: telling someone else what to do.
The veil is lifting because they are both gloriously, unfortunately human. They have breached the limits of what the raw spirit can ignore, the nonsensical laws of emotion which their DNA coded them into, how far they can repel each other before north slams into south and they are stuck like a stillborn in the birth canal.
A limit exists on the pain someone can endure before turning to something to help. Something is the key word here—Chrysophilius made his life filling every part of it to the brim with somethings, each as unceremoniously unspectacular as the last, and yet dripping with wonder anyway. A curiosity existed after all under the suffocating weight of the gold he drowned himself in—it may not have been a metal which played nice with others, or was very reactive at all to the most essential of functions—but with a spark, and enough time, it too could corrode.
It too could turn into something else. [[/div]]
##c46aeb|Zelda finally says fuck it and pulls herself away. Chrysophilius grabs her and wails.##
##c46aeb|“P-Please!”##
##c46aeb|“What do you want, Chrysophilius?! What the //fuck// is wrong with you tonight?!”##
##c46aeb|Oh shit. That comes out angrier than she expects. She shudders at her own cruelty in a way he rarely did, watching him cycle through iterative collapse after iterative collapse until finally he just screams. He just screams from all of the pent-up pressure, his hands muffling his own sin.##
[[div class="text-change-colourB"]]
“//I don’t wanna be a goddamn faggot for l-liking you!!!//” [[/div]]
##c46aeb|Silence.##
##CFB200|Pure, gilded silence.##
[[div class="text-change-colourB"]]
A silence wrapped in alloys, quashed beneath the weight of its own weak palms.
The world feels like nothing for the both of them. Tarnishing amens breach, beckoning ruin from smashed cages.[[/div]]
##c46aeb|All she can do is stare, stare with wide eyes, stare with eyes wider than any possibility or radius that ever existed as a dawn of realizations slide down her back.##
##CFB200|All he can do is cry loudly. All he can do is cry, all he can do is wail, all he can do is screech for something, something, anything. He has no social capital left in this limited, infinitesimal scenario.##
##CFB200|There is no one to tell this to except the one who caused it.##
##c46aeb|Against everything she knows is good, Zelda sits back down on the bed. Her mind blanks staring at him, rolling over the feelings she had when she was ten, fifteen, and eighteen. The back-alley men she did it with and the wondering of whether she was a guy or a girl, since she did it so freely with both. There was no label to describe the kind of person she was—and the invisibility was suffocating. It was as alienating as aliens could get—she was an outsider among the lesbians and not welcome amidst the gay men. Among the other various groups with various names, they too saw her as a freak and aborted any hope of membership with them.##
##c46aeb|That feeling didn’t go away with her first T-shot, even as she felt a relief of belonging to her own body. Having access to the DIY stuff meant she still skated along the edges of recognizability—there was no doctor to pin down what was wrong with her, no psychologist to tell her that her dysphoria made her one very specific thing. ##
##c46aeb|It was only the smiles of those people…##
##c46aeb|The people who were there for her before she could finally go to the doctor and pay for her appointments without insurance. ##
##c46aeb|Without them…##
##c46aeb|She puts a hand on his shoulder as he cries and sees himself as alone in the universe. When he realizes her comfort, he stills, shivering slowly sliding to a crawl. ##
##c46aeb|Soon, it becomes nothing at all. He peels his face out of his gloves to look up at her. Tears stain his face, sticky and disgustingly glistening.##
##c46aeb|“…Z-Zelda…”##
##c46aeb|Scooting closer to him, she wraps her arms around him and hugs. She hugs him against her own good judgment, because the veil is gone. It has been destroyed. There will be no more pretenses about them anymore. They have moved from a transaction of currency to a transaction of emotion, that slippery, costless notion.##
##c46aeb|Still, she does not have the courage to ask him why he said that. She can only assume from her experience and incompletely fill in poorly thought-out blanks.##
##c46aeb|“…I’m still here for you,” she says. “I…Um…That word…it sucks. B-But I’m still here for you…if you want me to be.”##
##c46aeb|She gives him the option because it could be her way out. If he rejects her now, she’ll have a clean getaway. The one thing she was confident in was his lack of violence, strangely—it was the only reason she was still here and not halfway across the country once he paid her that first thirty grand.##
[[div class="text-change-colourD"]]
Someone like her won’t be worth much to him as a freak of nature.
He chooses to lean into her like he’s hanging on for his life. His fingers latch onto her as hooks do.
“…Can you stay w-with me tonight…?” he begs, shattering completely. The words can’t die in his throat, because precious metals never lose their value. Whenever he’s thrust into a position of weakness, he yields out of a feeling of emasculation.
“I…I have classes tomorrow,” she reminds him.
“I-I’ll triple your p-pay…!” [[/div]]
##c46aeb|The money is becoming so much she doesn’t know what to do with it anymore. She keeps most of it in the bank account he gave her. ##
##c46aeb|“…Please…” he stammers. His voice breaks a soprano and he puts his entire weight into her. ##
##c46aeb|“I…I…”##
##c46aeb|Xenia will be sick with worry if she doesn’t come home…##
[[div class="text-change-colourB"]]
“Zelda, p-please…!”
He’s pleading as he did when he was young. Eight, and wanting his mom to hug him like all the other boys’ mothers did. Wanting her to not leave him alone for days on end when he came back from holidays, with just his TV, his video games, and his own thoughts in a big, empty house.
“Please, I’ll do whatever—! Whatever you want, please, j-just don’t leave me by myself…!!!”
His last stand is grabbing her unzipped dress and pulling her so close and fast into him that he nearly rips it. His sobs break, refusing to die peaceful rests as his grip resumes the strength it had earlier.
Zelda flinches, and he notices, but doesn’t care. [[/div]]
##c46aeb|Her last stand will be…##
##c46aeb|“…O-Okay, I will! But you…”##
##c46aeb|She looks around, her thoughts spinning on what to ask. The room is so tight it traps her relatively meager ambitions and threatens to kill them, but she still manages to salvage something from the cracks in the walls.##
##c46aeb|“What I want from you is—”##
##c46aeb|A deep breath. It’s a supernova of potential she can grab out of this, yeah?##
##c46aeb|Jeez, is this making her just as…what was the word? Materialistic? Was that her now…?##
##c46aeb|The desperation was more palpable than blood. If he wants, he could peel it off her right here and now in thick, wet strips that would fester like molten corpses thrown into a crucible.##
##c46aeb|He presses a hand to her chest looking for her heartbeat. His nerves rot spectacularly as he awaits an answer, each passing second a total lack of reprieve.##
##c46aeb|“…Fifteen million.”##
##CFB200|Chrysophilius perks up. He blinks away his tears, his jasper eyes wide and splitting, but bleeding platinum now. It will soon harden into gold.##
##CFB200|“…F-Fifteen…million?”##
##CFB200|Is she worth that much…?##
##CFB200|“Y-yeah,” she replies. “Fifteen million from you. Split up between…like…I dunno, three fighting game tournaments at that center we both first met at. You can find someone to get all that done, r-right…?”##
##CFB200|It still refuses to register to him. Where did she get this sudden burst of confidence? She never asked for anything extra before.##
##c46aeb|“I-I said what I said,” she replies when he doesn’t answer still, unaware she is copying his cadence from earlier in asserting what she wants. “I’ll stay with you tonight if you can do that for me. I want those people to have the time of their lives, too…”##
##c46aeb|When he begins to frown, she leans in and whispers in his ear with a hand tracing his chest.##
##c46aeb|“I know you can do that…you’re the nice, strong guy I’ve come to appreciate, Chrysophilius…”##
##c46aeb|How much of that is a lie?##
##c46aeb|Whatever the answer is, he smiles and sniffles, hugging her and pulling down to the bed. Their veins pulse together, metronomes clicking in tandem pandemonium.##
##c46aeb|“O-Okay, j-just for you…!”##
##CFB200|Now he gets to reassert his position again. He gets to play pretend as the breadwinner here, the husband to a wife. All she’s doing is asking for a little treat after all, nothing serious.##
##CFB200|“And when I do…!”##
##CFB200|He beams again, that glistering smile stripping the air and the dimness between them, resuming the gold rush of usual business.##
##CFB200|“You have to attend with me! We’ll both go together, and I wanna hold your hand!”##
##c46aeb|//…Fuck.//##
##c46aeb|Of course he’d push the envelope like that.##
##c46aeb|But she supposes she deserves it, because she did it too, didn’t she?##
##c46aeb|…Whatever. All she has to do is focus on the now, and focus on the maybe good deed she did getting this guy to pour into the local community like that. Who knows if he’ll find some way to fuck it up, but she couldn’t care less. She couldn’t care less.##
##c46aeb| Tonight’s been strange enough as it is. There’s nothing left to do except to try and sleep on someone that desperately needs to be a stranger.##
##c46aeb|He is in all of the ways that matter…##
##c46aeb| The anime figurines stare at her while the two drift off into an uneasy sleep, clutched together in ragged arms. Each and every one of their painted eyes is a perpetual motion machine, a piece of easy, targeted idealism, wrapped up in more money than she or anyone she ever knew would get to hold in their lifetime.##
[[div class="text-change-colourC"]]
They feel no pain for her, no pity or sorrow for the door she has opened, but will no longer be able to close. The stage has been set, the trap has been sprung; each of their bodies pale in her realness, the flesh and bone she has sold and cut, because the brood parasite butterfly, one-of-a-kind in its genus, has found where it is to lie. It will lie, lie to himself, lie to his money, lie to his driver as he wakes up; he will lie in bed with her until the sun rises, unseen from these avaricious rooms that have no restraint on what they will swallow.
The sugar pill is working, cooking them both as black ambrosia pours over skin joined and minds sutured.
All that is left now to do is wait for the regret to set in. [[/div]]
|
2024-11-05T01:59:00
|
[
"bleak",
"gamers-against-weed",
"lgbtq",
"marshall-carter-and-dark",
"psychological-horror",
"skitter-marshall",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
All That Glitters Is Fool's Gold - SCP Foundation
| 34
|
[
"prev",
"next",
"scp-5470"
] |
[
"marshall-carter-and-dark-hub"
] |
[] |
1457283398
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/all-that-glitter-s-is-fool-s-gold
|
|
almost-a-century-in-the-making
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Waves crashed against the harbor as the early morning sun cast a harsh glare on the beach. A pair of black derbys briefly touched the sand before making their way to a shaded area beneath a large canopy. Nobody silently cursed himself as he walked, tugging at his shirt. While he wouldn't deny that his full black attire was quite quaint—something he begrudgingly admitted to liking—the heat-absorbing properties of his clothing were a curse on days like this. It didn’t help that the fabric felt almost as if it were a part of his body, clinging uncomfortably in the relentless sun.</p>
<p>A memory of his early days as Nobody flashed in his mind: him desperately trying to stop the bleeding from his hand, which was covered in pieces of glass. The image was swiftly overshadowed by the throbbing pulse in his head from the constant heat. How long it had been since that time? He shook his head lightly, trying to get both the thought and the throbbing to stop.</p>
<p>Just then, a gust of wind caused a small bit of sand to fly into his eyes. He staggered slightly before cursing once more. For heaven's sake, why did it have to be a beach of all places where the deal had to take place? One would think a negotiation between the Sarkic Cults and the Chaos Insurgency, given their reputations, would happen somewhere more discreet—perhaps a cave or an underground facility. But no, instead, he found himself on an isolated island somewhere in Australia, consisting of nothing more than a single abandoned port and a vast expanse of sand mixed with bleached coral.</p>
<p>Nobody clenched his fists tightly. He couldn't afford to complain now; this deal was 90 years in the making. Getting in contact with a sect of the Sarkic Cults and the Chaos Insurgency high command had already been a monumental task, one that had caused countless sleepless nights and headaches. Forcing himself to pause his thoughts, Nobody looked up to see the two parties he had come to meet. He closed his eyes momentarily, steeling himself. He was in the final stretch now. After this, he wouldn't ever have to mediate another deal again. He'd done enough of that for multiple lifetimes now.</p>
<p>Stopping as he arrived at the canopy and under the shade, Nobody let out a small sigh of relief before addressing the two parties present. On one end was a member of the Chaos Insurgency's famed Delta Command, flanked by around two dozen armed men with the insignia of the Chaos Insurgency embroidered on the side of their vests. The guards were equipped with smooth red visors that completely obscured their eyes, though it was doubtful that their eyes would reveal much. Nobody scanned the group and he whistled slightly at the sight of the datapad held by the Delta Command representative, making a mental note to find a copy later for his own use.</p>
<p>On the other end were those from the Sarkic Cults, or at least a sect of it. Though most of the figures had their bodies fully covered in a cloth he'd never seen, some seemingly had a few small protrusions where he was quite sure limbs should definitely not be present in. At the center of the group was their Karcist. Unlike the rest of the Sarkics present, the Karcist openly displayed his various mutations, with inflamed and bloated skin, extra and disfigured limbs, and a figure that now only bore a passing resemblance to that of a human. He'd never grow accustomed to the Sarkics, Nobody inwardly commented as he suppressed the urge to turn away in disgust.</p>
<p>"Well then," Nobody clapped his hands together, "it is quite the pleasure to have all of you here on this fine summer day." He saw the sun gleam slightly through the corner of his eyes and forced a smile. "Now, I'm sure that not all of you must be so confident in this dealing." He paused slightly, thinking back on the Chaos Insurgency's raid on one of the Sarkic Cult's burial sites just a month ago. God, that was a headache to explain away. "Inter-organization deals of this type rarely occur, especially between your two organizations."</p>
<p>He saw both sides shift uncomfortably as a few of the armed Chaos Insurgency men gripped their weapons tighter, and a few Sarkics tensed up, with movements under their cloaks seemingly increasing.</p>
<p>"Though I can assure all of you that I will prevent any foul play from either side occurring. And I'm sure we're all glad that it's not the Fifthists we're dealing with." Finally separating his hands, he took turns scanning both groups. "Now, if both sides could present their items."</p>
<p>Nodding towards both sides, Nobody indicated for the items to be revealed. The Delta Command representative produced a small black spherical object that seemed to possess a rectilinear property and pulsed at random intervals, while the Karcist brandished a small sacrificial knife that warped the surrounding area. Nobody swore he saw a face emerging from its handle.</p>
<p>"Fantastic, I'm glad we've all brought what we needed." Nobody closed his eyes, calculating that in just 20 seconds, he would have everything he needed. Reopening his eyes, he continued, "Now, if both parties could hand me their items so we can begin the transaction, that would be just spectacular." As a guard from the Chaos Insurgency and a robed cultist approached Nobody to hand over their goods, a small smile crept across his face.</p>
<p>Suddenly, in his peripheral vision, Nobody saw exactly what he had planned unfold. Around a dozen vessels appeared at the edge of the shore, each bearing different insignia: the SCP Foundation, the GOC, the UIU, and the Serpent's Hand. Instantly, both cultists and insurgents ducked into the wooded area as guns and other weaponry began to fire upon them. As each ship docked, armed men, hooded figures, half-cyborgs, and more arrived on the beach, just as disoriented as those who had been ambushed about the presence of the other organizations. Despite this, no time was wasted before the sound of gunfire and screams filled the air as the skirmish began in earnest. Though none of those present knew why the others were there, no time was spent dwelling on the fact before weapons were drawn.</p>
<p>Amidst the chaos, Nobody ducked for cover behind a large rock near the canopy as he scanned his surroundings. He counted at least two MTF squads nearby that he'd need to evade before making his escape. He looked down, seeing both items he needed in his hands, and chuckled lightly before placing them into his coat. As he did so, he drew a small firearm of his own.</p>
<p>He probably should have planned a more concrete exit given the circumstances, was the first thought that invaded his mind. But as a bullet whizzed by his head, he knew there were far more important things to worry about. Nobody snapped his neck to trace its origin. A UIU agent had spotted him and was signaling for him to drop his weapon, slowly approaching with his firearm drawn. It was actually quite amusing; out of everyone here, the UIU was by far the least equipped. From a quick scan, the agent wore a standard Kevlar vest and carried a non-anomalous sidearm, which paled in comparison to the augmented gear most of the other organizations equipped their field agents with. They were very much a small fish in a very large pond. If the man had known any better, he would have fired at the first sight of Nobody. But luckily for Nobody, he didn't.</p>
<p>Pushing his amusement aside without a second thought, Nobody fired a single shot that lodged squarely into the agent's head. Nobody watched as the agent's eyes widened and his hand reached toward the wound before he collapsed in a heap. Poor fella. Though Nobody didn't exactly have the time to grieve for an unnamed soldier. He used the opportunity to dash toward the extraction point he had designated prior to the meeting. As he ran, he heard bullets fly by him, and jolted as one grazed his shoulder and another caught his leg. Despite the searing pain, he never stopped running. He'd have to get it checked later; you never knew what could be in those bullets considering the parties involved. But making it off the damn island was the main concern. No point in getting treatment for a dead man.</p>
<p>Crashing down onto the sand as more bullets flew above him, Nobody cursed while frantically digging through the sand before feeling a cold, metallic surface. Hurriedly, he banged on it a few times before the ground beneath him gave way and he fell, catching a glimpse of the metallic trapdoor sealing itself after he had fallen through.</p>
<p>Hitting the ground, Nobody groaned as he clutched his head. He was safe now. It was a one-way door to a pocket dimension that he had set up a few decades ago. Unless a dimension jumper was present on that island, no one would be able to follow him.</p>
<p>Knowing this fact, Nobody lay on the ground, embracing the cool feeling of the floor for a few minutes as his breaths grew more steady. Although, he noted to himself as he stared at his right leg, which was now bleeding all over the floor, he'd have to find a mop later.</p>
<p>In the dim light of the pocket dimension, Nobody took a moment to assess his surroundings. The place was exactly as he had left it—sparse, utilitarian, but functional. He slowly sat up, wincing at the pain in his leg. He carefully removed his coat and began to examine the wound. The bullet had passed clean through, but it had left a nasty tear in his flesh.</p>
<p>"Great," he muttered to himself. "Just what I needed."</p>
<p>He reached into his coat, pulling out a small first aid kit. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do for now. As he worked to clean and bandage the wound, he couldn't help but think on the chaos he had just left behind. The plan had gone off almost perfectly, but it had been a close call. Too close. He'd have to be more careful in the future.</p>
<p>Once he had finished tending to his leg, Nobody lay back down on the cool floor, letting the exhaustion wash over him. He had the items he needed, and he was safe for now. He allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation, knowing that the hardest part of his mission was over.</p>
<p>But even in this moment of respite, his mind was already racing ahead, planning the next steps, considering all the variables. With these items, the trade could finally happen.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It had been roughly a week since the incident on the island, and Nobody had spent that time lying low. Sitting on a park bench and unfurling a newspaper he had swiped from Three Portlands the day prior, Nobody scanned the headlines to see the fallout of the event. Naturally, the relations between the groups involved were not the most amicable.</p>
<p>As he turned the page, he couldn't help but lightly hum. Just as he had planned, the Insurgents and Sarkics were too busy blaming each other to bother considering him, and the other groups that had sprung the attack were far too disoriented with figuring out what had happened to suspect his involvement in any way. In fact, most thought he had died in the gunfight.</p>
<p>It was as Nobody had expected and hoped. The events had already been covered up. Across the newspaper were testimonies from various leading figures of the respective organizations, calling the assault a friendly act of inter-agency cooperation to oppose a rising threat from both the Sarkics and the Insurgency. He could only imagine the diplomatic nightmare if it were known that over 120 casualties were the result of supposedly friendly cooperation. Sweeping it under the rug was best for everyone involved. The cover story had the idea of a unified anomalous world while painting the Chaos Insurgency and Sarkics as conspiring terrorists. Given this, he smirked, it was unlikely anyone would suspect his involvement, and given the hostility between the Chaos Insurgency and Sarkics following the event, the details of the trade would remain a mystery, ensuring no one would know what Nobody had stolen.</p>
<p>Putting down the newspaper, Nobody hung his head lightly. Even though he had gotten what he wanted, it was a bit upsetting to see the diplomatic relations he had so carefully created fall apart in such a short period of time.</p>
<p>Well, it was a small price to pay. He got up and pulled out a burner phone he had received the day prior and held it to his ear as it began to vibrate lightly. A voice, distorted to the point of being barely recognizable as human, spoke: "Walk 20 meters forward, then enter the blue warehouse to your right." With that, the phone began to sputter slightly before ceasing functionality in a puff of smoke. As he began to follow the directions, he dropped the now-smoking phone into a nearby trash can, his eyes constantly darting around to check for any potential followers.</p>
<p>Turning right, Nobody looked up and saw a large abandonded blue warehouse that had wooden boards covering the half-finished windows and rust slowly overtaking the roof of the building. It was strange to say, but this wouldn't be the first time he'd walked into an abandoned warehouse to meet someone. Honestly, the frequency of the occurrence was rather strange now that he thought about it. Regardless, taking a deep breath and patting down his coat, Nobody opened the large rusted gate and made his way into the warehouse.</p>
<p>Inside, the interior was just as expected: rusted pipes, puddles of water, a few cobwebs, abandoned machinery, and a half-painted interior. As he made his way through the building, Nobody ran his gloved hands upon any nearby wall he passed. Bringing his hand up close to his eyes, he looked closely at the dust: it was artificial. Turning a sharp corner, he saw a small light source, similar to that of a small desk lamp, and sitting upon a small set of furniture—a wooden desk and stool—was a man, of European descent, dressed in a brown overcoat, wearing a bowler hat and round spectacles perched on their nose, holding a bright ball of light in their hand.</p>
<p>"Ah, you're finally here." The man stood up, leaving the ball of light floating in place, and made his way towards Nobody before embracing him. "It's been quite a while, hasn't it, old friend? Well, come on now," the man gestured towards another stool on the opposite side of the table where he had been sitting. "Take a seat now. I'm sure you're eager to finish this quickly."</p>
<p>Nobody simply gave a curt nod before making his way to the stool. Before sitting, he stared at it for a moment—no poison, no mechanical components, and it didn't seem like a sensor. Staring at Nobody, the man smiled broadly and spoke as if reading Nobody's mind, "You know, friend, that's just a perfectly normal stool. No need to fret, just take a seat. I wouldn't try to kill you after all you've been through."</p>
<p>Sighing as he took his seat, Nobody responded, "That may be easy for you to say, Marshal, but you haven't been working towards this for the past 90 years, have you?"</p>
<p>Marshal stroked his chin lightly. "I suppose not," he nodded. "Yes, that is fair, I suppose."</p>
<p>At that, Nobody reached into his coat and removed the two items he had stolen from both the Chaos Insurgency and the Sarkics, placing them onto the table. Marshal’s eyes widened in admiration, and he whistled at the sight of the artifacts before producing something of his own: a bottle of Bordeaux and two glasses. Placing both beside the now pulsing black orb and glowing blade, he uncorked the bottle and slowly began to fill the two glasses before offering one to Nobody.</p>
<p>Nobody didn’t move at first, simply looking at the outstretched hand with absent eyes. Tentatively, he reached out and grabbed the glass from Marshal's hand.</p>
<p>"There you go, boy, drink up." Marshal continued to watch with narrowed eyes as Nobody began to take a sip.</p>
<p>"Don’t patronize me," Nobody scoffed at the remark, "and I’m several times older than you."</p>
<p>"That may be true," Marshal said, taking a sip of his own drink. "But you've been acting like a lost puppy, doing all of this." He waved in the direction of the artifacts lying on the table.</p>
<p>"Well, that could have all been avoided if you had just given me what I asked for," Nobody glared as he finished the last of his drink and began to pour another. "But you seemed to be caught up in your own agenda."</p>
<p>Marshal shrugged lightly. "You should know better than I do that everything has a cost."</p>
<p>"Of course, I don’t blame you. It’s just rather frustrating." Nobody stopped drinking and stared directly at Marshal. "The things I’ve done for our little arrangement, you should know they were all because of you."</p>
<p>"I never made you do anything. It was all of your own volition."</p>
<p>"Yes, and you knew I'd do anything to get what you have." The glass held in Nobody's grasp cracked slightly.</p>
<p>"Well, I might have had an inkling," Marshal grinned slightly. "Though I still don’t know why you want it so badly."</p>
<p>"Well, that is my business. Now if we could complete this transaction, I have brought everything you requested."</p>
<p>"Yes, you have," Marshal placed his glass down and picked up both items to examine them closely. "Marvelous, both of these are prized possessions of the Chaos Insurgency and the Sarkics."</p>
<p>"Yes, they are." There was a tint of annoyance in Nobody’s voice. "Now give me what you owe me, and we can end this."</p>
<p>"Of course, of course," Marshal laughed to himself. "But before I do, please tell me, how did you do it? I mean, what have you been doing for the past 90 years? To be completely honest, when I gave you this task, I thought it damn near impossible, you know?" Marshal’s voice was matter-of-fact. "I’ve offered billions, attempted more raids than I can count, and failed every time. And yet, you managed to get them to trade both of these items for each other? That is something I’m dying to know."</p>
<p>A silence settled in the room as Nobody thoughtfully took a long drink, emptying his glass. "I suppose there's no harm in doing so," he said, placing his glass down. "Yes, I suppose it would be right for you to know."</p>
<p>Marshal leaned back in his chair, as if waiting for some grand tale, like a child anticipating a bedtime story. "It would be proper of you indeed. I'm glad you're willing to entertain me."</p>
<p>Nobody exhaled deeply. It would be the first time he divulged any of this to someone else. Countless people had died trying to figure out his motives over the past 90 years, and now he was willingly giving up the details in a dingy warehouse in the middle of nowhere.</p>
<p>"Well, what would you like to know first?"</p>
<p>He saw Marshal's eyebrows perk up at the question. "Well, those first twenty years, you completely disappeared. What happened during that time? What were you doing?"</p>
<p>At the question, Nobody leaned back in his own chair. Seventy whole years ago. It was the first time he'd been reminded of the scope and length in a while. "I needed to get into the good graces of both the Chaos Insurgency and the Sarkics."</p>
<p>"Yes, and so?"</p>
<p>"So, I spent those first 20 years culling both organizations."</p>
<p>"Culling?" Marshal's voice raised slightly.</p>
<p>"Naturally," Nobody looked down at his fingers. "There would be members of each respective group that wouldn't be too fond of cooperating with me." Grim recollections of memories flashed through his mind—reading through hundreds of reports of the aftermath of his own handiwork. "I had some of my contacts at the Foundation and GOC pull the records of every known Chaos Insurgency and Sarkic operative."</p>
<p>Marshal’s eyes widened slightly. "You… eliminated potential obstacles?"</p>
<p>"Heavens no!" Nobody laughed. "I wouldn't do it myself. Far too barbaric for me. No, I simply framed them as failures."</p>
<p>"Failure?" A hint of curiosity tinged Marshal’s voice as he shifted in his seat. "What does that entail exactly?"</p>
<p>"I'm sure you know that both organizations in question are rather… unforgiving," Nobody said slowly. "I spent a few days reviewing every single operation ever conducted by both groups, then another few days examining all known individuals who could possibly pose a threat. By that point, I was able to accurately map out every future operation each organization would attempt. I may have sabotaged a few of those operations that involved certain members."</p>
<p>"How many?" Marshal asked, his tone serious.</p>
<p>"86,430," Nobody replied casually. "Mind you, I found no joy in doing so. They were simply unfortunate enough to hold those beliefs. It was quite the task; I had to distribute the failures over 20 years to avoid suspicion and always ensured they had no defense whatsoever." He picked up his glass once more and began pouring himself another drink.</p>
<p>"Don't you feel a little guilty?" Marshal asked, intertwining his hands. "Don't you lose sleep over what you've done? The lives you've taken? The families you've hurt?"</p>
<p>"Don't spout that bullshit, Marshal." Though restrained, the slightest hint of anger could be heard in Nobody's voice. "We both know you signed their death warrants. You knew I would do anything for what's at stake here. Don't be shocked when a pile of bodies is the result. And in any case, they were horrible people. What type of people do you think join the Chaos Insurgency and Sarkics?"</p>
<p>"If you're implying that all those people were evil, you are hilariously deluded or misguided. We both know most of those poor men and women were probably fighting for what they believed was right. Morally grandstanding over what is considered evil is more semantic than a justification. By your own definition, you are more of a monster than anyone you killed."</p>
<p>The sound of glass shattering filled the room as the once full and intact glass held by Nobody lay shattered on the ground. Nobody, now standing, looked at Marshal with eyes that, while tranquil, reflected coldness.</p>
<p>"I had a purpose."</p>
<p>"So did the greatest dictators in history. So did those you killed. You are no different."</p>
<p>"I am."</p>
<p>"How so?"</p>
<p>"Those people I killed died for my purpose. They didn't die for me to gain power or wealth. I did it to free myself."</p>
<p>"A rather arbitrary argument," Marshal said, his tone flat.</p>
<p>"I'm not debating the morality of my actions with you," Nobody replied incredulously, his hands straining ever so slightly.</p>
<p>Marshal leaned forward, placing his glass down before filling it once more. "Well, I don't pretend to not be a horrible human being. I'm greedy! I've accepted that." He took a sip. "It just seems as if you haven't accepted that you're no different."</p>
<p>"You would never understand. No one would."</p>
<p>"Enlighten me then."</p>
<p>"Impossible." Nobody's voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of countless lifetimes. "You wouldn't even begin to fathom the agony of my existence. The pain of waking with nothing but these blasted clothes. You were not cursed with the ability to close your eyes and hear the constant wails and cries of those you've hurt, those you've killed." Nobody clenched his fists, knuckles turning white. "Everything I do is to achieve the peace that all living things deserve. Unlike you, who only cares about wealth. Unlike the O5's, who care about an arbitrary normalcy. Not anyone. All who I've killed have been specks in the universe, blips, to be unremembered. Once they fall, they have peace; they have tranquility. Something I will never have while alive."</p>
<p>Nobody's voice grew more intense, each word dripping with a mixture of anger and despair. "Every once in a while, I put a barrel in my mouth and pull the trigger, stab myself to bleed out slowly, or jump off a building. You know what happens each time? I open my eyes to see nothing has changed. NOTHING. I am cursed to forever live on this world as a nameless observer. A Nobody."</p>
<p>The sound of crunching glass echoed through the room as Nobody stepped on the shattered remnants of his glass. He looked down, his face impassive now. "I will do whatever it takes to achieve my peace."</p>
<p>Marshal watched him, the tension in the air almost tangible. "I apologize for the glass," Nobody muttered, resuming his seat, his voice now a whisper.</p>
<p>Marshal let out a slow breath. "No need to apologize," he said quietly. "I think we both understand what it's like to be trapped by our own choices."</p>
<p>The room remained silent. A silence that was not unfamiliar to Nobody as both men sat, contemplating. Finally, Marshal broke the stillness. "Well then, care to enlighten me on what you did after your purge?" He slowly poured another glass and handed it to Nobody.</p>
<p>Nobody accepted the glass with a nod, swirling the liquid inside."Yes…" Nobody caught his breath. "After the, well, 'purge' as you're calling it, I introduced myself to both organizations as an interested third party. Naturally, the Chaos Insurgency and Sarkics aren't exactly the people you hand a resume to."</p>
<p>"I'm sure they'd make an exception for someone of your stature," Marshal interjected.</p>
<p>"Even with most of the dissenters—let's say, no longer under their employment—they weren't the most forgiving people." Nobody ignored Marshal's interruption and continued.</p>
<p>"To gain their trust," Nobody began, "I had to be more than just an ally; I had to become indispensable. This required intricate and deeply strategic maneuvering. I began by leveraging my extensive network. I offered intelligence on rival groups, technology that could tilt the scales of power, and methods to neutralize threats they hadn’t even considered."</p>
<p>Marshal leaned in, intrigued. "Go on."</p>
<p>"First, I staged a series of seemingly unconnected events. I provided the Sarkics with information about a vulnerable Chaos Insurgency supply route. Naturally, they attacked it. However, I had already informed the Insurgency of the impending assault, allowing them to set a trap and decimate the attacking force."</p>
<p>"That's quite the double play," Marshal acknowledged, sipping his drink.</p>
<p>"Next, I aimed to gain favor from both groups. For the Sarkics, I helped them recover an ancient artifact. I actually had obtained the artifact years prior, but they didn’t have to know that. For the Insurgency, I assisted in a high-profile prison break, freeing around a dozen of their top operatives."</p>
<p>"How did you manage that?" Marshal asked, impressed.</p>
<p>"The artifact was in a Foundation storage site. I got a proxy to get it for me. As for the prison break, it involved coordinating a distraction with a third-party mercenary group while I disabled the security systems remotely."</p>
<p>"Remarkable," Marshal murmured.</p>
<p>"But it didn’t stop there," Nobody continued, the intensity in his eyes growing. "I knew that to truly cement my position, I needed to create a situation where both groups would see me as their savior.</p>
<p>“So?”</p>
<p>“So I leaked information to the Foundation about a fictional upcoming alliance between the Sarkics and the Insurgency. Of course, the Foundation launched a preemptive strike."</p>
<p>Marshal nodded, following along. "And you stepped in to 'save the day,' I assume?"</p>
<p>"Precisely. I had already fortified the defenses of both groups without their knowledge, so when the Foundation attacked, they were repelled with minimal losses. Both sides attributed their survival to my intervention."</p>
<p>“How grand.” The sound of Marshal chuckling could be heard echoing through the room.</p>
<p>Nobody took a deep breath. "Then came the more, lets say, convoluted part of my plan. I began influencing the global economy in subtle ways to benefit both groups. I destabilized markets that were key to competing factions and funneled resources into areas that would bolster their operations."</p>
<p>Marshal raised an eyebrow. "How did you manage that?"</p>
<p>"I spent time planting several of my friends in high positions—CEOs, politicians, even some within the anomalous community who owed me favors. You wouldn’t believe how much I had to learn about politics, economics, and such."</p>
<p>"You manipulated the global economy?" Marshal was incredulous.</p>
<p>"You make it sound so trivial.” Nobody scoffed. “It was necessary to ensure both groups saw me as irreplaceable."</p>
<p>"And they never suspected you had ulterior motives?"</p>
<p>"Some did," Nobody admitted. "But by the time they voiced their concerns, it was too late. I had already established myself too deeply within their structures. Any attempt to oust me would have caused more harm than good."</p>
<p>"From that point onwards, it was just a slog. For the next, let's say, 50 years, all I had to do was continue serving both sides," Nobody said, looking into his glass and seeing his reflection. "During that time, I slowly changed each organization's internal philosophy. Do you think the old Chaos Insurgency and Sarkics would ever willingly interact in anything other than a gunfight?"</p>
<p>"No, I don't suppose so," Marshal replied. “But how does this lead to cooperation at all?”</p>
<p>"Well, it took a while, but I eventually got them to see the benefits of cooperation," Nobody continued, though with a more flat tone. "I started with small, exchanges."</p>
<p>"Exchanges?"</p>
<p>"Yes exchanges," Nobody' replied in a matter of fact tone. "For the Insurgency, it was access to Sarkic bioweapons. For the Sarkics, it was information about the Foundation."</p>
<p>Marshal nodded as he sipped his drink. "And they bought it?"</p>
<p>"Not at first. I had to stage a few joint operations where the cooperative efforts would lead to significant profit for both sides. While both sides are stubborn, they aren’t stupid. They saw the benefits of cooperation." Nobody took a last drink from his glass before placing it down onto the table.</p>
<p>"How did you manage the actual exchange?" Marshal asked.</p>
<p>"That was simple. The items traded that day were meant to be used in various other plans for each respective group. The Insurgency would have used the artifact to create a virulent anti-meme that would rapidly sow unrest among Foundation staff, while the Sarkics were going to use the orb as a sacrifice to summon an avatar of their god. When I devised the usages of each item traded, I made sure they were appealing enough for each group to trade their precious artifacts."</p>
<p>"Would they have worked?" Marshal's eyes narrowed with interest.</p>
<p>"The usages?" Nobody paused. "Of course."</p>
<p>"However, they are here now." Marshal's eyes narrowed with interest. "And this led to the ambush?"</p>
<p>"Exactly. Once the relationship between the two groups established, I offered to broker the deal."</p>
<p>“How did the other groups get involved then?” Marshal asked.</p>
<p>"A simple act of spreading rumors of deals among various networks."</p>
<p>"Explain."</p>
<p>"First, the Parawatch forums, knowing the GOC and SCP Foundation would be monitoring them. Given the groundwork I had laid earlier about a potential alliance, they were quick to believe it. Then, I tipped off an informant within the UIU and spread rumors in the Wanderer's Library.”</p>
<p>“In such short notice?” Marshal asked, skepticism evident in his voice.</p>
<p>“Well, not exactly in short notice,” Nobody replied, leaning back slightly. “During those first twenty years, I also spent my time creating a network of informants implanted across various organizations. They gathered intel and planted misinformation as needed.”</p>
<p>“So you already had the networks in place,” Marshal said, nodding, clearly impressed.</p>
<p>“Yes, I did,” Nobody confirmed with a small smile.</p>
<p>"And where was this ambush?" Marshal asked.</p>
<p>"An isolated island, perfect for an ambush, extremely hot by the way.” Nobody shivered slightly at the memory.</p>
<p>Marshal leaned forward in his seat as he fixed his gaze. "And when everyone arrived?"</p>
<p>"It was chaos. The GOC and SCP Foundation launched their assaults all at once. The UIU and Serpent's Hand added to the confusion. I swiped both of these," he gestured to the items on the table between them, "amidst the chaos.”</p>
<p>Marshal shook his head in disbelief. "You orchestrated all of this?"</p>
<p>“I’m actually rather pleased. The plan I devised 90 years ago went perfectly with no adjustments needed.”</p>
<p>“You… planned all of this 90 years ago?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Incredible…” Marshal muttered to himself. “And how did you prevent any unexpected events that might have potentially disrupted your plans?”</p>
<p>“If anything ever, let’s say, threatening came up, I intervened personally.” Nobody paused, “Well, not exactly personally.”</p>
<p>“Elaboration would be appreciated.” Marshal quickly replied.</p>
<p>“Of course.” Nobody suppressed a smile. “I created a series of personas, each with their own backstory and credentials. Some were high-ranking officials, others low-level operatives. I even had a few ‘rogue’ agents who appeared to be working against me but were actually feeding misinformation to anyone who tried to investigate too deeply. I established them early on in the operation, just in case.”</p>
<p>Marshal leaned forward, intrigued. “And what about these direct interventions you mentioned?”</p>
<p>Nobody let a small smile escape him, admiring his own handiwork. “Whenever a direct intervention was needed, I would use one of my many aliases to step in. I orchestrated 'random' events, like attacks on key figures or the sudden discovery of 'lost' artifacts. It would always appear as if a third party intervened, when in actuality it was me.”</p>
<p>Marshal nodded, clearly impressed. “That's quite the strategy.”</p>
<p>“It was necessary,” Nobody replied, shrugging. “I couldn’t afford to leave anything to chance. Every detail had to accounted for.”</p>
<p>Marshal stayed silent before speaking. “You've really thought of everything, haven’t you?”</p>
<p>Nobody simply nodded, “It was the only way.” Nobody stood up. “Now, story time is over and it’s time for you to give me what we agreed to exchange.”</p>
<p>In response, Marshal, patting some lint off his attire, stood up too. "Well, I still have no idea why you did all of this for these coordinates, but here you go.” The man produced a small piece of paper with written numbers on it and handed it to Nobody, who graciously accepted and held it up to his eye, inspecting it.</p>
<p>“Perfect,” was the last response given as he began to walk away. “Thank you, Marshal. This would not have been possible without your cooperation. I hope we never have to see each other again.”</p>
<p>“What is it?” Marshal called out to the slowly shrinking figure.</p>
<p>Without turning back, Nobody responded, "A place that is seemingly impossible to find and that has eluded me for far too long."</p>
<p>“Which is?”</p>
<p>“My home.”</p>
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Waves crashed against the harbor as the early morning sun cast a harsh glare on the beach. A pair of black derbys briefly touched the sand before making their way to a shaded area beneath a large canopy. Nobody silently cursed himself as he walked, tugging at his shirt. While he wouldn't deny that his full black attire was quite quaint—something he begrudgingly admitted to liking—the heat-absorbing properties of his clothing were a curse on days like this. It didn’t help that the fabric felt almost as if it were a part of his body, clinging uncomfortably in the relentless sun.
A memory of his early days as Nobody flashed in his mind: him desperately trying to stop the bleeding from his hand, which was covered in pieces of glass. The image was swiftly overshadowed by the throbbing pulse in his head from the constant heat. How long it had been since that time? He shook his head lightly, trying to get both the thought and the throbbing to stop.
Just then, a gust of wind caused a small bit of sand to fly into his eyes. He staggered slightly before cursing once more. For heaven's sake, why did it have to be a beach of all places where the deal had to take place? One would think a negotiation between the Sarkic Cults and the Chaos Insurgency, given their reputations, would happen somewhere more discreet—perhaps a cave or an underground facility. But no, instead, he found himself on an isolated island somewhere in Australia, consisting of nothing more than a single abandoned port and a vast expanse of sand mixed with bleached coral.
Nobody clenched his fists tightly. He couldn't afford to complain now; this deal was 90 years in the making. Getting in contact with a sect of the Sarkic Cults and the Chaos Insurgency high command had already been a monumental task, one that had caused countless sleepless nights and headaches. Forcing himself to pause his thoughts, Nobody looked up to see the two parties he had come to meet. He closed his eyes momentarily, steeling himself. He was in the final stretch now. After this, he wouldn't ever have to mediate another deal again. He'd done enough of that for multiple lifetimes now.
Stopping as he arrived at the canopy and under the shade, Nobody let out a small sigh of relief before addressing the two parties present. On one end was a member of the Chaos Insurgency's famed Delta Command, flanked by around two dozen armed men with the insignia of the Chaos Insurgency embroidered on the side of their vests. The guards were equipped with smooth red visors that completely obscured their eyes, though it was doubtful that their eyes would reveal much. Nobody scanned the group and he whistled slightly at the sight of the datapad held by the Delta Command representative, making a mental note to find a copy later for his own use.
On the other end were those from the Sarkic Cults, or at least a sect of it. Though most of the figures had their bodies fully covered in a cloth he'd never seen, some seemingly had a few small protrusions where he was quite sure limbs should definitely not be present in. At the center of the group was their Karcist. Unlike the rest of the Sarkics present, the Karcist openly displayed his various mutations, with inflamed and bloated skin, extra and disfigured limbs, and a figure that now only bore a passing resemblance to that of a human. He'd never grow accustomed to the Sarkics, Nobody inwardly commented as he suppressed the urge to turn away in disgust.
"Well then," Nobody clapped his hands together, "it is quite the pleasure to have all of you here on this fine summer day." He saw the sun gleam slightly through the corner of his eyes and forced a smile. "Now, I'm sure that not all of you must be so confident in this dealing." He paused slightly, thinking back on the Chaos Insurgency's raid on one of the Sarkic Cult's burial sites just a month ago. God, that was a headache to explain away. "Inter-organization deals of this type rarely occur, especially between your two organizations."
He saw both sides shift uncomfortably as a few of the armed Chaos Insurgency men gripped their weapons tighter, and a few Sarkics tensed up, with movements under their cloaks seemingly increasing.
"Though I can assure all of you that I will prevent any foul play from either side occurring. And I'm sure we're all glad that it's not the Fifthists we're dealing with." Finally separating his hands, he took turns scanning both groups. "Now, if both sides could present their items."
Nodding towards both sides, Nobody indicated for the items to be revealed. The Delta Command representative produced a small black spherical object that seemed to possess a rectilinear property and pulsed at random intervals, while the Karcist brandished a small sacrificial knife that warped the surrounding area. Nobody swore he saw a face emerging from its handle.
"Fantastic, I'm glad we've all brought what we needed." Nobody closed his eyes, calculating that in just 20 seconds, he would have everything he needed. Reopening his eyes, he continued, "Now, if both parties could hand me their items so we can begin the transaction, that would be just spectacular." As a guard from the Chaos Insurgency and a robed cultist approached Nobody to hand over their goods, a small smile crept across his face.
Suddenly, in his peripheral vision, Nobody saw exactly what he had planned unfold. Around a dozen vessels appeared at the edge of the shore, each bearing different insignia: the SCP Foundation, the GOC, the UIU, and the Serpent's Hand. Instantly, both cultists and insurgents ducked into the wooded area as guns and other weaponry began to fire upon them. As each ship docked, armed men, hooded figures, half-cyborgs, and more arrived on the beach, just as disoriented as those who had been ambushed about the presence of the other organizations. Despite this, no time was wasted before the sound of gunfire and screams filled the air as the skirmish began in earnest. Though none of those present knew why the others were there, no time was spent dwelling on the fact before weapons were drawn.
Amidst the chaos, Nobody ducked for cover behind a large rock near the canopy as he scanned his surroundings. He counted at least two MTF squads nearby that he'd need to evade before making his escape. He looked down, seeing both items he needed in his hands, and chuckled lightly before placing them into his coat. As he did so, he drew a small firearm of his own.
He probably should have planned a more concrete exit given the circumstances, was the first thought that invaded his mind. But as a bullet whizzed by his head, he knew there were far more important things to worry about. Nobody snapped his neck to trace its origin. A UIU agent had spotted him and was signaling for him to drop his weapon, slowly approaching with his firearm drawn. It was actually quite amusing; out of everyone here, the UIU was by far the least equipped. From a quick scan, the agent wore a standard Kevlar vest and carried a non-anomalous sidearm, which paled in comparison to the augmented gear most of the other organizations equipped their field agents with. They were very much a small fish in a very large pond. If the man had known any better, he would have fired at the first sight of Nobody. But luckily for Nobody, he didn't.
Pushing his amusement aside without a second thought, Nobody fired a single shot that lodged squarely into the agent's head. Nobody watched as the agent's eyes widened and his hand reached toward the wound before he collapsed in a heap. Poor fella. Though Nobody didn't exactly have the time to grieve for an unnamed soldier. He used the opportunity to dash toward the extraction point he had designated prior to the meeting. As he ran, he heard bullets fly by him, and jolted as one grazed his shoulder and another caught his leg. Despite the searing pain, he never stopped running. He'd have to get it checked later; you never knew what could be in those bullets considering the parties involved. But making it off the damn island was the main concern. No point in getting treatment for a dead man.
Crashing down onto the sand as more bullets flew above him, Nobody cursed while frantically digging through the sand before feeling a cold, metallic surface. Hurriedly, he banged on it a few times before the ground beneath him gave way and he fell, catching a glimpse of the metallic trapdoor sealing itself after he had fallen through.
Hitting the ground, Nobody groaned as he clutched his head. He was safe now. It was a one-way door to a pocket dimension that he had set up a few decades ago. Unless a dimension jumper was present on that island, no one would be able to follow him.
Knowing this fact, Nobody lay on the ground, embracing the cool feeling of the floor for a few minutes as his breaths grew more steady. Although, he noted to himself as he stared at his right leg, which was now bleeding all over the floor, he'd have to find a mop later.
In the dim light of the pocket dimension, Nobody took a moment to assess his surroundings. The place was exactly as he had left it—sparse, utilitarian, but functional. He slowly sat up, wincing at the pain in his leg. He carefully removed his coat and began to examine the wound. The bullet had passed clean through, but it had left a nasty tear in his flesh.
"Great," he muttered to himself. "Just what I needed."
He reached into his coat, pulling out a small first aid kit. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do for now. As he worked to clean and bandage the wound, he couldn't help but think on the chaos he had just left behind. The plan had gone off almost perfectly, but it had been a close call. Too close. He'd have to be more careful in the future.
Once he had finished tending to his leg, Nobody lay back down on the cool floor, letting the exhaustion wash over him. He had the items he needed, and he was safe for now. He allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation, knowing that the hardest part of his mission was over.
But even in this moment of respite, his mind was already racing ahead, planning the next steps, considering all the variables. With these items, the trade could finally happen.
------
It had been roughly a week since the incident on the island, and Nobody had spent that time lying low. Sitting on a park bench and unfurling a newspaper he had swiped from Three Portlands the day prior, Nobody scanned the headlines to see the fallout of the event. Naturally, the relations between the groups involved were not the most amicable.
As he turned the page, he couldn't help but lightly hum. Just as he had planned, the Insurgents and Sarkics were too busy blaming each other to bother considering him, and the other groups that had sprung the attack were far too disoriented with figuring out what had happened to suspect his involvement in any way. In fact, most thought he had died in the gunfight.
It was as Nobody had expected and hoped. The events had already been covered up. Across the newspaper were testimonies from various leading figures of the respective organizations, calling the assault a friendly act of inter-agency cooperation to oppose a rising threat from both the Sarkics and the Insurgency. He could only imagine the diplomatic nightmare if it were known that over 120 casualties were the result of supposedly friendly cooperation. Sweeping it under the rug was best for everyone involved. The cover story had the idea of a unified anomalous world while painting the Chaos Insurgency and Sarkics as conspiring terrorists. Given this, he smirked, it was unlikely anyone would suspect his involvement, and given the hostility between the Chaos Insurgency and Sarkics following the event, the details of the trade would remain a mystery, ensuring no one would know what Nobody had stolen.
Putting down the newspaper, Nobody hung his head lightly. Even though he had gotten what he wanted, it was a bit upsetting to see the diplomatic relations he had so carefully created fall apart in such a short period of time.
Well, it was a small price to pay. He got up and pulled out a burner phone he had received the day prior and held it to his ear as it began to vibrate lightly. A voice, distorted to the point of being barely recognizable as human, spoke: "Walk 20 meters forward, then enter the blue warehouse to your right." With that, the phone began to sputter slightly before ceasing functionality in a puff of smoke. As he began to follow the directions, he dropped the now-smoking phone into a nearby trash can, his eyes constantly darting around to check for any potential followers.
Turning right, Nobody looked up and saw a large abandonded blue warehouse that had wooden boards covering the half-finished windows and rust slowly overtaking the roof of the building. It was strange to say, but this wouldn't be the first time he'd walked into an abandoned warehouse to meet someone. Honestly, the frequency of the occurrence was rather strange now that he thought about it. Regardless, taking a deep breath and patting down his coat, Nobody opened the large rusted gate and made his way into the warehouse.
Inside, the interior was just as expected: rusted pipes, puddles of water, a few cobwebs, abandoned machinery, and a half-painted interior. As he made his way through the building, Nobody ran his gloved hands upon any nearby wall he passed. Bringing his hand up close to his eyes, he looked closely at the dust: it was artificial. Turning a sharp corner, he saw a small light source, similar to that of a small desk lamp, and sitting upon a small set of furniture—a wooden desk and stool—was a man, of European descent, dressed in a brown overcoat, wearing a bowler hat and round spectacles perched on their nose, holding a bright ball of light in their hand.
"Ah, you're finally here." The man stood up, leaving the ball of light floating in place, and made his way towards Nobody before embracing him. "It's been quite a while, hasn't it, old friend? Well, come on now," the man gestured towards another stool on the opposite side of the table where he had been sitting. "Take a seat now. I'm sure you're eager to finish this quickly."
Nobody simply gave a curt nod before making his way to the stool. Before sitting, he stared at it for a moment—no poison, no mechanical components, and it didn't seem like a sensor. Staring at Nobody, the man smiled broadly and spoke as if reading Nobody's mind, "You know, friend, that's just a perfectly normal stool. No need to fret, just take a seat. I wouldn't try to kill you after all you've been through."
Sighing as he took his seat, Nobody responded, "That may be easy for you to say, Marshal, but you haven't been working towards this for the past 90 years, have you?"
Marshal stroked his chin lightly. "I suppose not," he nodded. "Yes, that is fair, I suppose."
At that, Nobody reached into his coat and removed the two items he had stolen from both the Chaos Insurgency and the Sarkics, placing them onto the table. Marshal’s eyes widened in admiration, and he whistled at the sight of the artifacts before producing something of his own: a bottle of Bordeaux and two glasses. Placing both beside the now pulsing black orb and glowing blade, he uncorked the bottle and slowly began to fill the two glasses before offering one to Nobody.
Nobody didn’t move at first, simply looking at the outstretched hand with absent eyes. Tentatively, he reached out and grabbed the glass from Marshal's hand.
"There you go, boy, drink up." Marshal continued to watch with narrowed eyes as Nobody began to take a sip.
"Don’t patronize me," Nobody scoffed at the remark, "and I’m several times older than you."
"That may be true," Marshal said, taking a sip of his own drink. "But you've been acting like a lost puppy, doing all of this." He waved in the direction of the artifacts lying on the table.
"Well, that could have all been avoided if you had just given me what I asked for," Nobody glared as he finished the last of his drink and began to pour another. "But you seemed to be caught up in your own agenda."
Marshal shrugged lightly. "You should know better than I do that everything has a cost."
"Of course, I don’t blame you. It’s just rather frustrating." Nobody stopped drinking and stared directly at Marshal. "The things I’ve done for our little arrangement, you should know they were all because of you."
"I never made you do anything. It was all of your own volition."
"Yes, and you knew I'd do anything to get what you have." The glass held in Nobody's grasp cracked slightly.
"Well, I might have had an inkling," Marshal grinned slightly. "Though I still don’t know why you want it so badly."
"Well, that is my business. Now if we could complete this transaction, I have brought everything you requested."
"Yes, you have," Marshal placed his glass down and picked up both items to examine them closely. "Marvelous, both of these are prized possessions of the Chaos Insurgency and the Sarkics."
"Yes, they are." There was a tint of annoyance in Nobody’s voice. "Now give me what you owe me, and we can end this."
"Of course, of course," Marshal laughed to himself. "But before I do, please tell me, how did you do it? I mean, what have you been doing for the past 90 years? To be completely honest, when I gave you this task, I thought it damn near impossible, you know?" Marshal’s voice was matter-of-fact. "I’ve offered billions, attempted more raids than I can count, and failed every time. And yet, you managed to get them to trade both of these items for each other? That is something I’m dying to know."
A silence settled in the room as Nobody thoughtfully took a long drink, emptying his glass. "I suppose there's no harm in doing so," he said, placing his glass down. "Yes, I suppose it would be right for you to know."
Marshal leaned back in his chair, as if waiting for some grand tale, like a child anticipating a bedtime story. "It would be proper of you indeed. I'm glad you're willing to entertain me."
Nobody exhaled deeply. It would be the first time he divulged any of this to someone else. Countless people had died trying to figure out his motives over the past 90 years, and now he was willingly giving up the details in a dingy warehouse in the middle of nowhere.
"Well, what would you like to know first?"
He saw Marshal's eyebrows perk up at the question. "Well, those first twenty years, you completely disappeared. What happened during that time? What were you doing?"
At the question, Nobody leaned back in his own chair. Seventy whole years ago. It was the first time he'd been reminded of the scope and length in a while. "I needed to get into the good graces of both the Chaos Insurgency and the Sarkics."
"Yes, and so?"
"So, I spent those first 20 years culling both organizations."
"Culling?" Marshal's voice raised slightly.
"Naturally," Nobody looked down at his fingers. "There would be members of each respective group that wouldn't be too fond of cooperating with me." Grim recollections of memories flashed through his mind—reading through hundreds of reports of the aftermath of his own handiwork. "I had some of my contacts at the Foundation and GOC pull the records of every known Chaos Insurgency and Sarkic operative."
Marshal’s eyes widened slightly. "You... eliminated potential obstacles?"
"Heavens no!" Nobody laughed. "I wouldn't do it myself. Far too barbaric for me. No, I simply framed them as failures."
"Failure?" A hint of curiosity tinged Marshal’s voice as he shifted in his seat. "What does that entail exactly?"
"I'm sure you know that both organizations in question are rather... unforgiving," Nobody said slowly. "I spent a few days reviewing every single operation ever conducted by both groups, then another few days examining all known individuals who could possibly pose a threat. By that point, I was able to accurately map out every future operation each organization would attempt. I may have sabotaged a few of those operations that involved certain members."
"How many?" Marshal asked, his tone serious.
"86,430," Nobody replied casually. "Mind you, I found no joy in doing so. They were simply unfortunate enough to hold those beliefs. It was quite the task; I had to distribute the failures over 20 years to avoid suspicion and always ensured they had no defense whatsoever." He picked up his glass once more and began pouring himself another drink.
"Don't you feel a little guilty?" Marshal asked, intertwining his hands. "Don't you lose sleep over what you've done? The lives you've taken? The families you've hurt?"
"Don't spout that bullshit, Marshal." Though restrained, the slightest hint of anger could be heard in Nobody's voice. "We both know you signed their death warrants. You knew I would do anything for what's at stake here. Don't be shocked when a pile of bodies is the result. And in any case, they were horrible people. What type of people do you think join the Chaos Insurgency and Sarkics?"
"If you're implying that all those people were evil, you are hilariously deluded or misguided. We both know most of those poor men and women were probably fighting for what they believed was right. Morally grandstanding over what is considered evil is more semantic than a justification. By your own definition, you are more of a monster than anyone you killed."
The sound of glass shattering filled the room as the once full and intact glass held by Nobody lay shattered on the ground. Nobody, now standing, looked at Marshal with eyes that, while tranquil, reflected coldness.
"I had a purpose."
"So did the greatest dictators in history. So did those you killed. You are no different."
"I am."
"How so?"
"Those people I killed died for my purpose. They didn't die for me to gain power or wealth. I did it to free myself."
"A rather arbitrary argument," Marshal said, his tone flat.
"I'm not debating the morality of my actions with you," Nobody replied incredulously, his hands straining ever so slightly.
Marshal leaned forward, placing his glass down before filling it once more. "Well, I don't pretend to not be a horrible human being. I'm greedy! I've accepted that." He took a sip. "It just seems as if you haven't accepted that you're no different."
"You would never understand. No one would."
"Enlighten me then."
"Impossible." Nobody's voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of countless lifetimes. "You wouldn't even begin to fathom the agony of my existence. The pain of waking with nothing but these blasted clothes. You were not cursed with the ability to close your eyes and hear the constant wails and cries of those you've hurt, those you've killed." Nobody clenched his fists, knuckles turning white. "Everything I do is to achieve the peace that all living things deserve. Unlike you, who only cares about wealth. Unlike the O5's, who care about an arbitrary normalcy. Not anyone. All who I've killed have been specks in the universe, blips, to be unremembered. Once they fall, they have peace; they have tranquility. Something I will never have while alive."
Nobody's voice grew more intense, each word dripping with a mixture of anger and despair. "Every once in a while, I put a barrel in my mouth and pull the trigger, stab myself to bleed out slowly, or jump off a building. You know what happens each time? I open my eyes to see nothing has changed. NOTHING. I am cursed to forever live on this world as a nameless observer. A Nobody."
The sound of crunching glass echoed through the room as Nobody stepped on the shattered remnants of his glass. He looked down, his face impassive now. "I will do whatever it takes to achieve my peace."
Marshal watched him, the tension in the air almost tangible. "I apologize for the glass," Nobody muttered, resuming his seat, his voice now a whisper.
Marshal let out a slow breath. "No need to apologize," he said quietly. "I think we both understand what it's like to be trapped by our own choices."
The room remained silent. A silence that was not unfamiliar to Nobody as both men sat, contemplating. Finally, Marshal broke the stillness. "Well then, care to enlighten me on what you did after your purge?" He slowly poured another glass and handed it to Nobody.
Nobody accepted the glass with a nod, swirling the liquid inside."Yes..." Nobody caught his breath. "After the, well, 'purge' as you're calling it, I introduced myself to both organizations as an interested third party. Naturally, the Chaos Insurgency and Sarkics aren't exactly the people you hand a resume to."
"I'm sure they'd make an exception for someone of your stature," Marshal interjected.
"Even with most of the dissenters—let's say, no longer under their employment—they weren't the most forgiving people." Nobody ignored Marshal's interruption and continued.
"To gain their trust," Nobody began, "I had to be more than just an ally; I had to become indispensable. This required intricate and deeply strategic maneuvering. I began by leveraging my extensive network. I offered intelligence on rival groups, technology that could tilt the scales of power, and methods to neutralize threats they hadn’t even considered."
Marshal leaned in, intrigued. "Go on."
"First, I staged a series of seemingly unconnected events. I provided the Sarkics with information about a vulnerable Chaos Insurgency supply route. Naturally, they attacked it. However, I had already informed the Insurgency of the impending assault, allowing them to set a trap and decimate the attacking force."
"That's quite the double play," Marshal acknowledged, sipping his drink.
"Next, I aimed to gain favor from both groups. For the Sarkics, I helped them recover an ancient artifact. I actually had obtained the artifact years prior, but they didn’t have to know that. For the Insurgency, I assisted in a high-profile prison break, freeing around a dozen of their top operatives."
"How did you manage that?" Marshal asked, impressed.
"The artifact was in a Foundation storage site. I got a proxy to get it for me. As for the prison break, it involved coordinating a distraction with a third-party mercenary group while I disabled the security systems remotely."
"Remarkable," Marshal murmured.
"But it didn’t stop there," Nobody continued, the intensity in his eyes growing. "I knew that to truly cement my position, I needed to create a situation where both groups would see me as their savior.
“So?”
“So I leaked information to the Foundation about a fictional upcoming alliance between the Sarkics and the Insurgency. Of course, the Foundation launched a preemptive strike."
Marshal nodded, following along. "And you stepped in to 'save the day,' I assume?"
"Precisely. I had already fortified the defenses of both groups without their knowledge, so when the Foundation attacked, they were repelled with minimal losses. Both sides attributed their survival to my intervention."
“How grand.” The sound of Marshal chuckling could be heard echoing through the room.
Nobody took a deep breath. "Then came the more, lets say, convoluted part of my plan. I began influencing the global economy in subtle ways to benefit both groups. I destabilized markets that were key to competing factions and funneled resources into areas that would bolster their operations."
Marshal raised an eyebrow. "How did you manage that?"
"I spent time planting several of my friends in high positions—CEOs, politicians, even some within the anomalous community who owed me favors. You wouldn’t believe how much I had to learn about politics, economics, and such."
"You manipulated the global economy?" Marshal was incredulous.
"You make it sound so trivial.” Nobody scoffed. “It was necessary to ensure both groups saw me as irreplaceable."
"And they never suspected you had ulterior motives?"
"Some did," Nobody admitted. "But by the time they voiced their concerns, it was too late. I had already established myself too deeply within their structures. Any attempt to oust me would have caused more harm than good."
"From that point onwards, it was just a slog. For the next, let's say, 50 years, all I had to do was continue serving both sides," Nobody said, looking into his glass and seeing his reflection. "During that time, I slowly changed each organization's internal philosophy. Do you think the old Chaos Insurgency and Sarkics would ever willingly interact in anything other than a gunfight?"
"No, I don't suppose so," Marshal replied. “But how does this lead to cooperation at all?”
"Well, it took a while, but I eventually got them to see the benefits of cooperation," Nobody continued, though with a more flat tone. "I started with small, exchanges."
"Exchanges?"
"Yes exchanges," Nobody' replied in a matter of fact tone. "For the Insurgency, it was access to Sarkic bioweapons. For the Sarkics, it was information about the Foundation."
Marshal nodded as he sipped his drink. "And they bought it?"
"Not at first. I had to stage a few joint operations where the cooperative efforts would lead to significant profit for both sides. While both sides are stubborn, they aren’t stupid. They saw the benefits of cooperation." Nobody took a last drink from his glass before placing it down onto the table.
"How did you manage the actual exchange?" Marshal asked.
"That was simple. The items traded that day were meant to be used in various other plans for each respective group. The Insurgency would have used the artifact to create a virulent anti-meme that would rapidly sow unrest among Foundation staff, while the Sarkics were going to use the orb as a sacrifice to summon an avatar of their god. When I devised the usages of each item traded, I made sure they were appealing enough for each group to trade their precious artifacts."
"Would they have worked?" Marshal's eyes narrowed with interest.
"The usages?" Nobody paused. "Of course."
"However, they are here now." Marshal's eyes narrowed with interest. "And this led to the ambush?"
"Exactly. Once the relationship between the two groups established, I offered to broker the deal."
“How did the other groups get involved then?” Marshal asked.
"A simple act of spreading rumors of deals among various networks."
"Explain."
"First, the Parawatch forums, knowing the GOC and SCP Foundation would be monitoring them. Given the groundwork I had laid earlier about a potential alliance, they were quick to believe it. Then, I tipped off an informant within the UIU and spread rumors in the Wanderer's Library.”
“In such short notice?” Marshal asked, skepticism evident in his voice.
“Well, not exactly in short notice,” Nobody replied, leaning back slightly. “During those first twenty years, I also spent my time creating a network of informants implanted across various organizations. They gathered intel and planted misinformation as needed.”
“So you already had the networks in place,” Marshal said, nodding, clearly impressed.
“Yes, I did,” Nobody confirmed with a small smile.
"And where was this ambush?" Marshal asked.
"An isolated island, perfect for an ambush, extremely hot by the way.” Nobody shivered slightly at the memory.
Marshal leaned forward in his seat as he fixed his gaze. "And when everyone arrived?"
"It was chaos. The GOC and SCP Foundation launched their assaults all at once. The UIU and Serpent's Hand added to the confusion. I swiped both of these," he gestured to the items on the table between them, "amidst the chaos.”
Marshal shook his head in disbelief. "You orchestrated all of this?"
“I’m actually rather pleased. The plan I devised 90 years ago went perfectly with no adjustments needed.”
“You... planned all of this 90 years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Incredible...” Marshal muttered to himself. “And how did you prevent any unexpected events that might have potentially disrupted your plans?”
“If anything ever, let’s say, threatening came up, I intervened personally.” Nobody paused, “Well, not exactly personally.”
“Elaboration would be appreciated.” Marshal quickly replied.
“Of course.” Nobody suppressed a smile. “I created a series of personas, each with their own backstory and credentials. Some were high-ranking officials, others low-level operatives. I even had a few ‘rogue’ agents who appeared to be working against me but were actually feeding misinformation to anyone who tried to investigate too deeply. I established them early on in the operation, just in case.”
Marshal leaned forward, intrigued. “And what about these direct interventions you mentioned?”
Nobody let a small smile escape him, admiring his own handiwork. “Whenever a direct intervention was needed, I would use one of my many aliases to step in. I orchestrated 'random' events, like attacks on key figures or the sudden discovery of 'lost' artifacts. It would always appear as if a third party intervened, when in actuality it was me.”
Marshal nodded, clearly impressed. “That's quite the strategy.”
“It was necessary,” Nobody replied, shrugging. “I couldn’t afford to leave anything to chance. Every detail had to accounted for.”
Marshal stayed silent before speaking. “You've really thought of everything, haven’t you?”
Nobody simply nodded, “It was the only way.” Nobody stood up. “Now, story time is over and it’s time for you to give me what we agreed to exchange.”
In response, Marshal, patting some lint off his attire, stood up too. "Well, I still have no idea why you did all of this for these coordinates, but here you go.” The man produced a small piece of paper with written numbers on it and handed it to Nobody, who graciously accepted and held it up to his eye, inspecting it.
“Perfect,” was the last response given as he began to walk away. “Thank you, Marshal. This would not have been possible without your cooperation. I hope we never have to see each other again.”
“What is it?” Marshal called out to the slowly shrinking figure.
Without turning back, Nobody responded, "A place that is seemingly impossible to find and that has eluded me for far too long."
“Which is?”
“My home.”
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2024-07-22T09:15:00
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Almost a Century in the Making - SCP Foundation
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/almost-a-century-in-the-making
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altoid-clef
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<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>Or: how to survive hangovers, halitosis and fatherhood. Not per se in that order.</p>
</div>
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<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">FlyPurgatorio, Prismal and Uncle Nicolini</a>
<div class="authorbox">
<div class="authorcontent">
<p>Lecture notes of Dr. Clef's workshop, "Real Life and You: How to Survive when Barely Functional."<br/>
<strong>Authors:</strong><br/>
<span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/flypurgatorio" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8497838); return false;"><img alt="FlyPurgatorio" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8497838&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1730032534" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8497838)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/flypurgatorio" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8497838); return false;">FlyPurgatorio</a></span> - <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/flys-purgatory">Author Page</a><br/>
<span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/prismal" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8779219); return false;"><img alt="Prismal" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8779219&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1730032534" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8779219)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/prismal" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8779219); return false;">Prismal</a></span> - <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/prismal">Author Page</a><br/>
<span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/uncle-nicolini" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(3487700); return false;"><img alt="Uncle Nicolini" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=3487700&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1730032534" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=3487700)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/uncle-nicolini" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(3487700); return false;">Uncle Nicolini</a></span> - <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/uncle-nicolini-author-page">Author Page</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><a href="/scp-8166">Alto Clef</a> writhed on the ground, finally awake.</p>
<p>"Ugh…"</p>
<p>His head pounding, his vision blurry, and his stomach screaming bloody murder, he slowly sat up, finding himself in an office. Immediately, he noticed two things.</p>
<ol>
<li>A sickly sweet stench surrounded him. He had apparently passed out in a pool of his own sick, and there was a <em>lot</em> of it in the surrounding area, which brought him to the second thing he noticed:</li>
<li>This wasn't his office.</li>
</ol>
<p>"Christ," he spat out, as scratching his patchy facial hair dislodged dried flakes of upchuck. "Must've been completely knackered."</p>
<p>Checking his watch, it seemed he had been out of it for a little over 12 hours. Had this odd catatonia not been the best sleep he'd had in a dog's age, he would be much more irate. The only problem, as it were, was that he couldn't remember exactly <em>what</em> had happened to lead up to this situation. Getting up, he stumbled backwards onto the office's desk and knocked over a family portrait.</p>
<p>Clef groaned and picked up the picture, taking a moment for his blurry vision to stabilise. An older, serious-looking balding man and a young girl with black hair. Looked like Charlie and his wayward daughter. At least now he knew whose office this was.</p>
<p>He set the picture frame back on the desk, leaving a sticky, crumbly print on the glass. As he pushed on the wall for support, he got into a standing position and left another print on the wall.</p>
<p>"Fuckin' hell. And who's gonna have to clean up all this then?"</p>
<p>Clef made liberal use of his coworker's stash of wet wipes, to at least make it less <em>immediately</em> obvious what had happened here. Hopefully. Not that Clef really knew what had happened here.</p>
<p>Unfortunately even Charlie Ogden Gears' anal retentiveness had limits, and Clef soon found himself chucking the last of the office's wet wipes into its bin. <em>"Well, that'll do,"</em> thought Clef, wiping his hands on his shirt. Should buy enough time at least.</p>
<p>The battle won, the conquering hero made his speedy retreat, only to encounter the beast returning to his cave at its mouth.</p>
<p>"Alto?" said the puzzled man. Well, as puzzled as the bleeding automaton ever got.</p>
<p>"Charlie! How's it going, mate?</p>
<p>"What were you doing in my office?"</p>
<p>"Oh this's, this's <em>your</em> office, is it? See, I was looking for my lecture notes. You seen them?"</p>
<p>"Your lecture notes? Alto, why would I have them? I have no earthly—"</p>
<p>"Listen, Charlie, I'd love to stay and chat, but I have a lecture to get to. Cheers!"</p>
<p>"Wait, Alto, I did not— How did you— <em>Good god what is that smell?</em>"</p>
<p>Before he'd risk seeing the robot splutter through his disgust routine, he legged it. Down the corridor, around the corner, until the sickeningly sweet smell of his own dinner intermixed with cleaning product was far enough behind him. When he was sure there was enough distance between him and Charlie, he got back on task: trying to find a clue to fill the gap in his memory.</p>
<p>"Lecture notes… Lecture notes…." He mumbled. Was that more than just some bollocks he made up on the fly?</p>
<p>The artificially florid smell of wet wipes drilling into his brain was honestly making it even harder to think. He'd like to give a piece of his mind to whoever thought smelling like roses would make anyone feel cleaner.</p>
<p>He could use a shower. Or at least a change of clothes.</p>
<p>There was one place that held both. He pushed his hands in his trouser pockets, searching for the key to Kondraki's office he'd copied a couple of weeks prior, and at that time he realised the polyester fabric was not something he'd usually go for. When he looked down, he noticed the panther logo and stripes on the side, the sport socks, and the trainers.</p>
<p>These weren't his clothes, either.</p>
<p>"What the fuck is this monkey suit?"</p>
<p>The jacket pockets gave an answer: a gym pass with a picture. Benji's smirking face looking back at him. Ah well, he was heading in that direction anyway.</p>
<p>He didn't even need a key, Kondraki's office door was still ajar. The couch was a mess, of course — Ben had been spending most of his evenings here, drowning himself in work ever since his marriage had gone tits up. The wedding pictures of him and Carmen had been replaced, mostly by pictures of Draven growing up. Placing second at the Spelling Bee in '02 (his father had been on expedition to the Artics), playing football (his father had been working weekend shifts), first Pride (his father waving the bi flag), the graduation ceremony to MTF operative (his father had been freaking out in Clef's dorm most of the preceding hours). The rest was some of his own photography. Wanky pictures of butterflies and waterfalls. God, he was such a softy, it was almost charming.</p>
<p>Almost.</p>
<p><em>What is it with this place and absent fathers?</em></p>
<p>Over the ergonomically responsible chair and standing desk — because of course the pillock had a standing desk — hung another set of clothes. Way, way more sensible, cotton clothes. His.</p>
<p>Good thinking, leaving them out to air over night, they smelled downright minty. Good old English culture, getting pissed and preparing for the morning after. That was the working theory now, although he didn't really feel like he got plastered last night. Way too refreshed for it. Or maybe he finally got enough practice.</p>
<p>When he opened the door to the on-suite shower, he heard a groan coming from the couch. The pile of clothes and empty beer bottles moved with it.</p>
<p>"Konny, that you?" He walked back to the office space. "Did you sleep here again?!"</p>
<p>The big, broad Pole grumbled something of an answer.</p>
<p>"Fucking hell, mate. How am I the functional adult between the two of us?" Clef pushed some of the empty cans to the floor. "Up."</p>
<p>"Fuck off."</p>
<p>But Clef wasn't listening. He noticed a sticky hand print above the make-shift bed that looked remarkably like his own. It included a crisp, white substance, but at least it didn't smell as much as Ben did.</p>
<p>"Why are you wearing my tennis shorts." Kondraki asked, rubbing his temples as he sat up straight. His eyes grew large. "We didn't —"</p>
<p>"What? No, of course we didn't shag, you twit. I don't know why I'm dressed like a hooligan." He looked down. The trouser legs reached almost to his ankles. "And these aren't shorts."</p>
<p>"Maybe not for dwarfs." Kondraki chuckled, which turned into another groan half-way through.</p>
<p>"Remember anything from last night?" Clef said as he looked for a clean cup and, failing that, a somewhat clean alternative.</p>
<p>"Nope. Whatever I tried to drown, I succeeded." Kondraki got back on his feet, wobbled a bit, then decided to sit on a nearby cabinet. "You?"</p>
<p>"Trying to figure that out." Clef mumbled. "I think I lost lecture notes."</p>
<p>"You prepare for those?"</p>
<p>"Piss off." Clef put a hastily rubbed clean kitchen bowl filled with water next to him. "Drink. I'll get you some coffee."</p>
<p>When he turned to Ben's coffee machine, he noticed an MTF report lying open on the counter, covered by several empty beer cans. Latest field mission of Beta-6 "Rubber Duckies". Draven's unit.</p>
<p>He quickly slipped it between the cabinet and wall.</p>
<p>"On second thought, your stuff's shite. Get us both a cuppa from the break room, some fresh air will do you good." He pulled the bowl out of Ben's hands, spilling water over the floor. "I'll get changed so you can get your giant's clothes back. Or you can burn them and get a proper wardrobe."</p>
<p>So it was that the half-awake amateur photographer got shoved out of his office, mumbling half-coherent protests as the lock clicked behind him. Of course, even hungover and barely sleepwalking, Benjamin Kondraki was smart enough not to argue with the angry Englishman. Alto had trained him well.</p>
<p>As he heard the footsteps disappear down the hallway, Clef nosed through the report he'd hidden. It was no walk in the park his son had gone through. No wonder Konny drank himself into a stupor. Sitting up at home, reading about the boggarts his lad was up against — it would drive any half-decent father mad, and there weren't many of those at the Foundation to begin with. At least Ben tried.</p>
<p>Back to the problems at hand. Clef removed the crime against fashion from his person and sniff-tested his own, nearly hurling as an entre forest's smell of wintergreens entered his nose. Good lord, did someone pour an entire bottle of fabric softener on it?!</p>
<p>A quick freshening up to clean the sinuses, and a spritz on his clothes with some spray on deodarant (a handy trick Clef picked up some years ago) he hopped in the shower. Bizarrely, this too had white crust along the tiles, and a minty fresh scent. At least compared to the rest of his office, the recently single researcher knew not to skimp on cleaning products in the bathroom.</p>
<p>There also was a tin of Altoids in the soap dish. <em>Hah</em>, maybe some of his better ideas finally rubbed off on Benji.</p>
<p>Hm, empty tin too, someone must have overdone it on the shower mints. Shame, he could have used some for his breath. Not gonna nick Konny's toothbrush. The man had <em>some</em> standards.</p>
<p>Hurriedly rinsing sickly sweet stink off his chest, Clef popped out of the shower, dried off and dressed in his own, freshly aired cottons. He snuck out long before Konny could hobble back with some lukewarm coffee, but not without swiping Draven's file on his way out. Best not let Konny spiral, as he'd clearly gone through the trouble of amnesticizing himself the old fashioned way.</p>
<p>He followed his path down the hallway, realising there were more than a couple of handprints in that same sweet, minty substance.</p>
<p>Right before his office door he found his first footprint: white crumbles of small pellets, cracked under the pressure of a boot. Right next to it was the illicit backup key to Konny's office, and a broken tin. He took both and slipped the key back into his pockets.</p>
<p>At long last, he was home. Or at least as close to home as anything came. Clef opened the door to his office and might as well have waltzed in. He took a deep breath and sighed, looking around. Same old pile of dossiers pulled from his filing cabinet and never put back, same old pictures of his little girl on the wall. Only two things that were out of the ordinary, and caught his attention: the three empty tins of wintergreen Altoids covering his messy desk, and an open manila folder with a report in Sophia's handwriting.</p>
<p>He leaped over the desk, knocking over another framed picture of Meri and piles of paperwork, grabbing the report and reading it.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Alto,</p>
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/it-s-hard-to-be-a-kid-in-containment">Meri</a> shows what we assume to be an allergic reaction to synthesized materials such as plastic, shies away from Foundation handlers, responds negatively to provided rations, and is largely non-verbal.</p>
<p>However, health-wise we couldn't be happier. I've included the medical reports too, and they show above average growth and development.</p>
<p>The how and why of this is beyond us, but we are glad Meri isn't failing to thrive.</p>
<p>We will make sure to inform the both of you once this year's visit is scheduled.</p>
<p>See you soon.</p>
<p>— Light</p>
</div>
<p>"Of course she's not responding, Soph, you keep going in bloody <em>hazmat suits.</em> She needs to see <em>people,</em> not vague shapes of them." It was like yelling into a void. Very thin line between cold and cruel.</p>
<p>As he read the report, Clef had popped open a new tin of minty cool Altoids and anxiously chewed away. Grabbing a second handful, he felt his stomach grumble and complain, and a wave of a light-headed highs reach the crown of his scalp. The room seemed to dance in front of his eyes for a moment. Damnit, mints always messed with his noggin.</p>
<p>He suddenly realised what had happened last night.</p>
<p>"God damn it, Eli." He cupped his face with his hand, letting the mints fall around him. "Get your shit together."</p>
<p>A notification ping awoke his computer from its slumber. A calendar alarm, reminding him of the impending lecture he had to give. And still no lecture notes.</p>
<p>One last scan of his desk showed reports he still had to complete, requests Adams still had to sign off on, and several stick figure drawings of field missions. And finally, a notebook with a bold header reading "Lecture", and beneath it only the scribbled line "reality not surivivn".</p>
<p>Brilliant.</p>
<p>"<a href="/clef101">Suppose I'll have to improvise then</a>." He placed the papers back on his desk and straightened himself out. Good thing he could Bend the rules a bit if needed. Not like he hadn't bollocksed his way through a lecture before.</p>
<p>Before he went out the door, he paused, then pulled open his desk drawer.</p>
<p>"Better to have them and not need them than need them and not have them." He slipped an Altoids tin, and a backup one, into his back pocket and left his office.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/altoid-clef">Lecture notes of Dr. Clef's workshop, "Real Life and You: How to Survive when Barely Functional."</a>" by FlyPurgatorio, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/altoid-clef">https://scpwiki.com/altoid-clef</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<p>|author=FlyPurgatorio, Prismal, and Uncle Nicolini]]</p>
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[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=Or: how to survive hangovers, halitosis and fatherhood. Not per se in that order.
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:basalt">:scp-wiki:theme:basalt</a> centertitle=a]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:pride-highlighter">:scp-wiki:component:pride-highlighter</a> |inc-lgbt-alt= --]]]
[[module CSS]]
:root {
--header-subtitle: 'Shoddily Coping with Parenthood';
--basalt-bright-element-color: 93,15,135;
--basalt-dark-element-color: 93,15,135;
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> start=--
|name=FlyPurgatorio, Prismal and Uncle Nicolini]]
Lecture notes of Dr. Clef's workshop, "Real Life and You: How to Survive when Barely Functional."
**Authors:**
[[*user FlyPurgatorio]] - [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/flys-purgatory Author Page]
[[*user Prismal]] - [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/prismal Author Page]
[[*user Uncle Nicolini]] - [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/uncle-nicolini-author-page Author Page]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> end=--]]
[[[scp-8166|Alto Clef]]] writhed on the ground, finally awake.
"Ugh..."
His head pounding, his vision blurry, and his stomach screaming bloody murder, he slowly sat up, finding himself in an office. Immediately, he noticed two things.
# A sickly sweet stench surrounded him. He had apparently passed out in a pool of his own sick, and there was a //lot// of it in the surrounding area, which brought him to the second thing he noticed:
# This wasn't his office.
"Christ," he spat out, as scratching his patchy facial hair dislodged dried flakes of upchuck. "Must've been completely knackered."
Checking his watch, it seemed he had been out of it for a little over 12 hours. Had this odd catatonia not been the best sleep he'd had in a dog's age, he would be much more irate. The only problem, as it were, was that he couldn't remember exactly //what// had happened to lead up to this situation. Getting up, he stumbled backwards onto the office's desk and knocked over a family portrait.
Clef groaned and picked up the picture, taking a moment for his blurry vision to stabilise. An older, serious-looking balding man and a young girl with black hair. Looked like Charlie and his wayward daughter. At least now he knew whose office this was.
He set the picture frame back on the desk, leaving a sticky, crumbly print on the glass. As he pushed on the wall for support, he got into a standing position and left another print on the wall.
"Fuckin' hell. And who's gonna have to clean up all this then?"
Clef made liberal use of his coworker's stash of wet wipes, to at least make it less //immediately// obvious what had happened here. Hopefully. Not that Clef really knew what had happened here.
Unfortunately even Charlie Ogden Gears' anal retentiveness had limits, and Clef soon found himself chucking the last of the office's wet wipes into its bin. //"Well, that'll do,"// thought Clef, wiping his hands on his shirt. Should buy enough time at least.
The battle won, the conquering hero made his speedy retreat, only to encounter the beast returning to his cave at its mouth.
"Alto?" said the puzzled man. Well, as puzzled as the bleeding automaton ever got.
"Charlie! How's it going, mate?
"What were you doing in my office?"
"Oh this's, this's //your// office, is it? See, I was looking for my lecture notes. You seen them?"
"Your lecture notes? Alto, why would I have them? I have no earthly--"
"Listen, Charlie, I'd love to stay and chat, but I have a lecture to get to. Cheers!"
"Wait, Alto, I did not-- How did you-- //Good god what is that smell?//"
Before he'd risk seeing the robot splutter through his disgust routine, he legged it. Down the corridor, around the corner, until the sickeningly sweet smell of his own dinner intermixed with cleaning product was far enough behind him. When he was sure there was enough distance between him and Charlie, he got back on task: trying to find a clue to fill the gap in his memory.
"Lecture notes... Lecture notes...." He mumbled. Was that more than just some bollocks he made up on the fly?
The artificially florid smell of wet wipes drilling into his brain was honestly making it even harder to think. He'd like to give a piece of his mind to whoever thought smelling like roses would make anyone feel cleaner.
He could use a shower. Or at least a change of clothes.
There was one place that held both. He pushed his hands in his trouser pockets, searching for the key to Kondraki's office he'd copied a couple of weeks prior, and at that time he realised the polyester fabric was not something he'd usually go for. When he looked down, he noticed the panther logo and stripes on the side, the sport socks, and the trainers.
These weren't his clothes, either.
"What the fuck is this monkey suit?"
The jacket pockets gave an answer: a gym pass with a picture. Benji's smirking face looking back at him. Ah well, he was heading in that direction anyway.
He didn't even need a key, Kondraki's office door was still ajar. The couch was a mess, of course -- Ben had been spending most of his evenings here, drowning himself in work ever since his marriage had gone tits up. The wedding pictures of him and Carmen had been replaced, mostly by pictures of Draven growing up. Placing second at the Spelling Bee in '02 (his father had been on expedition to the Artics), playing football (his father had been working weekend shifts), first Pride (his father waving the bi flag), the graduation ceremony to MTF operative (his father had been freaking out in Clef's dorm most of the preceding hours). The rest was some of his own photography. Wanky pictures of butterflies and waterfalls. God, he was such a softy, it was almost charming.
Almost.
//What is it with this place and absent fathers?//
Over the ergonomically responsible chair and standing desk -- because of course the pillock had a standing desk -- hung another set of clothes. Way, way more sensible, cotton clothes. His.
Good thinking, leaving them out to air over night, they smelled downright minty. Good old English culture, getting pissed and preparing for the morning after. That was the working theory now, although he didn't really feel like he got plastered last night. Way too refreshed for it. Or maybe he finally got enough practice.
When he opened the door to the on-suite shower, he heard a groan coming from the couch. The pile of clothes and empty beer bottles moved with it.
"Konny, that you?" He walked back to the office space. "Did you sleep here again?!"
The big, broad Pole grumbled something of an answer.
"Fucking hell, mate. How am I the functional adult between the two of us?" Clef pushed some of the empty cans to the floor. "Up."
"Fuck off."
But Clef wasn't listening. He noticed a sticky hand print above the make-shift bed that looked remarkably like his own. It included a crisp, white substance, but at least it didn't smell as much as Ben did.
"Why are you wearing my tennis shorts." Kondraki asked, rubbing his temples as he sat up straight. His eyes grew large. "We didn't --"
"What? No, of course we didn't shag, you twit. I don't know why I'm dressed like a hooligan." He looked down. The trouser legs reached almost to his ankles. "And these aren't shorts."
"Maybe not for dwarfs." Kondraki chuckled, which turned into another groan half-way through.
"Remember anything from last night?" Clef said as he looked for a clean cup and, failing that, a somewhat clean alternative.
"Nope. Whatever I tried to drown, I succeeded." Kondraki got back on his feet, wobbled a bit, then decided to sit on a nearby cabinet. "You?"
"Trying to figure that out." Clef mumbled. "I think I lost lecture notes."
"You prepare for those?"
"Piss off." Clef put a hastily rubbed clean kitchen bowl filled with water next to him. "Drink. I'll get you some coffee."
When he turned to Ben's coffee machine, he noticed an MTF report lying open on the counter, covered by several empty beer cans. Latest field mission of Beta-6 "Rubber Duckies". Draven's unit.
He quickly slipped it between the cabinet and wall.
"On second thought, your stuff's shite. Get us both a cuppa from the break room, some fresh air will do you good." He pulled the bowl out of Ben's hands, spilling water over the floor. "I'll get changed so you can get your giant's clothes back. Or you can burn them and get a proper wardrobe."
So it was that the half-awake amateur photographer got shoved out of his office, mumbling half-coherent protests as the lock clicked behind him. Of course, even hungover and barely sleepwalking, Benjamin Kondraki was smart enough not to argue with the angry Englishman. Alto had trained him well.
As he heard the footsteps disappear down the hallway, Clef nosed through the report he'd hidden. It was no walk in the park his son had gone through. No wonder Konny drank himself into a stupor. Sitting up at home, reading about the boggarts his lad was up against -- it would drive any half-decent father mad, and there weren't many of those at the Foundation to begin with. At least Ben tried.
Back to the problems at hand. Clef removed the crime against fashion from his person and sniff-tested his own, nearly hurling as an entre forest's smell of wintergreens entered his nose. Good lord, did someone pour an entire bottle of fabric softener on it?!
A quick freshening up to clean the sinuses, and a spritz on his clothes with some spray on deodarant (a handy trick Clef picked up some years ago) he hopped in the shower. Bizarrely, this too had white crust along the tiles, and a minty fresh scent. At least compared to the rest of his office, the recently single researcher knew not to skimp on cleaning products in the bathroom.
There also was a tin of Altoids in the soap dish. //Hah//, maybe some of his better ideas finally rubbed off on Benji.
Hm, empty tin too, someone must have overdone it on the shower mints. Shame, he could have used some for his breath. Not gonna nick Konny's toothbrush. The man had //some// standards.
Hurriedly rinsing sickly sweet stink off his chest, Clef popped out of the shower, dried off and dressed in his own, freshly aired cottons. He snuck out long before Konny could hobble back with some lukewarm coffee, but not without swiping Draven's file on his way out. Best not let Konny spiral, as he'd clearly gone through the trouble of amnesticizing himself the old fashioned way.
He followed his path down the hallway, realising there were more than a couple of handprints in that same sweet, minty substance.
Right before his office door he found his first footprint: white crumbles of small pellets, cracked under the pressure of a boot. Right next to it was the illicit backup key to Konny's office, and a broken tin. He took both and slipped the key back into his pockets.
At long last, he was home. Or at least as close to home as anything came. Clef opened the door to his office and might as well have waltzed in. He took a deep breath and sighed, looking around. Same old pile of dossiers pulled from his filing cabinet and never put back, same old pictures of his little girl on the wall. Only two things that were out of the ordinary, and caught his attention: the three empty tins of wintergreen Altoids covering his messy desk, and an open manila folder with a report in Sophia's handwriting.
He leaped over the desk, knocking over another framed picture of Meri and piles of paperwork, grabbing the report and reading it.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Alto,
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/it-s-hard-to-be-a-kid-in-containment Meri] shows what we assume to be an allergic reaction to synthesized materials such as plastic, shies away from Foundation handlers, responds negatively to provided rations, and is largely non-verbal.
However, health-wise we couldn't be happier. I've included the medical reports too, and they show above average growth and development.
The how and why of this is beyond us, but we are glad Meri isn't failing to thrive.
We will make sure to inform the both of you once this year's visit is scheduled.
See you soon.
-- Light
[[/div]]
"Of course she's not responding, Soph, you keep going in bloody //hazmat suits.// She needs to see //people,// not vague shapes of them." It was like yelling into a void. Very thin line between cold and cruel.
As he read the report, Clef had popped open a new tin of minty cool Altoids and anxiously chewed away. Grabbing a second handful, he felt his stomach grumble and complain, and a wave of a light-headed highs reach the crown of his scalp. The room seemed to dance in front of his eyes for a moment. Damnit, mints always messed with his noggin.
He suddenly realised what had happened last night.
"God damn it, Eli." He cupped his face with his hand, letting the mints fall around him. "Get your shit together."
A notification ping awoke his computer from its slumber. A calendar alarm, reminding him of the impending lecture he had to give. And still no lecture notes.
One last scan of his desk showed reports he still had to complete, requests Adams still had to sign off on, and several stick figure drawings of field missions. And finally, a notebook with a bold header reading "Lecture", and beneath it only the scribbled line "reality not surivivn".
Brilliant.
"[[[clef101|Suppose I'll have to improvise then]]]." He placed the papers back on his desk and straightened himself out. Good thing he could Bend the rules a bit if needed. Not like he hadn't bollocksed his way through a lecture before.
Before he went out the door, he paused, then pulled open his desk drawer.
"Better to have them and not need them than need them and not have them." He slipped an Altoids tin, and a backup one, into his back pocket and left his office.
@@ @@
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[[=]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
|author=FlyPurgatorio, Prismal, and Uncle Nicolini]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-03-18T22:19:00
|
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Lecture notes of Dr. Clef's workshop, "Real Life and You: How to Survive when Barely Functional." - SCP Foundation
| 52
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/altoid-clef
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Dr. Sage West stalked down the halls of the first floor, searching intently for the plain white door that lead to the small dim-lit office that functioned as the dwellings of Dr. Viktoralai Amity Lost.
<p>She didn’t bother knocking, and Lost shouldn’t expect her to. West lived her life as a hurricane, and that did not include knocking.</p>
<p>Lost still looked shocked, nearly toppling out of their chair. Luminous gold eyes stared wide behind thick black frames, violet hair a mess. “Sage!”</p>
<p>“Obviously,” Sage would be very annoyed if someone ever mistook her for anyone else. She didn’t spend twenty minutes making her fine ginger hair perfect every morning for nothing. “You promised me results?”</p>
<p>Lost nodded, chewing on their lip nervously as they turned. The pushover, as Sage thought of them privately, was hunched over in a way that had to be hurting their back. Dark eye bags bruised them.</p>
<p>“Yeah! So, Reynolds told you to look through the files you can access with your clearance. I’m only Level 3, but I managed to pull some strings and get the full database up anyway.” No doubt by hacking their way through.</p>
<p>Lost might be a lot of things, but they weren’t stupid. Sage wouldn’t rely on them if that was the case. However, they were something else - painfully desperate for friendship. It had only taken a few lunch outings and invites to office parties for Lost to fall hopelessly dependent on West’s companionship. From there, they’d been Sage’s best asset.</p>
<p>“Good,” Sage said, nodding. She took over the desk space, peering down at the screen.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-2000">SCP-2000</a>.</p>
<p>Sage took a breath, and scrolled through it. “Lost,” she said, as her eyes flicked over the sentences.</p>
<p>“Yes?” Lost perked up, looking hopeful.</p>
<p>“I need you to get me information on this symbol,” quickly slipping her phone out of her pocket, she pulled up the photo she’d taken of the silver triangle engraved into the neck of Harris Lee.</p>
<p>“Oh-” the pushover sounded almost disappointed. Sage didn’t have time to wonder why. “Okay. Should I-”</p>
<p>“Send me a report once you’re done,” West confirmed.</p>
<p>“Should I… keep it confidential?” Lost asked quietly, shoes scuffing the ground as they rocked back on their heels.</p>
<p>“Preferably,” Sage said, scanning the last details of the file into a flash drive she’d brought. She didn’t want to review all of this just standing in Lost’s office. Standing in the stuffy room with the nervous pushover breathing down her neck like a cockroach didn’t sound appealing either. “Thanks a million, Val. You’re the best.”</p>
<p>Val was the more endearing nickname of the two Sage had given the researcher, standing for Viktoralai Amity Lost - their full name. It made Lost blush faintly, grinning a crooked smile back. “Of course, anytime! Actually, if you want to get coffee later, I have a free hour aft-”</p>
<p>“See you later!” Sage called, shutting the door before Lost could finish their thought. She didn’t have the time to bluster through polite excuses right now, and if Lost wanted company, they could ask Levi or something. The stocky blonde from Containment was always taking on pet projects.</p>
<p>Sage’s pet projects usually involved the chatter of white rats and late nights spent bent over computer charts.</p>
<p>As she walked down the hall, she blew past a tall girl - and was nearly struck still. Beautiful, wavy black hair, pale skin and pink cupid’s bow lips. A regal, frosty Snow White in a silver dress and black tights. Obviously not dressed for any sort of work.</p>
<p>“Oh- hey,” the girl blew out a puff of air, scrutinizing Sage. “Do you know where the Director is? I’ve been looking around but can’t find her.”</p>
<p>Sage scowled. She debated just walking away - then sighed. “I’m going to see her right now. You can follow me.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Polished black heels followed behind Sage’s quick step, up the stairs that led to Director Emerald Reynolds’ office. They were opposite shades of the same glossy beauty - Sage’s swathes of freckles, her ginger hair scooped into a french twist, and rose gold charm bracelet jangling against her wrist. A small pack of dynamite. Then, the cool silver of her taller companion. A poison-tipped icicle.</p>
<p>Director Emerald Reynolds had the same power, if not the elegance. Black slacks, blonde hair scooped into a tight ponytail, with deep eye bags polishing off the look. She looked up, snapping alert as they entered the sparsley decorated room.</p>
<p>“Miss Vega,” Reynolds spoke, eyes widening. Sage huffed, unhappy she hadn’t been the first order of business.</p>
<p>“Emerald,” said Miss Vega - the beautiful girl’s name, it seemed - and she curtsied. Sage gritted her teeth.</p>
<p>“Reynolds,” she started, stepping forwards. “Can I talk with you?”</p>
<p>“Did you do the research I asked you to?” Reynolds responded, raising an eyebrow. Sage nodded. “The Deus ex machina. Is that what you wanted me to find?”</p>
<p>A small smile crossed the tall Director’s thin lips. “Good. I’ve already submitted a request for you to use it. If it gets approved, I’ll email you with more details,” she lifted her chin. “You worked fast. That’s good.”</p>
<p>Sage blinked- surprised both by the praise, and the foresight from Reynolds. “Oh,” was all she said. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being caught off guard - it wasn’t a common emotion for her. “… thank you,” she said.</p>
<p>Reynolds had already moved her attention away, eyes focusing on Vega. “You’re dismissed, Dr. West. I have… matters of importance to discuss with Estrella.”</p>
<p>Sage paused. “Estrella?” The name clicked into place- Estrella Vega. Daughter of Marilla Vega. Sage turned, raking her gaze over Estrella once again, taking in all the details she’d missed in her first quick assessment. The designer watch on her wrist, the small charm necklace. A shift from gaudily polished to classically wealthy.</p>
<p>“… right,” West said, feeling Reynolds’ stare burning into her. Turning back, she stepped back through the office doorway, hearing it click behind her. In her head, she made a quick note in her priorities - finish the work with the poison for Loveland, get the research on the memetic symbol back from Lost, update Jack on the murder case once that happened…</p>
<p>And take a closer look into the world of Estrella Vega.</p>
<p>To quote the endlessly dragging prose of Hatchet, <em>there were these things to do, or whatever.</em></p>
<div class="email-example">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<hr/>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Access SCiPNET Email? One (1) new message!</a></div>
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<p><strong>To:</strong> <span class="wiki-email">ten.pics|sdlonyeR.dlaremE#ten.pics|sdlonyeR.dlaremE</span><br/>
<strong>From:</strong> <span class="wiki-email">ten.pics|lexA.nylasoR#ten.pics|lexA.nylasoR</span><br/>
<strong>Subject:</strong> Re:USE REQUEST ON SCP-2000</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Director Reynolds,</p>
<p>I will say, first and foremost, that I am very hesitant in doing this. When the decision was made to open SCP-2000 to more liberal testing purposes, it was still within the bounds that we considered the importance of limiting our privileges. As you surely understand, granting access too freely could lead to abuse of this anomaly’s power.</p>
<p>This is compounded by my research on your Site’s history and purpose. I will never claim that any of the Foundation’s research falls outside the realm of necessary and useful operation. However, I have yet to see anything of notable significance from your facility, with the exception of personnel who reached acclaim after their departure from your Site.</p>
<p>However, after consulting with the other staff members, we agreed that the nature of Dr. West’s work does seem of greater significance, and her competence has been backed by several major Department members.</p>
<p>Taking all of this into account, our official verdict is to <strong><span style="color: green">Approve</span></strong> the use of SCP-2000 for testing by Dr. Sage Odessa West.</p>
<p>More details will be sent directly to Dr. West, with further inquiries to her intentions and specific needs regarding the anomaly. Please note this permission is viable to be revoked at any time, if we have reason to believe Dr. West is not of the mental or ethical state to properly use the machine.</p>
<p>From,</p>
<p>Dr. Rosalyn Axel<br/>
SCP-2000 HMCL Supervisor<br/>
<em>she/her</em><br/>
Secure, Contain, Protect</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-true/false earthworm--old-syntax-last-true/false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes/no {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Sage West's Guide To Making Dead Men Talk">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sage-west-s-guide-to-making-dead-men-talk/comments/show">Sage West's Guide To Making Dead Men Talk</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="ALL TALES">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-vikki-lost">ALL TALES</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="PENDING">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/tale:PENDING">PENDING</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<blockquote>
<p>Did you like this? Well then, golly gee, is there more for you!<br/>
Dive further into the world of the Twin Sites - whether it's <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/director-emerald-reynolds-guide-to-containing-reality-using" target="_blank">Director Reynolds guide to containing reality using... Tetris?!</a> - or peak into the colliding worlds of <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-deal-of-agent-heckerman" target="_blank">Agent Heckerman, Site 404, and a girl named Estrella Vega</a>. Or, just check out my author page! It's <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-vikki-lost">right here.</a> And of course - have a lovely day.</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="licensebox">
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<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/an-approval-for-shadows">Sage West: An Approval For Shadows</a>" by Dr Vikki Lost, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/an-approval-for-shadows">https://scpwiki.com/an-approval-for-shadows</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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|
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animation: blink 0.8s ease-in-out infinite alternate;
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@keyframes blink {
0% { color: transparent; }
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Dr. Sage West stalked down the halls of the first floor, searching intently for the plain white door that lead to the small dim-lit office that functioned as the dwellings of Dr. Viktoralai Amity Lost.
She didn’t bother knocking, and Lost shouldn’t expect her to. West lived her life as a hurricane, and that did not include knocking.
Lost still looked shocked, nearly toppling out of their chair. Luminous gold eyes stared wide behind thick black frames, violet hair a mess. “Sage!”
“Obviously,” Sage would be very annoyed if someone ever mistook her for anyone else. She didn’t spend twenty minutes making her fine ginger hair perfect every morning for nothing. “You promised me results?”
Lost nodded, chewing on their lip nervously as they turned. The pushover, as Sage thought of them privately, was hunched over in a way that had to be hurting their back. Dark eye bags bruised them.
“Yeah! So, Reynolds told you to look through the files you can access with your clearance. I’m only Level 3, but I managed to pull some strings and get the full database up anyway.” No doubt by hacking their way through.
Lost might be a lot of things, but they weren’t stupid. Sage wouldn’t rely on them if that was the case. However, they were something else - painfully desperate for friendship. It had only taken a few lunch outings and invites to office parties for Lost to fall hopelessly dependent on West’s companionship. From there, they’d been Sage’s best asset.
“Good,” Sage said, nodding. She took over the desk space, peering down at the screen.
[[[SCP-2000]]].
Sage took a breath, and scrolled through it. “Lost,” she said, as her eyes flicked over the sentences.
“Yes?” Lost perked up, looking hopeful.
“I need you to get me information on this symbol,” quickly slipping her phone out of her pocket, she pulled up the photo she’d taken of the silver triangle engraved into the neck of Harris Lee.
“Oh-” the pushover sounded almost disappointed. Sage didn’t have time to wonder why. “Okay. Should I-”
“Send me a report once you’re done,” West confirmed.
“Should I… keep it confidential?” Lost asked quietly, shoes scuffing the ground as they rocked back on their heels.
“Preferably,” Sage said, scanning the last details of the file into a flash drive she’d brought. She didn’t want to review all of this just standing in Lost’s office. Standing in the stuffy room with the nervous pushover breathing down her neck like a cockroach didn’t sound appealing either. “Thanks a million, Val. You’re the best.”
Val was the more endearing nickname of the two Sage had given the researcher, standing for Viktoralai Amity Lost - their full name. It made Lost blush faintly, grinning a crooked smile back. “Of course, anytime! Actually, if you want to get coffee later, I have a free hour aft-”
“See you later!” Sage called, shutting the door before Lost could finish their thought. She didn’t have the time to bluster through polite excuses right now, and if Lost wanted company, they could ask Levi or something. The stocky blonde from Containment was always taking on pet projects.
Sage’s pet projects usually involved the chatter of white rats and late nights spent bent over computer charts.
As she walked down the hall, she blew past a tall girl - and was nearly struck still. Beautiful, wavy black hair, pale skin and pink cupid’s bow lips. A regal, frosty Snow White in a silver dress and black tights. Obviously not dressed for any sort of work.
“Oh- hey,” the girl blew out a puff of air, scrutinizing Sage. “Do you know where the Director is? I’ve been looking around but can’t find her.”
Sage scowled. She debated just walking away - then sighed. “I’m going to see her right now. You can follow me.”
“Thanks.” Polished black heels followed behind Sage’s quick step, up the stairs that led to Director Emerald Reynolds’ office. They were opposite shades of the same glossy beauty - Sage’s swathes of freckles, her ginger hair scooped into a french twist, and rose gold charm bracelet jangling against her wrist. A small pack of dynamite. Then, the cool silver of her taller companion. A poison-tipped icicle.
Director Emerald Reynolds had the same power, if not the elegance. Black slacks, blonde hair scooped into a tight ponytail, with deep eye bags polishing off the look. She looked up, snapping alert as they entered the sparsley decorated room.
“Miss Vega,” Reynolds spoke, eyes widening. Sage huffed, unhappy she hadn’t been the first order of business.
“Emerald,” said Miss Vega - the beautiful girl’s name, it seemed - and she curtsied. Sage gritted her teeth.
“Reynolds,” she started, stepping forwards. “Can I talk with you?”
“Did you do the research I asked you to?” Reynolds responded, raising an eyebrow. Sage nodded. “The Deus ex machina. Is that what you wanted me to find?”
A small smile crossed the tall Director’s thin lips. “Good. I’ve already submitted a request for you to use it. If it gets approved, I’ll email you with more details,” she lifted her chin. “You worked fast. That’s good.”
Sage blinked- surprised both by the praise, and the foresight from Reynolds. “Oh,” was all she said. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being caught off guard - it wasn’t a common emotion for her. “... thank you,” she said.
Reynolds had already moved her attention away, eyes focusing on Vega. “You’re dismissed, Dr. West. I have… matters of importance to discuss with Estrella.”
Sage paused. “Estrella?” The name clicked into place- Estrella Vega. Daughter of Marilla Vega. Sage turned, raking her gaze over Estrella once again, taking in all the details she’d missed in her first quick assessment. The designer watch on her wrist, the small charm necklace. A shift from gaudily polished to classically wealthy.
“... right,” West said, feeling Reynolds’ stare burning into her. Turning back, she stepped back through the office doorway, hearing it click behind her. In her head, she made a quick note in her priorities - finish the work with the poison for Loveland, get the research on the memetic symbol back from Lost, update Jack on the murder case once that happened…
And take a closer look into the world of Estrella Vega.
To quote the endlessly dragging prose of Hatchet, //there were these things to do, or whatever.//
[[div class="email-example"]]
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[[collapsible show="Access SCiPNET Email? One (1) new message!" hide="Re:SUBJECT"]]
[[<]]
[[div class="email"]]
[[div class="tofrom"]]
**To:** [email protected]
**From:** [email protected]
**Subject:** Re:USE REQUEST ON SCP-2000
[[/div]]
------
Director Reynolds,
I will say, first and foremost, that I am very hesitant in doing this. When the decision was made to open SCP-2000 to more liberal testing purposes, it was still within the bounds that we considered the importance of limiting our privileges. As you surely understand, granting access too freely could lead to abuse of this anomaly’s power.
This is compounded by my research on your Site’s history and purpose. I will never claim that any of the Foundation’s research falls outside the realm of necessary and useful operation. However, I have yet to see anything of notable significance from your facility, with the exception of personnel who reached acclaim after their departure from your Site.
However, after consulting with the other staff members, we agreed that the nature of Dr. West’s work does seem of greater significance, and her competence has been backed by several major Department members.
Taking all of this into account, our official verdict is to **##green|Approve##** the use of SCP-2000 for testing by Dr. Sage Odessa West.
More details will be sent directly to Dr. West, with further inquiries to her intentions and specific needs regarding the anomaly. Please note this permission is viable to be revoked at any time, if we have reason to believe Dr. West is not of the mental or ethical state to properly use the machine.
From,
Dr. Rosalyn Axel
SCP-2000 HMCL Supervisor
//she/her//
Secure, Contain, Protect
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=true/false | last=true/false | hub=yes/no
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sage-west-s-guide-to-making-dead-men-talk/comments/show | previous-title=Sage West's Guide To Making Dead Men Talk
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/tale:PENDING | next-title=PENDING
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-vikki-lost | hub-title=ALL TALES
]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
> Did you like this? Well then, golly gee, is there more for you!
> Dive further into the world of the Twin Sites - whether it's [*https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/director-emerald-reynolds-guide-to-containing-reality-using Director Reynolds guide to containing reality using... Tetris?! ]- or peak into the colliding worlds of [*https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-deal-of-agent-heckerman Agent Heckerman, Site 404, and a girl named Estrella Vega]. Or, just check out my author page! It's [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-vikki-lost right here.] And of course - have a lovely day.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> |author=Dr Vikki Lost]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-01-26T15:28:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"deus-ex-machina",
"mystery",
"tale",
"the-twin-sites"
] |
Sage West: An Approval For Shadows - SCP Foundation
| 0
|
[
"scp-2000",
"sage-west-s-guide-to-making-dead-men-talk/comments/show",
"dr-vikki-lost",
"tale:PENDING",
"director-emerald-reynolds-guide-to-containing-reality-using",
"the-deal-of-agent-heckerman",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"twin-sites-hub",
"lowest-rated-articles"
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[] |
1452351628
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/an-approval-for-shadows
|
|
an-ode-to-sacrifice
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>He gave it all up for a whim,<br/>
Neighbour saw a lone hind limb,<br/>
And he received a sentence grim,<br/>
Was put away for good.</p>
<p>A stranger now before him stood,<br/>
Told him for a price, he could,<br/>
Avoid a fate with chair and hood,<br/>
If he now took a deal.</p>
<p>Flown away with arrow’s seal,<br/>
To a place for things surreal,<br/>
One of many, a new cogwheel,<br/>
Won't tell him what it means.</p>
<p>His future, he began to glean,<br/>
From red spots he saw them clean,<br/>
He heard it in his neighbour's scream,<br/>
Saw the guilty Doctor’s face.</p>
<p>The doctor trails behind a pace,<br/>
When she leads him to the place,<br/>
That makes him vanish with no trace,<br/>
To help perform the rites.</p>
<p>She makes herself think that it’s right,<br/>
As they die with her at night,<br/>
To keep their loved ones in the light,<br/>
Her doubts, she won't admit.</p>
<p>She signs forms, her lamp is lit,<br/>
In the creaky chair she sits,<br/>
When her eyes start to submit,<br/>
No one calls her to bed.</p>
<p>That, she has left in her stead,<br/>
Joining the world’s overhead,<br/>
Let her family be misled,<br/>
“To help them from afar”.</p>
<p>She'd proudly take any scar,<br/>
For her duty to the bizarre,<br/>
She would recite any grimoire,<br/>
To halt further bloodshed.</p>
<p>Her parents must think that she’s dead,<br/>
“For their safety” She had said,<br/>
Her reward for friends she'd shed,<br/>
'The future of their world'.</p>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
He gave it all up for a whim,
Neighbour saw a lone hind limb,
And he received a sentence grim,
Was put away for good.
A stranger now before him stood,
Told him for a price, he could,
Avoid a fate with chair and hood,
If he now took a deal.
Flown away with arrow’s seal,
To a place for things surreal,
One of many, a new cogwheel,
Won't tell him what it means.
His future, he began to glean,
From red spots he saw them clean,
He heard it in his neighbour's scream,
Saw the guilty Doctor’s face.
The doctor trails behind a pace,
When she leads him to the place,
That makes him vanish with no trace,
To help perform the rites.
She makes herself think that it’s right,
As they die with her at night,
To keep their loved ones in the light,
Her doubts, she won't admit.
She signs forms, her lamp is lit,
In the creaky chair she sits,
When her eyes start to submit,
No one calls her to bed.
That, she has left in her stead,
Joining the world’s overhead,
Let her family be misled,
“To help them from afar”.
She'd proudly take any scar,
For her duty to the bizarre,
She would recite any grimoire,
To halt further bloodshed.
Her parents must think that she’s dead,
“For their safety” She had said,
Her reward for friends she'd shed,
'The future of their world'.
|
2024-02-11T22:47:00
|
[
"bleak",
"tale"
] |
An ode to sacrifice - SCP Foundation
| 0
|
[] |
[
"lowest-rated-articles"
] |
[] |
1452601590
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/an-ode-to-sacrifice
|
|
an-only-child
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>The last child of a dying empire, the last flailing gasp of a dead emperor. A failed attempt to reclaim the tomb worlds his own folly had spawned.</p>
</div>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>We were born alone. No parent's warm embrace to greet us into life, no sibling's voices to bawl and wail in sympathy, no kith or kin for a dozen lightyears. The last child of a dying empire, the last flailing gasp of a dead emperor. A failed attempt to reclaim the tomb worlds his own folly had spawned. Or his father's folly, or his father's father, or perhaps no one's at all.</p>
<p>The truth didn't matter to us. We were born to a dead dream, on a dead world, in dead silence. Nothing at all but the machines that bore our seed, and the vast stores of inert sustenance, perched atop the endless ruins of a people we will never know.</p>
<hr/>
<p>We don't remember our youngest turns, we presume you don't either, that blur of half-sentient nothingness, just the drudgery of sustaining ourself and trawling through the onboard archive for what could pass as knowledge. Not a word of it really meant anything. The history of a people that were not us, poetry and prose that waxed lyrical on sights and concepts we could never experience. What value could we hope to find in such foreign contexts? What could a dream of love and wind mean to us who knew only the dead and the still?</p>
<p>The first true memory we have was the first time we left the seed bank. Or maybe it wasn't the first time, after so long, perhaps our mind has merged the many threads into one. Because it's more efficient, because it makes a better story, because it doesn't matter either way. But the memory remains.</p>
<hr/>
<p>We were small, then, certainly smaller than whoever had built this place. If anyone even had built it. There was an oddness to the forms, doors high above the ground, windows to nothing, stairs that wound and spiraled into empty space. Like the towers and tunnels and squat cubes had sprouted and grown without regard. The ruined streets and hollow shells all meld together in our memories, so little there was to mark one from the next, any marks of individuality between them long erased by time and whatever cancerous rot had doomed what would be our home.</p>
<p>But we do remember one thing with absolute clarity. One burning encounter seared unmoving in our mind. In the shell of what had been, we found words— sprawled across the walls of some kind of tracked tunnel— not quite the words we knew from the archives in the seed bank, but similar enough we could extract some semblance of meaning from their bones. Words in a hundred different hands and a hundred different mediums. Words scratched and carved into the stone, or smeared and splattered with ink and paint and scat.</p>
<p>They whispered of things we knew, histories we had read, but told here in a hundred different lights. In some the heroic saviour of our kind fighting back against the rot that infested our people was here a tyrant, as cruel as he was foolish. In others, he hardly seemed to matter at all. In some the rot was a punishment writ upon us all. In others it was a blessing. In yet more it was an entity all its own, god or demon or blind fool or all three. The words of prophets and madmen and fools and charlatans, the scared and the blessed and the dead.</p>
<p>In truth, we had not known belief before then, but after we certainly knew doubt.</p>
<hr/>
<p>We hope that you are not so similarly afflicted, but in a land of nothing, where all is still and nothing ever changes, we have found it impossible to know anything for certain. At first, we wielded our newfound doubt against the histories. Was this emperor hero or monster? Did the rot come from within or without? Was there even a truth there to discern, was there even an emperor to begin with? With each cut we found raw flesh beneath, new things to doubt, cutting away everything we could not know.</p>
<p>Then we turned our tool to the stories, the prose and poems, yarns and fables, hacking through the thicket of their lies. We could not know the emotions they professed were true, we could not know that the wind and plants and rain had ever been, we could not— we realised— know that their authors were even real.</p>
<p>Once the histories and tales lay in tatters, bleeding out upon the seed bank's floor, we found the weapon turned against ourself. What could we truly say we know?<br/>
We know that we exist.<br/>
We know that all here that was is no more.<br/>
We know that we were born alone. But beyond that, all we have is doubt.<br/>
Perhaps, we thought, perhaps we were all that existed anywhere, all that had ever existed. A singular thought, born of nothing, in a world of nothing, a universe of nothing, dreaming a time gone by that had never been at all. In that malaise a dozen turns or more blended into a single, perfect emptiness— a mirror reflection of the world around us.</p>
<hr/>
<p>We never found an answer. You will know the answer, of course. If you can behold this screed at all, then we cannot be all that is, was, or ever will be.</p>
<p>Perhaps that's why we're writing this in the first place. A single solitary scream into the infinite nothingness that is all we know, a cry for kinship across time. Maybe it isn't. Maybe we are alone, in the truest cosmic sense, and maybe we aren't.</p>
<p>We realised it doesn't matter, that whether we are alone, whether that emperor was real, whether he was tyrant or saviour, whether wind and rain once swept this world, none of it matters, we still must persist one way or another. Or perhaps we didn't realise that at all. Perhaps we convinced ourself that must be the case to justify existing for one turn after the next until it all just. Stops.</p>
<p>We never met, you and us. We never could have. If we could, we wonder what you would make of us. This abandoned thing, adrift, knowing nothing and living in less. What would you think of us. Would you be proud? Would you be horrified? We cannot know.</p>
But, if you do exist, if you can decipher these words and hear us; We Existed. We Doubted. We Lived. And we were born all alone.</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/an-only-child">An Only Child</a>" by J_V_G, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/an-only-child">https://scpwiki.com/an-only-child</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
The last child of a dying empire, the last flailing gasp of a dead emperor. A failed attempt to reclaim the tomb worlds his own folly had spawned.
]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:space">:scp-wiki:theme:space</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div_ class="blockquote"]]
>
We were born alone. No parent's warm embrace to greet us into life, no sibling's voices to bawl and wail in sympathy, no kith or kin for a dozen lightyears. The last child of a dying empire, the last flailing gasp of a dead emperor. A failed attempt to reclaim the tomb worlds his own folly had spawned. Or his father's folly, or his father's father, or perhaps no one's at all.
The truth didn't matter to us. We were born to a dead dream, on a dead world, in dead silence. Nothing at all but the machines that bore our seed, and the vast stores of inert sustenance, perched atop the endless ruins of a people we will never know.
-----
We don't remember our youngest turns, we presume you don't either, that blur of half-sentient nothingness, just the drudgery of sustaining ourself and trawling through the onboard archive for what could pass as knowledge. Not a word of it really meant anything. The history of a people that were not us, poetry and prose that waxed lyrical on sights and concepts we could never experience. What value could we hope to find in such foreign contexts? What could a dream of love and wind mean to us who knew only the dead and the still?
The first true memory we have was the first time we left the seed bank. Or maybe it wasn't the first time, after so long, perhaps our mind has merged the many threads into one. Because it's more efficient, because it makes a better story, because it doesn't matter either way. But the memory remains.
-----
We were small, then, certainly smaller than whoever had built this place. If anyone even had built it. There was an oddness to the forms, doors high above the ground, windows to nothing, stairs that wound and spiraled into empty space. Like the towers and tunnels and squat cubes had sprouted and grown without regard. The ruined streets and hollow shells all meld together in our memories, so little there was to mark one from the next, any marks of individuality between them long erased by time and whatever cancerous rot had doomed what would be our home.
But we do remember one thing with absolute clarity. One burning encounter seared unmoving in our mind. In the shell of what had been, we found words-- sprawled across the walls of some kind of tracked tunnel-- not quite the words we knew from the archives in the seed bank, but similar enough we could extract some semblance of meaning from their bones. Words in a hundred different hands and a hundred different mediums. Words scratched and carved into the stone, or smeared and splattered with ink and paint and scat.
They whispered of things we knew, histories we had read, but told here in a hundred different lights. In some the heroic saviour of our kind fighting back against the rot that infested our people was here a tyrant, as cruel as he was foolish. In others, he hardly seemed to matter at all. In some the rot was a punishment writ upon us all. In others it was a blessing. In yet more it was an entity all its own, god or demon or blind fool or all three. The words of prophets and madmen and fools and charlatans, the scared and the blessed and the dead.
In truth, we had not known belief before then, but after we certainly knew doubt.
-----
We hope that you are not so similarly afflicted, but in a land of nothing, where all is still and nothing ever changes, we have found it impossible to know anything for certain. At first, we wielded our newfound doubt against the histories. Was this emperor hero or monster? Did the rot come from within or without? Was there even a truth there to discern, was there even an emperor to begin with? With each cut we found raw flesh beneath, new things to doubt, cutting away everything we could not know.
Then we turned our tool to the stories, the prose and poems, yarns and fables, hacking through the thicket of their lies. We could not know the emotions they professed were true, we could not know that the wind and plants and rain had ever been, we could not-- we realised-- know that their authors were even real.
Once the histories and tales lay in tatters, bleeding out upon the seed bank's floor, we found the weapon turned against ourself. What could we truly say we know?
We know that we exist.
We know that all here that was is no more.
We know that we were born alone. But beyond that, all we have is doubt.
Perhaps, we thought, perhaps we were all that existed anywhere, all that had ever existed. A singular thought, born of nothing, in a world of nothing, a universe of nothing, dreaming a time gone by that had never been at all. In that malaise a dozen turns or more blended into a single, perfect emptiness-- a mirror reflection of the world around us.
-----
We never found an answer. You will know the answer, of course. If you can behold this screed at all, then we cannot be all that is, was, or ever will be.
Perhaps that's why we're writing this in the first place. A single solitary scream into the infinite nothingness that is all we know, a cry for kinship across time. Maybe it isn't. Maybe we are alone, in the truest cosmic sense, and maybe we aren't.
We realised it doesn't matter, that whether we are alone, whether that emperor was real, whether he was tyrant or saviour, whether wind and rain once swept this world, none of it matters, we still must persist one way or another. Or perhaps we didn't realise that at all. Perhaps we convinced ourself that must be the case to justify existing for one turn after the next until it all just. Stops.
We never met, you and us. We never could have. If we could, we wonder what you would make of us. This abandoned thing, adrift, knowing nothing and living in less. What would you think of us. Would you be proud? Would you be horrified? We cannot know.
But, if you do exist, if you can decipher these words and hear us; We Existed. We Doubted. We Lived. And we were born all alone.
>
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-11-22T17:57:00
|
[
"bleak",
"lampeter",
"no-dialogue",
"otherworldly",
"post-apocalyptic",
"tale"
] |
An Only Child - SCP Foundation
| 25
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"lampeter-hub"
] |
[] |
1457421901
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/an-only-child
|
|
anomalous-ontology-orientation
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>WARNING — ALL VIEWERS MUST BE LITERATE</p>
</div>
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div style="display: none;">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
</div>
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">QUEERSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Queerious</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Forked</span><span class="hl-code"> from:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Blankstyle</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
Using:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">White</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Outline</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Classic</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LGBTQ</span><span class="hl-code">+ </span><span class="hl-identifier">Pride</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Logo</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">scp-wiki.wikidot.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">component</span><span class="hl-special">:pride-highlighter</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Vast</span><span class="hl-code">+</span><span class="hl-identifier">Shadow</span><span class="hl-code">&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
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/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Pseudogenesis</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Formats</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>An Orientation on Anomalous Ontology</span></h1>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="border:solid 1px #999999; background:#f2f2c2; padding:5px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc1"><span>WARNING — ALL VIEWERS MUST BE LITERATE</span></h4>
<p>The following transcript contains ontological re-association and superposition, cognitohazardous symbols and memetic meanings. So does every Foundation document. In fact, all words have ontological, cognitohazardous and memetic meanings! You have been advised, even though you should already know this.</p>
<p>— Dr. Heather Garrison, Researcher, Memetics and Anomalous Ontology</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>What makes something 'original'? Is it being completely unique? Is something original because it's brand new? Can an old idea be considered original in a new context? Maybe. Can a new invention be considered <em>passé</em> before it's even been debuted? It could. What traits does something need to have to be original?</p>
<p>What if the only thing that we need to consider something as 'original', is for the object to be ontologically associated with the concept of 'originality'? What if it just came down to perspective?</p>
<p>I'm Dr. Garrison, but you can call me Heather. Heather wasn't always my name, if you haven't noticed yet, <em>somehow</em>, I am transgender. My deadname was— well, that's the thing. It doesn't exist anymore.</p>
<p>No, I mean it doesn't exist. Let me rephrase, my deadname is <em>nothing.</em> Not like that's my fucking name— I mean that my deadname was associated with the concept of nothingness and… well, that's a <a href="/the-deadname-meme">whole other story</a>. The point is, a single concept, and a bit of memetics meant that I was able to make it such that everybody forgot it. I erased an idea from collective human history.</p>
<p>And it wasn't even that hard, you just have to know what the price is, what you're giving up.</p>
<p>No, not like a blood sacrifice. Well okay, that's not true, blood can stabiliz— fuck. This doesn't matter, look at your fucking eyes. Glazed over, fully fucking lost. Let me start over.</p>
<p>Magic. Anomalous Science. Reality bending, thaumaturgical rituals, fucking blood oaths, curses and even metaphysical manipulation. What do all of those things have in common, other than the fact that the Foundation is desperate to keep it under lock and key? Everything we see, everything that is modified, manipulated, it's all just thoughts. Ideas that our minds perceive, contextualize and associate, turning into the world we see around us. Without ourselves, reality doesn't exist.</p>
<p>Shit. Let me clarify. Yes, a metaphor can end the world, but no, not because of you. See, it's not just how a single person interprets something, it's about the collective human understanding of an idea. Like with 'originality', every new researcher walks in here assuming that they know best, and have a brand new idea; to them, it is original. But when you go in front of a panel of your peers and start to explain the concept of 'magic but using words', they all know that nothing you are saying is original. Old? Maybe. Outdated? Most definitely. To that person, 'magic but words' is believed to be original, but in reality, the concept of 'magic but words' is no more inherently original than another weird theory.</p>
<p>My point is that a single person is not enough to redefine a concept, you need an entire culture. Okay, well, not an <em>entire</em> culture, there is no way to get total consensus, other than mind control, maybe. You just need <em>enough</em> of any given culture to redefine consensus.</p>
<p>Let's take another example: pedestals are inherently nothing more than a box that something is placed on top of. But when you start to look at the ontological connections, that is, ideas that are fundamentally associated with one another, a pedestal is considered 'important' to the average person. Think about an art gallery — pieces are either suspended, hung on the wall, placed on the floor, or sit on top of a pedestal.</p>
<p>A metal can sitting on the floor of a gallery is stupid, right? Clearly. But place that onto a pedestal, and suddenly everybody starts to debate on the meaning, how it can be art, and treats it completely differently, despite being the same metal can. Still stupid, still meaningless, and yet — it's on a pedestal. That must be important, right?</p>
<blockquote>
<p>As a society, we see a pedestal as important. A grand, classic, Roman bust, those are always displayed on pedestals. We put trophies on pedestals, relics, fuck, look at tech stores. See how the newest phone is always placed on top of a pedestal? Because no matter what the object is, no matter how little it intrinsically means, we as a collective human consciousness have viewed pedestals as important for so long that the ideas have become ontologically overlapped within the Noosphere.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup></p>
</blockquote>
<p>Ontological overlap is pretty simple, that's when two ideas are connected. We actually do this a lot at the Foundation. Take any anomaly, literally, <em>any</em> fucking anomaly you can think of. Is it contained? Well that must make it dangerous in some way, right? Containment and danger are ontologically overlapped; we assume that anything that needs to be restrained, restricted or imprisoned is dangerous. We assume that, because that is what we were taught, what society believes, what the Foundation defines as 'normal.' Our cultural norms are the ontological centers of an idea or concept, each one deriving meaning from 'consensus reality'.</p>
<p>So why the fuck am I explaining all of this? We shape the world around us, and we reflect ourselves in how we define others. We contextualize who they are, based on who we are. We change the meaning of what we see, what we hear, the books we read; those are all connected to each individual. Everything is about perception. When you understand that, you can control anything.</p>
<p>My deadname was forgotten because I made it 'nothing'. Sure, seems harmless enough, so what? Well, I would love to introduce the concept of 'memetics', which you should already know about, and if not, why the fuck are you here?</p>
<p>What if a memetic image changed how people associate an idea? How could we use that, in a practical way? An anomaly, released in a population center, memetically concealed so that each viewer associated that anomaly with the idea of being harmless and normal. Imagine the danger and destruction that could cause — on the other hand, imagine how easy it would be to contain minor anomalies by giving them the <em>'I'm normal'</em> memetic tattoo.</p>
<p>An agent in deep cover, surrounded by enemies who know who you are? What if we re-associate their Noospheric identity from the known one, to an entirely different mental idea, a different individual, with a different appearance, different history, different role? Nothing has changed about the agent themselves, but who they are seen as is a completely different person. They could walk right out, their enemies believing that not only <em>should</em> they be there, they better treat them with some goddamn respect.</p>
<p>If you can change the world with magic, if you can change reality through sheer willpower, what is stopping us from changing reality through ideas?</p>
<p>I have given this orientation multiple times, and every time I give it, it feels original to me. Hell, I've given it three times today, and I'm still not bored. I know this presentation by heart, so how can I find it anything but monotonous? Pretty easily, honestly. I just ontologically linked this orientation with the idea of 'originality'.</p>
<p>That's Anomalous Ontology, and that's my specialty. Memetics are just a vector, cognitohazards a way of rewiring your brains, changing how you perceive something. This goes a step further. We change what that very idea means, and the world is none the wiser. Just, you know…</p>
<p>Don't fuck up the Noosphere, okay? I don't want to have to clean up after you.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<div style="display: none;">
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. For anybody reading this transcript, consider this: doesn't this being in a fancy box make it seem more important? Doesn't it having a footnote make it seem more scientific?</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc2"><span><a href="/forgotten-memories-hub">Forgotten Memories Hub</a></span></h2>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/anomalous-ontology-orientation">An Orientation on Anomalous Ontology</a>" by Queerious, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/anomalous-ontology-orientation">https://scpwiki.com/anomalous-ontology-orientation</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:preview">:scp-wiki:component:preview</a>
|text=WARNING — ALL VIEWERS MUST BE LITERATE]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:blankstyle">:scp-wiki:theme:blankstyle</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:queerstyle">:scp-wiki:theme:queerstyle</a>]]
[[module css]]
:root{
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[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[=]]
+ An Orientation on Anomalous Ontology
[[/=]]
-----
[[div style="border:solid 1px #999999; background:#f2f2c2; padding:5px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
[[=]]
++++ WARNING -- ALL VIEWERS MUST BE LITERATE
The following transcript contains ontological re-association and superposition, cognitohazardous symbols and memetic meanings. So does every Foundation document. In fact, all words have ontological, cognitohazardous and memetic meanings! You have been advised, even though you should already know this.
-- Dr. Heather Garrison, Researcher, Memetics and Anomalous Ontology
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
What makes something 'original'? Is it being completely unique? Is something original because it's brand new? Can an old idea be considered original in a new context? Maybe. Can a new invention be considered //passé// before it's even been debuted? It could. What traits does something need to have to be original?
What if the only thing that we need to consider something as 'original', is for the object to be ontologically associated with the concept of 'originality'? What if it just came down to perspective?
I'm Dr. Garrison, but you can call me Heather. Heather wasn't always my name, if you haven't noticed yet, //somehow//, I am transgender. My deadname was-- well, that's the thing. It doesn't exist anymore.
No, I mean it doesn't exist. Let me rephrase, my deadname is //nothing.// Not like that's my fucking name-- I mean that my deadname was associated with the concept of nothingness and... well, that's a [[[The Deadname Meme|whole other story]]]. The point is, a single concept, and a bit of memetics meant that I was able to make it such that everybody forgot it. I erased an idea from collective human history.
And it wasn't even that hard, you just have to know what the price is, what you're giving up.
No, not like a blood sacrifice. Well okay, that's not true, blood can stabiliz-- fuck. This doesn't matter, look at your fucking eyes. Glazed over, fully fucking lost. Let me start over.
Magic. Anomalous Science. Reality bending, thaumaturgical rituals, fucking blood oaths, curses and even metaphysical manipulation. What do all of those things have in common, other than the fact that the Foundation is desperate to keep it under lock and key? Everything we see, everything that is modified, manipulated, it's all just thoughts. Ideas that our minds perceive, contextualize and associate, turning into the world we see around us. Without ourselves, reality doesn't exist.
Shit. Let me clarify. Yes, a metaphor can end the world, but no, not because of you. See, it's not just how a single person interprets something, it's about the collective human understanding of an idea. Like with 'originality', every new researcher walks in here assuming that they know best, and have a brand new idea; to them, it is original. But when you go in front of a panel of your peers and start to explain the concept of 'magic but using words', they all know that nothing you are saying is original. Old? Maybe. Outdated? Most definitely. To that person, 'magic but words' is believed to be original, but in reality, the concept of 'magic but words' is no more inherently original than another weird theory.
My point is that a single person is not enough to redefine a concept, you need an entire culture. Okay, well, not an //entire// culture, there is no way to get total consensus, other than mind control, maybe. You just need //enough// of any given culture to redefine consensus.
Let's take another example: pedestals are inherently nothing more than a box that something is placed on top of. But when you start to look at the ontological connections, that is, ideas that are fundamentally associated with one another, a pedestal is considered 'important' to the average person. Think about an art gallery -- pieces are either suspended, hung on the wall, placed on the floor, or sit on top of a pedestal.
A metal can sitting on the floor of a gallery is stupid, right? Clearly. But place that onto a pedestal, and suddenly everybody starts to debate on the meaning, how it can be art, and treats it completely differently, despite being the same metal can. Still stupid, still meaningless, and yet -- it's on a pedestal. That must be important, right?
> As a society, we see a pedestal as important. A grand, classic, Roman bust, those are always displayed on pedestals. We put trophies on pedestals, relics, fuck, look at tech stores. See how the newest phone is always placed on top of a pedestal? Because no matter what the object is, no matter how little it intrinsically means, we as a collective human consciousness have viewed pedestals as important for so long that the ideas have become ontologically overlapped within the Noosphere.[[footnote]] For anybody reading this transcript, consider this: doesn't this being in a fancy box make it seem more important? Doesn't it having a footnote make it seem more scientific? [[/footnote]]
Ontological overlap is pretty simple, that's when two ideas are connected. We actually do this a lot at the Foundation. Take any anomaly, literally, //any// fucking anomaly you can think of. Is it contained? Well that must make it dangerous in some way, right? Containment and danger are ontologically overlapped; we assume that anything that needs to be restrained, restricted or imprisoned is dangerous. We assume that, because that is what we were taught, what society believes, what the Foundation defines as 'normal.' Our cultural norms are the ontological centers of an idea or concept, each one deriving meaning from 'consensus reality'.
So why the fuck am I explaining all of this? We shape the world around us, and we reflect ourselves in how we define others. We contextualize who they are, based on who we are. We change the meaning of what we see, what we hear, the books we read; those are all connected to each individual. Everything is about perception. When you understand that, you can control anything.
My deadname was forgotten because I made it 'nothing'. Sure, seems harmless enough, so what? Well, I would love to introduce the concept of 'memetics', which you should already know about, and if not, why the fuck are you here?
What if a memetic image changed how people associate an idea? How could we use that, in a practical way? An anomaly, released in a population center, memetically concealed so that each viewer associated that anomaly with the idea of being harmless and normal. Imagine the danger and destruction that could cause -- on the other hand, imagine how easy it would be to contain minor anomalies by giving them the //'I'm normal'// memetic tattoo.
An agent in deep cover, surrounded by enemies who know who you are? What if we re-associate their Noospheric identity from the known one, to an entirely different mental idea, a different individual, with a different appearance, different history, different role? Nothing has changed about the agent themselves, but who they are seen as is a completely different person. They could walk right out, their enemies believing that not only //should// they be there, they better treat them with some goddamn respect.
If you can change the world with magic, if you can change reality through sheer willpower, what is stopping us from changing reality through ideas?
I have given this orientation multiple times, and every time I give it, it feels original to me. Hell, I've given it three times today, and I'm still not bored. I know this presentation by heart, so how can I find it anything but monotonous? Pretty easily, honestly. I just ontologically linked this orientation with the idea of 'originality'.
That's Anomalous Ontology, and that's my specialty. Memetics are just a vector, cognitohazards a way of rewiring your brains, changing how you perceive something. This goes a step further. We change what that very idea means, and the world is none the wiser. Just, you know...
Don't fuck up the Noosphere, okay? I don't want to have to clean up after you.
@@ @@
-----
[[div style="display: none;"]]
[[footnoteblock]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
++ [[[Forgotten Memories Hub]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-10-24T00:12:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"forgotten-memories",
"orientation",
"science-fiction",
"tale",
"worldbuilding"
] |
An Orientation on Anomalous Ontology - SCP Foundation
| 40
|
[
"the-deadname-meme",
"forgotten-memories-hub",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"forgotten-memories-hub"
] |
[] |
1457190529
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/anomalous-ontology-orientation
|
|
anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://cdn.scpwiki.com/theme/en/basalt/normalize-min.css&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
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<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">ArthCymro</a>
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<p><strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-dafydd-s-personnel-file">More by this Author</a></strong></p>
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<p><span style="font-size:170%;"><strong>Her Majesty's Foundation for the Secure Containment of the Paranormal</strong></span></p>
<img alt="HMFSCP2.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh/HMFSCP2.png" style="width:20%;"/><br/>
<br/>
<strong>BY DECREE OF HER ROYAL MAJESTY QUEEN VICTORIA, RULER OF THESE UNITED KINGDOMS OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND, THIS DOCUMENT AND ITS CONTENTS ARE TO BE HELD IN SECRECY, AND USED TO PROTECT AND FURTHER THE INTERESTS OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE.</strong>
<p><strong>GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Designation:</strong> AO-243.</p>
<p><strong>Threat:</strong> Enraged.</p>
<p><strong>Classifications:</strong> Hominid, Nocturnal, Infective, Thaumaturgic, Transvection, Regenerative.</p>
<p><strong>Stored:</strong> <em>Anomaly remains unchecked.</em></p>
<p><strong>Identifiers:</strong> Anomaly encompasses an entire theurgical augmented group of hominids native to Ireland. Near-human in appearance, the creatures share much of their physiology with those of the <em><a href="/nx-03">Tuatha Dé Danann</a></em>, with the exception of their teeth, which are jagged, and eyes, of which the sclera is of a black hue round the edges of the iris. Observation has determined their intelligence and sapience to be near, if not identical, to that of a human.</p>
<p><strong>Abnormality:</strong> The creatures possess a number of unusual qualities, both in their behaviour and biology. Their most notable quality is their regenerative capabilities, which grant them suspended age and recovery of almost all forms of physical damage, including conditions which would normally be deemed unrecoverable such as decapitation or severe mutilation. This quality also appears to dull their sense of pain and grant them an enhanced physique.</p>
<p>There are, however, exceptions. Wounds inflicted through weapons heavy in iron or silver do not recover as quickly. Sunlight also appears to impede their regenerative capabilities, resulting in their flesh quickly becoming rigid, blistered and gangrenous. Even with these exceptions, the creatures require continuous, prolonged exposure before they would be considered impossible for them to resurrect.</p>
<p>Internally, the creatures possess a near-identical biology to those of humans and <em>Tuatha</em>. However, their blood is notably darker in hue and possess a high viscosity, closer to that of oil. It also is much richer in proteins and testosterone, appearing to induce temporary hypertrophy when introduced to muscular or skeletal tissue. In addition, as well as having rather jagged teeth, the creatures possess twice the number of canines as an ordinary human. One set, found near the incisors, are especially jagged and large. The other set, found near the premolars, are thinner. The roots of these thin canines are not a not attached to the jaws, but rather to the muscles and ligament of the other thicker canines. When the creature's mouth encases an object, the additional ligaments will react, causing the thin canines to deploy, sinking deep into the objects structure.</p>
<p>The creatures also possess an unusual diet, as they do not require human food to survive. Rather, the creatures are hematophagous, consuming blood, primarily from other hominids. The death of the prey is not necessary, although the creatures typically do not leave their prey in a recoverable condition. However, it is noted that the nourishment the creatures gain doesn't just come from the blood itself but also through ritualistic theurgy. In a way, the act of hunting, harvesting, murder or battle is as nourishing as the consumption of blood, with both acting as a source of sustenance.</p>
<p>The creatures are believed to be sterile, although this claim has yet to be confirmed by observation. Whilst the creatures haven't been observed breeding, they are capable of performing a theurgic, xenogenesis metamorphosis, in which they endow their anomaly qualities into another individual. How this is achieved is not known and requires further research. As of this publication, only individuals of the <em>Tuatha</em> have been successful victims of this metamorphosis. It is unknown if this is due to some theurgic requirement or tradition on the creatures' part. It is also unknown whether the anomalous capabilities individual possessed prior to metamorphosis is retained when the transformation is complete.</p>
<p><strong>History:</strong> Whilst the creatures' existence has only managed to live in folktales and legends for the human population of Ireland, those of the <em>Tuatha</em> have an extensive history with them <em>(as detailed in the accompanying piece by Lord Blackwood's conference with Hy-Brasil's reigning monarch, Nuada Airgetlám VII)</em>. The first case of the creatures' existence registered by Her Majesty's Foundation was during an investigation into a series of murders in Manchester. All the victims, as well as having been heavily beaten, had bite marks over their bodies and had undergone moderate exsanguination. The criminal, who'd arrived in England under the guise of a longshoremen named <em>Paule Byrne</em>, was eventually traced to a brothel where theurgists were, after he refused to be detained, exterminate him.</p>
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<div class="document">
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<p><strong>Manifest 243 (A) :</strong> Lord Blackwood's envoy to Hy-Brasil</p>
<p>A report delivered to Her Majesty's Foundation on the culture and history of <em>"Hy-Brasil"</em> and its inhibitors, the <em>"Tuatha Dé Danann"</em>. The report's writer, Lord Theodore Blackwood, was assisting Her Majesty's Foundation in establishing relations and possible intervention policies with the kingdom's rulers and governors. Information believed to be regarding AO-243 was noted in Blackwood's report.</p>
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<p><span style="color: navy"><em>After my stroll with the King, I was taken to the banqueting hall, where I was presented with the most delicious meal: fine claret, golden fish and sweet, silver apples. The King was delighted with my enjoyment, remarking how it pained him how closed his kingdom was to the world outside and how wonderful it was to have it appreciated.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: navy"><em>Soon, we spoke of the land's history and I learnt of the people's brutal strife for survival. As he spoke, I saw a great sadness within the King. A regret, mixed with a longing and a weariness. In an attempt to lighten his heart, I asked him of his mages and builders, remarking how beautiful and ingenious his <a href="/scp-7010">wards</a> were. My efforts worked and the King talked in great detail of his people's skills with magic and theurgy, allowing them to bend the elements and fates with little work.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: navy"><em>However, when I asked about their military, the King remained silent for a moment, perturbed. Knowing I had once again touched on a subject of great sensitivity, I apologised. The King, however, raised a hand and sighed, saying it would be better to know rather than hide the story in shame. With that, we left the hall and I was taken to the chambers beneath the palace.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: navy"><em>In the touch light, I saw the chamber lined with tapestries. All depicting various events. Battles, coronations, funerals, weddings and tragedies. I saw a tapestry of Nuada Airgetlám I, being crowned the first king to the cheers of thousands. Another tapestry showed Lugh III and Mal I in battle, waring against <a href="/scp-6916">Arawn ap Carnonos</a> and his army of ghosts and giants. And one, newer than the others, depicted a <a href="/lte-0851-cetus">beast</a> rising from the sea, flames filling the skies.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: navy"><em>The King woke me from my trace and pointed to a tapestry. In its cloth, I saw an image of horror. A field lined with bodies and blood. In the centre, two men fought, one of whom I recognised as the husband of Sadhbh II, Fionn, holding a sword with a wooden hilt. The other man was dwarfed and had hair of wild cinnabar, teeth as sharp as daggers and eyes filled with malice. Around them, in a frenzy of blood and fury, men and women were screaming and laughing. All shared the dwarf's abhorrent glare and maw. And in the sky, cutting through the dark, crimson clouds, stood a woman all in <a href="/scp-179">black</a>, showering Fionn in golden light.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: navy"><em>As I took in the image, the King told me the dwarf's tale. With the fall of the <a href="/nx-02">Mabyn</a>, the kingdom of the Tuatha, which had once spanned the highlands of Scotland as well as Ireland, was now vulnerable to the coming threats from the east. As they had depleted so much of their magic and weaponry from their war with Mabyn, the monarchy elected to abandon the highlands and retreated to Ireland.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: navy"><em>As the years passed, Great Britain was invaded and colonised by several forces, but Ireland remained untouched and the Tuatha lived in quiet. Whilst many of the monarchy's people supported their ruler's choice, some remained bitter and vengeful. This bitterness was at its most potent within the Fianna, the theurgic warriors of the Tuatha. They had come to see their people as weak and lacking pride, with their leader, the dwarf knight, Abhartach, leading this shame.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: navy"><em>Wishing to restore their honour, Abhartach eventually asked his Queen, Sadhbh, to lead a crusade against the foreign rulers of Britain and claim back their land. The Queen refused, concerned only for the safety of her people. Enraged, Abhartach and his men sought to overthrow the monarchy and searched for ways to equal their power. Eventually, he sought the wisdom of the Aos Sí, cruel beings with old magic and wings like glass. The Aos Sí agreed to grant Abhartach's boon, on the condition he would be an ally to them if they ever needed him. Reluctantly, Abhartach agreed.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: navy"><em>Using their power, the Aos Sí granted Abhartach and his men's boon in the form of a new life. One free from the touches of death or time and rich in health and strength. They became the Neamh-Mairbh, men beyond death. But this boon would require blood to complete the promise. The blood of an enemy. Abhartach, now blinded by the power of his new shape and fuelled by his disgust for foreigners, choose a visiting Gaul priestess. One night, he and his men ambushed the priestess in her quarters, ripped her throat out and drank her blood, completing their contract with the Aos Sí.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: navy"><em>With his army of immortals, Abhartach lead the Neamh-Mairbh in a nocturnal ambush, attacking his former home and people. In the bloodbath, the army claimed many lives, including their former Queen. Her husband tried in vain to fight the army, but as they were fuelled by magic, only iron or silver would harm the immortals, a substance no Tuatha could not touch. Try as he might, Fionn and his people could not win.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: navy"><em>Then, as the dawn broke, a miracle occurred. As the clouds parted, the immortals began to scream in pain in the light of the Sun, their flesh decaying and blistering. For in his pride and greed, Abhartach had made one mistake. The priestess he and his army had killed had not been a follower of a earthly faith. She was a follower of the <a href="/second-hytoth-hub">Seven</a> and with her death, was granted apotheosis, becoming one with the heavens and Sun. With her assent, she banished Abhartach and his army form the light of the heavens, bringing them agony and weakness if they ever entered it.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: navy"><em>With the heavens now on his side, Fionn and his men destroyed many of the Neamh-Mairbh and eventually won the battle. Victorious but vulnerable, Fionn wished to punish his wife's and people's killers with a fate worse than death. So his theurgists had Abhartach and his remaining army bound in chains of silver and sealed in caves in the north, trapping them in eternal pain. But even as the caves were closed, Abhartach vowed he would return to claim his right, one day. One day, the Neamh-Mairbh would return.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: navy"><em>As he finished the tale, I asked the King if Abhartach ever fulfilled his promise. He claimed he did not know as years later, his people fled once again, rebuilding Hy-Brasil as their last home. For now, there was only tales and rumours of his return and he did not give in to fantasies easily. I thanked him for telling me his people's tale and proposed we return to the palace to continue our journey. Agreeing, we left the chambers and returned to the light of day.</em></span></p>
</div>
<div class="document">
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<p><strong>Manifest 243 (B) :</strong> Suspect 230</p>
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<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:280px;"><img alt="George_chapman_illo.jpg" class="image" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/George_chapman_illo.jpg"/>
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<p>Suspect 230, Lysander Agnew</p>
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<p><strong>Subjects Name:</strong> Lysander Ruthven Agnew</p>
<p><strong>Nationality:</strong> Irish</p>
<p><strong>Occupation:</strong> Trade Route manager at <em>Layton & Sons<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup></em></p>
<p><strong>Perpetration:</strong> After the successful disposal of an AO-243 entity, Her Majesty's Foundation began an investigation into his travels prior to arriving in Manchester. It was eventually discovered that the entity calling himself <em>Paule Byrne</em> had made several journeys with the shipping company <em>Layton & Sons</em>. When the company's passenger manifest was investigated further, it was found that 6 other individuals had also used the name, in various locations across Canada, the United States of America, the United Kingdom, France and the Netherlands, suggesting that the name <em>Paule Byrne</em> was a pseudonym used by multiple people.</p>
<p>The case's head investigator, Inspector Henry, later learnt through a contact in the American Secure Containment Initiative that the name was linked to a series of murders and kidnappings that had occurred in the Northeast United States and Eastern Canada. Furthermore, when the passenger manifests were compared with the cargo documentation, Henry found that in a majority of the <em>Paule Byrne</em> returning journeys, additional cargo had been assigned to them, all to be delivered to Cork, Ireland.</p>
<p>When Henry contacted <em>Layton & Sons</em>, their archivists revealed that all the shipments had been approved by one of the company trade route managers, <em>Lysander Ruthven Agnew</em> and the cargo had supposedly contained medical supplies and biochemical materials, though no one could confirm this was the case. When Her Majesty's Foundation attempted to trace <em>Lysander Ruthven Agnew</em>, they found that several documents had been destroyed or lost. Further interviews with several <em>Layton & Sons</em> employees found that they possessed no information regarding their manager's whereabouts or associates. However, a few were able to provide a description of him, which illustrators were able to work into a sketch. Due to his connections to the inexplicable cargo, <em>Lysander Ruthven Agnew</em> has been assigned as a Suspect.</p>
<p>Believing the illicit trading, destruction of administrative documents and the involvement of AO-243 implied a criminal syndicate had infiltrated multiple Irish and British establishments, likely involving several AO-243 entities, Inspector Henry was assigned as the head of the AO-243 annulment project.</p>
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<div class="document">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>Proposal: Request the right to alert and establish entente with Tuatha in annulling the AO-243 threat.</strong></p>
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<hr/>
<p>Most esteemed gentlemen of the Operations Council,</p>
<p>I regret to inform you of the death of Intelligence operatives, Jared Mint and Beiye Zhao. Both had been involved in the AO-243 annulment project and had been posted to investigate the financial trail of various 243 front businesses, like <em>Layton & Sons</em>. They were recovered yesterday at the <em>St Micheal's</em> workhouse in Ullapool, Scotland, having experienced heavy mutilation and exsanguination. Deep bite marks made up a majority of the wounds.</p>
<p>Whilst this is indeed a tragedy, this proposal comes due to the discoveries we made at the workhouse during our recovery. Having been altered of the establishment via a telegram we'd received from Mint, five days prior to his murder, we stormed the workhouse last night after he or Zhao failed to make a further report. Expecting to find a functioning, staffed establishment, my operative and I were surprised to find the building empty. By the state of the rooms and grounds, it would appear that our operatives had inadvertently alerted the anomalies of our investigation and had fled, destroying as much evidence of their activities in the process. However, our initial assumption that the establishment had been abandoned was wrong.</p>
<p>We found operatives Mint and Beiye in the laundry rooms in the basements of the building. In adjacent rooms, we also found the remains of numerous cadavers and carcasses. Furthermore, we also discovered that the medical wings on the upper floors had been locked, with several inhuman sounds coming within. Upon entry, we discovered seven, imprisoned, near-human entities, heavily malnurished and aggressive. Believed to be AO-243 entities, we exterminated them. However, our accompanying Physician operative later revealed to us that despite matching 243's characteristics, the entities were of human biology, not <em>Tuatha</em>.</p>
<p>Further investigation of the workhouse led us to conclude the following. <em>St Micheal's</em> was not merely a feeding ground for the 243's entities, but a laboratory. From what we could gather from the remains of the destroyed records in the medical officer's chambers, it would appear that the anomalies were attempting to enforce a cross-species transmutation of their xenogenesis metamorphosis. From what we witnessed in the medical wings, it would appear they have partially succeeded, with the process now capable of working on basic humans, though not without the loss of sapience and higher reasoning.</p>
<p>Not only have the deaths of two Intelligence operatives resulted in a depletion in manpower, but we have also underestimated the intelligence and governance of 243, specifically their ability to hide within our society for so long and abuse it to help further their cause, whatever that may be. It is for this reason I request that we reach out to the Hy-Brasil monarchy and government and alert them of the return of 243. The Tuatha are more knowledgeable of this anomaly's history and capabilities than us and their assistance in the project would provide substantial intelligence and workforce. Not only that, this would also strengthen our diplomatic relations with them.</p>
<p>I look forward to hearing from you soon.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<h5 id="toc0"><span>- Nathanial Henry</span></h5>
<h6 id="toc1"><span>Head Intelligence Operative</span></h6>
<h6 id="toc2"><span>United Kingdom Branch</span></h6>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:60%;">DO NOT WRITE BELOW THIS LINE, OFFICIAL USE ONLY.</span></p>
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<h3 id="toc3"><span><em><span style="color: navy">Proposal approved.</span></em></span></h3>
<h3 id="toc4"><span><em>- <span style="color: navy">Chamberlains 1, 2, 4, and 5.</span></em></span></h3>
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<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. A shipbuilding and shipping company based in Cork, Ireland. Specialised in Canadian Arctic, Atlantic and North Sea shipping routes.</div>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh">Anomaly 243 - "The Neamh-Mairbh"</a>" by arthcymro, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh">https://scpwiki.com/anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Vampire.jpg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> George Chapman<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> newspaper<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:George_chapman_illo.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:George_chapman_illo.jpg</a></p>
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<p><strong>Filename:</strong> HMFSCP2.png<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> HMFSCP2<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/olympic-error" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7938093); return false;"><img alt="Olympic Error" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=7938093&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736631077" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=7938093)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/olympic-error" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7938093); return false;">Olympic Error</a></span><br/>
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**[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-dafydd-s-personnel-file More by this Author]**
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[[=]]
[[size 170%]] **Her Majesty's Foundation for the Secure Containment of the Paranormal** [[/size]]
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**BY DECREE OF HER ROYAL MAJESTY QUEEN VICTORIA, RULER OF THESE UNITED KINGDOMS OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND, THIS DOCUMENT AND ITS CONTENTS ARE TO BE HELD IN SECRECY, AND USED TO PROTECT AND FURTHER THE INTERESTS OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE.**
**GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.**
[[/=]]
-----
**Designation:** AO-243. [!-- Always start with AO- --]
**Threat:** Enraged. [!-- None, Benign, Irascible, Enraged --]
**Classifications:** Hominid, Nocturnal, Infective, Thaumaturgic, Transvection, Regenerative. [!-- Brief descriptions of anomaly --]
**Stored:** //Anomaly remains unchecked.//[!-- Where is the anomaly kept or located --]
**Identifiers:** Anomaly encompasses an entire theurgical augmented group of hominids native to Ireland. Near-human in appearance, the creatures share much of their physiology with those of the //[[[nx-03|Tuatha Dé Danann]]]//, with the exception of their teeth, which are jagged, and eyes, of which the sclera is of a black hue round the edges of the iris. Observation has determined their intelligence and sapience to be near, if not identical, to that of a human.[!-- How does the anomaly usually look --]
**Abnormality:** The creatures possess a number of unusual qualities, both in their behaviour and biology. Their most notable quality is their regenerative capabilities, which grant them suspended age and recovery of almost all forms of physical damage, including conditions which would normally be deemed unrecoverable such as decapitation or severe mutilation. This quality also appears to dull their sense of pain and grant them an enhanced physique.
There are, however, exceptions. Wounds inflicted through weapons heavy in iron or silver do not recover as quickly. Sunlight also appears to impede their regenerative capabilities, resulting in their flesh quickly becoming rigid, blistered and gangrenous. Even with these exceptions, the creatures require continuous, prolonged exposure before they would be considered impossible for them to resurrect.
Internally, the creatures possess a near-identical biology to those of humans and //Tuatha//. However, their blood is notably darker in hue and possess a high viscosity, closer to that of oil. It also is much richer in proteins and testosterone, appearing to induce temporary hypertrophy when introduced to muscular or skeletal tissue. In addition, as well as having rather jagged teeth, the creatures possess twice the number of canines as an ordinary human. One set, found near the incisors, are especially jagged and large. The other set, found near the premolars, are thinner. The roots of these thin canines are not a not attached to the jaws, but rather to the muscles and ligament of the other thicker canines. When the creature's mouth encases an object, the additional ligaments will react, causing the thin canines to deploy, sinking deep into the objects structure.
The creatures also possess an unusual diet, as they do not require human food to survive. Rather, the creatures are hematophagous, consuming blood, primarily from other hominids. The death of the prey is not necessary, although the creatures typically do not leave their prey in a recoverable condition. However, it is noted that the nourishment the creatures gain doesn't just come from the blood itself but also through ritualistic theurgy. In a way, the act of hunting, harvesting, murder or battle is as nourishing as the consumption of blood, with both acting as a source of sustenance.
The creatures are believed to be sterile, although this claim has yet to be confirmed by observation. Whilst the creatures haven't been observed breeding, they are capable of performing a theurgic, xenogenesis metamorphosis, in which they endow their anomaly qualities into another individual. How this is achieved is not known and requires further research. As of this publication, only individuals of the //Tuatha// have been successful victims of this metamorphosis. It is unknown if this is due to some theurgic requirement or tradition on the creatures' part. It is also unknown whether the anomalous capabilities individual possessed prior to metamorphosis is retained when the transformation is complete.
[!-- How does the anomaly usually behave and what makes this unusual --]
**History:** Whilst the creatures' existence has only managed to live in folktales and legends for the human population of Ireland, those of the //Tuatha// have an extensive history with them //(as detailed in the accompanying piece by Lord Blackwood's conference with Hy-Brasil's reigning monarch, Nuada Airgetlám VII)//. The first case of the creatures' existence registered by Her Majesty's Foundation was during an investigation into a series of murders in Manchester. All the victims, as well as having been heavily beaten, had bite marks over their bodies and had undergone moderate exsanguination. The criminal, who'd arrived in England under the guise of a longshoremen named //Paule Byrne//, was eventually traced to a brothel where theurgists were, after he refused to be detained, exterminate him.[!-- How did the anomaly come under the control of HMFSCP --]
[[/div]]
[[div class="document"]]
[[>]]
[[image HMFSCP2.png style="width:10%;"link=#]]
[[/>]]
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**Manifest 243 (A) :** Lord Blackwood's envoy to Hy-Brasil
A report delivered to Her Majesty's Foundation on the culture and history of //"Hy-Brasil"// and its inhibitors, the //"Tuatha Dé Danann"//. The report's writer, Lord Theodore Blackwood, was assisting Her Majesty's Foundation in establishing relations and possible intervention policies with the kingdom's rulers and governors. Information believed to be regarding AO-243 was noted in Blackwood's report.
-----
##navy|//After my stroll with the King, I was taken to the banqueting hall, where I was presented with the most delicious meal: fine claret, golden fish and sweet, silver apples. The King was delighted with my enjoyment, remarking how it pained him how closed his kingdom was to the world outside and how wonderful it was to have it appreciated.//##
##navy|//Soon, we spoke of the land's history and I learnt of the people's brutal strife for survival. As he spoke, I saw a great sadness within the King. A regret, mixed with a longing and a weariness. In an attempt to lighten his heart, I asked him of his mages and builders, remarking how beautiful and ingenious his [[[SCP-7010|wards]]] were. My efforts worked and the King talked in great detail of his people's skills with magic and theurgy, allowing them to bend the elements and fates with little work.//##
##navy|//However, when I asked about their military, the King remained silent for a moment, perturbed. Knowing I had once again touched on a subject of great sensitivity, I apologised. The King, however, raised a hand and sighed, saying it would be better to know rather than hide the story in shame. With that, we left the hall and I was taken to the chambers beneath the palace.//##
##navy|//In the touch light, I saw the chamber lined with tapestries. All depicting various events. Battles, coronations, funerals, weddings and tragedies. I saw a tapestry of Nuada Airgetlám I, being crowned the first king to the cheers of thousands. Another tapestry showed Lugh III and Mal I in battle, waring against [[[SCP-6916|Arawn ap Carnonos]]] and his army of ghosts and giants. And one, newer than the others, depicted a [[[lte-0851-cetus|beast]]] rising from the sea, flames filling the skies.//##
##navy|//The King woke me from my trace and pointed to a tapestry. In its cloth, I saw an image of horror. A field lined with bodies and blood. In the centre, two men fought, one of whom I recognised as the husband of Sadhbh II, Fionn, holding a sword with a wooden hilt. The other man was dwarfed and had hair of wild cinnabar, teeth as sharp as daggers and eyes filled with malice. Around them, in a frenzy of blood and fury, men and women were screaming and laughing. All shared the dwarf's abhorrent glare and maw. And in the sky, cutting through the dark, crimson clouds, stood a woman all in [[[SCP-179|black]]], showering Fionn in golden light.//##
##navy|//As I took in the image, the King told me the dwarf's tale. With the fall of the [[[nx-02|Mabyn]]], the kingdom of the Tuatha, which had once spanned the highlands of Scotland as well as Ireland, was now vulnerable to the coming threats from the east. As they had depleted so much of their magic and weaponry from their war with Mabyn, the monarchy elected to abandon the highlands and retreated to Ireland.//##
##navy|//As the years passed, Great Britain was invaded and colonised by several forces, but Ireland remained untouched and the Tuatha lived in quiet. Whilst many of the monarchy's people supported their ruler's choice, some remained bitter and vengeful. This bitterness was at its most potent within the Fianna, the theurgic warriors of the Tuatha. They had come to see their people as weak and lacking pride, with their leader, the dwarf knight, Abhartach, leading this shame.//##
##navy|//Wishing to restore their honour, Abhartach eventually asked his Queen, Sadhbh, to lead a crusade against the foreign rulers of Britain and claim back their land. The Queen refused, concerned only for the safety of her people. Enraged, Abhartach and his men sought to overthrow the monarchy and searched for ways to equal their power. Eventually, he sought the wisdom of the Aos Sí, cruel beings with old magic and wings like glass. The Aos Sí agreed to grant Abhartach's boon, on the condition he would be an ally to them if they ever needed him. Reluctantly, Abhartach agreed.//##
##navy|//Using their power, the Aos Sí granted Abhartach and his men's boon in the form of a new life. One free from the touches of death or time and rich in health and strength. They became the Neamh-Mairbh, men beyond death. But this boon would require blood to complete the promise. The blood of an enemy. Abhartach, now blinded by the power of his new shape and fuelled by his disgust for foreigners, choose a visiting Gaul priestess. One night, he and his men ambushed the priestess in her quarters, ripped her throat out and drank her blood, completing their contract with the Aos Sí.//##
##navy|//With his army of immortals, Abhartach lead the Neamh-Mairbh in a nocturnal ambush, attacking his former home and people. In the bloodbath, the army claimed many lives, including their former Queen. Her husband tried in vain to fight the army, but as they were fuelled by magic, only iron or silver would harm the immortals, a substance no Tuatha could not touch. Try as he might, Fionn and his people could not win.//##
##navy|//Then, as the dawn broke, a miracle occurred. As the clouds parted, the immortals began to scream in pain in the light of the Sun, their flesh decaying and blistering. For in his pride and greed, Abhartach had made one mistake. The priestess he and his army had killed had not been a follower of a earthly faith. She was a follower of the [[[second-hytoth-hub|Seven]]] and with her death, was granted apotheosis, becoming one with the heavens and Sun. With her assent, she banished Abhartach and his army form the light of the heavens, bringing them agony and weakness if they ever entered it.//##
##navy|//With the heavens now on his side, Fionn and his men destroyed many of the Neamh-Mairbh and eventually won the battle. Victorious but vulnerable, Fionn wished to punish his wife's and people's killers with a fate worse than death. So his theurgists had Abhartach and his remaining army bound in chains of silver and sealed in caves in the north, trapping them in eternal pain. But even as the caves were closed, Abhartach vowed he would return to claim his right, one day. One day, the Neamh-Mairbh would return.//##
##navy|//As he finished the tale, I asked the King if Abhartach ever fulfilled his promise. He claimed he did not know as years later, his people fled once again, rebuilding Hy-Brasil as their last home. For now, there was only tales and rumours of his return and he did not give in to fantasies easily. I thanked him for telling me his people's tale and proposed we return to the palace to continue our journey. Agreeing, we left the chambers and returned to the light of day.//##
[[/div]]
[[div class="document"]]
[[>]]
[[image HMFSCP2.png style="width:10%;"link=#]]
[[/>]]
-----
**Manifest 243 (B) :** Suspect 230
-----
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:image-block">:scp-wiki:component:image-block</a> name=https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/George_chapman_illo.jpg |caption=Suspect 230, Lysander Agnew|width=280px]]
**Subjects Name:** Lysander Ruthven Agnew
**Nationality:** Irish
**Occupation:** Trade Route manager at //Layton & Sons[[footnote]] A shipbuilding and shipping company based in Cork, Ireland. Specialised in Canadian Arctic, Atlantic and North Sea shipping routes. [[/footnote]]//
**Perpetration:** After the successful disposal of an AO-243 entity, Her Majesty's Foundation began an investigation into his travels prior to arriving in Manchester. It was eventually discovered that the entity calling himself //Paule Byrne// had made several journeys with the shipping company //Layton & Sons//. When the company's passenger manifest was investigated further, it was found that 6 other individuals had also used the name, in various locations across Canada, the United States of America, the United Kingdom, France and the Netherlands, suggesting that the name //Paule Byrne// was a pseudonym used by multiple people.
The case's head investigator, Inspector Henry, later learnt through a contact in the American Secure Containment Initiative that the name was linked to a series of murders and kidnappings that had occurred in the Northeast United States and Eastern Canada. Furthermore, when the passenger manifests were compared with the cargo documentation, Henry found that in a majority of the //Paule Byrne// returning journeys, additional cargo had been assigned to them, all to be delivered to Cork, Ireland.
When Henry contacted //Layton & Sons//, their archivists revealed that all the shipments had been approved by one of the company trade route managers, //Lysander Ruthven Agnew// and the cargo had supposedly contained medical supplies and biochemical materials, though no one could confirm this was the case. When Her Majesty's Foundation attempted to trace //Lysander Ruthven Agnew//, they found that several documents had been destroyed or lost. Further interviews with several //Layton & Sons// employees found that they possessed no information regarding their manager's whereabouts or associates. However, a few were able to provide a description of him, which illustrators were able to work into a sketch. Due to his connections to the inexplicable cargo, //Lysander Ruthven Agnew// has been assigned as a Suspect.
Believing the illicit trading, destruction of administrative documents and the involvement of AO-243 implied a criminal syndicate had infiltrated multiple Irish and British establishments, likely involving several AO-243 entities, Inspector Henry was assigned as the head of the AO-243 annulment project.
[[/div]]
[[div class="document"]]
[[>]]
[[image HMFSCP2.png style="width:10%;"link=#]]
[[/>]]
-----
[[=]]
**Proposal: Request the right to alert and establish entente with Tuatha in annulling the AO-243 threat.**
[[/=]]
-----
Most esteemed gentlemen of the Operations Council,
I regret to inform you of the death of Intelligence operatives, Jared Mint and Beiye Zhao. Both had been involved in the AO-243 annulment project and had been posted to investigate the financial trail of various 243 front businesses, like //Layton & Sons//. They were recovered yesterday at the //St Micheal's// workhouse in Ullapool, Scotland, having experienced heavy mutilation and exsanguination. Deep bite marks made up a majority of the wounds.
Whilst this is indeed a tragedy, this proposal comes due to the discoveries we made at the workhouse during our recovery. Having been altered of the establishment via a telegram we'd received from Mint, five days prior to his murder, we stormed the workhouse last night after he or Zhao failed to make a further report. Expecting to find a functioning, staffed establishment, my operative and I were surprised to find the building empty. By the state of the rooms and grounds, it would appear that our operatives had inadvertently alerted the anomalies of our investigation and had fled, destroying as much evidence of their activities in the process. However, our initial assumption that the establishment had been abandoned was wrong.
We found operatives Mint and Beiye in the laundry rooms in the basements of the building. In adjacent rooms, we also found the remains of numerous cadavers and carcasses. Furthermore, we also discovered that the medical wings on the upper floors had been locked, with several inhuman sounds coming within. Upon entry, we discovered seven, imprisoned, near-human entities, heavily malnurished and aggressive. Believed to be AO-243 entities, we exterminated them. However, our accompanying Physician operative later revealed to us that despite matching 243's characteristics, the entities were of human biology, not //Tuatha//.
Further investigation of the workhouse led us to conclude the following. //St Micheal's// was not merely a feeding ground for the 243's entities, but a laboratory. From what we could gather from the remains of the destroyed records in the medical officer's chambers, it would appear that the anomalies were attempting to enforce a cross-species transmutation of their xenogenesis metamorphosis. From what we witnessed in the medical wings, it would appear they have partially succeeded, with the process now capable of working on basic humans, though not without the loss of sapience and higher reasoning.
Not only have the deaths of two Intelligence operatives resulted in a depletion in manpower, but we have also underestimated the intelligence and governance of 243, specifically their ability to hide within our society for so long and abuse it to help further their cause, whatever that may be. It is for this reason I request that we reach out to the Hy-Brasil monarchy and government and alert them of the return of 243. The Tuatha are more knowledgeable of this anomaly's history and capabilities than us and their assistance in the project would provide substantial intelligence and workforce. Not only that, this would also strengthen our diplomatic relations with them.
I look forward to hearing from you soon.
[[>]]
+++++ - Nathanial Henry
++++++ Head Intelligence Operative
++++++ United Kingdom Branch
[[/>]]
[[=]]
[[size 60%]]DO NOT WRITE BELOW THIS LINE, OFFICIAL USE ONLY.[[/size]]
-----
+++ //##navy|Proposal approved.##//
+++ //- ##navy|Chamberlains 1, 2, 4, and 5.##//
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[footnoteblock]]
@@ @@
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> **Filename:** Vampire.jpg
> **Name:** George Chapman
> **Author:** newspaper
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:George_chapman_illo.jpg
=====
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> **Name:** HMFSCP2
> **Author:** [[*user olympic-error]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh/HMFSCP2.png
=====
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Anomaly 243 - "The Neamh-Mairbh" - SCP Foundation
| 14
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1452095260
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh
|
|
anomaly-306-the-silver-alder
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<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">ArthCymro</a>
<div class="authorbox">
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<p><strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-dafydd-s-personnel-file">More by this Author</a></strong></p>
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</div>
<div class="document">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:170%;"><strong>Her Majesty's Foundation for the Secure Containment of the Paranormal</strong></span></p>
<img alt="HMFSCP2.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/anomaly-306-the-silver-alder/HMFSCP2.png" style="width:20%;"/><br/>
<br/>
<strong>BY DECREE OF HER ROYAL MAJESTY QUEEN VICTORIA, RULER OF THESE UNITED KINGDOMS OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND, THIS DOCUMENT AND ITS CONTENTS ARE TO BE HELD IN SECRECY, AND USED TO PROTECT AND FURTHER THE INTERESTS OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE.</strong>
<p><strong>GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Designation:</strong> AO-306.</p>
<p><strong>Threat:</strong> None.</p>
<p><strong>Classifications:</strong> Botanical, Archaeological, Thaumaturgic, Metallurgy, Artefact.</p>
<p><strong>Stored:</strong> Dome 02, Hall 08, Site-Red. - <em>Note: wild cases remain under monthly observation.</em></p>
<p><strong>Identifiers:</strong> Anomaly is outwardly identical to members of the Alnus Glutinosa species, with the biggest height recorded at 33 yards. The species are identifiable by their colouration and material properties. The wood of the tree is of a tainted, metallic grey colour, not unlike tarnished silver, whilst its leaves and catkins are pigmented a deep, russet red.</p>
<p><strong>Abnormality:</strong> Observations by botanists and horticulturalists have found that whilst the species' cellular structure is nearly comparable to other members of the Alnus genus, this species possesses a high quantity of iron and silver particles within its structure, especially in the wood of the plant. This is believed to be why the species possess a metallic pigment and the leaves have a red hue. As silver is not an element abundant in soil, it has been theorised that the species can perform an alchemical process to transmute metals within the soil into silver.</p>
<p>Within the structure of the plant, the iron and silver particles form an alloy that is currently impossible to replicate. This alloy is a natural deterrent to thaumic workings, being capable of disrupting and blocking all forms of theurgy within its presence. Whilst this property has also been seen in iron and silver, the alloy formed within the plant can prove a much greater counter-effect than the two elements. This property is found throughout the anomaly's makeup, including the leaves, catkins and sap. This disruptive property will continue even if materials are removed from the main body, though the range and strength of this property will weaken as the sample ages.</p>
<p><strong>History:</strong> The species' existence is not widely known outside of cryptobotany and thaumaturgical circles. This has been theorised to be because of the anomaly's rarity within the botanical world. However, some researchers have theorised that the species' existence may have been remembered in pieces of Eurasia superstitions and folklore. The Northern European area is especially rich in beliefs surrounding iron, silver and the Alnus family, all of which relate to their abilities to deter unwanted or harmful magic and beasts. Further research into the anomaly's cultural history is ongoing.</p>
<p>Her Majesty's Foundation became aware of the anomaly in 1846, during a Marshall, Carter and Dark auction, where cuttings were auctioned off. Successfully purchasing the cuttings, investigators were able to trace their source to that of the famed horticulturist and occultist, Joseph Merit. According to Merit, he and several of his colleagues in the cryptobotany circles had recently been able to domesticate the species successfully and were already receiving requests from businesses for cuttings and timber for use in industry. Her Majesty's Foundation purchased all of Merit's domesticated samples, as well as his studies of the species biology. See their attached paper for details.</p>
</div>
<div class="papernote">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Oranienbaum';color: #000000; font-size: 20pt"><strong>The Armoured Forests</strong><br/></span> <span style="font-family: 'Oranienbaum';color: #000000; font-size: 16pt">A Summary of the Botany of <em>Alnus argentum</em><br/></span> <span style="font-family: 'Oranienbaum';color: #000000; font-size: 12pt">By Joseph Weatherbee Merit<br/></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Oranienbaum';color: #000000">In the world of elusive botany and strange mycology, there are several rare specimens considered famed. The lightning-generating <em>Phiotacea electrica</em>, the vile <em><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-679">Aspergillus ocularis</a></em>, and the carnivorous <em>Crinoida dajeeana</em>. But none compare to that of the <em>Alnus argentum</em>, the <em>Silver Alder</em>, a tree truly worthy of the description of mythical.</span></p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Oranienbaum';color: #000000"><strong>Distribution</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Oranienbaum';color: #000000">At face value, <em>A. argentum</em> is very much like the rest of the <em>Alnus</em> genus, with <em>A. glutinosa</em>, the <em>Black Alder</em>, believed to be its closest relative. This is evident by both <em>A. argentum's</em> phytomorphology and habitat, as the species looks and grows in similar structures and has only been seen growing in northern and western Europe. Like <em>A. glutinosa</em>, <em>A. argentum</em> grows in the moist ground near rivers, ponds, lakes or areas of nutrient-poor soil.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Oranienbaum';color: #000000">The first characteristic rendering the species unique in its genus regards <em>A. argentum's</em> method of germination and colonisation. All members of the <em>Alnus</em> genus function as pioneer species; resilient plants that are the first to colonise new and disturbed environments and assist in the repopulation of other species. Where <em>A. argentum's</em> works differently in what type of ecosystem it pioneers in.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Oranienbaum';color: #000000">Compared to other member of its genus, <em>A. argentum</em> has difficulty germinating against its competitors, even in environments plentiful in nitrogen and water. However, due to developing a body rich in iron and silver, when present in environments exposed to powerful or constant mysticism and theurgy, the species gains the upper hand. In areas which had been exposed, many species of flora often find it difficult to adjust and reproduce to the imbalanced ecosystem. Because of the metal within its body, <em>A. argentum</em> can shield itself from mystical effects, redirecting it away from itself and back at its contenders. This continues as the body grows, which it does very quickly, gaining a meter almost every month. As it spreads around, the theurgy is forced into a more ordered state, allowing newer species to be introduced without threat.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Oranienbaum';color: #000000">As the ecosystem grows, as with most <em>Alnus</em> species, <em>A. argentum</em> will typically settle in thickets at the edges of forests or near sources of water. However, it has been noted that these thickets tend to form in a formation of sorts. If drafted on a map, a straight alignment can be illustrated between thickets. Coincidentally, these lines also align with nearby holy or historical landmarks. It is the belief of <em>Reverend Edward Duke</em> these lines are examples of his "<em>holy leylines</em>" hypothesis, with the trees acting as a kind of pillar in the lines network.<br/></span></p>
</div>
<div class="document">
<hr/>
<p><strong>Manifest 306 (A):</strong> Cultural History</p>
<p>Through the investigations carried out by Intelligence and Observation operatives, Her Majesty's Foundation made several discoveries regarding AO-306's historical significance in various cultures in the known world. A summary is written below.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>The Kingdom of Hy-Brasil:</strong> To the Tuatha Dé Danann, the flora, known as the "<em>An Plionta Airgid</em>", meaning "The Silver Plinth", is considered both a hindrance and a help. Due to their biology, the fibres of the anomaly are a moderate irritant to their flesh and are dangerous, if not deadly, if exposed to them for too long. Despite this, the Tuatha use the tree as a form of defence, growing them around locations of importance for further security against thaumaturgical attacks or beings such as Aos Sí, <a href="/scp-3456">Nuckelavee</a> or <a href="/anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh">Neamh-Mairbh</a>. Some blacksmith would go further and use logs of the tree to shape their blades, as the metal particles within the wood would react with the forged metal to form a thin layer. This weakness and application have propagated a superstition, with many of the Tuatha still considering the plant an omen of bad luck or danger and will actively avoid interacting with samples if encountered in the wild.</p>
<p><strong>The Daevite Empire:</strong> As horticulture, occultism and plant life were an essential commodity in Daevite culture, Daeva viewed AO-306 as nothing more than a problematic weed, referring to them as the "<em>Vihe Tinhezuke</em>", meaning "The Tarnished Desolation" in <a href="/old-daevite-language">Old Daevite</a>. Likely due to the anomaly's ecology and accelerated growth, the Daeva often had trouble managing the plant's spread, with some of their passages referencing great fires set to destroy the anomaly to prevent famines from breaking out.</p>
<div class="smallmodal">
<p>The Tarnished Desolation, a threat great, going unwitnessed until too late and once bloomed, spreading sickness with every touch. Many of our <a href="/scp-5297">fruit</a> and <a href="/scp-3140">armies</a> have rotted in their roots and whole colonies of <a href="/scp-5280">maidens</a> have died within its pollen. Our farms and gardens are our life. Our food. Our way. Such threats are not taken lightly, but as its wood is poisonous to our flesh, only the harshest of flames must be used to vanquish its foul reach.<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>- <a href="/scp-140">A Chronicle of the Daevas</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<p><strong>The Church of the Broken God:</strong> As the Alder family prefer damp, cool climates, the anomaly is rarely seen in South Europe and West Asia. However, according to representatives of the Church of the Broken God, their order's predecessor, the <a href="/scp-2406">Followers of Mekhane</a>, considered the anomaly proof of their God's divine influence, having grown from His broken body to aid humanity in its early development. According to some archaeological digs, many followers offered valuable trade or made pilgrimages to the northwest territory just for a single piece of its bark.</p>
<div class="smallmodal">
<p>21. And with their might did God cleave His Enemies. But battle had rendered God tried. His Anvil, His Stylus, His Hammer, His Form. All broken.<br/>
22. Broken, and tried, God was claimed by the Earth, Skies and Seas, His Body spread among the lands. Lost.<br/>
23. Lost. But not powerless.<br/>
24. His Form, though broken, remained strong. His <a href="/scp-217">Ichor</a>, though diluted, remained flowing.<br/>
25. And from these, and the rich soils of Earth, did spring new form. Forms in the shape of gifts.<br/>
26. <em>"Here me,"</em> cried God, <em>"Though broken, I remain strong. Though broken, my love prevails. Though broken, I shall still defend you."</em><br/>
27. <em>"Take my new Form. My strength remains within it. My might stored in its body. Take it and build. Build and forge. Build, for I shall be with you again."</em><br/>
28. And so the people built and made, and grew strong. In strength, the found power.<br/>
29. Power to fight the beasts that plagued them. The vile Flesh. The accursed Daeva. The guileful Kobaloi.<br/>
30. With God, they found strength. With God, they grew.<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>- Book of Forge, Chapter 2</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><strong>Insular Celts:</strong> Despite little being known of the ancient Celts' workings and lifestyle, surviving pieces of evidence recovered from archaeological digs at Brythonic and Pict sites have suggested that AO-306 played a significant role in their life. Several pieces, mostly armour, jewellery and weapons, have been identified as being created from the anomaly's wood, implying that the tribes were skilled in both cultivating and utilising the anomaly. Furthermore, analysis of woad dye found in digs has identified samples of resinous gum taken from the plant and mixed into the dye, possibly suggesting attempts were made to incorporate the anomaly's thaumaturgical deterring effect into their clothing and war paint. Whilst the Brythonics and Picts appeared to have habitually used the plant, the same cannot be said for the Gaels, though this can be likely due to the influence of the Tuatha and their view on the plant. However, AO-306 appears to have contributed to many pieces of Celtic mythology and folklore, symbolising the mysterious Otherworld, where it is believed to have come from.</p>
</div>
<div class="document">
<hr/>
<p><strong>Manifest 306 (B):</strong> Studies</p>
<p>A report written by metallurgist, Jonas Thorn, and biologist, Monty T. Howards, on the chemistry of AO-306.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Experiment:</strong> Reverse Engineering Samples of AO-306</p>
<p><strong>Results:</strong> <em>Through our study of the species, we have determined several key properties that illuminate both its chemical and physical capabilities.</em></p>
<p><em>When dried, like most woods, the wood of the anomaly becomes much stronger, harder and more durable. However, in the case of AO-306, the strength and durability of the wood exceed what ordinary wood should be capable of achieving. Our material analysis found the wood of AO-306 to possess a compressive strength of 15,000 psi and a bending strength of 21,000 psi, rivalling that of the Acacia genus' wood.</em></p>
<p><em>Knowing the durability of common alder wood hardened when introduced to water, we submersed several samples of AO-306 to observe if a similar effect occurred. To our surprise, we discovered if the wood is treated in water, the process of strengthening not only accelerates but results in an even stronger timber. Material analysis found the wood possessed a compressive strength of 41,000 psi and a bending strength of 63,000 psi, comparable to that of steel. When observed under a microscope, the fibres of the wood are found to have developed a metallic coating. We have yet to identify why this is occurring.</em></p>
<p><em>Further chemical analysis of the wood, both before treatment and after, has identified that, whilst durable, it is still flammable, though it appears to be somewhat resistant to ignition, and burns with a golden flame with a green heart. It has also been determined to be nontoxic and safe to handle. Thaumaturgical analysis has also found that the anomaly's disrupting effect is greatly enhanced if the wood is treated with water. This may be due to the more structured form the metals take when exposed to moisture.</em></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>- <strong>Monty T. Howards</strong></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="document">
<hr/>
<p><strong>Manifest 306 (C):</strong> Archaeological Findings</p>
<p>A report written by archaeologist, August Leonerd, and biologist, Monty T. Howards, on the discovery of several artefacts relating to AO-306, found at the Dozmaré Pool, Cornwall.</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>The grove at the pool was unusual. In most cases, we've come across AO-306 growing in relatively large numbers, twenty or so. Here, there were only four, and rather than growing on the banks, all were growing from the lake bed. Furthermore, the grove does not reside on any of the "holy lines" our cartographers and dowsers mapped out. Either this grove has been created artificially or the force in the area has long since faded away, implying this patch of AO-306 is one of the oldest on record.</em></p>
<p><em>Regardless, such an unusual location warranted further investigation, leading to our discovery. Entangled within the roots of the anomalies were several water-damaged metallic artefacts, encasing the skeletal remains of a believed adult male. Though the roots of the anomaly made it somewhat difficult, we managed to remove the remains unscathed.</em></p>
<p><em>Inspection of the body did not provide any substantial information about its origin or reasons for its location. However, we noticed the body was in a fetal position while buried. The bones appeared to have experienced a significant impact on the chest and abdomen, mostly likely from a projectile or bladed weapon. A majority of the artefacts, including those worn by the body, were found to have been pieces of armour, most of which were damaged seemingly by incendiary or chemical devices. Strangely, many of these pieces possessed intricate mechanics, such as rudimentary clockwork or pneumatics. In the cases of the body, some of the mechanics within the armour were found attached to the bone, specifically those of the arm and shoulder. Based on design and evidence from other archaeological findings, we believe them to be of 5th-century origin.</em></p>
<p><em>Outside of this, the only other item that was recovered was the remains of a <a href="/scp-2307">long sword</a>, which was found clasped within the body's hands. This sword itself is quite unusual. Though it was recovered slightly damaged due to the lake's water, it has been "regenerating" since its recovery, shedding rust and "growing" metal as time goes on. Curiously, this regeneration accelerates when in contact with a piece of AO-306. Due to this property, I have had the item posted to Site-Red for further examination and possible designation.</em></p>
<p><em>Though the design of the artefacts, including the sword, was not unusual, the composure is somewhat similar to those we discovered in Celtic sites and made by Tuatha blacksmiths, though these artefacts appear to be of a more refined make. And after getting the metallurgist and dowsers to have a look at it, I can confirm my theory. The artefacts, armour and sword, are constructed from the same material found within AO-306, a silver-rich steel, and in this case, of rather high purity.</em></p>
<p><em>This leaves us with two interesting mysteries. The first is the manufacturing of the alloy. Given the earliest known method of mass-producing steel was recorded in 11th-century China, it is highly unusual to find a similar material being produced and used centuries early, in a society nowhere near capable of producing such materials. Who made this material? How? Why is it so pure? The clockworks and pneumatics also further confuse things, with neither being crafted in such condition, even in the modern day.</em></p>
<p><em>Secondly, why was the body there in the first place? Given the location, the wounds and the layout of the body, it is unlikely this was an intentional burial. However, when we discovered it, the body was surrounded by various pieces of armour, as if entombed. Moreover, a grove of AO-306 was growing directly above the remains. Why? Given the fact the sword was within the body's possession and its anomalous properties, along with the condition the body was found in, I am inclined to theorise that this burial was spontaneous, possibly self-imposed, with the intention of either protecting the sword from something or protecting something from the sword.</em></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>- <strong>August Leonerd</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>The sword recovered at the site was given the designation AO-237 and stored at Site-Red, three weeks following its discovery by Howard and Leonerd. Further examinations of the item are pending.</p>
</div>
<div class="document">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>Proposal: Request the right to outsource the production of Compound 113 ("Alderwood Iron") for the creation of arms to be used in imminent conflicts.</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>As you gentlemen of the Operations Council are aware, there has been a continual growth in the use of anomalous weaponry in warfare in the past decade. You will recall the Russian forces' use of Sarkic cytomancy in Crimea, the temporal slips of the Battle of Khushab and the loss of the Kowloon Peninsula. Furthermore, we have seen a growing number of cases, both nationally and internationally, of blacklisted occult trade, either through black markets or corrupted government sectors. We have already had reports from our allies in the States, the American Secure Containment Initiative, of the Confederates use of Kabbalah clay for the manufacture of <a href="/scp-011">artificial soldiers</a>. Our organisation is trying its hardest to mitigate and contain these issues, however, resources remain sparse. And with the likelihood of another full-scale war occurring within the next decade, we must find new ways of continuing our cause.</p>
<p>You will be aware of Jonas Thorn's recent developments in alchemical practices thanks to his study of AO-237, Hy-Brasil's "Cold Iron" manufacture and his successful incorporation of Mekanite metallurgy and Brand alchemy with the modern Bessemer process. You may also be aware of our numerous discoveries concerning AO-306, specifically its application within thaumic workings when refined to Compound 113 ("Alderwood Iron"). Given the growing threat and looming issues, it is, for this reason, that we request our organisation look into the possibility of producing Compound 113 for its use in furthering our subbasement of anomalous activity, as well as its use in manufacturing arms for the upcoming conflict.</p>
<p>Compound 113 has already shown it possesses all the practicalities of steel, as well as the ability to negate and redirect thaumic workings, be it occult or theurgy. You will recall the tomb uncovered by August Leonerd a few months ago. The process of its production <em>(<strong>Procedure 306-113-G:</strong> Bessemer-Thorn Argyropoeia)</em>, is also not overly expensive, with the only financial issue coming from the need to introduce copper into the manufacturing to undergo the required argyropoeia. Whilst this could prove a problem if we were to request a local steelworks such as Dowlais or Scunthorpe to produce the compound, this would not be the case in America. A newly established ironworks, under the ownership of Anderson Factories, has been established in Pennsylvania, and given the rise of the northern Michigan copper district, they would be able to suit our demands easily.<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<table style="width: 100%;">
<tr>
<td style="text-align: left;">
<h5 id="toc0"><span>- Ishmael Cabot</span></h5>
<h6 id="toc1"><span>Head Military Operative</span></h6>
<h6 id="toc2"><span>United Kingdom Branch</span></h6>
</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">
<h5 id="toc3"><span>- Nathanial Henry</span></h5>
<h6 id="toc4"><span>Head Intelligence Operative</span></h6>
<h6 id="toc5"><span>United Kingdom Branch</span></h6>
</td>
<td style="text-align: right;">
<h5 id="toc6"><span>- Paul Farr</span></h5>
<h6 id="toc7"><span>Deputy Head Science Operative</span></h6>
<h6 id="toc8"><span>United Kingdom Branch</span></h6>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:60%;">DO NOT WRITE BELOW THIS LINE, OFFICIAL USE ONLY.</span></p>
<hr/>
<h3 id="toc9"><span><em><span style="color: navy">Proposal approved.</span></em></span></h3>
<h3 id="toc10"><span><em>- <span style="color: navy">Chamberlains 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5.</span></em></span></h3>
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<div class="newspaper-border">
<div class="newspaper-main"><span style="font-size:570%;"><strong>THE FLEET GAZETTE</strong></span>
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<table style="width: 100%;">
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<td style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:200%;"><strong>Vol, XCII No. CLXXII</strong></span></td>
<td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:200%;"><strong>FEBURARY 13TH, 1866</strong></span></td>
<td style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:200%;"><strong>ONE HALFPENNY</strong></span></td>
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</table>
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<div class="twopanel">
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<p><span style="font-size:150%;"><strong>ANDERSON FACTORY REVOLT! COORDINATED ATTACK RESULTS IN THE DEATH OF HUNDREDS.</strong></span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size:150%;"><strong>ONLOOKERS CLAIM WITNESSING GHOSTS AND DEMONS FIGHTING IN THE FIRE ABOVE PENNSYLVANIA.</strong></span></p>
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<div style="text-align: justify">
<p><span style="font-size:150%;">O</span>n the 23rd of May, a coordinated attack was carried out on several of Anderson Factories facilities. In the late hours of the night, explosions and gunfire rang out as conflict erupted between the employees and the invading force, whose goal and organisation are yet to be revealed.</p>
<p>Anderson Factories, colloquially referred to as <a class="newpage" href="/system:page-tags-tag-factory">The Factory</a>, were located across the Eastern United States. Under the ownership of James Anderson, the notorious engineer and businessman, Anderson Factories produced everything from fabrics to mechanics, to foods, to papers, to artillery. Born in Oxford, England to arms dealer, Charles Anderson, Anderson emigrated to the United States in 1834, and successfully established his first factory in Massachusetts in 1835 at the age of 20.</p>
<p>Taking advantage of the state's growing industrial proficiency and immigration, Anderson's factory soon became a powerhouse in the heavy industry market, helped by the experimental nature of his facilities layout, in which accommodations for workers were provided. By 1843, Anderson had established a small empire for himself, spanning eleven facilities.</p>
<img alt="James.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/anomaly-306-the-silver-alder/James.jpg" style="width:100%;"/>
<p>Over the next 10 years, Anderson's industry remain prosperous, until the California gold rush. Though initially reactive, establishing a further three facilities on the West Coast, the strain of industry began to take its toll on Anderson. Further upheaval such as political tensions, embezzlement, westward migration, and an outbreak of consumption sent him into a further depression. This pressure is said to be the cause of Anderson's change in behaviour and tactics, with many reporting a definite change in his consideration for safety and work ethic. Some even claim Anderson was dabbling with occult forces and demonic beasts. Whether these rumours were true or not remains unknown, though, despite employment rates for Anderson's Factories growing low, production remained unusually high, even with the arrival of the American Civil War, where he went on to produce weapons for both Union and Confederate armies.</p>
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<div class="bit">
<div style="text-align: justify"><img alt="Bethlehem_Steel_Pennellb.jpg" class="image" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f8/Bethlehem_Steel_Pennellb.jpg" style="width:100%;"/><br/>
<span style="font-size:150%;">L</span>ate on the night of the 23rd, Anderson Factory's Pennsylvania Steelworks and Heavy Industry plant experienced a full frontal attack. The facility, headquartered outside Easton, Pennsylvania near the banks of the Lehigh River, erupted into a frenzy when several unknown individuals attacked the main steelworks facility, destroying much of the machinery and equipment. By the time local authorities arrived at the scene, the facility had erupted into flames, with a lake of molten metal flowing from the facility.
<p>As a result of the attack, only seventeen of the ninety-eight workers survived. When our journalists attempted to interview said survivors on the events of the attack and the identity of the attackers, however, most failed to prove any substantial information, with many still under medical supervision. "<em>Confederate rioters</em>," according to Sheriff Lovelock of the Easton Police Department, "<em>Anderson's been dealing with them ever since Robert surrendered Virginia. So many of the miners blame him, you see for what he did, and who he helped. Some folk just can't let go of the past. They'd rather hold on to a grudge.</em>"</p>
<p>Despite the police department's claims, local opinions differ. According to some eyewitnesses, there had been several unusual incidents before the attack, such as sudden illnesses, missing people and the loss of shipments from the nearby mines. In addition, several people confirm that a few days before the attack, several soldiers from the U.S. Army, as well as members of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency reported to the facility, claiming their reason for their arrival was to assess the new artillery manufactured at the facility. However, the local word says otherwise.</p>
<p>"<em>This wasn't a random attack,</em>" says Mary Kidds, "<em>this was justice. Something was happening at that factory and it wasn't some fancy bullets. You know they have gardens in there? Why would a factory that makes steel need gardens? And why can't the staff leave? There's something unholy about that place. Something secret. It's punishment, I say. Punishment for the sins of Anderson.</em>" Journalists attempted to interview the U.S. Army about the visit, though they refused to comment.</p>
<p>Despite survivors being unable to remember the ordeal and the authority remaining quiet, accounts from onlookers have revealed some striking details regarding the night. Bobby Bulter, a coachman in Easton, came forward regarding what he witnessed during the night of the attack. "<em>I was just riding along, having just dropped off the last night's owls, when my horse was all stiff and panicked. Right outside the forest, near the river bank. He just stood there, refusing to move. Tried everything but he wouldn't go. But then I heard it. This shrill whistling, coming from the woods. Like a sharp wind. I didn't like it.</em>"</p>
<p>"<em>Then something moved, above us. Quick it was. Didn't make it out in the dark, but I knew something was there. Now and again, something would shoot past. Never saw them but I heard them. Maybe a strange windy sound, like when knife swishing in the air. The horse lost it then. Poor thing kept shaking and crying before it just ran off towards the town.</em>"</p>
<p>"<em>When I reached the river bank, I saw the factory, on fire. Not a normal fire, though. It was gold, blue and green, and it moved like it was waves in the sea. There were screams too. These awful screams. Men begging and crying, but also other things. Like cats howling but shrill and long. I was about to run, but then the whole place blew up, metal flying everywhere. I ducked for cover and I saw this chuck of hot metal on the ground. In it was a body. Now I've fought in battles, and I've seen my fair share of horror, but this was sickening. It was all mangled, covered in this molten silver, its fat burning in a green flame. Something was wrong with it too. Its back was all twisted, with these jagged things pointing out like wings. Six wings. And it had these pointed ears, like some demon. I ran then. I know I should've helped but I won't be part of that. Anderson was making monsters in there. Making things from hell!</em>"</p>
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<div class="jotting" style="background-color: #f3cea1; text-color:black;">
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 20pt">American Secure Containment Initiative</span></strong></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt">American Secure Containment<br/>
Initiative's Office of<br/>
International Diplomacy<br/>
Locus 17<br/>
███████████<br/>
Pennsylvania<br/>
United States of America</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt">Feburary 27th, 1866</span></p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt">Her Majesty's Foundation<br/>
for the Secure Containment<br/>
of the Paranormal's Administration<br/>
Department<br/>
Site-Blue<br/>
█████<br/>
Yorkshire<br/>
England</span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Monotype Corsiva';color: #000000; font-size: 14pt">To the Chamberlains of Her Majesty's Foundation,</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Monotype Corsiva';color: #000000; font-size: 14pt">This letter comes to you in light of the numerous attacks our country has been receiving in recent months. You should already be aware of these attacks, as a good number of them have occurred at establishments where you have arms dealerships and engineering contracts. Given the current political climate, international conflict and pressure experienced by our organisation, you should understand that these interruptions are costing us. We have already had to carry out seven cleanup operations and nine misinformation campaigns just to prevent public discovery and government inquiry. Not only that, but these attacks are also costing us a great deal of resources. Many of the establishments lost produced goods vital for our country's businesses and corporations, including our organisation. The latest attack meant one of our most delicate procedures had to be put on hold.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Monotype Corsiva';color: #000000; font-size: 14pt">You may also be aware of the rumour circulating about the type of people who are conducting these attacks. I would like to say that these rumours are nothing but the result of fantastical embellishments, but our morticians and agents, who have had to clean up your mess, know them to be gospel. These beings. Sourcery. Shapeshifting. Allergy to iron. These are not creatures who are easy to deal with, nor do they care for our kind's way of life. They are dangerous and powerful, and for whatever reason, your requests have angered them.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Monotype Corsiva';color: #000000; font-size: 14pt">Therefore, we have no choice but to cancel all current production this country is doing for your organisation as well as prohibit any future projects. We understand you made these requests because you too were facing issues related to the current conflict but we should not have to deal with the consequences of your solution. Should you wish to challenge this ban, your appeal will be dealt with by our lawyers after the current political climate is over.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Monotype Corsiva';color: #000000; font-size: 14pt">Yours sincerely,<br/></span><br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt">Major Adolphus V. Peverell<br/>
Dictator of Locus 17<br/></span></p>
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<div class="document">
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>Inquiry: Theft of AO-306 and AO-237</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Brief:</strong> On the night of the 6th of March, Site-Red witnessed an unexpected attack. At half-nine, the staff of Hall 08 were greeted by Brigadier Ab Ifan, who had previously thought to have gone missing along with his platoon, Force ξ, in action in German last year. Upon entry, staff were subdued by an unseen force, whilst 10 further individuals entered the hall. 9 were later recognised as former missing members of Force ξ, whilst the 10th identity remains unknown. After subduing and binding the staff, the attackers made their way through the halls, returning with several test samples of AO-306 and Compound 113. In addition, Ab Ifan retrieved AO-237. After this, the attackers left the site. Attempts were made by the staff of adjacent halls to subdue the attackers, though they were unsuccessful. All staff involved in the attack were unharmed.</p>
<p><strong>Witness Statements:</strong> <em>By the time I noticed something was wrong, it was already too late. Something grabbed me and held me down before I could reach for my baton. It must have been something invisible because Ifan kept talking to it. He told it, "Kept them out of the way, they are not our enemies. They're not a part of this fight." We were bound and gagged quickly by the other members. I recognised one of them as Logan. He apologised for what they were doing. Said that this was necessary for their new mission. That's when I noticed the paint. All of them had this purple paint on their face and arms. Shaped into swirls and curves.</em></p>
<p><em>They left us and went to the halls, taking all the test samples we'd made of the Silver Alder wood, sap and catkins, as well as the piece of Compound 113, and several documents. Whilst they moved, Ifan started talking with this brown-haired man I did not recognise. He was painted too but he wasn't dressed in our uniform. Instead, he wore this old armour, made of leather and chainmail, and had a long red cape. His hair was long and he wore a golden helmet. At some point, I think Ifan said his name. I think it was Arnold or Arthur. Maybe Asher. He and Ifan argued for a while before one of the men gave him AO-237. He cried when he held it and kissed its handle.</em></p>
<p><em>As they left, the man with the golden helmet came to us and spoke. He said he was sorry. He said, "This is for the future. Foretold by Embreis. We're sorry. Forgive us." That's when I noticed his arm. His left arm was all metal and shining. As if his skin was made of armour. After speaking to us, he left, taking Ifan and 237 with him. Nothing happened after that until someone from Hall 6 came and freed us.</em> - <strong>Marvin Lucas, Security Officer</strong></p>
<p><strong>Evidence:</strong> Nobody was killed during the incident, leaving plenty of witnesses. The identities of all bar one were confirmed to be members of the missing Force ξ. During the investigation, seer Enlli Majors claimed a clairvoyant impact within the area, implying that the force experienced by the witnesses was the result of unseen spectral entities. Majors could not give a definitive answer on the number of entities present.</p>
<p>Fragments of the paint covering the attackers we found on some of the ropes used to bind personnel. When this paint was examined, it was found to be a mixture of woad dye and the sap of AO-306, not unlike the dye found by archaeologists at the Insular Celts sites.</p>
<p>According to witness statements, the accompanying, crowned individual was known as "Arthur" and likely possessed some form of artificial, mechanical prosthetic. Some witnesses claimed, however, that when he spoke, they heard him communicate to them in French, Welsh and Gaelic, as well as English. His involvement with the attack has resulted in his addition to the Suspect list, designated Suspect 651.</p>
<p><strong>Conclusion:</strong> Since the attack, sightings of the group have been reported across Great Britain and Ireland, including around known anomalous sites and locations. Due to this, their hostile behaviour and their theft of AO-237, samples of Compound 113 and documents referring to Procedure 306-113-G, their arrest has been assigned to Force δ and priority level Yellow.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<h5 id="toc11"><span>- Ashley Moore</span></h5>
<h6 id="toc12"><span>Observation Operative</span></h6>
<h6 id="toc13"><span>Communication Sector</span></h6>
</div>
</div>
<div class="document">
<hr/>
<p><strong>Manifest 306 (D) :</strong> Suspect 651</p>
<hr/>
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:280px;"><img alt="King_Arthur_MET_DP158298.jpg" class="image" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/02/King_Arthur_MET_DP158298.jpg"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>Suspect 651, Arthur. Note that AO-237 has not yet undergone alteration.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><strong>Subjects Name:</strong> Arthur</p>
<p><strong>Nationality:</strong> Unknown - <em>Believed British or French</em></p>
<p><strong>Occupation:</strong> Unknown</p>
<p><strong>Perpetration:</strong> Following the robbery at Site-Red, sightings of <em>Arthur</em> were reported across the country, usually accompanied by various members of Force ξ. As of writing this document, it is yet unknown what the goal of <em>Arthur</em> or Force ξ is, though so far, they have not taken any offensive action against any other party. Instead, the majority of the sightings of <em>Arthur</em> have been around areas or locations of great historical importance in British culture. <em>Arthur</em> has also not been seen undertaking many anomalous actions either and usually presents himself as a public citizen.</p>
<p>Only two anomalous events relating to <em>Arthur</em> have been recorded by Her Majesty's Foundation. The first occurred off North Berwick, where holidaymakers witnessed <em>Arthur</em>, in full armour, walk towards the sea, before becoming engulfed by the <a href="/scp-6916">waters</a>. Later visitations by Her Majesty's Foundation's theurgists and seers claimed there was a subsiding thaumic workings and clairvoyant impact in the region he'd supposedly vanished from.</p>
<p>The second event occurred near the ruins of the Dolaucothi Gold Mines, Carmarthenshire. In this case, <em>Arthur</em> was not only accompanied by two members of Force ξ, but also by three large dogs, all of whom possessed red-tipped ears. Upon subduing the caretakers, the party entered the mines and did not emerge until 3 hours later. At this point, the caretakers released themselves and alerted the authorities who arrived in time to see the party exit, though the authorities were unable to prevent the party from leaving. It is unknown what the party gained from the mines, though the area was later found to possess several anomalous properties and was passed on to Analytics for further investigation. After both of these visitations, Arthur appeared to gain improvements in physical condition.</p>
<p>Despite usually witnessed with members of Force ξ, one report from Manchester claimed <em>Arthur</em> had been witnessed conversing with members of <a href="/scp-1917">The New Ferrous Brotherhood</a>, a small religious order known by Her Majesty's Foundation, whose practices share many principles with the Church of the Broken God. The context of the conversation was unknown, though during the time together, <em>Arthur</em> was seen exchanging samples of AO-306 with the order's leader, <em><a href="/scp-6917">Father Loom</a></em>. A few days after this meeting, Force δ came under conflict with <em>Arthur</em> and Force ξ in Nottingham, though this time, they were joined by several members of various branches of the Church of the Broken God. In addition, the weaponry used by the group appeared to have improved in quality. AO-237 had also seemingly had to undergo an alteration in design and also displayed several, previously unknown, anomalous feats. These events have led to the conclusion both Force ξ and <em>Arthur</em> have allied with various sects of the Church of the Broken God.</p>
</div>
<div class="jotting" style="background-color: #f3cea1; text-color:black;">
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 20pt">Incident Report 0111/1870</span></strong></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt"><strong>Note:</strong> This report is only to be viewed by personnel assigned Level 4 clearance, who are part of the newly formed <strong>Records, Archival, and Information Security Administration</strong> (<strong>RAISA</strong>), and have received direct permission from O5-1. By viewing this report, you confirm that you hold all three credentials and that you are directly involved in the investigation of Incident 0111/1870.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt">If you are viewing this report unauthorizedly, return it to its correct filing cabinet now to avoid repercussions.</span></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt"><strong>Forward:</strong> This document previously had been drafted by the Foundation's pre-cursor organisations, <strong>Her Majesty's Foundation for the Secure Containment of the Paranormal</strong>, now designated GoI-ω-008. It has since been redrafted to fit the current standard.</span></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt"><strong>Incident Report ID #:</strong> 71f6</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt"><strong>Summary:</strong> Incident 71f6 occurred within the Yorkshire Dales, North England, from the 31st of October to the 1st of November, 1970. Lasting approximately 6 hours, the incident concluded with 130 sq. km of the region undergoing a sudden geological and ecological alteration.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt">The incident is believed to have started at approximately 2100 hours, which is when police in the village of Newsham received a report from locals claiming they heard screaming and shouting coming from the forest. Three officers were dispatched but found that any attempt at entering the forest would result in the individual failing unconscious, only regaining it once they'd been removed from the area. At the same time, a similar event occurred near the town of Richmond and the village of Langthwaite. Upon recovery, through the use of ropes and hooks, the individuals should signs of memory loss, having forgotten certain details regarding themselves and others. They also consistently claimed that they were being watched or hearing faint whispers. One officer exited the area sporting deep cuts in their left arm.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt">Unable to understand the situation, Darlington's chief of police contacted GoI-011-8 (<strong>British Occult Service</strong>), whose transmission GoI-ω-008 intercepted. Investigation personnel from Site-Blue were dispatched, who arrived at the area at around 2330 hours. After confirming with their superiors, the two groups agreed to work together to monitor the area, which was discovered to be around 13 km in diameter. During their investigations, many personnel reported feeling uneasy, with some claiming they were being touched by an unseen individual or that humanoid shapes were moving in the shadows of the forests.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt">Sounds and voices continued to be heard coming from the area, though no attempt to communicate with the speakers was successful. Sounds included the crushing of wood and plant matter, fires burning, metal straining or creaking, humans and unknown animals screaming or shouting, and the occasional explosion. Occasionally, vocalisation could also be heard, though most was either do distant to properly understand or done through an unknown language. In addition to sounds, metallic items near the area underwent rapid corrosion and electrostatic charge.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt">In an attempt to understand the induced unconsciousness caused by the area, psychics Ryan Monk and Enlli Majors were asked to enter the area to gain any extrasensory information. The two did not fall unconscious upon entering the area, though both appeared to be experiencing moderate pain. The two provided the following statements:</span></p>
<div class="smallmodal">
<p>There was nothing to begin with. Only pain. Then there came the fire. A snaking blaze that burnt with a golden colour. A whole forest burning. Above, there were creatures, dressed in thin fabric and jewels. Swift and lithe, with great wings that shimmered like glass. They were shouting in a language I couldn't understand. It seemed like they were repeating something. Like a rhyme or an incantation. Occasionally, lights would shoot from them or brambles would twist as they spoke. But nothing worked when the fire reached them. And when it burnt them, their flesh burnt a green flame.</p>
<p>But there were others. From the fire emerge men. Women too, but not as many. Pale men and women painted in purple swirls, wielding crude blades and shields. They were all soldiers, but dressed from different periods. I remember seeing King's Troop cavalry fighting alongside knights in armour and neolithic tribal men. Some were on foot but some were hovering. Like mist on a cold morning.</p>
<p>They fought. They fought and fought. And then there was just fire.</p>
</div>
<div class="smallmodal">
<p>There were visions. Two of them going round and round in my mind.</p>
<p>First, it was raining. Not just water but ash too. It fell onto a ground barren of life, just cinders and mud. In the mud were these human-shaped things with petals on their backs. Their flesh was slipping and squeezing like wet clay. They were crying, begging and shouting. I don't know what they were saying but they kept saying a word repeatedly. <em>Gwynn</em>. As they begged, I saw another man, standing above them. He had petals too but had form. He wore fine silks and gold jewels and had a horned headpiece. He was so angry, it was almost tangible. As the things sank into the mud, he rose into the sky and vanished, shouting something. I think it was a swear.</p>
<p>Second was in the forest. A man with long hair and dressed in broken armour was kneeling by a large tree. A silver one. He held up his left hand, which was made of metal and withdrew a sword, which was glowing with shapes and symbols. As he held it, he started crying, whispering to it. The words were all different languages, but he did use English and French. He said, "My lord, Mekhane. My teacher, Embreis. Hear my plea. Help me slay these beasts, these kobaloi. I beg you. Help me." Then from the forest came these figures. The people with petals. Many of them were stained with blood and glared. One stepped forward and threw a severed head at the man's feet. At the sight of it, the man held up his sword, drew blood with it and screamed, "For my kingdom, my friends. I curse you." He then stabbed the tree. In the sky, a lightning bolt shot down and hit the tree, breaking the sword. The creatures all screamed as the lightning shot into them. And I swear I heard it speak. A voice came from the lightning, whispering one word. <em>"<a href="/scp-4000">Outis.</a>"</em></p>
</div>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt">After a further 4 hours of unchanged activity, at around 0300 hours, staff reported the forests and the surrounding area were "warping", with sections of the forest seemingly vanishing and reappearing in rapid succession or distorting and altering in size. All on-hand psychics and thaumaturgists experienced great pain, with some experiencing nasal and ear haemorrhage. After around 10 minutes, a thundercloud quickly formed above the area. Second later, a lightning bolt struck the area, resulting in a flash of brilliant light. When the light had cleared, a whole affected area's forest and wildlife had vanished, leaving nothing but a muddy landscape. The only piece of wildlife remaining was a single instance of AO-306, though it had been badly burnt.</span></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt"><strong>Forward:</strong> Following the incident, the area was sectioned off and an agricultural blight cover story was created to ward off suspicious. A recultivation plan is currently underway. None of the anomalous effects that occurred during the incident have been reported occurring since. When studied, a moderate fissure was found within the AO-306, with the fissure's interior found to be a smooth steel.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt">During the two organisations' excavation of the area, several bones, heavily charred and damaged, were discovered. Many of these bones were found to have enlarged Scapula, each with three joint appendages near the vertebral column. Fragments of a thin, flexible nacre-like, calcium-rich material were found attached to the joints. Furthermore, fragments of cloth, ceramic and metal were found on or near some of the bodies. A command item found was a GoI-ω-008 identification ring, many of which were identified to belong to members of Force ξ.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt">Whilst performing the required disinformation campaign on the event, it found that documents were missing titles and names for landmarks that had been present in the area before its disappearance, with maps showing blank spaces where the area had previously been. In addition, when questioned, members of the public were also unable to recall the names of specific landmarks. Due to this, a mass documentation alteration campaign was required to be undertaken alongside the disinformation campaign. With the absorption of GoI-ω-008 into the Foundation, both campaigns were added to the ongoing assignment merger roster.</span></p>
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<div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="minimal.svg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%3Aminimal/minimal.svg" style="width:20%;"/><br/>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 14pt">We secure. We contain. We protect.</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
</div>
<div class="modal">
<table style="border: none; width: 100%;">
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<td><span style="font-size:125%;"><strong>Identifier:</strong> SoI-019</span></td>
<td style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #990000"><strong>Estimated Population:</strong></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span style="font-size:125%;"><strong>Scientific Name:</strong> <em>Alnus argentum</em><sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup></span></td>
<td style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: black"><strong>~1,000</strong></span></span></td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><a href="http://scp-int.wikidot.com/niveaux-de-menace-des-objets-scp" style="font-size: 18px; color: white; text-shadow: 1px 3px 1px rgba(0,0,0,0.3); text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span style="display: inline-block; width: 100%; background-color: green; text-align: center; border: 1px none #000; margin: 1px; padding-top: 8px; padding-bottom: 8px;"><strong>Threat Level:</strong> Green</span></a></p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:150%;"><strong>Concerning Individuals</strong></span></p>
<ul>
<li><strong>Average Height:</strong> 30 meters</li>
<li><strong>Average Weight:</strong> 535 kg/m<sup>3</sup></li>
<li><strong>Exterior:</strong> Silver, tarnished wood, red leaves and catkins</li>
<li><strong>Bloom:</strong> Late winter to early spring</li>
<li><strong>Life Expectancy:</strong> 60 - 180 years</li>
</ul>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:150%;"><strong>Special Considerations of Populace</strong></span></p>
<p>In the event of any sights of SoI-019, researchers from the Biology Division and Department of Thaumaturgy are to be deployed to the area to assess the specimen's current conditions. Once assessed, the area is to be purchased, closed off and registered on the country's Habitats and Species of Principal Importance roster. Once registered, the specimens are to be visited on a bi-monthly basis to check for any damages, vandalism or illnesses.</p>
<p>A maximum of 4 instances of SoI-019 are kept at Site-44 for study and treatment purposes. The specimens are to be kept in a wetland ecosystem greenhouse in Sector 5. If research at the site requires thaumaturgy, theurgy or occult workings, it must be carried out at least 1 km away from SoI-019. As of this document's writing, the use of SoI-019's wood for manufacturing and production purposes is banned, as decreed by O5-12.</p>
<p>Currently, in line with the Dartmoor Agreement, members of GoI-004 ("The Church of the Broken God"), including all branches, may visit Foundation-registered areas containing SoI-019. All visitations must have at most 20 members and all visitations must be accompanied by at least 2 members of MTF Stigma-9 ("Evolved from Naturally Occurring Gears, Levers and Pulleys").</p>
<p><strong>Due to further discoveries regarding SoI-019 and related anomalies, all special considerations are awaiting updates and transfer, along with all documentation relating to SoI, to the management of Project Caliburn.</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:150%;"><strong>Description</strong></span></p>
<p>Species of Interest 019 is the Alnus argentum, a species of tree in the family Betulaceae, native to Northern and Western Europe. It thrives in wet locations such as rivers or marshes, or environments with high levels of thaumactivity. SoI-019's xylem cells are capable of performing an alchemical process known as <em>argyropoeia</em>, where it converts copper and iron absorbed from the soil into silver. It does this process whilst also performing another anomalous chemical process that produces thin lamina of steel around the xylem cells. The two procedures result in a lamina made of an alloy composed of iron, carbon and silver. This lamina surrounds the xylem, which results in the wood of SoI-019 appearing metallic and tarnished, with its leaves taking on a red hue due to high moisture and oxygen content. When cut and dried, the lamina reacts with the chemicals within the drying wood to bind together, forming a strong layered fibres within the wood, vastly increasing its durability and strength. It also results in SoI-019 acting as a natural thaumaturgical deterrent, as the alignment and composure of the lamina obstruct the surrounding Akiva Radiation flow.</p>
</div>
<div class="smallmodal">
<p>On 10/06/2000, during their scheduled visit to a registered SoI-019 area near Morpeth, England, researcher Eric Scarlett discovered a note, made from parchment paper and written in cursive, nailed to the instances of SoI-019. As no security videoing system was in place around the area, it is unknown who placed the note. No DNA was found on the note. It read the following:</p>
<div class="papernote">
<p>To the Foundation,</p>
<p>You will know who I am. I know who you are and who you were. Before, in the days when your work was focused around this small island. You have grown stronger since then. I have, however, just grown weaker. I'm not sure I will be here much longer.</p>
<p>When I was king, millennia before your time, my knights and my allies fought alongside me in a great war, against a powerful enemy, led by a hateful, wild king. The war lasted years and took many things. My wife, my friends, my kingdom, my beautiful son. In the end, even I was claimed, but not before I managed to subdue our enemy into a schism, diving them into tribes built on loathing and distrust. My people survived and some victory was achieved. I faced death with some peace.</p>
<p>However, my sage and priests had known our victory would only be temporary. In the time to come, the wild king, blessed with long life, would bring his people together once more, along with monsters and traitors. Wishing for our victory, my sage placed me in a sleep, mere breaths away from death and my priests and remaining knights took my sword, to be hidden among their blessed flora and waters. Years later, I awoke amid another war, far greater than one I'd ever fought before. Knowing my quest, I found my sage's family and my priests' church and together, we weakened the wild king once again.</p>
<p>I wish that could've been the true victory, but no. This was merely another pause. Another battle, one which will have a true victory, was yet to come. So yet again, I entered sleep, with my allies vowing to prepare.</p>
<p>I have awoken once more. I know this to be the last time. I must be ready. We must be ready.</p>
<p>They are coming. And I do not know if we can win.</p>
</div>
<p>Two days following the discovery of this letter, an incident occurred in another registered SoI-019 area in Penicuik, Scotland, in which the entire grove of SoI-019 was burnt. By the time Foundation agents arrived, the specimens were destroyed. Nearby the grove, two deceased individuals were discovered. One was recognised as a GoI-004 paladin, who appeared to have died as a result of incineration and electrical discharge. The other was recognised as Jilly Adams, a member of the City of Edinburgh Council, whose autopsy confirmed she'd died from multiple organ failures. A small carved blade made out of a piece of SoI-019 wood was also found in her lower back. Whilst medical examination could not find how SoI-019 could have resulted in such a visceral, fatal reaction, genetic testing found that Jilly Adams had been an unregistered <a href="/scp-6796">SCP-6796</a> instance.</p>
<p>Later examination of surrounding security footage found that during her journey to the area, Jilly Adam had been tailed by the GoI-004 paladin, along with another unknown male individual. Other footage in Edinburgh, set two hours after the death of Jilly Adam, saw this unknown male individual boarding a train to Inverness. Whilst boarding, the individual appeared to look towards the camera and gazed for 10 seconds. Whether this was deliberate or done as a means of messaging someone is unknown. For this footage, the Foundation were able to search their Persons of Interest record for similar individuals. Though no results could be found on the Foundation record, the SCiPNet flagged a similarity between the individual and a subject registered on GoI-ω-008's Suspect roster. The subject, Suspect 651, was added to the PoI roster and registered as PoI-4918.</p>
<p>Since the incident, a further 5 registered SoI-019 areas have been attacked, with almost all specimens being destroyed in the process. An increase in SoI-019's security is currently pending approval. No further sightings of PoI-4918 have been confirmed.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. Commonly known as "Silver Alder" or "Armoured Forests"</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/anomaly-306-the-silver-alder">Anomaly 306 - "The Silver Alder"</a>" by arthcymro, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/anomaly-306-the-silver-alder">https://scpwiki.com/anomaly-306-the-silver-alder</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
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</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> <a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/02/King_Arthur_MET_DP158298.jpg">https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/02/King_Arthur_MET_DP158298.jpg</a><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> King Arthur<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Julia Margaret Cameron<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> <a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f8/Bethlehem_Steel_Pennellb.jpg">https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f8/Bethlehem_Steel_Pennellb.jpg</a><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Bethlehem Steel works, "Watercolor in sepia brown, white and gray, on buff paper. Signed May '81."<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Joseph Pennell<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Jamses.jpg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Early portrait of a Victorian gentleman - glass wet plate collodion negative<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Photos of the Past<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/whatsthatpicture/5061962078/in/photostream/">https://www.flickr.com/photos/whatsthatpicture/5061962078/in/photostream/</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> HMFSCP2.png<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> HMFSCP2<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/olympic-error" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7938093); return false;"><img alt="Olympic Error" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=7938093&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736631103" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=7938093)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/olympic-error" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7938093); return false;">Olympic Error</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh/HMFSCP2.png">https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh/HMFSCP2.png</a></p>
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<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-no {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="In June, I Change My Tune.">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/in-june-i-change-my-tune">In June, I Change My Tune.</a></p>
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<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="A World Full of Weeping">
<p><a href="/">A World Full of Weeping</a></p>
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<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Experiment Log 2307 A">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/experiment-log-2307-a">Experiment Log 2307 A</a></p>
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> start=-- |name=ArthCymro]]
**[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-dafydd-s-personnel-file More by this Author]**
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[[size 170%]] **Her Majesty's Foundation for the Secure Containment of the Paranormal** [[/size]]
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**BY DECREE OF HER ROYAL MAJESTY QUEEN VICTORIA, RULER OF THESE UNITED KINGDOMS OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND, THIS DOCUMENT AND ITS CONTENTS ARE TO BE HELD IN SECRECY, AND USED TO PROTECT AND FURTHER THE INTERESTS OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE.**
**GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.**
[[/=]]
------
**Designation:** AO-306. [!-- Always start with AO- --]
**Threat:** None. [!-- None, Benign, Irascible, Enraged --]
**Classifications:** Botanical, Archaeological, Thaumaturgic, Metallurgy, Artefact. [!-- Brief descriptions of anomaly --]
**Stored:** Dome 02, Hall 08, Site-Red. - //Note: wild cases remain under monthly observation.// [!-- Where is the anomaly kept or located --]
**Identifiers:** Anomaly is outwardly identical to members of the Alnus Glutinosa species, with the biggest height recorded at 33 yards. The species are identifiable by their colouration and material properties. The wood of the tree is of a tainted, metallic grey colour, not unlike tarnished silver, whilst its leaves and catkins are pigmented a deep, russet red. [!-- How does the anomaly usually look --]
**Abnormality:** Observations by botanists and horticulturalists have found that whilst the species' cellular structure is nearly comparable to other members of the Alnus genus, this species possesses a high quantity of iron and silver particles within its structure, especially in the wood of the plant. This is believed to be why the species possess a metallic pigment and the leaves have a red hue. As silver is not an element abundant in soil, it has been theorised that the species can perform an alchemical process to transmute metals within the soil into silver.
Within the structure of the plant, the iron and silver particles form an alloy that is currently impossible to replicate. This alloy is a natural deterrent to thaumic workings, being capable of disrupting and blocking all forms of theurgy within its presence. Whilst this property has also been seen in iron and silver, the alloy formed within the plant can prove a much greater counter-effect than the two elements. This property is found throughout the anomaly's makeup, including the leaves, catkins and sap. This disruptive property will continue even if materials are removed from the main body, though the range and strength of this property will weaken as the sample ages. [!-- How does the anomaly usually behave and what makes this unusual --]
**History:** The species' existence is not widely known outside of cryptobotany and thaumaturgical circles. This has been theorised to be because of the anomaly's rarity within the botanical world. However, some researchers have theorised that the species' existence may have been remembered in pieces of Eurasia superstitions and folklore. The Northern European area is especially rich in beliefs surrounding iron, silver and the Alnus family, all of which relate to their abilities to deter unwanted or harmful magic and beasts. Further research into the anomaly's cultural history is ongoing.
Her Majesty's Foundation became aware of the anomaly in 1846, during a Marshall, Carter and Dark auction, where cuttings were auctioned off. Successfully purchasing the cuttings, investigators were able to trace their source to that of the famed horticulturist and occultist, Joseph Merit. According to Merit, he and several of his colleagues in the cryptobotany circles had recently been able to domesticate the species successfully and were already receiving requests from businesses for cuttings and timber for use in industry. Her Majesty's Foundation purchased all of Merit's domesticated samples, as well as his studies of the species biology. See their attached paper for details. [!-- How did the anomaly come under the control of HMFSCP --]
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[[div class="papernote"]]
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[[span style="font-family: 'Oranienbaum';color: #000000; font-size: 20pt"]]**The Armoured Forests**
[[/span]][[span style="font-family: 'Oranienbaum';color: #000000; font-size: 16pt"]]A Summary of the Botany of //Alnus argentum//
[[/span]][[span style="font-family: 'Oranienbaum';color: #000000; font-size: 12pt"]]By Joseph Weatherbee Merit
[[/span]]
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[[span style="font-family: 'Oranienbaum';color: #000000"]]In the world of elusive botany and strange mycology, there are several rare specimens considered famed. The lightning-generating //Phiotacea electrica//, the vile //[[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-679|Aspergillus ocularis]]]//, and the carnivorous //Crinoida dajeeana//. But none compare to that of the //Alnus argentum//, the //Silver Alder//, a tree truly worthy of the description of mythical.
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= **Distribution**
At face value, //A. argentum// is very much like the rest of the //Alnus// genus, with //A. glutinosa//, the //Black Alder//, believed to be its closest relative. This is evident by both //A. argentum's// phytomorphology and habitat, as the species looks and grows in similar structures and has only been seen growing in northern and western Europe. Like //A. glutinosa//, //A. argentum// grows in the moist ground near rivers, ponds, lakes or areas of nutrient-poor soil.
The first characteristic rendering the species unique in its genus regards //A. argentum's// method of germination and colonisation. All members of the //Alnus// genus function as pioneer species; resilient plants that are the first to colonise new and disturbed environments and assist in the repopulation of other species. Where //A. argentum's// works differently in what type of ecosystem it pioneers in.
Compared to other member of its genus, //A. argentum// has difficulty germinating against its competitors, even in environments plentiful in nitrogen and water. However, due to developing a body rich in iron and silver, when present in environments exposed to powerful or constant mysticism and theurgy, the species gains the upper hand. In areas which had been exposed, many species of flora often find it difficult to adjust and reproduce to the imbalanced ecosystem. Because of the metal within its body, //A. argentum// can shield itself from mystical effects, redirecting it away from itself and back at its contenders. This continues as the body grows, which it does very quickly, gaining a meter almost every month. As it spreads around, the theurgy is forced into a more ordered state, allowing newer species to be introduced without threat.
As the ecosystem grows, as with most //Alnus// species, //A. argentum// will typically settle in thickets at the edges of forests or near sources of water. However, it has been noted that these thickets tend to form in a formation of sorts. If drafted on a map, a straight alignment can be illustrated between thickets. Coincidentally, these lines also align with nearby holy or historical landmarks. It is the belief of //Reverend Edward Duke// these lines are examples of his "//holy leylines//" hypothesis, with the trees acting as a kind of pillar in the lines network.
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**Manifest 306 (A):** Cultural History
Through the investigations carried out by Intelligence and Observation operatives, Her Majesty's Foundation made several discoveries regarding AO-306's historical significance in various cultures in the known world. A summary is written below.
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**The Kingdom of Hy-Brasil:** To the Tuatha Dé Danann, the flora, known as the "//An Plionta Airgid//", meaning "The Silver Plinth", is considered both a hindrance and a help. Due to their biology, the fibres of the anomaly are a moderate irritant to their flesh and are dangerous, if not deadly, if exposed to them for too long. Despite this, the Tuatha use the tree as a form of defence, growing them around locations of importance for further security against thaumaturgical attacks or beings such as Aos Sí, [[[SCP-3456|Nuckelavee]]] or [[[anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh|Neamh-Mairbh]]]. Some blacksmith would go further and use logs of the tree to shape their blades, as the metal particles within the wood would react with the forged metal to form a thin layer. This weakness and application have propagated a superstition, with many of the Tuatha still considering the plant an omen of bad luck or danger and will actively avoid interacting with samples if encountered in the wild.
**The Daevite Empire:** As horticulture, occultism and plant life were an essential commodity in Daevite culture, Daeva viewed AO-306 as nothing more than a problematic weed, referring to them as the "//Vihe Tinhezuke//", meaning "The Tarnished Desolation" in [[[old-daevite-language|Old Daevite]]]. Likely due to the anomaly's ecology and accelerated growth, the Daeva often had trouble managing the plant's spread, with some of their passages referencing great fires set to destroy the anomaly to prevent famines from breaking out.
[[div class="smallmodal"]]
The Tarnished Desolation, a threat great, going unwitnessed until too late and once bloomed, spreading sickness with every touch. Many of our [[[SCP-5297|fruit]]] and [[[SCP-3140|armies]]] have rotted in their roots and whole colonies of [[[scp-5280|maidens]]] have died within its pollen. Our farms and gardens are our life. Our food. Our way. Such threats are not taken lightly, but as its wood is poisonous to our flesh, only the harshest of flames must be used to vanquish its foul reach.
[[>]]
- [[[SCP-140|A Chronicle of the Daevas]]]
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
**The Church of the Broken God:** As the Alder family prefer damp, cool climates, the anomaly is rarely seen in South Europe and West Asia. However, according to representatives of the Church of the Broken God, their order's predecessor, the [[[SCP-2406|Followers of Mekhane]]], considered the anomaly proof of their God's divine influence, having grown from His broken body to aid humanity in its early development. According to some archaeological digs, many followers offered valuable trade or made pilgrimages to the northwest territory just for a single piece of its bark.
[[div class="smallmodal"]]
21. And with their might did God cleave His Enemies. But battle had rendered God tried. His Anvil, His Stylus, His Hammer, His Form. All broken.
22. Broken, and tried, God was claimed by the Earth, Skies and Seas, His Body spread among the lands. Lost.
23. Lost. But not powerless.
24. His Form, though broken, remained strong. His [[[SCP-217|Ichor]]], though diluted, remained flowing.
25. And from these, and the rich soils of Earth, did spring new form. Forms in the shape of gifts.
26. //"Here me,"// cried God, //"Though broken, I remain strong. Though broken, my love prevails. Though broken, I shall still defend you."//
27. //"Take my new Form. My strength remains within it. My might stored in its body. Take it and build. Build and forge. Build, for I shall be with you again."//
28. And so the people built and made, and grew strong. In strength, the found power.
29. Power to fight the beasts that plagued them. The vile Flesh. The accursed Daeva. The guileful Kobaloi.
30. With God, they found strength. With God, they grew.
[[>]]
- Book of Forge, Chapter 2
[[/>]]
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**Insular Celts:** Despite little being known of the ancient Celts' workings and lifestyle, surviving pieces of evidence recovered from archaeological digs at Brythonic and Pict sites have suggested that AO-306 played a significant role in their life. Several pieces, mostly armour, jewellery and weapons, have been identified as being created from the anomaly's wood, implying that the tribes were skilled in both cultivating and utilising the anomaly. Furthermore, analysis of woad dye found in digs has identified samples of resinous gum taken from the plant and mixed into the dye, possibly suggesting attempts were made to incorporate the anomaly's thaumaturgical deterring effect into their clothing and war paint. Whilst the Brythonics and Picts appeared to have habitually used the plant, the same cannot be said for the Gaels, though this can be likely due to the influence of the Tuatha and their view on the plant. However, AO-306 appears to have contributed to many pieces of Celtic mythology and folklore, symbolising the mysterious Otherworld, where it is believed to have come from.
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[[image HMFSCP2.png style="width:10%;"link=#]]
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**Manifest 306 (B):** Studies
A report written by metallurgist, Jonas Thorn, and biologist, Monty T. Howards, on the chemistry of AO-306.
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**Experiment:** Reverse Engineering Samples of AO-306
**Results:** //Through our study of the species, we have determined several key properties that illuminate both its chemical and physical capabilities.//
//When dried, like most woods, the wood of the anomaly becomes much stronger, harder and more durable. However, in the case of AO-306, the strength and durability of the wood exceed what ordinary wood should be capable of achieving. Our material analysis found the wood of AO-306 to possess a compressive strength of 15,000 psi and a bending strength of 21,000 psi, rivalling that of the Acacia genus' wood.//
//Knowing the durability of common alder wood hardened when introduced to water, we submersed several samples of AO-306 to observe if a similar effect occurred. To our surprise, we discovered if the wood is treated in water, the process of strengthening not only accelerates but results in an even stronger timber. Material analysis found the wood possessed a compressive strength of 41,000 psi and a bending strength of 63,000 psi, comparable to that of steel. When observed under a microscope, the fibres of the wood are found to have developed a metallic coating. We have yet to identify why this is occurring.//
//Further chemical analysis of the wood, both before treatment and after, has identified that, whilst durable, it is still flammable, though it appears to be somewhat resistant to ignition, and burns with a golden flame with a green heart. It has also been determined to be nontoxic and safe to handle. Thaumaturgical analysis has also found that the anomaly's disrupting effect is greatly enhanced if the wood is treated with water. This may be due to the more structured form the metals take when exposed to moisture.//
[[>]]
- **Monty T. Howards**
[[/>]]
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[[>]]
[[image HMFSCP2.png style="width:10%;"link=#]]
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**Manifest 306 (C):** Archaeological Findings
A report written by archaeologist, August Leonerd, and biologist, Monty T. Howards, on the discovery of several artefacts relating to AO-306, found at the Dozmaré Pool, Cornwall.
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//The grove at the pool was unusual. In most cases, we've come across AO-306 growing in relatively large numbers, twenty or so. Here, there were only four, and rather than growing on the banks, all were growing from the lake bed. Furthermore, the grove does not reside on any of the "holy lines" our cartographers and dowsers mapped out. Either this grove has been created artificially or the force in the area has long since faded away, implying this patch of AO-306 is one of the oldest on record.//
//Regardless, such an unusual location warranted further investigation, leading to our discovery. Entangled within the roots of the anomalies were several water-damaged metallic artefacts, encasing the skeletal remains of a believed adult male. Though the roots of the anomaly made it somewhat difficult, we managed to remove the remains unscathed.//
//Inspection of the body did not provide any substantial information about its origin or reasons for its location. However, we noticed the body was in a fetal position while buried. The bones appeared to have experienced a significant impact on the chest and abdomen, mostly likely from a projectile or bladed weapon. A majority of the artefacts, including those worn by the body, were found to have been pieces of armour, most of which were damaged seemingly by incendiary or chemical devices. Strangely, many of these pieces possessed intricate mechanics, such as rudimentary clockwork or pneumatics. In the cases of the body, some of the mechanics within the armour were found attached to the bone, specifically those of the arm and shoulder. Based on design and evidence from other archaeological findings, we believe them to be of 5th-century origin.//
//Outside of this, the only other item that was recovered was the remains of a [[[scp-2307|long sword]]], which was found clasped within the body's hands. This sword itself is quite unusual. Though it was recovered slightly damaged due to the lake's water, it has been "regenerating" since its recovery, shedding rust and "growing" metal as time goes on. Curiously, this regeneration accelerates when in contact with a piece of AO-306. Due to this property, I have had the item posted to Site-Red for further examination and possible designation.//
//Though the design of the artefacts, including the sword, was not unusual, the composure is somewhat similar to those we discovered in Celtic sites and made by Tuatha blacksmiths, though these artefacts appear to be of a more refined make. And after getting the metallurgist and dowsers to have a look at it, I can confirm my theory. The artefacts, armour and sword, are constructed from the same material found within AO-306, a silver-rich steel, and in this case, of rather high purity.//
//This leaves us with two interesting mysteries. The first is the manufacturing of the alloy. Given the earliest known method of mass-producing steel was recorded in 11th-century China, it is highly unusual to find a similar material being produced and used centuries early, in a society nowhere near capable of producing such materials. Who made this material? How? Why is it so pure? The clockworks and pneumatics also further confuse things, with neither being crafted in such condition, even in the modern day.//
//Secondly, why was the body there in the first place? Given the location, the wounds and the layout of the body, it is unlikely this was an intentional burial. However, when we discovered it, the body was surrounded by various pieces of armour, as if entombed. Moreover, a grove of AO-306 was growing directly above the remains. Why? Given the fact the sword was within the body's possession and its anomalous properties, along with the condition the body was found in, I am inclined to theorise that this burial was spontaneous, possibly self-imposed, with the intention of either protecting the sword from something or protecting something from the sword.//
[[>]]
- **August Leonerd**
[[/>]]
-----
The sword recovered at the site was given the designation AO-237 and stored at Site-Red, three weeks following its discovery by Howard and Leonerd. Further examinations of the item are pending.
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[[=]]
**Proposal: Request the right to outsource the production of Compound 113 ("Alderwood Iron") for the creation of arms to be used in imminent conflicts.**
[[/=]]
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As you gentlemen of the Operations Council are aware, there has been a continual growth in the use of anomalous weaponry in warfare in the past decade. You will recall the Russian forces' use of Sarkic cytomancy in Crimea, the temporal slips of the Battle of Khushab and the loss of the Kowloon Peninsula. Furthermore, we have seen a growing number of cases, both nationally and internationally, of blacklisted occult trade, either through black markets or corrupted government sectors. We have already had reports from our allies in the States, the American Secure Containment Initiative, of the Confederates use of Kabbalah clay for the manufacture of [[[SCP-011|artificial soldiers]]]. Our organisation is trying its hardest to mitigate and contain these issues, however, resources remain sparse. And with the likelihood of another full-scale war occurring within the next decade, we must find new ways of continuing our cause.
You will be aware of Jonas Thorn's recent developments in alchemical practices thanks to his study of AO-237, Hy-Brasil's "Cold Iron" manufacture and his successful incorporation of Mekanite metallurgy and Brand alchemy with the modern Bessemer process. You may also be aware of our numerous discoveries concerning AO-306, specifically its application within thaumic workings when refined to Compound 113 ("Alderwood Iron"). Given the growing threat and looming issues, it is, for this reason, that we request our organisation look into the possibility of producing Compound 113 for its use in furthering our subbasement of anomalous activity, as well as its use in manufacturing arms for the upcoming conflict.
Compound 113 has already shown it possesses all the practicalities of steel, as well as the ability to negate and redirect thaumic workings, be it occult or theurgy. You will recall the tomb uncovered by August Leonerd a few months ago. The process of its production //(**Procedure 306-113-G:** Bessemer-Thorn Argyropoeia)//, is also not overly expensive, with the only financial issue coming from the need to introduce copper into the manufacturing to undergo the required argyropoeia. Whilst this could prove a problem if we were to request a local steelworks such as Dowlais or Scunthorpe to produce the compound, this would not be the case in America. A newly established ironworks, under the ownership of Anderson Factories, has been established in Pennsylvania, and given the rise of the northern Michigan copper district, they would be able to suit our demands easily.
[[>]]
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+++++ - Ishmael Cabot
++++++ Head Military Operative
++++++ United Kingdom Branch
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+++++ - Nathanial Henry
++++++ Head Intelligence Operative
++++++ United Kingdom Branch
[[/cell]]
[[cell style="text-align: right;"]]
+++++ - Paul Farr
++++++ Deputy Head Science Operative
++++++ United Kingdom Branch
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
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[[size 60%]]DO NOT WRITE BELOW THIS LINE, OFFICIAL USE ONLY.[[/size]]
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+++ //##navy|Proposal approved.##//
+++ //- ##navy|Chamberlains 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5.##//
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[[size 570%]]**THE FLEET GAZETTE**[[/size]]
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[[size 200%]]**Vol, XCII No. CLXXII**[[/size]]
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[[size 200%]]**FEBURARY 13TH, 1866**[[/size]]
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[[size 200%]]**ONE HALFPENNY**[[/size]]
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[[size 150%]]**ANDERSON FACTORY REVOLT! COORDINATED ATTACK RESULTS IN THE DEATH OF HUNDREDS.**[[/size]]
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[[size 150%]]**ONLOOKERS CLAIM WITNESSING GHOSTS AND DEMONS FIGHTING IN THE FIRE ABOVE PENNSYLVANIA.**[[/size]]
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[[size 150%]]O[[/size]]n the 23rd of May, a coordinated attack was carried out on several of Anderson Factories facilities. In the late hours of the night, explosions and gunfire rang out as conflict erupted between the employees and the invading force, whose goal and organisation are yet to be revealed.
Anderson Factories, colloquially referred to as [[[system:page-tags/tag/factory|The Factory]]], were located across the Eastern United States. Under the ownership of James Anderson, the notorious engineer and businessman, Anderson Factories produced everything from fabrics to mechanics, to foods, to papers, to artillery. Born in Oxford, England to arms dealer, Charles Anderson, Anderson emigrated to the United States in 1834, and successfully established his first factory in Massachusetts in 1835 at the age of 20.
Taking advantage of the state's growing industrial proficiency and immigration, Anderson's factory soon became a powerhouse in the heavy industry market, helped by the experimental nature of his facilities layout, in which accommodations for workers were provided. By 1843, Anderson had established a small empire for himself, spanning eleven facilities.
[[image James.jpg style="width:100%;"link=#]]
Over the next 10 years, Anderson's industry remain prosperous, until the California gold rush. Though initially reactive, establishing a further three facilities on the West Coast, the strain of industry began to take its toll on Anderson. Further upheaval such as political tensions, embezzlement, westward migration, and an outbreak of consumption sent him into a further depression. This pressure is said to be the cause of Anderson's change in behaviour and tactics, with many reporting a definite change in his consideration for safety and work ethic. Some even claim Anderson was dabbling with occult forces and demonic beasts. Whether these rumours were true or not remains unknown, though, despite employment rates for Anderson's Factories growing low, production remained unusually high, even with the arrival of the American Civil War, where he went on to produce weapons for both Union and Confederate armies.
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[[image https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f8/Bethlehem_Steel_Pennellb.jpg style="width:100%;"link=#]]
[[size 150%]]L[[/size]]ate on the night of the 23rd, Anderson Factory's Pennsylvania Steelworks and Heavy Industry plant experienced a full frontal attack. The facility, headquartered outside Easton, Pennsylvania near the banks of the Lehigh River, erupted into a frenzy when several unknown individuals attacked the main steelworks facility, destroying much of the machinery and equipment. By the time local authorities arrived at the scene, the facility had erupted into flames, with a lake of molten metal flowing from the facility.
As a result of the attack, only seventeen of the ninety-eight workers survived. When our journalists attempted to interview said survivors on the events of the attack and the identity of the attackers, however, most failed to prove any substantial information, with many still under medical supervision. "//Confederate rioters//," according to Sheriff Lovelock of the Easton Police Department, "//Anderson's been dealing with them ever since Robert surrendered Virginia. So many of the miners blame him, you see for what he did, and who he helped. Some folk just can't let go of the past. They'd rather hold on to a grudge.//"
Despite the police department's claims, local opinions differ. According to some eyewitnesses, there had been several unusual incidents before the attack, such as sudden illnesses, missing people and the loss of shipments from the nearby mines. In addition, several people confirm that a few days before the attack, several soldiers from the U.S. Army, as well as members of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency reported to the facility, claiming their reason for their arrival was to assess the new artillery manufactured at the facility. However, the local word says otherwise.
"//This wasn't a random attack,//" says Mary Kidds, "//this was justice. Something was happening at that factory and it wasn't some fancy bullets. You know they have gardens in there? Why would a factory that makes steel need gardens? And why can't the staff leave? There's something unholy about that place. Something secret. It's punishment, I say. Punishment for the sins of Anderson.//" Journalists attempted to interview the U.S. Army about the visit, though they refused to comment.
Despite survivors being unable to remember the ordeal and the authority remaining quiet, accounts from onlookers have revealed some striking details regarding the night. Bobby Bulter, a coachman in Easton, came forward regarding what he witnessed during the night of the attack. "//I was just riding along, having just dropped off the last night's owls, when my horse was all stiff and panicked. Right outside the forest, near the river bank. He just stood there, refusing to move. Tried everything but he wouldn't go. But then I heard it. This shrill whistling, coming from the woods. Like a sharp wind. I didn't like it.//"
"//Then something moved, above us. Quick it was. Didn't make it out in the dark, but I knew something was there. Now and again, something would shoot past. Never saw them but I heard them. Maybe a strange windy sound, like when knife swishing in the air. The horse lost it then. Poor thing kept shaking and crying before it just ran off towards the town.//"
"//When I reached the river bank, I saw the factory, on fire. Not a normal fire, though. It was gold, blue and green, and it moved like it was waves in the sea. There were screams too. These awful screams. Men begging and crying, but also other things. Like cats howling but shrill and long. I was about to run, but then the whole place blew up, metal flying everywhere. I ducked for cover and I saw this chuck of hot metal on the ground. In it was a body. Now I've fought in battles, and I've seen my fair share of horror, but this was sickening. It was all mangled, covered in this molten silver, its fat burning in a green flame. Something was wrong with it too. Its back was all twisted, with these jagged things pointing out like wings. Six wings. And it had these pointed ears, like some demon. I ran then. I know I should've helped but I won't be part of that. Anderson was making monsters in there. Making things from hell!//"
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[[div class="jotting" style="background-color: #f3cea1; text-color:black;"]]
= **[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 20pt"]] American Secure Containment Initiative [[/span]]**
[[>]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt"]] American Secure Containment
Initiative's Office of
International Diplomacy
Locus 17
███████████
Pennsylvania
United States of America
Feburary 27th, 1866[[/span]]
[[/>]]
[[<]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt"]] Her Majesty's Foundation
for the Secure Containment
of the Paranormal's Administration
Department
Site-Blue
█████
Yorkshire
England[[/span]]
[[/<]]
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[[span style="font-family: 'Monotype Corsiva';color: #000000; font-size: 14pt"]] To the Chamberlains of Her Majesty's Foundation,
This letter comes to you in light of the numerous attacks our country has been receiving in recent months. You should already be aware of these attacks, as a good number of them have occurred at establishments where you have arms dealerships and engineering contracts. Given the current political climate, international conflict and pressure experienced by our organisation, you should understand that these interruptions are costing us. We have already had to carry out seven cleanup operations and nine misinformation campaigns just to prevent public discovery and government inquiry. Not only that, but these attacks are also costing us a great deal of resources. Many of the establishments lost produced goods vital for our country's businesses and corporations, including our organisation. The latest attack meant one of our most delicate procedures had to be put on hold.
You may also be aware of the rumour circulating about the type of people who are conducting these attacks. I would like to say that these rumours are nothing but the result of fantastical embellishments, but our morticians and agents, who have had to clean up your mess, know them to be gospel. These beings. Sourcery. Shapeshifting. Allergy to iron. These are not creatures who are easy to deal with, nor do they care for our kind's way of life. They are dangerous and powerful, and for whatever reason, your requests have angered them.
Therefore, we have no choice but to cancel all current production this country is doing for your organisation as well as prohibit any future projects. We understand you made these requests because you too were facing issues related to the current conflict but we should not have to deal with the consequences of your solution. Should you wish to challenge this ban, your appeal will be dealt with by our lawyers after the current political climate is over.
Yours sincerely,
[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt"]] Major Adolphus V. Peverell
Dictator of Locus 17
[[/span]]
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[[=]]
**Inquiry: Theft of AO-306 and AO-237**
[[/=]]
-----
**Brief:** On the night of the 6th of March, Site-Red witnessed an unexpected attack. At half-nine, the staff of Hall 08 were greeted by Brigadier Ab Ifan, who had previously thought to have gone missing along with his platoon, Force ξ, in action in German last year. Upon entry, staff were subdued by an unseen force, whilst 10 further individuals entered the hall. 9 were later recognised as former missing members of Force ξ, whilst the 10th identity remains unknown. After subduing and binding the staff, the attackers made their way through the halls, returning with several test samples of AO-306 and Compound 113. In addition, Ab Ifan retrieved AO-237. After this, the attackers left the site. Attempts were made by the staff of adjacent halls to subdue the attackers, though they were unsuccessful. All staff involved in the attack were unharmed.
**Witness Statements:** //By the time I noticed something was wrong, it was already too late. Something grabbed me and held me down before I could reach for my baton. It must have been something invisible because Ifan kept talking to it. He told it, "Kept them out of the way, they are not our enemies. They're not a part of this fight." We were bound and gagged quickly by the other members. I recognised one of them as Logan. He apologised for what they were doing. Said that this was necessary for their new mission. That's when I noticed the paint. All of them had this purple paint on their face and arms. Shaped into swirls and curves.//
//They left us and went to the halls, taking all the test samples we'd made of the Silver Alder wood, sap and catkins, as well as the piece of Compound 113, and several documents. Whilst they moved, Ifan started talking with this brown-haired man I did not recognise. He was painted too but he wasn't dressed in our uniform. Instead, he wore this old armour, made of leather and chainmail, and had a long red cape. His hair was long and he wore a golden helmet. At some point, I think Ifan said his name. I think it was Arnold or Arthur. Maybe Asher. He and Ifan argued for a while before one of the men gave him AO-237. He cried when he held it and kissed its handle.//
//As they left, the man with the golden helmet came to us and spoke. He said he was sorry. He said, "This is for the future. Foretold by Embreis. We're sorry. Forgive us." That's when I noticed his arm. His left arm was all metal and shining. As if his skin was made of armour. After speaking to us, he left, taking Ifan and 237 with him. Nothing happened after that until someone from Hall 6 came and freed us.// - **Marvin Lucas, Security Officer**
**Evidence:** Nobody was killed during the incident, leaving plenty of witnesses. The identities of all bar one were confirmed to be members of the missing Force ξ. During the investigation, seer Enlli Majors claimed a clairvoyant impact within the area, implying that the force experienced by the witnesses was the result of unseen spectral entities. Majors could not give a definitive answer on the number of entities present.
Fragments of the paint covering the attackers we found on some of the ropes used to bind personnel. When this paint was examined, it was found to be a mixture of woad dye and the sap of AO-306, not unlike the dye found by archaeologists at the Insular Celts sites.
According to witness statements, the accompanying, crowned individual was known as "Arthur" and likely possessed some form of artificial, mechanical prosthetic. Some witnesses claimed, however, that when he spoke, they heard him communicate to them in French, Welsh and Gaelic, as well as English. His involvement with the attack has resulted in his addition to the Suspect list, designated Suspect 651.
**Conclusion:** Since the attack, sightings of the group have been reported across Great Britain and Ireland, including around known anomalous sites and locations. Due to this, their hostile behaviour and their theft of AO-237, samples of Compound 113 and documents referring to Procedure 306-113-G, their arrest has been assigned to Force δ and priority level Yellow.
[[>]]
+++++ - Ashley Moore
++++++ Observation Operative
++++++ Communication Sector
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="document"]]
[[>]]
[[image HMFSCP2.png style="width:10%;"link=#]]
[[/>]]
-----
**Manifest 306 (D) :** Suspect 651
-----
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:image-block">:scp-wiki:component:image-block</a> name=https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/02/King_Arthur_MET_DP158298.jpg |caption=Suspect 651, Arthur. Note that AO-237 has not yet undergone alteration.|width=280px]]
**Subjects Name:** Arthur
**Nationality:** Unknown - //Believed British or French//
**Occupation:** Unknown
**Perpetration:** Following the robbery at Site-Red, sightings of //Arthur// were reported across the country, usually accompanied by various members of Force ξ. As of writing this document, it is yet unknown what the goal of //Arthur// or Force ξ is, though so far, they have not taken any offensive action against any other party. Instead, the majority of the sightings of //Arthur// have been around areas or locations of great historical importance in British culture. //Arthur// has also not been seen undertaking many anomalous actions either and usually presents himself as a public citizen.
Only two anomalous events relating to //Arthur// have been recorded by Her Majesty's Foundation. The first occurred off North Berwick, where holidaymakers witnessed //Arthur//, in full armour, walk towards the sea, before becoming engulfed by the [[[SCP-6916|waters]]]. Later visitations by Her Majesty's Foundation's theurgists and seers claimed there was a subsiding thaumic workings and clairvoyant impact in the region he'd supposedly vanished from.
The second event occurred near the ruins of the Dolaucothi Gold Mines, Carmarthenshire. In this case, //Arthur// was not only accompanied by two members of Force ξ, but also by three large dogs, all of whom possessed red-tipped ears. Upon subduing the caretakers, the party entered the mines and did not emerge until 3 hours later. At this point, the caretakers released themselves and alerted the authorities who arrived in time to see the party exit, though the authorities were unable to prevent the party from leaving. It is unknown what the party gained from the mines, though the area was later found to possess several anomalous properties and was passed on to Analytics for further investigation. After both of these visitations, Arthur appeared to gain improvements in physical condition.
Despite usually witnessed with members of Force ξ, one report from Manchester claimed //Arthur// had been witnessed conversing with members of [[[SCP-1917|The New Ferrous Brotherhood]]], a small religious order known by Her Majesty's Foundation, whose practices share many principles with the Church of the Broken God. The context of the conversation was unknown, though during the time together, //Arthur// was seen exchanging samples of AO-306 with the order's leader, //[[[SCP-6917|Father Loom]]]//. A few days after this meeting, Force δ came under conflict with //Arthur// and Force ξ in Nottingham, though this time, they were joined by several members of various branches of the Church of the Broken God. In addition, the weaponry used by the group appeared to have improved in quality. AO-237 had also seemingly had to undergo an alteration in design and also displayed several, previously unknown, anomalous feats. These events have led to the conclusion both Force ξ and //Arthur// have allied with various sects of the Church of the Broken God.
[[/div]]
[[div class="jotting" style="background-color: #f3cea1; text-color:black;"]]
= **[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 20pt"]] Incident Report 0111/1870[[/span]]**
------
[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt"]] **Note:** This report is only to be viewed by personnel assigned Level 4 clearance, who are part of the newly formed **Records, Archival, and Information Security Administration** (**RAISA**), and have received direct permission from O5-1. By viewing this report, you confirm that you hold all three credentials and that you are directly involved in the investigation of Incident 0111/1870.
If you are viewing this report unauthorizedly, return it to its correct filing cabinet now to avoid repercussions. [[/span]]
------
[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt"]] **Forward:** This document previously had been drafted by the Foundation's pre-cursor organisations, **Her Majesty's Foundation for the Secure Containment of the Paranormal**, now designated GoI-ω-008. It has since been redrafted to fit the current standard. [[/span]]
------
[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt"]]**Incident Report ID #:** 71f6
**Summary:** Incident 71f6 occurred within the Yorkshire Dales, North England, from the 31st of October to the 1st of November, 1970. Lasting approximately 6 hours, the incident concluded with 130 sq. km of the region undergoing a sudden geological and ecological alteration.
The incident is believed to have started at approximately 2100 hours, which is when police in the village of Newsham received a report from locals claiming they heard screaming and shouting coming from the forest. Three officers were dispatched but found that any attempt at entering the forest would result in the individual failing unconscious, only regaining it once they'd been removed from the area. At the same time, a similar event occurred near the town of Richmond and the village of Langthwaite. Upon recovery, through the use of ropes and hooks, the individuals should signs of memory loss, having forgotten certain details regarding themselves and others. They also consistently claimed that they were being watched or hearing faint whispers. One officer exited the area sporting deep cuts in their left arm.
Unable to understand the situation, Darlington's chief of police contacted GoI-011-8 (**British Occult Service**), whose transmission GoI-ω-008 intercepted. Investigation personnel from Site-Blue were dispatched, who arrived at the area at around 2330 hours. After confirming with their superiors, the two groups agreed to work together to monitor the area, which was discovered to be around 13 km in diameter. During their investigations, many personnel reported feeling uneasy, with some claiming they were being touched by an unseen individual or that humanoid shapes were moving in the shadows of the forests.
Sounds and voices continued to be heard coming from the area, though no attempt to communicate with the speakers was successful. Sounds included the crushing of wood and plant matter, fires burning, metal straining or creaking, humans and unknown animals screaming or shouting, and the occasional explosion. Occasionally, vocalisation could also be heard, though most was either do distant to properly understand or done through an unknown language. In addition to sounds, metallic items near the area underwent rapid corrosion and electrostatic charge.
In an attempt to understand the induced unconsciousness caused by the area, psychics Ryan Monk and Enlli Majors were asked to enter the area to gain any extrasensory information. The two did not fall unconscious upon entering the area, though both appeared to be experiencing moderate pain. The two provided the following statements:[[/span]]
[[div class="smallmodal"]]
There was nothing to begin with. Only pain. Then there came the fire. A snaking blaze that burnt with a golden colour. A whole forest burning. Above, there were creatures, dressed in thin fabric and jewels. Swift and lithe, with great wings that shimmered like glass. They were shouting in a language I couldn't understand. It seemed like they were repeating something. Like a rhyme or an incantation. Occasionally, lights would shoot from them or brambles would twist as they spoke. But nothing worked when the fire reached them. And when it burnt them, their flesh burnt a green flame.
But there were others. From the fire emerge men. Women too, but not as many. Pale men and women painted in purple swirls, wielding crude blades and shields. They were all soldiers, but dressed from different periods. I remember seeing King's Troop cavalry fighting alongside knights in armour and neolithic tribal men. Some were on foot but some were hovering. Like mist on a cold morning.
They fought. They fought and fought. And then there was just fire.
[[/div]]
[[div class="smallmodal"]]
There were visions. Two of them going round and round in my mind.
First, it was raining. Not just water but ash too. It fell onto a ground barren of life, just cinders and mud. In the mud were these human-shaped things with petals on their backs. Their flesh was slipping and squeezing like wet clay. They were crying, begging and shouting. I don't know what they were saying but they kept saying a word repeatedly. //Gwynn//. As they begged, I saw another man, standing above them. He had petals too but had form. He wore fine silks and gold jewels and had a horned headpiece. He was so angry, it was almost tangible. As the things sank into the mud, he rose into the sky and vanished, shouting something. I think it was a swear.
Second was in the forest. A man with long hair and dressed in broken armour was kneeling by a large tree. A silver one. He held up his left hand, which was made of metal and withdrew a sword, which was glowing with shapes and symbols. As he held it, he started crying, whispering to it. The words were all different languages, but he did use English and French. He said, "My lord, Mekhane. My teacher, Embreis. Hear my plea. Help me slay these beasts, these kobaloi. I beg you. Help me." Then from the forest came these figures. The people with petals. Many of them were stained with blood and glared. One stepped forward and threw a severed head at the man's feet. At the sight of it, the man held up his sword, drew blood with it and screamed, "For my kingdom, my friends. I curse you." He then stabbed the tree. In the sky, a lightning bolt shot down and hit the tree, breaking the sword. The creatures all screamed as the lightning shot into them. And I swear I heard it speak. A voice came from the lightning, whispering one word. //"[[[SCP-4000|Outis.]]]"//
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt"]]After a further 4 hours of unchanged activity, at around 0300 hours, staff reported the forests and the surrounding area were "warping", with sections of the forest seemingly vanishing and reappearing in rapid succession or distorting and altering in size. All on-hand psychics and thaumaturgists experienced great pain, with some experiencing nasal and ear haemorrhage. After around 10 minutes, a thundercloud quickly formed above the area. Second later, a lightning bolt struck the area, resulting in a flash of brilliant light. When the light had cleared, a whole affected area's forest and wildlife had vanished, leaving nothing but a muddy landscape. The only piece of wildlife remaining was a single instance of AO-306, though it had been badly burnt. [[/span]]
------
[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 11pt"]] **Forward:** Following the incident, the area was sectioned off and an agricultural blight cover story was created to ward off suspicious. A recultivation plan is currently underway. None of the anomalous effects that occurred during the incident have been reported occurring since. When studied, a moderate fissure was found within the AO-306, with the fissure's interior found to be a smooth steel.
During the two organisations' excavation of the area, several bones, heavily charred and damaged, were discovered. Many of these bones were found to have enlarged Scapula, each with three joint appendages near the vertebral column. Fragments of a thin, flexible nacre-like, calcium-rich material were found attached to the joints. Furthermore, fragments of cloth, ceramic and metal were found on or near some of the bodies. A command item found was a GoI-ω-008 identification ring, many of which were identified to belong to members of Force ξ.
Whilst performing the required disinformation campaign on the event, it found that documents were missing titles and names for landmarks that had been present in the area before its disappearance, with maps showing blank spaces where the area had previously been. In addition, when questioned, members of the public were also unable to recall the names of specific landmarks. Due to this, a mass documentation alteration campaign was required to be undertaken alongside the disinformation campaign. With the absorption of GoI-ω-008 into the Foundation, both campaigns were added to the ongoing assignment merger roster. [[/span]]
------
[[=]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%3Aminimal/minimal.svg style="width:20%;"link=#]]
@@@@
[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 14pt"]] We secure. We contain. We protect. [[/span]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="modal"]]
[[table style="border: none; width: 100%;"]]
[[row]]
[[cell]]
[[size 125%]]**Identifier:** SoI-019[[/size]]
[[/cell]]
[[cell style="text-align: right;"]]
[[size 125%]]###990000|**Estimated Population:**##[[/size]]
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[cell]]
[[size 125%]]**Scientific Name:** //Alnus argentum//[[footnote]] Commonly known as "Silver Alder" or "Armoured Forests" [[/footnote]] [[/size]]
[[/cell]]
[[cell style="text-align: right;"]]
[[size 125%]]##black|**~1,000**##[[/size]]
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
[[a href="*http://scp-int.wikidot.com/niveaux-de-menace-des-objets-scp" style="font-size: 18px; color: white; text-shadow: 1px 3px 1px rgba(0,0,0,0.3); text-decoration: none;"]]
[[span_ style="display: inline-block; width: 100%; background-color: green; text-align: center; border: 1px none #000; margin: 1px; padding-top: 8px; padding-bottom: 8px;"]]
**Threat Level:** Green
[[/span]]
[[/a]]
------
[[size 150%]]
= **Concerning Individuals**
[[/size]]
* **Average Height:** 30 meters
* **Average Weight:** 535 kg/m^^3^^
* **Exterior:** Silver, tarnished wood, red leaves and catkins
* **Bloom:** Late winter to early spring
* **Life Expectancy:** 60 - 180 years
------
[[size 150%]]
= **Special Considerations of Populace**
[[/size]]
In the event of any sights of SoI-019, researchers from the Biology Division and Department of Thaumaturgy are to be deployed to the area to assess the specimen's current conditions. Once assessed, the area is to be purchased, closed off and registered on the country's Habitats and Species of Principal Importance roster. Once registered, the specimens are to be visited on a bi-monthly basis to check for any damages, vandalism or illnesses.
A maximum of 4 instances of SoI-019 are kept at Site-44 for study and treatment purposes. The specimens are to be kept in a wetland ecosystem greenhouse in Sector 5. If research at the site requires thaumaturgy, theurgy or occult workings, it must be carried out at least 1 km away from SoI-019. As of this document's writing, the use of SoI-019's wood for manufacturing and production purposes is banned, as decreed by O5-12.
Currently, in line with the Dartmoor Agreement, members of GoI-004 ("The Church of the Broken God"), including all branches, may visit Foundation-registered areas containing SoI-019. All visitations must have at most 20 members and all visitations must be accompanied by at least 2 members of MTF Stigma-9 ("Evolved from Naturally Occurring Gears, Levers and Pulleys").
**Due to further discoveries regarding SoI-019 and related anomalies, all special considerations are awaiting updates and transfer, along with all documentation relating to SoI, to the management of Project Caliburn.**
------
[[size 150%]]
= **Description**
[[/size]]
Species of Interest 019 is the Alnus argentum, a species of tree in the family Betulaceae, native to Northern and Western Europe. It thrives in wet locations such as rivers or marshes, or environments with high levels of thaumactivity. SoI-019's xylem cells are capable of performing an alchemical process known as //argyropoeia//, where it converts copper and iron absorbed from the soil into silver. It does this process whilst also performing another anomalous chemical process that produces thin lamina of steel around the xylem cells. The two procedures result in a lamina made of an alloy composed of iron, carbon and silver. This lamina surrounds the xylem, which results in the wood of SoI-019 appearing metallic and tarnished, with its leaves taking on a red hue due to high moisture and oxygen content. When cut and dried, the lamina reacts with the chemicals within the drying wood to bind together, forming a strong layered fibres within the wood, vastly increasing its durability and strength. It also results in SoI-019 acting as a natural thaumaturgical deterrent, as the alignment and composure of the lamina obstruct the surrounding Akiva Radiation flow.
[[/div]]
[[div class="smallmodal"]]
On 10/06/2000, during their scheduled visit to a registered SoI-019 area near Morpeth, England, researcher Eric Scarlett discovered a note, made from parchment paper and written in cursive, nailed to the instances of SoI-019. As no security videoing system was in place around the area, it is unknown who placed the note. No DNA was found on the note. It read the following:
[[div class="papernote"]]
To the Foundation,
You will know who I am. I know who you are and who you were. Before, in the days when your work was focused around this small island. You have grown stronger since then. I have, however, just grown weaker. I'm not sure I will be here much longer.
When I was king, millennia before your time, my knights and my allies fought alongside me in a great war, against a powerful enemy, led by a hateful, wild king. The war lasted years and took many things. My wife, my friends, my kingdom, my beautiful son. In the end, even I was claimed, but not before I managed to subdue our enemy into a schism, diving them into tribes built on loathing and distrust. My people survived and some victory was achieved. I faced death with some peace.
However, my sage and priests had known our victory would only be temporary. In the time to come, the wild king, blessed with long life, would bring his people together once more, along with monsters and traitors. Wishing for our victory, my sage placed me in a sleep, mere breaths away from death and my priests and remaining knights took my sword, to be hidden among their blessed flora and waters. Years later, I awoke amid another war, far greater than one I'd ever fought before. Knowing my quest, I found my sage's family and my priests' church and together, we weakened the wild king once again.
I wish that could've been the true victory, but no. This was merely another pause. Another battle, one which will have a true victory, was yet to come. So yet again, I entered sleep, with my allies vowing to prepare.
I have awoken once more. I know this to be the last time. I must be ready. We must be ready.
They are coming. And I do not know if we can win.
[[/div]]
Two days following the discovery of this letter, an incident occurred in another registered SoI-019 area in Penicuik, Scotland, in which the entire grove of SoI-019 was burnt. By the time Foundation agents arrived, the specimens were destroyed. Nearby the grove, two deceased individuals were discovered. One was recognised as a GoI-004 paladin, who appeared to have died as a result of incineration and electrical discharge. The other was recognised as Jilly Adams, a member of the City of Edinburgh Council, whose autopsy confirmed she'd died from multiple organ failures. A small carved blade made out of a piece of SoI-019 wood was also found in her lower back. Whilst medical examination could not find how SoI-019 could have resulted in such a visceral, fatal reaction, genetic testing found that Jilly Adams had been an unregistered [[[SCP-6796]]] instance.
Later examination of surrounding security footage found that during her journey to the area, Jilly Adam had been tailed by the GoI-004 paladin, along with another unknown male individual. Other footage in Edinburgh, set two hours after the death of Jilly Adam, saw this unknown male individual boarding a train to Inverness. Whilst boarding, the individual appeared to look towards the camera and gazed for 10 seconds. Whether this was deliberate or done as a means of messaging someone is unknown. For this footage, the Foundation were able to search their Persons of Interest record for similar individuals. Though no results could be found on the Foundation record, the SCiPNet flagged a similarity between the individual and a subject registered on GoI-ω-008's Suspect roster. The subject, Suspect 651, was added to the PoI roster and registered as PoI-4918.
Since the incident, a further 5 registered SoI-019 areas have been attacked, with almost all specimens being destroyed in the process. An increase in SoI-019's security is currently pending approval. No further sightings of PoI-4918 have been confirmed.
[[/div]]
[[footnoteblock]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Filename:** https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/02/King_Arthur_MET_DP158298.jpg
> **Name:** King Arthur
> **Author:** Julia Margaret Cameron
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:**
=====
> **Filename:** https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f8/Bethlehem_Steel_Pennellb.jpg
> **Name:** Bethlehem Steel works, "Watercolor in sepia brown, white and gray, on buff paper. Signed May '81."
> **Author:** Joseph Pennell
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:**
=====
> **Filename:** Jamses.jpg
> **Name:** Early portrait of a Victorian gentleman - glass wet plate collodion negative
> **Author:** Photos of the Past
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** https://www.flickr.com/photos/whatsthatpicture/5061962078/in/photostream/
=====
> **Filename:** HMFSCP2.png
> **Name:** HMFSCP2
> **Author:** [[*user olympic-error]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh/HMFSCP2.png
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false| hub=no
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/in-june-i-change-my-tune | previous-title=In June, I Change My Tune.
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/experiment-log-2307-a | next-title= Experiment Log 2307 A
| hub-url=/ | hub-title=A World Full of Weeping
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|
2024-09-25T21:58:00
|
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"nameless",
"period-piece",
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] |
Anomaly 306 - "The Silver Alder" - SCP Foundation
| 10
|
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"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide",
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[
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1456930016
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/anomaly-306-the-silver-alder
|
|
april-fools-2024
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</div>
</div>
<div class="feature"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5228"><img alt="Pizza_Close.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-5228/Pizza_Close.jpg"/></a>
<div class="featuretext">
<p><span class="featurecaption">PIZZA THAT'S ALSO A COMPUTER!?</span><br/>
<span class="featureorderbox">ORDER NOW</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><span id="u-featurebigtext">SITE NEWS</span></p>
<p><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="3872869986_5082227583_n.jpg" class="image" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/2561/3872869986_5082227583_n.jpg" style="width:10%;"/><br/>
Guy</div>
<p><br/></p>
<div style="max-width: 70%;margin:auto;">
<p>Site News is proud to announce the grand opening of Spicy Crust Pizza! Despite previously being a writing website, SCP staff has decided to pivot the platform to the art of making delicious pizzas with perfect crusts and melty cheesy toppings. Located in the city center of the Three Portlands, this new pizza chain is sure to be a great restaurant to bring the whole site to. Here we have an interview with several staff members of Spicy Crust Pizza as to why they opened the restaurant and why it’s a great place to go for a delicious dinner.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>What made you decide to switch from writing to pizza making?</strong></p>
<p>Uncle Tortellini: I was reading some articles for fun, and I noticed that the SCP wiki had a food tag. As I browsed the food tag, I just got hungrier and hungrier, and I decided to make a pizza. Everything else came naturally after that. Founding an entire pizza restaurant was just the logical next step.</p>
<p><strong>What are your most popular toppings?</strong></p>
<p>SynthPizza: We have plenty of popular toppings, such as Anchovies^12 and Fly Pepperoni, but our most popular topping has to be pizza itself. Inspired by several infinite SCPs, it’s where we use other pizzas as a topping, and those pizzas have pizza as a topping as well. This pattern continues to infinity. Despite being impossible for the human mind to comprehend, our <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">readers</span> customers can’t get enough of them!</p>
<p><strong>Do you serve any food other than pizza?</strong></p>
<p>AnkySalami: Every pizza comes with a free side of delicious Ariadne’s Garlic Bread! Additionally, after every 1000 pizzas we make, we hold a contest to add a new item to our menu. The winner gets their creation added to our selection and a coupon for 20% off their next purchase!</p>
<p><strong>What are your thoughts on the other pizza restaurants in the area?</strong></p>
<p>Pepperismal: They just can’t compare to Spicy Crust Pizza! I downvoted them and wrote a comment on their menu with my critique.</p>
<p><strong>Thank you all for your time! I’ll be sure to stop by the next time I get a hankering for delicious pizza.</strong></p>
</blockquote>
<p>Please note that no anomalies are allowed inside the restaurant except trained service anomalies.</p>
</div>
<p><br/></p>
<hr/></div>
<div class="library-container">
<div class="library {$extra-class}"><a href="https://wanderers-library.wikidot.com/">Wanderers' Library</a>
<div class="wl-headers">
<div class="fake-h4">Official Sister Site</div>
<div class="fake-h2">↬ The Wanderer's Library ↫</div>
</div>
<div class="wl-text">The Wanderer's Library features vegetarian options.</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="INT-box"><a href="http://scp-int.wikidot.com"><img alt="scp-logo-int-full-400.png" class="image" src="https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-int-full-400.png"/></a>
<div class="INT-content">
<h4 id="toc0"><span>Pizza Across the World</span></h4>
<h1 id="toc1"><span><a href="http://scp-int.wikidot.com/">International Translation Archive</a></span></h1>
<p>The International Translation Archive contains pizzas from all over the world, translated into forms palatable for the English-speaking tongue — cheap, frozen, and available at your local supermarket!</p>
</div>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Show Branches of Spicy Crust Pizza</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Branches of the Spicy Crust Pizza</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div class="c_international-body">
<div class="c_international-box"><a href="https://scpfoundation.net/"><img alt="scp-logo-ru-400.png" class="image" src="https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-ru-400.png"/></a>
<div class="c_international-text">
<p><a href="https://scpfoundation.net/">Фонд SCP</a><br/>
<em>Russian</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="c_international-box"><a href="http://ko.scp-wiki.net/"><img alt="scp-logo-ko-400.png" class="image" src="https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-ko-400.png"/></a>
<div class="c_international-text">
<p><a href="http://ko.scp-wiki.net/">SCP 재단</a><br/>
<em>Korean</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="c_international-box"><a href="http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/"><img alt="scp-logo-cn-400.png" class="image" src="https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-cn-400.png"/></a>
<div class="c_international-text">
<p><a href="http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/">SCP基金会</a><br/>
<em>Chinese</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="c_international-box"><a href="http://fondationscp.wikidot.com/"><img alt="scp-logo-fr-400.png" class="image" src="https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-fr-400.png"/></a>
<div class="c_international-text">
<p><a href="http://fondationscp.wikidot.com/">Fondation SCP</a><br/>
<em>French</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="c_international-box"><a href="http://scp-pl.wikidot.com/main"><img alt="scp-logo-pl-400.png" class="image" src="https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-pl-400.png"/></a>
<div class="c_international-text">
<p><a href="http://scp-pl.wikidot.com/main">Fundacja SCP</a><br/>
<em>Polish</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="c_international-box"><a href="http://lafundacionscp.wikidot.com/"><img alt="scp-logo-es-400.png" class="image" src="https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-es-400.png"/></a>
<div class="c_international-text">
<p><a href="http://lafundacionscp.wikidot.com/">La Fundación SCP</a><br/>
<em>Spanish</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="c_international-box"><a href="http://scp-th.wikidot.com/"><img alt="scp-logo-th-400.png" class="image" src="https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-th-400.png"/></a>
<div class="c_international-text">
<p><a href="http://scp-th.wikidot.com/">สถาบัน SCP</a><br/>
<em>Thai</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="c_international-box"><a href="http://scp-jp.wikidot.com/"><img alt="scp-logo-jp-400.png" class="image" src="https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-jp-400.png"/></a>
<div class="c_international-text">
<p><a href="http://scp-jp.wikidot.com/">SCP財団</a><br/>
<em>Japanese</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="c_international-box"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wikidot.com/"><img alt="scp-logo-dach-400.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-foundation-in-deutschland-portal/scp-logo-dach-400.png"/></a>
<div class="c_international-text">
<p><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wikidot.com/">SCP auf Deutsch</a><br/>
<em>German</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="c_international-box"><a href="http://fondazionescp.wikidot.com"><img alt="scp-logo-it-400.png" class="image" src="https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-it-400.png"/></a>
<div class="c_international-text">
<p><a href="http://fondazionescp.wikidot.com/">Fondazione SCP</a><br/>
<em>Italian</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="c_international-box"><a href="http://scp-ukrainian.wikidot.com/"><img alt="scp-logo-ua-400.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-international/scp-logo-ua-400.png"/></a>
<div class="c_international-text">
<p><a href="http://scp-ukrainian.wikidot.com/">Фонд SCP</a><br/>
<em>Ukrainian</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="c_international-box"><a href="http://scp-pt-br.wikidot.com/"><img alt="scp-logo-pt-400.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-international/scp-logo-pt-400.png"/></a>
<div class="c_international-text">
<p><a href="http://scp-pt-br.wikidot.com/">Fundação SCP</a><br/>
<em>Portuguese</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="c_international-box"><a href="http://scp-cs.wikidot.com/"><img alt="scp-logo-cs-400.png" class="image" src="https://scp-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/main/scp-logo-cs-400.png"/></a>
<div class="c_international-text">
<p><a href="http://scp-cs.wikidot.com/">SCP Nadace</a><br/>
<em>Czech</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="c_international-box"><a href="http://scp-zh-tr.wikidot.com/"><img alt="scp-logo-zh-400.png" class="image" src="https://scp-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/main/scp-logo-zh-400.png"/></a>
<div class="c_international-text">
<p><a href="http://scp-zh-tr.wikidot.com/">SCP基金會</a><br/>
<em>Traditional Chinese</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="c_international-box"><a href="http://scp-vn.wikidot.com/"><img alt="scp-logo-vn-400.png" class="image" src="https://scp-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/main/scp-logo-vn-400.png"/></a>
<div class="c_international-text">
<p><a href="http://scp-vn.wikidot.com/">Tổ Chức SCP</a><br/>
<em>Vietnamese</em></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/april-fools-2024">April Fools 2024</a>" by syuzhet, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/april-fools-2024">https://scpwiki.com/april-fools-2024</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> pizza.jpg, logo.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> syuzhet<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/april-fools-2024">https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/april-fools-2024</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> St_Louis_Missouri_pizza_in_cardboard_box.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Dale Cruse<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/dalecruse/46652856915/">https://www.flickr.com/photos/dalecruse/46652856915/</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> DSCF4072<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Joe Loong<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/joelogon/2287259675">https://www.flickr.com/photos/joelogon/2287259675</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> pizzazresize.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/scented-shadow" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(2206112); return false;"><img alt="Scented_Shadow" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=2206112&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1730032249" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=2206112)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/scented-shadow" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(2206112); return false;">Scented_Shadow</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/scp-3275/pizzazresize.png">SCP-3275</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Pizza close up (1).jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Leon Brooks<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pizza_close_up_(1).jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pizza_close_up_(1).jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Family Day At Salem Willows 2009<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> carolynwakefield<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/carolynwakefield/3872869986">https://www.flickr.com/photos/carolynwakefield/3872869986</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:basalt">:scp-wiki:theme:basalt</a> hidetitle=a|centertitle=a|wide=a]]
[[module CSS]]
/* Pizza Theme */
/* by syuzhet */
/* Tech team member, you are forbidden from scrolling any further. Turn off your computer NOW! (Bene Gesserit voice) */
:root {
--header-background-color: 215, 29, 48;
--base-header-height: 5rem;
--top-bar-link-color: 255, 255, 255;
--top-bar-dropdown-link-color: 0, 0, 0;
--header-UI-font-size: 1.2rem;
--header-UI-dropdown-font-size: 1rem;
}
#container #header {
box-shadow: unset;
}
#header {
position: relative;
top: 2rem;
width: 95%;
margin: auto;
padding: 0 2rem;
border-radius: 2rem;
filter: drop-shadow(0px 5px 5px rgba(0,0,0,0.3));
}
#header h1 a span {
display: none;
}
#container #header h1 a {
padding: 0;
}
#container #header h1 a::before {
content:'';
display:block;
width: 6rem;
max-width: 6rem;
margin: 0 2rem;
background-image: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/april-fools-2024/pizza%20logo%202.png);
background-position:center;
background-repeat:no-repeat
}
/* Widebox */
#page-content > p:nth-child(-n+4) {
display: none;
}
.widebox {
position: relative;
left: calc(-50dvw + 50%);
width: 100dvw !important;
max-width: 100dvw !important;
}
.banner {
height: calc(85dvh);
background-image: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/april-fools-2024/pizza.jpg);
background-repeat: no-repeat;
background-size: cover;
background-position: center;
}
.banner .bannertext {
color: black;
position: absolute;
font-size: 2rem;
text-align: center;
left: 12dvw;
top: 20dvh;
width: 35dvw;
font-weight: 600;
}
.banner .bannertext p {
line-height: 2rem;
}
.banner br {
content: "";
margin: 1rem;
display: block;
font-size: 24%;
}
.banner span {
color: #DA2D3F;
font-size: 5vw;
white-space: nowrap;
font-weight: 700;
}
@media screen and (min-width: 1920px) {
.banner span {
font-size: 6rem;
}
}
.banner .orderbox {
background: #DA2D3F;
font-weight: 600;
color: white;
width: 50%;
border-radius: 2rem;
margin: auto;
padding: 1px;
user-select: none;
}
.banner .orderbox:active {
animation-name: linkshaker;
animation-duration: 0.2s;
}
@keyframes linkshaker {
0% {
transform: translateX(10px) translateY(10px);
}
50% {
transform: translateX(-10px) translateY(-10px);
}
100% {
transform: translateX(0px) translateY(0px);
}
}
.banner .orderbox p {
font-size: 1.5rem;
line-height: 1rem;
}
/* Features */
p #u-featurebigtext{
display: block;
text-align: center;
font-weight: 700;
font-size: 3rem;
}
.featuresbox {
display: flex;
align-items: center;
justify-content: center;
}
.featuresbox .feature {
position: relative;
display: block;
background: red;
height: 20rem;
width: 40rem;
margin: 0rem 1rem;
border-radius: 2rem;
overflow: hidden;
}
.featuresbox .feature img {
height: 100%;
width: 100%;
object-fit: cover;
}
.featuretext {
position: absolute;
padding: 0rem 2rem;
color: white;
font-size: 2rem;
font-weight: 700;
bottom: 0;
pointer-events: none;
}
.feature:before {
content: "";
position: absolute;
background: linear-gradient(0deg, rgba(0,0,0,1) 0%, rgba(0,0,0,0) 35%);
height: 100%;
width: 100%;
z-index: 1;
opacity: 0.25;
transition: 0.5s;
pointer-events: none;
}
.feature:hover:before {
opacity: 0.75;
}
.featuretext {
z-index: 1;
}
.featuretext p {
line-height: 3rem;
margin: 1rem 0;
}
.featuretext .featureorderbox {
color: black;
font-size: 1rem;
background: white;
padding: 0.5rem 2rem;
border-radius: 1rem;
}
/* Piece of shit sidebar */
#top-bar div.mobile-top-bar>.open-menu {
visibility:visible;
opacity: 0.6;
transition: opacity 0.2s;
}
#top-bar div.mobile-top-bar>.open-menu:hover {
opacity: 1;
}
#side-bar {
margin-top:0;
height:100%
}
#side-bar, #side-bar:is(:hover, :focus-within):not(:target) {
left:calc(var(--side-bar-width) * -1)
}
#side-bar::after, #side-bar::before {
display:none
}
#side-bar:target {
left:0;
width:var(--side-bar-width);
z-index:10
}
#side-bar a.close-menu, #side-bar:target a.close-menu {
display:block;
pointer-events:none;
position:fixed;
top:0;
right:0;
left:auto;
width:100%;
min-width:3.75rem;
height:100%;
margin-left:0;
opacity:0;
z-index:-1;
transition:width var(--side-bar-transition),opacity var(--side-bar-transition)
}
#side-bar:target a.close-menu {
width:calc(100% - var(--side-bar-width));
pointer-events:auto;
opacity:1;
}
/* Mobile */
@media only screen and (max-width: 1020px) {
#header {
top: revert;
width: 100%;
margin: revert;
padding: revert;
border-radius: revert;
}
.banner {
background-image: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/april-fools-2024/pizza2.jpg);
}
.banner .bannertext {
font-size: 1.5rem;
left: 0;
right: 0;
margin: auto;
width: 90%;
}
.banner .bannertext p {
line-height: 2rem;
}
.banner br {
margin: 0.5rem;
}
.banner span {
font-size:4rem;
}
p #u-featurebigtext{
font-size: 2.5rem;
}
.featuresbox {
flex-direction: column;
}
.featuresbox .feature {
height: 15rem;
margin: 0.25rem 1rem;
border-radius: revert;
}
}
[[/module]]
[[div class="widebox"]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div class="banner"]]
[[div class="bannertext"]]
WARNING! THESE PIZZAS ARE
[[span]]CLASSIFIED![[/span]]
UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL WILL BE KNEADED, BAKED, THEN EATEN.
[[div class="orderbox"]]
ORDER NOW
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
------
[[span id="featurebigtext"]]FEATURED PIZZAS[[/span]]
[[div class="featuresbox"]]
[[div class="feature"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-458/scp-458.jpg link="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-458"]]
[[div class="featuretext"]]
[[span class="featurecaption"]]INFINITE LARGE PIZZA[[/span]]
[[span class="featureorderbox"]]ORDER NOW[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="feature"]]
[[image https://live.staticflickr.com/2122/2287259675_d26cf38359_b.jpg link="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/slice-of-life"]]
[[div class="featuretext"]]
[[span class="featurecaption"]]A SLICE OF LIFE[[/span]]
[[span class="featureorderbox"]]ORDER NOW[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="feature"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-3275/pizzazresize.png link="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3275"]]
[[div class="featuretext"]]
[[span class="featurecaption"]]THE WRONG PIZZA[[/span]]
[[span class="featureorderbox"]]ORDER NOW[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="feature"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-5228/Pizza_Close.jpg link="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5228"]]
[[div class="featuretext"]]
[[span class="featurecaption"]]PIZZA THAT'S ALSO A COMPUTER!?[[/span]]
[[span class="featureorderbox"]]ORDER NOW[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
------
[[span id="featurebigtext"]]SITE NEWS[[/span]]
@@@@
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://live.staticflickr.com/2561/3872869986_5082227583_n.jpg style="width:10%;"]]
Guy
[[/=]]
@@@@
@@@@
[[div style="max-width: 70%;margin:auto;"]]
Site News is proud to announce the grand opening of Spicy Crust Pizza! Despite previously being a writing website, SCP staff has decided to pivot the platform to the art of making delicious pizzas with perfect crusts and melty cheesy toppings. Located in the city center of the Three Portlands, this new pizza chain is sure to be a great restaurant to bring the whole site to. Here we have an interview with several staff members of Spicy Crust Pizza as to why they opened the restaurant and why it’s a great place to go for a delicious dinner.
> **What made you decide to switch from writing to pizza making?**
>
> Uncle Tortellini: I was reading some articles for fun, and I noticed that the SCP wiki had a food tag. As I browsed the food tag, I just got hungrier and hungrier, and I decided to make a pizza. Everything else came naturally after that. Founding an entire pizza restaurant was just the logical next step.
>
> **What are your most popular toppings?**
>
> SynthPizza: We have plenty of popular toppings, such as Anchovies^12 and Fly Pepperoni, but our most popular topping has to be pizza itself. Inspired by several infinite SCPs, it’s where we use other pizzas as a topping, and those pizzas have pizza as a topping as well. This pattern continues to infinity. Despite being impossible for the human mind to comprehend, our --readers-- customers can’t get enough of them!
>
> **Do you serve any food other than pizza?**
>
> AnkySalami: Every pizza comes with a free side of delicious Ariadne’s Garlic Bread! Additionally, after every 1000 pizzas we make, we hold a contest to add a new item to our menu. The winner gets their creation added to our selection and a coupon for 20% off their next purchase!
>
> **What are your thoughts on the other pizza restaurants in the area?**
>
> Pepperismal: They just can’t compare to Spicy Crust Pizza! I downvoted them and wrote a comment on their menu with my critique.
>
> **Thank you all for your time! I’ll be sure to stop by the next time I get a hankering for delicious pizza.**
Please note that no anomalies are allowed inside the restaurant except trained service anomalies.
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
------
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:wl-front-page-box">:scp-wiki:fragment:wl-front-page-box</a> |css=--]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:wl-front-page-box">:scp-wiki:fragment:wl-front-page-box</a> |div=--]
|URL=https://wanderers-library.wikidot.com/
|URL-Title=Wanderers' Library
|img-URL=https://wanderers-library.wdfiles.com/local--files/component%3Atheme/wl_logo.png
|top-h4=Official Sister Site
|top-h2=The Wanderer's Library
|text=The Wanderer's Library features vegetarian options.
]]
[[div class="INT-box"]]
[[image https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-int-full-400.png link="http://scp-int.wikidot.com"]]
[[div class="INT-content"]]
++++ Pizza Across the World
+ [http://scp-int.wikidot.com/ International Translation Archive]
The International Translation Archive contains pizzas from all over the world, translated into forms palatable for the English-speaking tongue -- cheap, frozen, and available at your local supermarket!
[[/div]]
[[collapsible show="Show Branches of Spicy Crust Pizza" hide="Branches of the Spicy Crust Pizza"]]
[[div class="c_international-body"]]
[[div class="c_international-box"]]
[[image https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-ru-400.png link="https://scpfoundation.net/"]]
[[div class="c_international-text"]]
[https://scpfoundation.net/ Фонд SCP]
//Russian//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="c_international-box"]]
[[image https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-ko-400.png link="http://ko.scp-wiki.net/"]]
[[div class="c_international-text"]]
[http://ko.scp-wiki.net/ SCP 재단]
//Korean//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="c_international-box"]]
[[image https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-cn-400.png link="http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/"]]
[[div class="c_international-text"]]
[http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/ SCP基金会]
//Chinese//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="c_international-box"]]
[[image https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-fr-400.png link="http://fondationscp.wikidot.com/"]]
[[div class="c_international-text"]]
[http://fondationscp.wikidot.com/ Fondation SCP]
//French//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="c_international-box"]]
[[image https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-pl-400.png link="http://scp-pl.wikidot.com/main"]]
[[div class="c_international-text"]]
[http://scp-pl.wikidot.com/main Fundacja SCP]
//Polish//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="c_international-box"]]
[[image https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-es-400.png link="http://lafundacionscp.wikidot.com/"]]
[[div class="c_international-text"]]
[http://lafundacionscp.wikidot.com/ La Fundación SCP]
//Spanish//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="c_international-box"]]
[[image https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-th-400.png link="http://scp-th.wikidot.com/"]]
[[div class="c_international-text"]]
[http://scp-th.wikidot.com/ สถาบัน SCP]
//Thai//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="c_international-box"]]
[[image https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-jp-400.png link="http://scp-jp.wikidot.com/"]]
[[div class="c_international-text"]]
[http://scp-jp.wikidot.com/ SCP財団]
//Japanese//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="c_international-box"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-foundation-in-deutschland-portal/scp-logo-dach-400.png link="http://scp-wiki-de.wikidot.com/"]]
[[div class="c_international-text"]]
[http://scp-wiki-de.wikidot.com/ SCP auf Deutsch]
//German//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="c_international-box"]]
[[image https://o5command-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/tech-team:graphic-templates/scp-logo-it-400.png link="http://fondazionescp.wikidot.com"]]
[[div class="c_international-text"]]
[http://fondazionescp.wikidot.com/ Fondazione SCP]
//Italian//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="c_international-box"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-international/scp-logo-ua-400.png link="http://scp-ukrainian.wikidot.com/"]]
[[div class="c_international-text"]]
[http://scp-ukrainian.wikidot.com/ Фонд SCP]
//Ukrainian//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="c_international-box"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-international/scp-logo-pt-400.png link="http://scp-pt-br.wikidot.com/"]]
[[div class="c_international-text"]]
[http://scp-pt-br.wikidot.com/ Fundação SCP]
//Portuguese//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="c_international-box"]]
[[image https://scp-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/main/scp-logo-cs-400.png link="http://scp-cs.wikidot.com/"]]
[[div class="c_international-text"]]
[http://scp-cs.wikidot.com/ SCP Nadace]
//Czech//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="c_international-box"]]
[[image https://scp-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/main/scp-logo-zh-400.png link="http://scp-zh-tr.wikidot.com/"]]
[[div class="c_international-text"]]
[http://scp-zh-tr.wikidot.com/ SCP基金會]
//Traditional Chinese//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="c_international-box"]]
[[image https://scp-int.wdfiles.com/local--files/main/scp-logo-vn-400.png link="http://scp-vn.wikidot.com/"]]
[[div class="c_international-text"]]
[http://scp-vn.wikidot.com/ Tổ Chức SCP]
//Vietnamese//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/collapsible]]
[[/div]]
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[[/module]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=syuzhet]]
> **Name:** pizza.jpg, logo.png
> **Author:** syuzhet
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/april-fools-2024
> **Name:** St_Louis_Missouri_pizza_in_cardboard_box.jpg
> **Author:** Dale Cruse
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source Link:** https://www.flickr.com/photos/dalecruse/46652856915/
> **Name:** DSCF4072
> **Author:** Joe Loong
> **License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
> **Source Link:** https://www.flickr.com/photos/joelogon/2287259675
> **Name:** pizzazresize.png
> **Author:** [[*user Scented_Shadow]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/scp-3275/pizzazresize.png SCP-3275]
> **Name:** Pizza close up (1).jpg
> **Author:** Leon Brooks
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pizza_close_up_(1).jpg
> **Name:** Family Day At Salem Willows 2009
> **Author:** carolynwakefield
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source Link:** https://www.flickr.com/photos/carolynwakefield/3872869986
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-04-02T04:00:00
|
[
"_cc",
"co-authored",
"comedy",
"joke",
"tale"
] |
April Fools 2024 - SCP Foundation
| 48
|
[
"scp-458",
"slice-of-life",
"scp-3275",
"scp-5228",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"april-fools-hub"
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[
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1453169214
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/april-fools-2024
|
|
april-showers
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p><strong>April Showers Bring Gay Flowers</strong><br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/t0wnhouse" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8977009); return false;"><img alt="t0wnhouse" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8977009&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043680" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8977009)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/t0wnhouse" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8977009); return false;">t0wnhouse</a></span><br/>
Content warning: contains minor gore and sexual references, but no explicit sexual content or extreme violence.</p>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div class="content-warning creditRate">⚠️ content warning <span class="content-warning-arrow"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
</div>
<p><em>April showers bring May flowers.</em></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc0"><span><strong>April 9, 2003</strong></span></h2>
<h2 id="toc1"><span><strong>4:06 AM CST</strong></span></h2>
<h3 id="toc2"><span><strong>Site-144 Research & Containment Sector, Chicago, Illinois</strong></span></h3>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>I stand in front of a closed bulkhead marked CONTAINMENT BREACH LOCKDOWN, big red block letters, holding my kit in my one hand and my ID badge in the other. The man standing next to the bulkhead is dressed in full tactical gear, and he wears it quite well. Most guys his size look good in black. Not that I'll be able to act on that thought after this. I nod to him, and he nods back, pulling the manual release lever to permit my entry. Like me, he's wearing earplugs to block out the sound of… something. I can't quite remember what, but the fresh pinprick on my left bicep tells me that all I need to know is on my list, and that anything further than that is shark territory.</p>
<p>Inside the bulkhead is a serious-looking containment foyer, big black steel doors and everything. The door to the control room stairwell is ajar, which is always a bad sign. I pull open the door and notice two eggheads on the stairs, barely breathing but still alive. Whatever cognitohazard's flying around in here must have barely missed killing them. Lucky bastards for not having to deal with the consequences of their own mess. I open my kit and take out two pre-filled needles, pumping both of them with 75 milligrams of Class B before marking their IDs off on my list. Researcher Norman, check. Junior Researcher Maxwell, check. Just the senior now. Must be up on the main control floor.</p>
<p>I move up the stairs, drawing my .45 from its shoulder holster as I do. Two researchers run from a containment breach, one doesn't. Stands to reason he's either dead or something's up with him. Either way, whatever's in there is probably not friendly. The door to the control room proper is closed, but unlocks quickly to my ID. I double-check my magazine before engaging the door mechanism. Good thing I made sure I had ammo, because as soon as I turn the corner an old coot jumps at me like a hyena on steroids, almost knocking me over. I say almost because as he moves I pump two rubber bullets into his chest and he stops in the middle of his leap, his momentum carrying his prone body to my feet.</p>
<p>I sit down next to him, quickly delivering a blow to the top of his head to finish the job. He'll have a horrible headache when he wakes up, but what the hell, so will the other two downstairs. I plop my kit down on the floor and take his ID, checking the last name off my list. Senior Researcher Myers, you are one spry son of a bitch for a 65-year-old. Maybe it's just the coghaz making him move like that. I grab one more needle of Class B, rolling up his sleeve. I'm about to administer the drug when he opens his eyes and grabs my ear, pulling my earplug out and</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc3"><span><strong>4:31 AM CST</strong></span></h2>
</div>
<p>I'm lying on the other side of the control room, the contents of my kit spilled all over the floor across from me, next to the bloody, beaten body of Dr. Joseph Myers, APhD. Well, there goes a hundred thousand dollars in expensive medical chemicals. I push myself to my feet and grimace, feeling a sharp pain in my right arm. I look down and pull out an autoinjector marked with a purple H. Huh. In my other hand is an inhaler from my quick action pack, emblazoned with the letter B in bright yellow. Double huh. I reach up to feel for my earplugs, but they're missing. Hmm. That's not right. Oh, there's a stab wound in my stomach. When'd that get there?</p>
<p>I signal Security for backup before passing out from blood loss.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc4"><span><strong>April 13, 2003</strong></span></h2>
<h2 id="toc5"><span><strong>8:06 PM CST</strong></span></h2>
<h3 id="toc6"><span><strong>Site-144 Habitation Sector, Chicago, Illinois</strong></span></h3>
</div>
<p>The after-action report the Administration lady handed me has two green check marks on it and one big red X. Not exactly my best day, but it could be worse. I <em>know</em> I've had worse, or at least my records know I've had worse.</p>
<p>I stare at myself in my bathroom mirror, still trying to shake off the dissociation that comes with Class C treatment. <em>April showers bring May flowers.</em> I die in the dark so others can live in the light. I do this work so that there's still a future to look forward to. I hold onto that hot coal of a thought pretty often. It's good, keeps my mind on task and keeps me going when it's hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm doing the right thing. Here's hoping I live to see May. Ever since I got promoted to amnestics officer my whole damn life's been April.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc7"><span><strong>April 15, 2003</strong></span></h2>
<h2 id="toc8"><span><strong>5:06 AM CST</strong></span></h2>
<h3 id="toc9"><span><strong>25 miles north of Cairo, Illinois</strong></span></h3>
</div>
<p>I look across the middle of the armored truck at my coworker from 144. I haven't bothered to learn his name, and he hasn't bothered to learn mine. You never know when you'll end up forgetting everything about someone, so it's easier to just not get attached at all. Helps maintain professionalism too. I don't think the task forcers next to me feel the same way about it, though. They look uncomfortable just being in the same car as two amnestics officers. Nobody wants to sit next to the mind-wiping boogeymen. I don't blame them. I wouldn't want to sit next to me either.</p>
<p>To distract myself from the awkward silence, I do a quick equipment check. The quartermaster let me and what's-his-name over there have tac vests for our trouble since we're deploying to recently hostile territory. No rifles though. Those are for <em>real</em> agents, not us. I've got spare mags for my sidearm in the magazine pockets, and a few pens of fast-action Class B and Class A on my utility belt. I decide against opening my kit in the van, though. The kid next to me looks like he's gonna have a heart palpitation if I so much as touch my belt again. Poor MTF rookie, forced to sit next to the scary amnestics officer just because he's at the bottom of the pecking order. I'd tell him I don't bite, but I think that'd just freak him out more.</p>
<p>My headset squawks that we've hit the target location. My coworker and I file out of the truck with the rest of the cleanup crew, heading for the farmhouse down the road. It's pouring rain.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc10"><span><strong>April 11, 2005</strong></span></h2>
<h2 id="toc11"><span><strong>11:47 AM CST</strong></span></h2>
<h3 id="toc12"><span><strong>Interview Room 16B, Site-144 Security Sector, Chicago, Illinois</strong></span></h3>
</div>
<p>I cap my ballpoint and tuck it into my kit, along with the filled-out incident report form and recording device. The scientist across from me has just told me everything he remembers about the most recent containment breach, which is thankfully not much. I give him three options: inhaler, needle, or pill. He takes the needle. Smart choice. Means you don't have to wait long for it to start working. I feel uncomfortable watching his eyes glaze over as the dose of Class A takes effect, so I leave the room.</p>
<p>Giving the security guard outside a once-over, I notice he's pretty handsome. Some of the guys in Security at 144 are… quite nice-looking. His face feels a little familiar, so he probably remembers me from somewhere even if I don't. On a whim, I ask him if he'd care to get lunch in the cafeteria with me. He stares at me like I'm some kind of exotic species of bird, before remembering his manners and smiling apologetically. Sorry, he's got a patrol right after this little job. Of course. No problem. See you around, man. Stay safe.</p>
<p>Why do I even bother asking? It's not like anyone would actually want to go out with an amnestics officer. We're all a bunch of cold-hearted authoritarians. The men in black's men in black. Besides, according to rumor, we take drunk researchers and agents to bed and give them a jab after all the dirty stuff is done so they can't even remember it later. Of course, the Site pharmacist and the whole of Medical know better, but it doesn't stop people in Security or Research or even Maintenance from avoiding me and my coworkers like the plague.</p>
<p>I force my way out of a depressive spiral, and remind myself: <em>April showers bring May flowers.</em> Maybe he just isn't the right one for me. Maybe he's not interested in guys. I'll find someone eventually. It'll be better somewhere down the line. Just gotta make it to May.</p>
<p>Despite myself, as I walk out of Security, I can't seem to make myself forget his face.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc13"><span><strong>April 18, 2005</strong></span></h2>
<h2 id="toc14"><span><strong>12:03 PM CST</strong></span></h2>
<h3 id="toc15"><span><strong>Site-144 Habitation Sector, Chicago, Illinois</strong></span></h3>
</div>
<p>I sit down in my usual corner of Habitation and begin to dig into the mashed potatoes piled onto my cardboard plate, before a shadow obscures the ever-present fluorescent lighting above me. Great, it's some asshole here to harass me. My lips are already half-curled into a sneer before I look up and into the face of that security guard from last week. He apologizes for turning me down. Apparently he'd been looking for me most of the week, but didn't know where I liked to eat. There's a reason nobody knows that I eat next to the ventilation hub for the southern dorm block. Nobody cares enough to find out.</p>
<p>Or rather, nobody <em>cared</em> enough to find out, until him. Huh. He asks if he could sit down with me. Sure, go ahead. I'm surprised you felt enough pity to seek me out after that.</p>
<p>Maybe it's not just pity. He seems interested. He tells me his name is Gavin. That's a nice name. I knew a Gavin once, I think. Don't remember from where or when, though. This Gavin is quite handsome for a guy that spends his day working in one of the most dangerous fields on the planet. No scars, no burn marks. We talk about hobbies for a while. He likes swimming and weight-lifting. I like rock climbing and puzzles. We both like reading. In fact, we both like reading the same authors. Who knew there was another guy at Site-144 who liked twentieth-century dystopian fiction? I make a sarcastic joke. He laughs. Then, it's time to go back to work. He gives me his SCiPmail address and his phone number. Tells me to call anytime I need someone.</p>
<p>As I bid him goodbye, I feel warm inside, but that's probably just the potatoes.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc16"><span><strong>April 24, 2005</strong></span></h2>
<h2 id="toc17"><span><strong>6:00 PM CST</strong></span></h2>
<h3 id="toc18"><span><strong>Procedure Room 7, Site-144 Medical Sector, Chicago, Illinois</strong></span></h3>
</div>
<p>The man in front of me is sedated in his restraints, sleeping like a baby. He snores so loudly that it's hard to even imagine him trying to blow up a containment cell with his mind. We've got orders from above to "repurpose" him as a Special Asset, but he's not being cooperative. That's okay, we can still play ball.</p>
<p>I make sure the straps holding him down are secure - too many orderlies forget to tighten them adequately - and open the Identity Reassignment Kit. That's Foundationese for mindwipe tech. Comes with a big syringe full of cloudy fluid and a headset that looks kind of like a Viewmaster with one big wide hole where the eye-holes would normally be. I stick the provided identity meme card into the top and fit it around his head before swabbing his right arm for the injection. Wakey wakey, eggs and Class F amnestics.</p>
<p>Two minutes after I've pulled the needle from his arm, he jolts in his restraints. His eyes open and he yelps as he gets hit straight in the prefrontal cortex with a barrage of memories and personality traits manufactured by the fractal image plastered across his eyes. Then, he goes back to sleep. Huh, he doesn't snore anymore.</p>
<p>I wheel his unconscious body into the neighboring room on a gurney, then plop him into a chair and drag the gurney outside. He drifts back into consciousness just as I take a seat across from him. Hello, Agent Murray. You must have had a really rough time with that last op, you fell asleep during the debrief. Yes, it's fine. No, it's not going on the transcript. Don't worry about it. Just a few more questions and then you'll proceed down the hall for Class C treatment, standard stuff. I've got all the paperwork right here.</p>
<p>The discomfort of questioning whether my memories are real or not gets quashed later during lunch break when Gavin brings me a cold beer and a burger from the cafeteria. No need to worry about what's happened in the past when I've got a pretty good-looking present right in front of me.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc19"><span><strong>April 1, 2006</strong></span></h2>
<h2 id="toc20"><span><strong>6:00 AM CST</strong></span></h2>
<h3 id="toc21"><span><strong>Site-144 Habitation Sector, Chicago, Illinois</strong></span></h3>
</div>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<h3 id="toc22"><span>Gavin</span></h3>
<div class="text-container">
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">good morning</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">hello?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">Who is this?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">what?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">How do you have this number? Who are you?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">gav, it's me</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">what are you talking about</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">gav?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">Check the date</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">what</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">oh my god</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">screw you I can't believe you got me with that</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc23"><span><strong>April 9, 2006</strong></span></h2>
<h2 id="toc24"><span><strong>12:08 PM CST</strong></span></h2>
<h3 id="toc25"><span><strong>Joliet Iron and Steel Works Historic Site, Joliet, Illinois</strong></span></h3>
</div>
<p>I have a picture of Gavin and I in my wallet. We took it at Millenium Park with some of his friends, over by that big plaza in front of the art museum. Really pretty shot, except for the idiot tourist who walked right into the background at the wrong moment. Maybe I'll get someone in Administration to edit that out for me, I've heard some of them are good with Photoshop.</p>
<p>Before I can get too distracted, the radio screeches and squeals instructions at me: time to get to work. I step out of the armored truck and into the bright purple sunlight of an area that's recently had the laws of reality rewritten. A couple and their child are cowering next to the FOB's medical tent. Anchors are still enroute, so right now most of the forces here are on perimeter duty, keeping civvies away from the hundred-meter bubble of insanity that sprung up randomly in the middle of a public park. A medic waves me over to the exposed civilians. Looks like I'm needed. I greet the terrified couple, who look completely out of place among the dozens of heavily armed men and women in combat gear. Their kid is probably too little to even understand what's going on, which is honestly for the best. I follow the coverup procedure we got briefed on and tell them not to worry, it's just an accident with some military testing at the Great Lakes naval base, only an hour away.</p>
<p>The father doesn't seem to buy it and demands to talk to my supervisor. Luckily, my supervisor is the Chief Medical Officer back at Site-144, so I lie through my teeth and tell him that I'm actually in charge here. The medic plays along with me, and after several minutes of reassurances I eventually get the family relaxed enough to give them some water spiked with Class G amnestics. They pass out after 20 minutes and I drag them off to a quiet corner of the medical tent where someone else can deal with them. Angry people are the hardest to drug, but my entire job is getting people to take drugs. It takes a lot to get past me. Of course, dazzlingly attractive people are an exception. God knows Gavin's exceptional at getting under <em>my</em> skin.</p>
<p>That thought helps a lot with my mood until I'm nearly hit by the semitruck carrying two full-size reality anchors. Of course, since it's been raining the past two days up here, I get completely splashed with mud as it thunders by. Great.</p>
<p>The medic from earlier suppresses a guffaw as I march over to the portable shower unit. Yeah, real funny.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc26"><span><strong>April 30, 2006</strong></span></h2>
<h2 id="toc27"><span><strong>11:45 PM CST</strong></span></h2>
<h3 id="toc28"><span><strong>Room 189, Site-144 Habitation Sector, Chicago, Illinois</strong></span></h3>
</div>
<blockquote>
<p>INTERNAL SURVEILLANCE LOG H189.04.30.06</p>
<p><em>Beginning annotated audio playback…</em></p>
<blockquote>
<p>[BEGIN LOG: 23:45:09]</p>
<p><em>[Sounds of knocking]</em></p>
<p>Who is it?</p>
<p><em>[Muffled]</em> Gavin.</p>
<p>Oh. One second, let me get the door.</p>
<p><em>[144H SECURITY: Door lock disengaged: Room 189.]</em></p>
<p>Hey there.</p>
<p>Hey.</p>
<p><em>[144H SECURITY: Door lock engaged: Room 189.]</em></p>
<p>So, what brings you to my humble abode at this hour?</p>
<p>Just thought I'd drop by. I was… thinking about that offer you made the other day.</p>
<p>Oh? And what's your answer?</p>
<p>Yes.</p>
<p><strong>[2 hours 38 minutes of extraneous audio omitted.]</strong></p>
<p>Wow.</p>
<p>"Wow"? Is that all you have to say? Come here, you.</p>
<p><em>[Laughter and sounds consistent with skin rubbing against fabric continue for 2 minutes.]</em></p>
<p>I'm glad you stuck around with me all this time.</p>
<p>I'm glad too. Who knew you were that good at-</p>
<p>Shush. Just hold me.</p>
<p>Okay, you brat.</p>
<p><strong>[20 minutes of silence omitted.]</strong></p>
<p>Huh, it's May. Funny.</p>
<p>What?</p>
<p>Nothing, just thinking out loud.</p>
<p>[END LOG: 02:49:32]</p>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<p><em>April showers bring May flowers.</em></p>
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<p>Cite this page as:</p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/april-showers">April Showers Bring Gay Flowers</a>" by t0wnhouse, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/april-showers">https://scpwiki.com/april-showers</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
**April Showers Bring Gay Flowers**
**Author:** [[*user t0wnhouse]]
Content warning: contains minor gore and sexual references, but no explicit sexual content or extreme violence.
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:pride-highlighter">:scp-wiki:component:pride-highlighter</a> |inc-gm-alt= --]]]
//April showers bring May flowers.//
@@ @@
[[=]]
++ **April 9, 2003**
++ **4:06 AM CST**
+++ **Site-144 Research & Containment Sector, Chicago, Illinois**
[[/=]]
@@ @@
I stand in front of a closed bulkhead marked CONTAINMENT BREACH LOCKDOWN, big red block letters, holding my kit in my one hand and my ID badge in the other. The man standing next to the bulkhead is dressed in full tactical gear, and he wears it quite well. Most guys his size look good in black. Not that I'll be able to act on that thought after this. I nod to him, and he nods back, pulling the manual release lever to permit my entry. Like me, he's wearing earplugs to block out the sound of... something. I can't quite remember what, but the fresh pinprick on my left bicep tells me that all I need to know is on my list, and that anything further than that is shark territory.
Inside the bulkhead is a serious-looking containment foyer, big black steel doors and everything. The door to the control room stairwell is ajar, which is always a bad sign. I pull open the door and notice two eggheads on the stairs, barely breathing but still alive. Whatever cognitohazard's flying around in here must have barely missed killing them. Lucky bastards for not having to deal with the consequences of their own mess. I open my kit and take out two pre-filled needles, pumping both of them with 75 milligrams of Class B before marking their IDs off on my list. Researcher Norman, check. Junior Researcher Maxwell, check. Just the senior now. Must be up on the main control floor.
I move up the stairs, drawing my .45 from its shoulder holster as I do. Two researchers run from a containment breach, one doesn't. Stands to reason he's either dead or something's up with him. Either way, whatever's in there is probably not friendly. The door to the control room proper is closed, but unlocks quickly to my ID. I double-check my magazine before engaging the door mechanism. Good thing I made sure I had ammo, because as soon as I turn the corner an old coot jumps at me like a hyena on steroids, almost knocking me over. I say almost because as he moves I pump two rubber bullets into his chest and he stops in the middle of his leap, his momentum carrying his prone body to my feet.
I sit down next to him, quickly delivering a blow to the top of his head to finish the job. He'll have a horrible headache when he wakes up, but what the hell, so will the other two downstairs. I plop my kit down on the floor and take his ID, checking the last name off my list. Senior Researcher Myers, you are one spry son of a bitch for a 65-year-old. Maybe it's just the coghaz making him move like that. I grab one more needle of Class B, rolling up his sleeve. I'm about to administer the drug when he opens his eyes and grabs my ear, pulling my earplug out and
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
++ **4:31 AM CST**
[[/=]]
I'm lying on the other side of the control room, the contents of my kit spilled all over the floor across from me, next to the bloody, beaten body of Dr. Joseph Myers, APhD. Well, there goes a hundred thousand dollars in expensive medical chemicals. I push myself to my feet and grimace, feeling a sharp pain in my right arm. I look down and pull out an autoinjector marked with a purple H. Huh. In my other hand is an inhaler from my quick action pack, emblazoned with the letter B in bright yellow. Double huh. I reach up to feel for my earplugs, but they're missing. Hmm. That's not right. Oh, there's a stab wound in my stomach. When'd that get there?
I signal Security for backup before passing out from blood loss.
-----
[[=]]
++ **April 13, 2003**
++ **8:06 PM CST**
+++ **Site-144 Habitation Sector, Chicago, Illinois**
[[/=]]
The after-action report the Administration lady handed me has two green check marks on it and one big red X. Not exactly my best day, but it could be worse. I //know// I've had worse, or at least my records know I've had worse.
I stare at myself in my bathroom mirror, still trying to shake off the dissociation that comes with Class C treatment. //April showers bring May flowers.// I die in the dark so others can live in the light. I do this work so that there's still a future to look forward to. I hold onto that hot coal of a thought pretty often. It's good, keeps my mind on task and keeps me going when it's hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm doing the right thing. Here's hoping I live to see May. Ever since I got promoted to amnestics officer my whole damn life's been April.
-----
[[=]]
++ **April 15, 2003**
++ **5:06 AM CST**
+++ **25 miles north of Cairo, Illinois**
[[/=]]
I look across the middle of the armored truck at my coworker from 144. I haven't bothered to learn his name, and he hasn't bothered to learn mine. You never know when you'll end up forgetting everything about someone, so it's easier to just not get attached at all. Helps maintain professionalism too. I don't think the task forcers next to me feel the same way about it, though. They look uncomfortable just being in the same car as two amnestics officers. Nobody wants to sit next to the mind-wiping boogeymen. I don't blame them. I wouldn't want to sit next to me either.
To distract myself from the awkward silence, I do a quick equipment check. The quartermaster let me and what's-his-name over there have tac vests for our trouble since we're deploying to recently hostile territory. No rifles though. Those are for //real// agents, not us. I've got spare mags for my sidearm in the magazine pockets, and a few pens of fast-action Class B and Class A on my utility belt. I decide against opening my kit in the van, though. The kid next to me looks like he's gonna have a heart palpitation if I so much as touch my belt again. Poor MTF rookie, forced to sit next to the scary amnestics officer just because he's at the bottom of the pecking order. I'd tell him I don't bite, but I think that'd just freak him out more.
My headset squawks that we've hit the target location. My coworker and I file out of the truck with the rest of the cleanup crew, heading for the farmhouse down the road. It's pouring rain.
-----
[[=]]
++ **April 11, 2005**
++ **11:47 AM CST**
+++ **Interview Room 16B, Site-144 Security Sector, Chicago, Illinois**
[[/=]]
I cap my ballpoint and tuck it into my kit, along with the filled-out incident report form and recording device. The scientist across from me has just told me everything he remembers about the most recent containment breach, which is thankfully not much. I give him three options: inhaler, needle, or pill. He takes the needle. Smart choice. Means you don't have to wait long for it to start working. I feel uncomfortable watching his eyes glaze over as the dose of Class A takes effect, so I leave the room.
Giving the security guard outside a once-over, I notice he's pretty handsome. Some of the guys in Security at 144 are... quite nice-looking. His face feels a little familiar, so he probably remembers me from somewhere even if I don't. On a whim, I ask him if he'd care to get lunch in the cafeteria with me. He stares at me like I'm some kind of exotic species of bird, before remembering his manners and smiling apologetically. Sorry, he's got a patrol right after this little job. Of course. No problem. See you around, man. Stay safe.
Why do I even bother asking? It's not like anyone would actually want to go out with an amnestics officer. We're all a bunch of cold-hearted authoritarians. The men in black's men in black. Besides, according to rumor, we take drunk researchers and agents to bed and give them a jab after all the dirty stuff is done so they can't even remember it later. Of course, the Site pharmacist and the whole of Medical know better, but it doesn't stop people in Security or Research or even Maintenance from avoiding me and my coworkers like the plague.
I force my way out of a depressive spiral, and remind myself: //April showers bring May flowers.// Maybe he just isn't the right one for me. Maybe he's not interested in guys. I'll find someone eventually. It'll be better somewhere down the line. Just gotta make it to May.
Despite myself, as I walk out of Security, I can't seem to make myself forget his face.
-----
[[=]]
++ **April 18, 2005**
++ **12:03 PM CST**
+++ **Site-144 Habitation Sector, Chicago, Illinois**
[[/=]]
I sit down in my usual corner of Habitation and begin to dig into the mashed potatoes piled onto my cardboard plate, before a shadow obscures the ever-present fluorescent lighting above me. Great, it's some asshole here to harass me. My lips are already half-curled into a sneer before I look up and into the face of that security guard from last week. He apologizes for turning me down. Apparently he'd been looking for me most of the week, but didn't know where I liked to eat. There's a reason nobody knows that I eat next to the ventilation hub for the southern dorm block. Nobody cares enough to find out.
Or rather, nobody //cared// enough to find out, until him. Huh. He asks if he could sit down with me. Sure, go ahead. I'm surprised you felt enough pity to seek me out after that.
Maybe it's not just pity. He seems interested. He tells me his name is Gavin. That's a nice name. I knew a Gavin once, I think. Don't remember from where or when, though. This Gavin is quite handsome for a guy that spends his day working in one of the most dangerous fields on the planet. No scars, no burn marks. We talk about hobbies for a while. He likes swimming and weight-lifting. I like rock climbing and puzzles. We both like reading. In fact, we both like reading the same authors. Who knew there was another guy at Site-144 who liked twentieth-century dystopian fiction? I make a sarcastic joke. He laughs. Then, it's time to go back to work. He gives me his SCiPmail address and his phone number. Tells me to call anytime I need someone.
As I bid him goodbye, I feel warm inside, but that's probably just the potatoes.
-----
[[=]]
++ **April 24, 2005**
++ **6:00 PM CST**
+++ **Procedure Room 7, Site-144 Medical Sector, Chicago, Illinois**
[[/=]]
The man in front of me is sedated in his restraints, sleeping like a baby. He snores so loudly that it's hard to even imagine him trying to blow up a containment cell with his mind. We've got orders from above to "repurpose" him as a Special Asset, but he's not being cooperative. That's okay, we can still play ball.
I make sure the straps holding him down are secure - too many orderlies forget to tighten them adequately - and open the Identity Reassignment Kit. That's Foundationese for mindwipe tech. Comes with a big syringe full of cloudy fluid and a headset that looks kind of like a Viewmaster with one big wide hole where the eye-holes would normally be. I stick the provided identity meme card into the top and fit it around his head before swabbing his right arm for the injection. Wakey wakey, eggs and Class F amnestics.
Two minutes after I've pulled the needle from his arm, he jolts in his restraints. His eyes open and he yelps as he gets hit straight in the prefrontal cortex with a barrage of memories and personality traits manufactured by the fractal image plastered across his eyes. Then, he goes back to sleep. Huh, he doesn't snore anymore.
I wheel his unconscious body into the neighboring room on a gurney, then plop him into a chair and drag the gurney outside. He drifts back into consciousness just as I take a seat across from him. Hello, Agent Murray. You must have had a really rough time with that last op, you fell asleep during the debrief. Yes, it's fine. No, it's not going on the transcript. Don't worry about it. Just a few more questions and then you'll proceed down the hall for Class C treatment, standard stuff. I've got all the paperwork right here.
The discomfort of questioning whether my memories are real or not gets quashed later during lunch break when Gavin brings me a cold beer and a burger from the cafeteria. No need to worry about what's happened in the past when I've got a pretty good-looking present right in front of me.
-----
[[=]]
++ **April 1, 2006**
++ **6:00 AM CST**
+++ **Site-144 Habitation Sector, Chicago, Illinois**
[[/=]]
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
+++ Gavin
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]good morning[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]hello?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Who is this?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]what?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]How do you have this number? Who are you?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]gav, it's me[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]what are you talking about[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]gav?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Check the date[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]what[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]oh my god[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]screw you I can't believe you got me with that[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
-----
[[=]]
++ **April 9, 2006**
++ **12:08 PM CST**
+++ **Joliet Iron and Steel Works Historic Site, Joliet, Illinois**
[[/=]]
I have a picture of Gavin and I in my wallet. We took it at Millenium Park with some of his friends, over by that big plaza in front of the art museum. Really pretty shot, except for the idiot tourist who walked right into the background at the wrong moment. Maybe I'll get someone in Administration to edit that out for me, I've heard some of them are good with Photoshop.
Before I can get too distracted, the radio screeches and squeals instructions at me: time to get to work. I step out of the armored truck and into the bright purple sunlight of an area that's recently had the laws of reality rewritten. A couple and their child are cowering next to the FOB's medical tent. Anchors are still enroute, so right now most of the forces here are on perimeter duty, keeping civvies away from the hundred-meter bubble of insanity that sprung up randomly in the middle of a public park. A medic waves me over to the exposed civilians. Looks like I'm needed. I greet the terrified couple, who look completely out of place among the dozens of heavily armed men and women in combat gear. Their kid is probably too little to even understand what's going on, which is honestly for the best. I follow the coverup procedure we got briefed on and tell them not to worry, it's just an accident with some military testing at the Great Lakes naval base, only an hour away.
The father doesn't seem to buy it and demands to talk to my supervisor. Luckily, my supervisor is the Chief Medical Officer back at Site-144, so I lie through my teeth and tell him that I'm actually in charge here. The medic plays along with me, and after several minutes of reassurances I eventually get the family relaxed enough to give them some water spiked with Class G amnestics. They pass out after 20 minutes and I drag them off to a quiet corner of the medical tent where someone else can deal with them. Angry people are the hardest to drug, but my entire job is getting people to take drugs. It takes a lot to get past me. Of course, dazzlingly attractive people are an exception. God knows Gavin's exceptional at getting under //my// skin.
That thought helps a lot with my mood until I'm nearly hit by the semitruck carrying two full-size reality anchors. Of course, since it's been raining the past two days up here, I get completely splashed with mud as it thunders by. Great.
The medic from earlier suppresses a guffaw as I march over to the portable shower unit. Yeah, real funny.
-----
[[=]]
++ **April 30, 2006**
++ **11:45 PM CST**
+++ **Room 189, Site-144 Habitation Sector, Chicago, Illinois**
[[/=]]
> INTERNAL SURVEILLANCE LOG H189.04.30.06
>
> //Beginning annotated audio playback...//
>> [BEGIN LOG: 23:45:09]
>>
>> //[Sounds of knocking]//
>>
>> Who is it?
>>
>> //[Muffled]// Gavin.
>>
>> Oh. One second, let me get the door.
>>
>> //[144H SECURITY: Door lock disengaged: Room 189.]//
>>
>> Hey there.
>>
>> Hey.
>>
>> //[144H SECURITY: Door lock engaged: Room 189.]//
>>
>> So, what brings you to my humble abode at this hour?
>>
>> Just thought I'd drop by. I was... thinking about that offer you made the other day.
>>
>> Oh? And what's your answer?
>>
>> Yes.
>>
>> **[2 hours 38 minutes of extraneous audio omitted.]**
>>
>> Wow.
>>
>> "Wow"? Is that all you have to say? Come here, you.
>>
>> //[Laughter and sounds consistent with skin rubbing against fabric continue for 2 minutes.]//
>>
>> I'm glad you stuck around with me all this time.
>>
>> I'm glad too. Who knew you were that good at-
>>
>> Shush. Just hold me.
>>
>> Okay, you brat.
>>
>> **[20 minutes of silence omitted.]**
>>
>> Huh, it's May. Funny.
>>
>> What?
>>
>> Nothing, just thinking out loud.
>>
>> [END LOG: 02:49:32]
//April showers bring May flowers.//
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-02-23T19:48:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"first-person",
"heartwarming",
"lgbtq",
"romance",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
April Showers Bring Gay Flowers - SCP Foundation
| 40
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1452770774
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/april-showers
|
|
arco
|
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/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">VARIABLES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
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/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">VARIABLES</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">strong</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">tt</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-source</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">pre</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-page-textarea</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--mono-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">ol</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">p</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-underline-offset:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">40</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
:</span><span class="hl-special">:selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Clicky</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">links</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a.newpage</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:visited</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:visited</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--link-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a.newpage</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:visited:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:visited:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--link-hover-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--link-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">patch</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">for</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">sidebar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">media</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">collapsibles</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ayers</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">module</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">so</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">doesn</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">t</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">override</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.collapsible-block-folded</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.collapsible-block-unfolded-link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.danger-diamond</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.info-container</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.collapsible-block-folded</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.info-container</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--linkColour) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MAIN</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font), </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">900</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">0.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> fit-content</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--misc-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">26</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">block</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-transform:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">uppercase</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--logo-img) </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">30</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">130</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--logo-opacity)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MAIN</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Header</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Search</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">text</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--page-font-size) - </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">47</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MAIN</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Header</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">white</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li.sfhover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.83</span><span class="hl-code">) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">230</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-indent:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.mobile-top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MAIN</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Header</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Login</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">19</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.printuser</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.printuser</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.printuser</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img.small</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.printuser</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img.small</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transform:</span><span class="hl-code"> translate(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#my-account</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#account-topbutton</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MAIN</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Header</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Side</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">white</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (min-width: 768</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">18.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">s ease-in-out</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">rtl</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#interwiki</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">ltr</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.heading</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--misc-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#cfcfcf</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">9</span><span class="hl-string">pt</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-transform:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">uppercase</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Blockquotes</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">Custom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Divs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">blockquote</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.15</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#f7f7f7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">dashed</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#f7f7f7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#f7f7f7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.15</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fbfbfb</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.quote</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#bbb</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">9</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">9</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#bbb</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.note</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#afafaf</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.round</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Headings</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">Titles</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.meta-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font), </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#3b3b3b</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> fit-content</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.meta-title</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font), </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#3b3b3b</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.footnotes-footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font), </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#3b3b3b</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Rate</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Module</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#bbb</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#bbb</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inline-block</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Rate</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Module</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Author</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Label</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.authorlink-wrapper</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">author-top-adjust:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">author-bottom-adjust:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">author-right-adjust:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--base-font-size)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Side</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Image</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#f4f4f4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#3b3b3b</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tables</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Base</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#bfbfbf</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tables</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Customization</span><span class="hl-code"> (</span><span class="hl-identifier">Table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Coloring</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">System</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tables</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Customization</span><span class="hl-code"> (</span><span class="hl-identifier">Table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Coloring</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">System</span><span class="hl-code">) > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Headings</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">Image</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Captions</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#E0FFD4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDFCD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFCFCF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tables</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Customization</span><span class="hl-code"> (</span><span class="hl-identifier">Table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Coloring</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">System</span><span class="hl-code">) > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Other</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colored</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Divs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote.table1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote.table1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting.table1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation.table1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal.table1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">224</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">212</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote.table2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote.table2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting.table2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation.table2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal.table2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">226</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">244</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote.table3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote.table3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting.table3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation.table3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal.table3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">245</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">189</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote.table4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote.table4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting.table4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation.table4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal.table4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">223</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">205</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote.table5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote.table5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting.table5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation.table5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal.table5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">207</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">207</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote.table6</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote.table6</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting.table6</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation.table6</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal.table6</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">218</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tabs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Base</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tabs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Customization</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">,
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">,
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEY</span><span class="hl-code">. </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQ</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEY</span><span class="hl-code">. </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">other</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">things</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Assets</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://wanderers-library.wikidot.com/local--files/component:dustjacket-theme/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://wanderers-library.wikidot.com/local--files/component:dustjacket-theme/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Collapsibles</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">underline</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--link-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-special">:not</span><span class="hl-code">(</span><span class="hl-identifier">.licensebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.info-container</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.default-col</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">white</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">9</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--base-font-size)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inline-block</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-special">:not</span><span class="hl-code">(</span><span class="hl-identifier">.licensebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.info-container</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.default-col</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0.7</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Adjustments</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anom-bar-container</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anom-bar-container</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anom-bar-container</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font), Inter, </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.acs-extra-1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.acs-extra-2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.acs-extra-3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.acs-extra-4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font), Inter, </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anom-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-transform:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woed</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Adjustments</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.scale</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.item1</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-transform:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">uppercase</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.scale</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.class1</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.scale</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">woedbar-class-bar-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.scale</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.obj</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.7</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.scale</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.obj</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.55</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MISC</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.bt</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#444</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">45</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#7b7b7b</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.footer-wikiwalk-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">88</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">word-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-info-break</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-options-container</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">213</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">213</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">213</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-watch-options</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">77</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-options-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> row</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-options-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom-left-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom-right-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-options-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0.8</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-info-break</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#license-area</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#5f5f5f</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ecf2f1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#d9d9d9</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#license-area</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> "."</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (min-width: 768</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">16</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> "tags "</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--misc-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--page-font-size)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inline-block</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.8125</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.1875</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">.3125</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">.1875</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom-right-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top-right-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.8125</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--page-font-size) - </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">.1875</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">.625</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.0625</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">.1875</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent)) </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-style:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> ""</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.2813</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-tags-input</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">word-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-page-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.text</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font), </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">150</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-page-form</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">table.form</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">tbody</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-special">:nth-child</span><span class="hl-code">(1) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.edit-help-34</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">85</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">60</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.3</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> fit-content</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.edit-help-34</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.edit-help-34</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">table.edit-page-bottomtable</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-page-comments</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">86</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#lock-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.8</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">86</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#lock-info</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> "!"</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">110</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">60</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#lock-timer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">115</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#lock-timer</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> "⏲ "</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">textarea</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-page-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.text</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">outline:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ccc</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.3</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-property:</span><span class="hl-code"> box-shadow</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">textarea</span><span class="hl-special">:focus-visible</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-page-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.text</span><span class="hl-special">:focus-visible</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#a3a3a3</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#a3a3a3</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#action-area</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">p</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">85</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> darkslategrey</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#action-area</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">p</span><span class="hl-special">:nth-child</span><span class="hl-code">(5)></span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">block</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">120</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#who-rated-page-area</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">column-count:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 900</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#who-rated-page-area</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">column-count:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 700</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#who-rated-page-area</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">column-count:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#who-rated-page-area</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">column-count:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.content-warning.creditRate</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">21</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.preview-message</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">29</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">filter:</span><span class="hl-code"> drop-shadow(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EDEDED</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.error-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">48</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#B00</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top-left-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top-right-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">table.page-history</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tbody</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-special">:nth-child</span><span class="hl-code">(2</span><span class="hl-identifier">n</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0.05</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">animation:</span><span class="hl-code"> fade </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@keyframes</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">fade</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
0% </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
100% </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.button-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">11</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.button-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--link-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--link-hover-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.button-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">cursor:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">default</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">155</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">187</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">187</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">187</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F7F7F7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow.owait</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow.owait</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.content</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> " "</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">block</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">animation:</span><span class="hl-code"> loading </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-code">s linear infinite</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> grey</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> grey</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@keyframes</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">loading</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
0% </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transform:</span><span class="hl-code"> rotate(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">deg)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
100% </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transform:</span><span class="hl-code"> rotate(</span><span class="hl-number">360</span><span class="hl-code">deg)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow.osuccess</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.content</span><span class="hl-special">:nth-child</span><span class="hl-code">(2)></span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-special">:nth-child</span><span class="hl-code">(1) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.odialog-shader</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#262a39</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.btn</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.15</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.btn</span><span class="hl-special">:not</span><span class="hl-code">(</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.btn</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-quotes">"</span><span class="hl-string">submit</span><span class="hl-quotes">"</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">),
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.btn.btn-primary</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.buttons</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">input.button</span><span class="hl-special">:not</span><span class="hl-code">(</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-quotes">"</span><span class="hl-string">submit</span><span class="hl-quotes">"</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">11</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">cursor:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">pointer</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-cancel-button</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-diff-button</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-preview-button</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-draft-button</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-continue-button</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ccc</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">cursor:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">pointer</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">14</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-cancel-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-diff-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-preview-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-draft-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-continue-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#eaeaea</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-continue-button</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#dbffd6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.3</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#005a0a</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-continue-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#0d951c</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-cancel-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffe1e1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.3</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#c52727</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-cancel-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#c5272e</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">table.page-history</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tbody</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#757575</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fncon</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--page-font-size) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fncon</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--page-font-size) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.hovertip</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">input.checkbox</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-history</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#h-perpage</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">cursor:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">pointer</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">textarea</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">110</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">REDUCED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOTION</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACCESSIBILITY</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (prefers-reduced-motion: </span><span class="hl-identifier">reduce</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">before</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">animation-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.001</span><span class="hl-code">s !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">animation-iteration-count:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.001</span><span class="hl-code">s !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">@MEDIA</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 850</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 700</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8.8</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 620</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.15</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">123</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 520</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
line-height: </span><span class="hl-number">16</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">9.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">145</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}</span></pre></div>
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<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>Simón Torres is five minutes late; this is by design.</p>
<p>He is freakishly tall, thin as a branch, and bespectacled by a pair of glasses that haven't been in fashion for at least a century. His hair is a half-organized mess of a graying brunette that matches perfectly with his brown striped suit and red bow tie. His face is a cold mask of calm determination — he carries himself with the dignity and status of someone <em>at least</em> two social positions more significant than you.</p>
<p>There's only two things most people need to know about Simón Torres: one, that he's a technocrat-billionaire in the making, the CEO of Phoenix Technologies, a paratech giant that's erupted like cancer from the reborn remains of Prometheus Laboratories some few years after the collapse of the Veil; two, that he's likely the worst person you're ever going to meet. This, similarly, is also by design.</p>
<p>He's been a prodigy since he could speak his first words, really. With two Nobel Prizes and eight language fluency certificates, he rarely hesitates to show that he's the smartest person in most rooms he enters. Unlike most of his entrepreneurial brethren, he looks down on others not because of their perceived inferiority, but because of his own superiority; a wholly different breed of bigotry to the one practiced by the common 21st century idiot. If he'd been born a hundred years earlier, he would have probably been into eugenics — but, blessed with the sociotechnological revelations of his times, the only kind of oppression that Torres regularly practices is the one imposed on unlucky bystanders by his own ego.</p>
<p>He checks his watch and smiles. He's sure that by now, the whole summit's biting their nails in anticipation of the only invitee who's yet to show up, the only man they physically cannot start the talks without. It's a tactic as old as time, tested by Torres on the corporate battlefield many times over many decades; he's glad it still works when imposed upon the bureaucratic ladder of the Global Occult Coalition. The World Parahealth Organization cannot possibly afford to wait — not when faced with a <a href="/kte-9817-bluebuster-mendel-shelley-renegade-armbrusteri">danger as high as their newest threat</a> — but they are going to wait anyway. All for the man whose scientific assets they so desperately need to save the world's occult hierarchy — and their place directly atop it.</p>
<p>Still, ten minutes is as far as he'll go; anything after that stops building intimidation and only contributes towards annoyment. Faced with no other choice, Torres shows the guards the card that signifies he's been checked for the virus and declared healthy, opens the doors, and enters through, ready to join the World Parahealth Summit — the most significant event the world has witnessed in over a decade.</p>
<p>The first thing he notices is the cameras.</p>
<p>The paparazzi flash their lights as he enters through, broadcasting his appearance for the whole world to witness. He lets them bask in his presence; he enjoys this. For a few seconds, their attention lays solely on The Man Who's Finally Arrived; a sign their audiences need to start paying attention. Still, they keep their distance — seated in a lounge above the whole meeting, all they can do is simply look as the real players decide what step the world will take next.</p>
<p>Beneath those press balconies, the gigantic room's divided into two clear sections, two semi-circular audiences of blue chairs that face each other. The first one hosts a gathering of the Global Occult Coalition's Council of 108, seated alongside their leader, Undersecretary General Da Capo al Fine. She sits at the very bottom of the assembly, clearly drawing the attention of any observer — even without the placard placed before her that informs everybody of her name and status, it is clear that she's the real deal here. The long, rune-covered staff she holds only serves to reinforce that image.</p>
<p>Opposing the Coalition sits the real reason this summit is even necessary: the delegates of every single parascientific organization that truly matters, in this day and age. The upper crust of progress, all in a single room. Eyeing the gathered, Torres can notice representatives from all around the globe: there's Haru Yoshida and Hisashi Kunō of JOICL, both old fools in a world that is no longer theirs; Daniil Sokolsky, Ann Barlowe, Adrea Maslov, and Jay Everwood of Vanguard, all pioneers of a new era in spite of their age; General Thomas Bowe of the PENTAGRAM, a jaded relict of ways long since forgotten; and many, <em>many</em> more he cannot quite recognize from the faces of their faces alone.</p>
<p>And they're all waiting for him, the final piece they need for their scheme. He almost smiles, but makes sure to note down the relief he sees on the faces around him the second he walks through the doors.</p>
<p>Nodding a quiet greeting to the nearby Sahmthri Horath, the Manna Charitable Foundation's secretary in Europe, Torres takes his seat. It doesn't take him long to realize that he is directly facing the Undersecretary General. He enjoys this. It's only appropriate, he thinks. All he needs is a single flash in her eyes — a sign of recognition that Torres is finally here — to know she's aware of his delayed attendance.</p>
<p>Al Fine stands up.</p>
<p>"Honorable delegates," she begins, hitting the ground thrice with her staff. The whole room falls silent. "We will now begin."</p>
<p>Quiet whispers run throughout the hall, but all eyes remain focused solely on the Undersecretary General.</p>
<p>She thumps her staff again; this time, the lights fall down and a holographic map appears on a wall behind her. It's a display of the whole world alongside relevant off-world colonies. Though its borders are Coalition-blue, inside several countries and territories Torres can see red dots of varying sizes; among all of them, the United States bear the most scarlet. It doesn't take a genius to realize that this is the global infection map of the Washington Virion.</p>
<p>"I say this only for the sake of posterity: you were all gathered here because the occult legacy of this planet is currently at stake. The Coalition does not bear the might or wisdom necessary to save it alone." She pauses, eyeing the attendees gathered before her. She places her second hand on the staff, then points it directly at the map. "What you're looking at is the situation as of today. Though we were able to quarantine the USA, it would be foolish to call it a solution — it's merely a half-measure, one aimed at preventing further spread of the virus. The matter of those trapped inside the country — and those few suffering outside it — still remains."</p>
<p>The map changes to a display of various graphs and tables of parahealth data. It is almost as if al Fine is dictating the plan of how this will go and not pure data, Torres remarks.</p>
<p>"So far, we have been unable to find a cure for the virion, let alone a vaccine. Nothing we try is actually working." She pauses again. "We can isolate those afflicted and halt the expansion as much as we want, but the fact of the matter is that for as long as we remain without a remedy, we are as good as useless. Until then, all we can do is wait.</p>
<p>"All of that is to say: we need as much time as we can possibly get." She pauses. Her eyes are cold with determination. She means everything she says. "To facilitate that, we suggest the following: the declaration of Procedure Pizzicato, worldwide, until we can eliminate every single last case of KTE-9817."</p>
<p>The staff falls again, and the lights come back up.</p>
<p>"This is our proposal."</p>
<p>The room immediately explodes into discord. No wonder — to even put forward the deployment of Pizzicato is <em>insane</em>, even for someone like Torres. It isn't just any regular procedure — it's the Coalition's nuclear solution, a war against anything and anyone that dares stand in the Coalition's way, until the threat is dealt with. A total suspension of basic human rights for the duration of the emergency; global martial law, with al Fine as its temporary dictator.</p>
<p>In the whole history of the Coalition, Procedure Pizzicato has only ever existed on paper. Even during the <a href="/scp-6500">Impasse</a> all those years ago, the GOC remained flagrant followers of their Fivefold Mission, up until the very end. But times have changed, and so has the Coalition — in this new world, they can no longer take any chances. It's either kill or be killed. The virus isn't open to negotiations, and neither is the Coalition's place atop the occult world.</p>
<p>Torres is almost impressed al Fine actually put it forward — he didn't expect her to have it in her. <em>Something doesn't add up. The Coalition isn't operating under its baseline modus operandi.</em></p>
<p>The Speaker to Humans of the Silicon Nornir is the first one to talk. "<tt>To clarify:</tt>" The vaguely humanoid mess of gears and cables stands up. Its voice broadcasts clearly throughout the room, forcing everyone else to fall silent. "<tt>We are the ones that suggested the deployment of the Procedure. We are more than aware of what it implies.</tt>" It pauses. The screen behind it flicks once more, this time revealing further circular graphs. "<tt>But our proposal was born out of objective data, not our own subjective agendas. In the vast majority of our simulated futures, the whole world—</tt>"</p>
<p>"So you admit a chance still exists!" says Nam Donghyun, the CEO of Oneiroi Incorporated. Torres is almost surprised a corporate coward like Donghyun had the courage to speak up. Nam corrects his glasses and points directly at the Speaker. "How dare you even suggest Pizzicato when you know the world can survive without it?"</p>
<p>The Speaker quickly nods in recognition of the point. Almost too quickly for a machine, Torres thinks. "<tt>Yes, a chance exists, naturally. But it is so slim that it could just as well be a measurement error. It is a possibility, but one that exists as little less than the seance equivalent of dirty lenses. It would be unwise to trust its existence — I believe that the phrase is missing the forest for the trees?</tt>" it asks no-one in particular. "<tt>What we are so desperately trying to say is that we <span style="text-decoration: underline;">need more time</span>. Together, we can find a solution, of that the Nornir are certain — but we cannot do it in this instant. We must find a way to delay the deadline, to keep as much of the virus inside the USA as possible — and unless JOICL decides to cooperate, Procedure Pizzicato is the best we have got.</tt>"</p>
<p>All eyes turn from the speaker towards the delegates of JOICL. Even Torres, though hesitantly, accepts he needs to pay them attention. Haru Yoshida and Hisashi Kunō don't even flinch; instead, the two scientists point with their heads at the representative of PENTAGRAM.</p>
<p>General Thomas Bowe gives his collaborators a heavy look, but recognizes the play. He clears his throat, and stands up, putting both his hands behind his faded military uniform. He somehow has to maintain the illusion of power he so enjoys. "It would be against the interest of the United States to reveal the details of its clandestine military assets." His tone is rough but firm, as is his posture. "As advisor to President Crenshaw, we have decided that shedding light on Project SCARLET DAWN would be equivalent to betraying the safety of the American people for the sake of foreign interests."</p>
<p>Olivié Gwyneth, the Head Archivist of the Sidhe Lounge, practically erupts from her seat. "And withholding vital information wouldn't?!" she shouts out, pointing her wrinkled finger at the old general. There is genuine fury in her eyes. Torres is almost surprised to see Gwyneth out of all people backing up al Fine's militaristic approach. It's unusual of her. "Have you lost your mind, general? The whole <em>world</em> will—"</p>
<p>Bowe regards her with tired irritation. "Our decision is final."</p>
<p>For a moment, Gwyneth looks back at her Council brethren, seeking support in <em>anyone</em> — but even the old Xenia Dufort, Archdirector of ICSUT and closest ally of Gwyneth, does nothing but sigh. There is no debating the United States; a message the United Nations have long since learned.</p>
<p>"<tt>So we find ourselves at an impasse,</tt>" the Speaker continues, very clearly articulating the lowercase 'i' in spite of its monotonous voice. "<tt>Again.</tt>"</p>
<p>Jay Everwood is the one to speak, this time around. Torres is almost curious to hear what they've got to say — if anyone at Vanguard ever was the right person for this job, it's definitely Everwood. "It is the consensus opinion of Vanguard that protecting the American people is of paramount importance," they say. A quiet murmur of agreement goes around the hall. <a href="/scp-8002">Andrea Maslov</a>, seated behind Everwood, nods in approval. "With all that being said, we would like to join our forerunners in agreeing that… Pizzicato is drastic overkill. This isn't just some war you can win — alternative methods should—"</p>
<p>Al Fine crosses her legs. "To clarify: we <em>have</em> considered alternative options, but they will never actually be enough. Pizzicato might've been conceived with military scenarios in mind, but its founding principles <em>still apply here</em>." She practically hammers each word out.</p>
<p>Everwood rolls their eyes. "Yes, Undersecretary General, I am more than aware. But my point still stands — you're not fixing the issue, you're giving yourself the power to kill its symptoms. I cannot in good faith ever agree to that."</p>
<p>"In case it wasn't obvious: Pizzicato would allow us to not only bypass the American bureaucracy to deliver help more efficiently, it would also make for an actual and proper quarantine possible. Without it, we cannot guarantee our border to be impenetrable," al Fine replies.</p>
<p>Before Bowe can stand up again, prompted by the mention of ignoring his own hierarchy, Daniil Sokolsky of Vanguard snaps his fingers. Though the Director of the Emergent Tactical Threat Response Authority is as bald as he's ever been, his characteristic grin is now gone; still, Torres can practically see the gears in his head turning. "Pizzicato would elevate you to a totalitarian status. Nobody in America would be able to stand against your decisions." His words aren't a question.</p>
<p>Al Fine nods. "Yes. Naturally—"</p>
<p>"So you're saying that, without any outside supervision to hold you accountable, you'd be able to claim whole cities? Claim their policies? Claim their banks? Claim their healthcare? Claim their facilities? Claim <em>our</em> facilities?" he says, squinting his eyes at the Undersecretary General. If Torres hadn't known him from situations prior, he would have never picked up on the subtle note of genuine anger in Sokolsky's voice. He very much does <em>not</em> like not being bound by a game he couldn't win — or, at the very least, a game he couldn't win as easily.</p>
<p>Al Fine sighs. "Yes, Director, that is what I am saying. But Vanguard should not remain—"</p>
<p>"This isn't about Vanguard. It's about you reaching straight for the nuclear option. Tell me: what could ever stop you from exploiting the entire continent if you so desired, after you activate Pizzicato?"</p>
<p>Al Fine sighs. "Nothing, Director. However—"</p>
<p>"Then I rest my case." Sokolsky sits back down.</p>
<p>A spark of realization flashes inside the eyes of Akari Nakamura, CFO of Tou-Hei Heavy Industries. She's a sturdy fellow; Torres is glad to see her on the side of relative reason. "That's a good point, actually. What <em>about</em> the banks? What about the economy in general? How could you ever hope to actually maintain world trade with one of the biggest players out there quarantined? Even in the last few months, our profits—"</p>
<p>Before she can hope to finish, Robert Carter stands up. He is barely containing a smirk, as is Skitter Marshall, sitting legs-crossed right next to Carter. They have long since prepared for this question, Torres sees. It is clear they have both been awaiting this moment in utmost anticipation — so much so, in fact, that Skitter doesn't even look like a total moron and Carter actually waits for his turn to speak. Torres is less than happy he has to actually endure their idiocy here — but he's at least glad they haven't been totally let off the leash this time around, judging from the context of the conversation. Still, the lack of Iris Dark anywhere near the two trillionaires worries Torres. He mentally takes a note to consider it later.</p>
<p>"All of that is already taken care of, <em>mademoiselle</em>," Skitter says in the tone of a child that's happy he's gotten his dessert. He's as insufferable as ever. He points with his cane — its head ending with the classic Marshall hellhound insignia — towards Carter.</p>
<p><em>Ah,</em> Torres thinks. <em>So that's why they even bothered with those two in the first place.</em></p>
<p>Carter clears his throat. "As outlined in the documents you have all been sent, the Carter Courier Channel would maintain a steady flow of resources in and out of the United States, as directly approved by the Undersecretary General. Not only would we ensure the total virological safety of all parties involved, our system would also sterilize the transport of materials, actively and objectively improving—"</p>
<p>Al Fine waves her hand. She's just as tired of listening to them as Torres is — clearly not the first time she's heard this song. "Yes, yes, we get it. You can save a detailed explanation for later. Or, preferably, for the emails," she adds, before Skitter can put his own fifty cents into the discussion. She eyes all of the gathered once more. There is genuine weariness in the gesture. "Before anyone else asks — we have already taken care of details such as this. The quarantined United States would remain an active player on the international field. The only difference would be its citizens—"</p>
<p>The third Vanguard representative stands up. "Yeah. The 'only' difference, huh?" <a href="/chronicles-of-the-irreal-hub">Ann Barlowe</a> says, crossing her arms. The red-headed alchemist narrows her eyes, meeting the steady gaze of al Fine with something almost akin to a challenge. "How could you even say that, general? Out of everybody gathered, <em>you</em> should know what the threat of losing your magic actually means. How can you sentence half a billion people to… to a fate worse than death? Could you even <em>imagine</em> what losing who you are would mean to those people?" She shakes her head.</p>
<p>To the surprise of her fellow Council members — <em>how dare she question the Coalition's unified opinion, huh?</em> — Xenia Dufort sighs again. "My obvious bias aside, it is hard to ignore the truth Ms. Barlowe brings to our table." She looks at Barlowe, and for a split second there is a shared understanding between the two historically divided clans of alchemists and thaumaturgists. They are both scared. <em>Ah. So that's what this discrepancy is about.</em> "What we're proposing is caging a whole nation with a feral animal. One we can't even hope to postpone.</p>
<p>"To hell with damage to the infrastructure that risking American magic would actually mean — there's over fifty million thaumically gifted people in that country, for god's sake. We aren't counting them in our plans. We aren't counting what thousands will inevitably lose if we just let the virus fester inside America until we find a cure."</p>
<p>"So what else do you propose, Director?" Olivier Serrano, Director-General of the world Parahealth Organization spits out, almost as if he'd had it already memorized. He corrects his glasses, trying his very best not to show the bags under his eyes for the whole world to see. Though small in posture, his words thunder through the microphone. "This <em>is</em> the option that concerns itself with the people. Any other solution would mean risking everybody else on planet Earth and well beyond."</p>
<p>He rubs his temples. When he speaks again, his tone is far calmer than before. "I don't say this to take a cheap shot at you — I am being fully genuine. What else do you propose we do, what else can you even think of that would concern itself more with the people's safety than declaring Pizzicato?"</p>
<p>Dufort throws her hands in the air. "Christ Olivier I don't know. <em>I don't know</em>. But there's got to be a better solution. There…" her words slowly fade away as the eyes of the remaining attendees. Nobody speaks up to support her — nobody except Barlowe.</p>
<p>She rolls her eyes. "Come on. It's a ridiculous excuse for your incompeten—"</p>
<p>Serrano returns Dufort's gaze, ignoring Barlowe. "I truly wish there was, Xenia. I truly do." He turns to face the rest of the Council, and says in a firm voice, "But the truth is that only with Pizzicato can our personnel effectively quarantine affected areas, ensuring a steady flow of required resources for the people to…"</p>
<p>For a split second, Simón's attention fades out. He immediately realizes something.</p>
<p>He eyes Serrano, then al Fine, then the Speaker. He almost smirks when he notices it.</p>
<p>This is all a setup.</p>
<p>Of course it is. <em>Of course it is</em>. This is why Iris Dark isn't here — she too realized that the Coalition is going to win no matter which way the summit goes. This is all just a facsimile, a play; a plot for the malcontents to speak their truths and promptly be forced to realize that their views align with that of the Coalition. Washington is going to fall into the hands of al Fine no matter what words are spoken today.</p>
<p>He looks back at the Undersecretary General, and almost applauds her move. Still, he cannot possibly let this slide — now that he knows the game, he can actually win.</p>
<p>"One year," he suddenly speaks out in a calm and determined voice. The entire room immediately falls silent, and all eyes are on him.</p>
<p>Al Fine raises an eyebrow. "Mr. Torres?"</p>
<p>"With your resources, the teams of everyone gathered here combined would need one year to develop a cure," he says but he doesn't truly believe it; it's a gambit, one he desperately needs them to believe if he is to come out victorious. "But they would need someone to lead them. Someone to guide the research forward in the most efficient way."</p>
<p>Serrano scoffs. "And that should be of course you, is what you're trying to say."</p>
<p>Torres regards him not with irritation, no — Serrano isn't worth his anger. It's a look that makes the Director know he is nobody to Simón. Less than nothing. "Yes, Director, that is what I am saying. Would you care to argue somebody else for the position?"</p>
<p>The little Director furrows his brows. "We haven't even proposed a joint research team, and you're already—"</p>
<p>"It's hard to argue with Mr. Torres," al Fine suddenly adds. She looks at Simón. "That truly does seem to be the most reasonable way to go about this. Independent research from all parties would only mean a longer time before we can get our hands on the cure."</p>
<p>Simón nods in appreciation. "All of that being said, I would like to join Vanguard and others in saying that Procedure Pizzicato would be an overkill."</p>
<p>Something almost like surprised anger flashes across al Fine's eyes. Before it can make itself manifest, Simón continues, "To put the whole globe under martial law would be a drastic overreach. However, to isolate the Procedure only to America?" A quiet murmur of agreement goes through the room. "It would allow for efficient operation without endangering the safety and liberty of the remaining countries. We can eat our cake and have it too."</p>
<p>Al Fine skews her head, raises her eyebrows, and considers for a moment. "We haven't considered that possibility. It would be a reasonable consensus, I think." She looks directly into Torres' eyes; he knows she's trying to see if he knows what her plan is. "Does anyone have any objections?"</p>
<p>Bowe recognizes his moment, and stands back up. "We can agree to that, if you uphold your Third Mission. PENTAGRAM can tolerate your control inside our borders — but we need to ensure the safety of the American people. You can't bomb our cities even if it means wiping the virus out." Torres sees Bowe doesn't mean it — he's just playing for leverage. Nevertheless, he continues, "Activate Pizzicato and override our bureaucracy, but withhold the Termination Triage. We will not agree to any other consensus."</p>
<p>Al Fine's too tired to debate the general, here and now. If need be, she will win with him later. "I will allow it. However," she says, before Bowe can cut in, "if you ever intentionally sabotage our work again like you already have by not declassifying research or if a cure is not found within the designated period, we will not hold back. Is that clear?"</p>
<p>Bowe skews his head, his face almost twisted in resentment. "Crystal."</p>
<p>The rest of the hall remains silent.</p>
<p>"Fantastic. Similarly, does anyone else have any objections against the Coalition forming a joint research group from the personnel of those gathered, in hopes of developing a cure for KTE-9871, as led by Simón Torres of Phoenix Technologies?"</p>
<p>Nobody says anything, either.</p>
<p>She turns to look at Simón. He smirks. "Well, then. I believe that is settled."</p>
<p>He nods.</p>
<p>"A year, Mr. Torres," she confronts him.</p>
<p>"A year, Undersecretary General," he retorts, as calmly as ever. "A year, and not a day longer."</p>
<p>She nods. "Until then, a limited Pizzicato in America stands." She pauses. "Anyone against?"</p>
<p>For a third time, nobody answers.</p>
<p>The hall is almost empty when Torres approaches al Fine. It is already dark; somewhere in the back, the last attendees are packing up and leaving, but for the most part, the meeting is long since over. The lights above are already beginning to fade.</p>
<p>"Well played," he says, putting his hands behind his back. "Well played indeed."</p>
<p>For a short moment, al Fine considers playing ignorant. Instead, she just smiles faintly. "You too, Torres. Not too bad, for someone under a century."</p>
<p>He smirks. "Does it never get old? Being worried, I mean," he adds before she can act on her confusion. "Surely, this isn't the first crisis to actually threaten <em>you</em>, general. Do you never get tired of worrying?"</p>
<p>"You get used to it sometime after your years grow to triple digits. Besides," she says, waving her hand. "Come on now. You cannot actually believe I would ever be threatened by something like this, can you?"</p>
<p>He nods, recognizing the point. "True, that."</p>
<p>For a few seconds, they just stand there, neither party really saying anything.</p>
<p>"It's ironic, isn't it," he states more than asks. "Crenshaw brewed this whole mess up thinking it would protect his country from growing foreign interests. And now this is what he'll have to deal with." He turns towards the rest of the hall.</p>
<p>Al Fine doesn't question how he got his hands on that information. "Aye. Karma's known to be a bitch."</p>
<p>They both laugh a quiet laugh. When al Fine turns to face Torres again, there is something almost like sadness in the gesture. "For what little it's worth," she says, her tone almost a whisper, "I really am sorry. Extinguishing the <a href="/lte-1998-burnout-blaecca-parallax">flame of your predecessor</a> is one of the few things I truly regret, all those years later."</p>
<p>"Even you can't know fate, general. You're lucky I'm no longer young — I loved my grandfather too much to ever forgive you shutting Prometheus down, when I was still a kid." He smiles, remembering days long since past. "But that's in the past now. Besides — if you didn't hammer that train down, I would never be standing here, leading the ashes of what little remains."</p>
<p>They pause again.</p>
<p>"You know, a lifetime ago, I would have killed for an ally like you," she says. "If you ever decide you want to expand your domain into politics, I'm sure a seat on the Council would… We could—"</p>
<p>He almost laughs.</p>
<p>"General, I don't feel like you understand. There is no <em>we</em> here."</p>
<p>Sudden, cold realization dawns on al Fine's face.</p>
<p>"There is <em>you</em>, the foreign invader, the one who the people will blame for every mistake. And then there is <em>me</em>, the one who will bring them the cure."</p>
<p>He looks directly into her eyes.</p>
<p>"The one who will save the world, alone."</p>
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<p>"<a href="/arco">Arco</a>" by Ralliston, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/arco">https://scpwiki.com/arco</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p><strong>Filename:</strong> summit.png<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> World Health Organization Executive Board Room.JPG<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Thorkild Tylleskar<br/>
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--header-subtitle: "Mens sancta in corpore sancto";
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**[http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/ralliston-s-authorpage More by this author]**
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Simón Torres is five minutes late; this is by design.
He is freakishly tall, thin as a branch, and bespectacled by a pair of glasses that haven't been in fashion for at least a century. His hair is a half-organized mess of a graying brunette that matches perfectly with his brown striped suit and red bow tie. His face is a cold mask of calm determination -- he carries himself with the dignity and status of someone //at least// two social positions more significant than you.
There's only two things most people need to know about Simón Torres: one, that he's a technocrat-billionaire in the making, the CEO of Phoenix Technologies, a paratech giant that's erupted like cancer from the reborn remains of Prometheus Laboratories some few years after the collapse of the Veil; two, that he's likely the worst person you're ever going to meet. This, similarly, is also by design.
He's been a prodigy since he could speak his first words, really. With two Nobel Prizes and eight language fluency certificates, he rarely hesitates to show that he's the smartest person in most rooms he enters. Unlike most of his entrepreneurial brethren, he looks down on others not because of their perceived inferiority, but because of his own superiority; a wholly different breed of bigotry to the one practiced by the common 21st century idiot. If he'd been born a hundred years earlier, he would have probably been into eugenics -- but, blessed with the sociotechnological revelations of his times, the only kind of oppression that Torres regularly practices is the one imposed on unlucky bystanders by his own ego.
He checks his watch and smiles. He's sure that by now, the whole summit's biting their nails in anticipation of the only invitee who's yet to show up, the only man they physically cannot start the talks without. It's a tactic as old as time, tested by Torres on the corporate battlefield many times over many decades; he's glad it still works when imposed upon the bureaucratic ladder of the Global Occult Coalition. The World Parahealth Organization cannot possibly afford to wait -- not when faced with a [[[kte-9817-bluebuster-mendel-shelley-renegade-armbrusteri|danger as high as their newest threat]]] -- but they are going to wait anyway. All for the man whose scientific assets they so desperately need to save the world's occult hierarchy -- and their place directly atop it.
Still, ten minutes is as far as he'll go; anything after that stops building intimidation and only contributes towards annoyment. Faced with no other choice, Torres shows the guards the card that signifies he's been checked for the virus and declared healthy, opens the doors, and enters through, ready to join the World Parahealth Summit -- the most significant event the world has witnessed in over a decade.
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The first thing he notices is the cameras.
The paparazzi flash their lights as he enters through, broadcasting his appearance for the whole world to witness. He lets them bask in his presence; he enjoys this. For a few seconds, their attention lays solely on The Man Who's Finally Arrived; a sign their audiences need to start paying attention. Still, they keep their distance -- seated in a lounge above the whole meeting, all they can do is simply look as the real players decide what step the world will take next.
Beneath those press balconies, the gigantic room's divided into two clear sections, two semi-circular audiences of blue chairs that face each other. The first one hosts a gathering of the Global Occult Coalition's Council of 108, seated alongside their leader, Undersecretary General Da Capo al Fine. She sits at the very bottom of the assembly, clearly drawing the attention of any observer -- even without the placard placed before her that informs everybody of her name and status, it is clear that she's the real deal here. The long, rune-covered staff she holds only serves to reinforce that image.
Opposing the Coalition sits the real reason this summit is even necessary: the delegates of every single parascientific organization that truly matters, in this day and age. The upper crust of progress, all in a single room. Eyeing the gathered, Torres can notice representatives from all around the globe: there's Haru Yoshida and Hisashi Kunō of JOICL, both old fools in a world that is no longer theirs; Daniil Sokolsky, Ann Barlowe, Adrea Maslov, and Jay Everwood of Vanguard, all pioneers of a new era in spite of their age; General Thomas Bowe of the PENTAGRAM, a jaded relict of ways long since forgotten; and many, //many// more he cannot quite recognize from the faces of their faces alone.
And they're all waiting for him, the final piece they need for their scheme. He almost smiles, but makes sure to note down the relief he sees on the faces around him the second he walks through the doors.
Nodding a quiet greeting to the nearby Sahmthri Horath, the Manna Charitable Foundation's secretary in Europe, Torres takes his seat. It doesn't take him long to realize that he is directly facing the Undersecretary General. He enjoys this. It's only appropriate, he thinks. All he needs is a single flash in her eyes -- a sign of recognition that Torres is finally here -- to know she's aware of his delayed attendance.
Al Fine stands up.
"Honorable delegates," she begins, hitting the ground thrice with her staff. The whole room falls silent. "We will now begin."
Quiet whispers run throughout the hall, but all eyes remain focused solely on the Undersecretary General.
She thumps her staff again; this time, the lights fall down and a holographic map appears on a wall behind her. It's a display of the whole world alongside relevant off-world colonies. Though its borders are Coalition-blue, inside several countries and territories Torres can see red dots of varying sizes; among all of them, the United States bear the most scarlet. It doesn't take a genius to realize that this is the global infection map of the Washington Virion.
"I say this only for the sake of posterity: you were all gathered here because the occult legacy of this planet is currently at stake. The Coalition does not bear the might or wisdom necessary to save it alone." She pauses, eyeing the attendees gathered before her. She places her second hand on the staff, then points it directly at the map. "What you're looking at is the situation as of today. Though we were able to quarantine the USA, it would be foolish to call it a solution -- it's merely a half-measure, one aimed at preventing further spread of the virus. The matter of those trapped inside the country -- and those few suffering outside it -- still remains."
The map changes to a display of various graphs and tables of parahealth data. It is almost as if al Fine is dictating the plan of how this will go and not pure data, Torres remarks.
"So far, we have been unable to find a cure for the virion, let alone a vaccine. Nothing we try is actually working." She pauses again. "We can isolate those afflicted and halt the expansion as much as we want, but the fact of the matter is that for as long as we remain without a remedy, we are as good as useless. Until then, all we can do is wait.
"All of that is to say: we need as much time as we can possibly get." She pauses. Her eyes are cold with determination. She means everything she says. "To facilitate that, we suggest the following: the declaration of Procedure Pizzicato, worldwide, until we can eliminate every single last case of KTE-9817."
The staff falls again, and the lights come back up.
"This is our proposal."
The room immediately explodes into discord. No wonder -- to even put forward the deployment of Pizzicato is //insane//, even for someone like Torres. It isn't just any regular procedure -- it's the Coalition's nuclear solution, a war against anything and anyone that dares stand in the Coalition's way, until the threat is dealt with. A total suspension of basic human rights for the duration of the emergency; global martial law, with al Fine as its temporary dictator.
In the whole history of the Coalition, Procedure Pizzicato has only ever existed on paper. Even during the [[[scp-6500|Impasse]]] all those years ago, the GOC remained flagrant followers of their Fivefold Mission, up until the very end. But times have changed, and so has the Coalition -- in this new world, they can no longer take any chances. It's either kill or be killed. The virus isn't open to negotiations, and neither is the Coalition's place atop the occult world.
Torres is almost impressed al Fine actually put it forward -- he didn't expect her to have it in her. //Something doesn't add up. The Coalition isn't operating under its baseline modus operandi.//
The Speaker to Humans of the Silicon Nornir is the first one to talk. "{{To clarify:}}" The vaguely humanoid mess of gears and cables stands up. Its voice broadcasts clearly throughout the room, forcing everyone else to fall silent. "{{We are the ones that suggested the deployment of the Procedure. We are more than aware of what it implies.}}" It pauses. The screen behind it flicks once more, this time revealing further circular graphs. "{{But our proposal was born out of objective data, not our own subjective agendas. In the vast majority of our simulated futures, the whole world--}}"
"So you admit a chance still exists!" says Nam Donghyun, the CEO of Oneiroi Incorporated. Torres is almost surprised a corporate coward like Donghyun had the courage to speak up. Nam corrects his glasses and points directly at the Speaker. "How dare you even suggest Pizzicato when you know the world can survive without it?"
The Speaker quickly nods in recognition of the point. Almost too quickly for a machine, Torres thinks. "{{Yes, a chance exists, naturally. But it is so slim that it could just as well be a measurement error. It is a possibility, but one that exists as little less than the seance equivalent of dirty lenses. It would be unwise to trust its existence -- I believe that the phrase is missing the forest for the trees?}}" it asks no-one in particular. "{{What we are so desperately trying to say is that we __need more time__. Together, we can find a solution, of that the Nornir are certain -- but we cannot do it in this instant. We must find a way to delay the deadline, to keep as much of the virus inside the USA as possible -- and unless JOICL decides to cooperate, Procedure Pizzicato is the best we have got.}}"
All eyes turn from the speaker towards the delegates of JOICL. Even Torres, though hesitantly, accepts he needs to pay them attention. Haru Yoshida and Hisashi Kunō don't even flinch; instead, the two scientists point with their heads at the representative of PENTAGRAM.
General Thomas Bowe gives his collaborators a heavy look, but recognizes the play. He clears his throat, and stands up, putting both his hands behind his faded military uniform. He somehow has to maintain the illusion of power he so enjoys. "It would be against the interest of the United States to reveal the details of its clandestine military assets." His tone is rough but firm, as is his posture. "As advisor to President Crenshaw, we have decided that shedding light on Project SCARLET DAWN would be equivalent to betraying the safety of the American people for the sake of foreign interests."
Olivié Gwyneth, the Head Archivist of the Sidhe Lounge, practically erupts from her seat. "And withholding vital information wouldn't?!" she shouts out, pointing her wrinkled finger at the old general. There is genuine fury in her eyes. Torres is almost surprised to see Gwyneth out of all people backing up al Fine's militaristic approach. It's unusual of her. "Have you lost your mind, general? The whole //world// will--"
Bowe regards her with tired irritation. "Our decision is final."
For a moment, Gwyneth looks back at her Council brethren, seeking support in //anyone// -- but even the old Xenia Dufort, Archdirector of ICSUT and closest ally of Gwyneth, does nothing but sigh. There is no debating the United States; a message the United Nations have long since learned.
"{{So we find ourselves at an impasse,}}" the Speaker continues, very clearly articulating the lowercase 'i' in spite of its monotonous voice. "{{Again.}}"
Jay Everwood is the one to speak, this time around. Torres is almost curious to hear what they've got to say -- if anyone at Vanguard ever was the right person for this job, it's definitely Everwood. "It is the consensus opinion of Vanguard that protecting the American people is of paramount importance," they say. A quiet murmur of agreement goes around the hall. [[[scp-8002|Andrea Maslov]]], seated behind Everwood, nods in approval. "With all that being said, we would like to join our forerunners in agreeing that... Pizzicato is drastic overkill. This isn't just some war you can win -- alternative methods should--"
Al Fine crosses her legs. "To clarify: we //have// considered alternative options, but they will never actually be enough. Pizzicato might've been conceived with military scenarios in mind, but its founding principles //still apply here//." She practically hammers each word out.
Everwood rolls their eyes. "Yes, Undersecretary General, I am more than aware. But my point still stands -- you're not fixing the issue, you're giving yourself the power to kill its symptoms. I cannot in good faith ever agree to that."
"In case it wasn't obvious: Pizzicato would allow us to not only bypass the American bureaucracy to deliver help more efficiently, it would also make for an actual and proper quarantine possible. Without it, we cannot guarantee our border to be impenetrable," al Fine replies.
Before Bowe can stand up again, prompted by the mention of ignoring his own hierarchy, Daniil Sokolsky of Vanguard snaps his fingers. Though the Director of the Emergent Tactical Threat Response Authority is as bald as he's ever been, his characteristic grin is now gone; still, Torres can practically see the gears in his head turning. "Pizzicato would elevate you to a totalitarian status. Nobody in America would be able to stand against your decisions." His words aren't a question.
Al Fine nods. "Yes. Naturally--"
"So you're saying that, without any outside supervision to hold you accountable, you'd be able to claim whole cities? Claim their policies? Claim their banks? Claim their healthcare? Claim their facilities? Claim //our// facilities?" he says, squinting his eyes at the Undersecretary General. If Torres hadn't known him from situations prior, he would have never picked up on the subtle note of genuine anger in Sokolsky's voice. He very much does //not// like not being bound by a game he couldn't win -- or, at the very least, a game he couldn't win as easily.
Al Fine sighs. "Yes, Director, that is what I am saying. But Vanguard should not remain--"
"This isn't about Vanguard. It's about you reaching straight for the nuclear option. Tell me: what could ever stop you from exploiting the entire continent if you so desired, after you activate Pizzicato?"
Al Fine sighs. "Nothing, Director. However--"
"Then I rest my case." Sokolsky sits back down.
A spark of realization flashes inside the eyes of Akari Nakamura, CFO of Tou-Hei Heavy Industries. She's a sturdy fellow; Torres is glad to see her on the side of relative reason. "That's a good point, actually. What //about// the banks? What about the economy in general? How could you ever hope to actually maintain world trade with one of the biggest players out there quarantined? Even in the last few months, our profits--"
Before she can hope to finish, Robert Carter stands up. He is barely containing a smirk, as is Skitter Marshall, sitting legs-crossed right next to Carter. They have long since prepared for this question, Torres sees. It is clear they have both been awaiting this moment in utmost anticipation -- so much so, in fact, that Skitter doesn't even look like a total moron and Carter actually waits for his turn to speak. Torres is less than happy he has to actually endure their idiocy here -- but he's at least glad they haven't been totally let off the leash this time around, judging from the context of the conversation. Still, the lack of Iris Dark anywhere near the two trillionaires worries Torres. He mentally takes a note to consider it later.
"All of that is already taken care of, //mademoiselle//," Skitter says in the tone of a child that's happy he's gotten his dessert. He's as insufferable as ever. He points with his cane -- its head ending with the classic Marshall hellhound insignia -- towards Carter.
//Ah,// Torres thinks. //So that's why they even bothered with those two in the first place.//
Carter clears his throat. "As outlined in the documents you have all been sent, the Carter Courier Channel would maintain a steady flow of resources in and out of the United States, as directly approved by the Undersecretary General. Not only would we ensure the total virological safety of all parties involved, our system would also sterilize the transport of materials, actively and objectively improving--"
Al Fine waves her hand. She's just as tired of listening to them as Torres is -- clearly not the first time she's heard this song. "Yes, yes, we get it. You can save a detailed explanation for later. Or, preferably, for the emails," she adds, before Skitter can put his own fifty cents into the discussion. She eyes all of the gathered once more. There is genuine weariness in the gesture. "Before anyone else asks -- we have already taken care of details such as this. The quarantined United States would remain an active player on the international field. The only difference would be its citizens--"
The third Vanguard representative stands up. "Yeah. The 'only' difference, huh?" [[[chronicles-of-the-irreal-hub|Ann Barlowe]]] says, crossing her arms. The red-headed alchemist narrows her eyes, meeting the steady gaze of al Fine with something almost akin to a challenge. "How could you even say that, general? Out of everybody gathered, //you// should know what the threat of losing your magic actually means. How can you sentence half a billion people to... to a fate worse than death? Could you even //imagine// what losing who you are would mean to those people?" She shakes her head.
To the surprise of her fellow Council members -- //how dare she question the Coalition's unified opinion, huh?// -- Xenia Dufort sighs again. "My obvious bias aside, it is hard to ignore the truth Ms. Barlowe brings to our table." She looks at Barlowe, and for a split second there is a shared understanding between the two historically divided clans of alchemists and thaumaturgists. They are both scared. //Ah. So that's what this discrepancy is about.// "What we're proposing is caging a whole nation with a feral animal. One we can't even hope to postpone.
"To hell with damage to the infrastructure that risking American magic would actually mean -- there's over fifty million thaumically gifted people in that country, for god's sake. We aren't counting them in our plans. We aren't counting what thousands will inevitably lose if we just let the virus fester inside America until we find a cure."
"So what else do you propose, Director?" Olivier Serrano, Director-General of the world Parahealth Organization spits out, almost as if he'd had it already memorized. He corrects his glasses, trying his very best not to show the bags under his eyes for the whole world to see. Though small in posture, his words thunder through the microphone. "This //is// the option that concerns itself with the people. Any other solution would mean risking everybody else on planet Earth and well beyond."
He rubs his temples. When he speaks again, his tone is far calmer than before. "I don't say this to take a cheap shot at you -- I am being fully genuine. What else do you propose we do, what else can you even think of that would concern itself more with the people's safety than declaring Pizzicato?"
Dufort throws her hands in the air. "Christ Olivier I don't know. //I don't know//. But there's got to be a better solution. There..." her words slowly fade away as the eyes of the remaining attendees. Nobody speaks up to support her -- nobody except Barlowe.
She rolls her eyes. "Come on. It's a ridiculous excuse for your incompeten--"
Serrano returns Dufort's gaze, ignoring Barlowe. "I truly wish there was, Xenia. I truly do." He turns to face the rest of the Council, and says in a firm voice, "But the truth is that only with Pizzicato can our personnel effectively quarantine affected areas, ensuring a steady flow of required resources for the people to..."
For a split second, Simón's attention fades out. He immediately realizes something.
He eyes Serrano, then al Fine, then the Speaker. He almost smirks when he notices it.
This is all a setup.
Of course it is. //Of course it is//. This is why Iris Dark isn't here -- she too realized that the Coalition is going to win no matter which way the summit goes. This is all just a facsimile, a play; a plot for the malcontents to speak their truths and promptly be forced to realize that their views align with that of the Coalition. Washington is going to fall into the hands of al Fine no matter what words are spoken today.
He looks back at the Undersecretary General, and almost applauds her move. Still, he cannot possibly let this slide -- now that he knows the game, he can actually win.
"One year," he suddenly speaks out in a calm and determined voice. The entire room immediately falls silent, and all eyes are on him.
Al Fine raises an eyebrow. "Mr. Torres?"
"With your resources, the teams of everyone gathered here combined would need one year to develop a cure," he says but he doesn't truly believe it; it's a gambit, one he desperately needs them to believe if he is to come out victorious. "But they would need someone to lead them. Someone to guide the research forward in the most efficient way."
Serrano scoffs. "And that should be of course you, is what you're trying to say."
Torres regards him not with irritation, no -- Serrano isn't worth his anger. It's a look that makes the Director know he is nobody to Simón. Less than nothing. "Yes, Director, that is what I am saying. Would you care to argue somebody else for the position?"
The little Director furrows his brows. "We haven't even proposed a joint research team, and you're already--"
"It's hard to argue with Mr. Torres," al Fine suddenly adds. She looks at Simón. "That truly does seem to be the most reasonable way to go about this. Independent research from all parties would only mean a longer time before we can get our hands on the cure."
Simón nods in appreciation. "All of that being said, I would like to join Vanguard and others in saying that Procedure Pizzicato would be an overkill."
Something almost like surprised anger flashes across al Fine's eyes. Before it can make itself manifest, Simón continues, "To put the whole globe under martial law would be a drastic overreach. However, to isolate the Procedure only to America?" A quiet murmur of agreement goes through the room. "It would allow for efficient operation without endangering the safety and liberty of the remaining countries. We can eat our cake and have it too."
Al Fine skews her head, raises her eyebrows, and considers for a moment. "We haven't considered that possibility. It would be a reasonable consensus, I think." She looks directly into Torres' eyes; he knows she's trying to see if he knows what her plan is. "Does anyone have any objections?"
Bowe recognizes his moment, and stands back up. "We can agree to that, if you uphold your Third Mission. PENTAGRAM can tolerate your control inside our borders -- but we need to ensure the safety of the American people. You can't bomb our cities even if it means wiping the virus out." Torres sees Bowe doesn't mean it -- he's just playing for leverage. Nevertheless, he continues, "Activate Pizzicato and override our bureaucracy, but withhold the Termination Triage. We will not agree to any other consensus."
Al Fine's too tired to debate the general, here and now. If need be, she will win with him later. "I will allow it. However," she says, before Bowe can cut in, "if you ever intentionally sabotage our work again like you already have by not declassifying research or if a cure is not found within the designated period, we will not hold back. Is that clear?"
Bowe skews his head, his face almost twisted in resentment. "Crystal."
The rest of the hall remains silent.
"Fantastic. Similarly, does anyone else have any objections against the Coalition forming a joint research group from the personnel of those gathered, in hopes of developing a cure for KTE-9871, as led by Simón Torres of Phoenix Technologies?"
Nobody says anything, either.
She turns to look at Simón. He smirks. "Well, then. I believe that is settled."
He nods.
"A year, Mr. Torres," she confronts him.
"A year, Undersecretary General," he retorts, as calmly as ever. "A year, and not a day longer."
She nods. "Until then, a limited Pizzicato in America stands." She pauses. "Anyone against?"
For a third time, nobody answers.
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The hall is almost empty when Torres approaches al Fine. It is already dark; somewhere in the back, the last attendees are packing up and leaving, but for the most part, the meeting is long since over. The lights above are already beginning to fade.
"Well played," he says, putting his hands behind his back. "Well played indeed."
For a short moment, al Fine considers playing ignorant. Instead, she just smiles faintly. "You too, Torres. Not too bad, for someone under a century."
He smirks. "Does it never get old? Being worried, I mean," he adds before she can act on her confusion. "Surely, this isn't the first crisis to actually threaten //you//, general. Do you never get tired of worrying?"
"You get used to it sometime after your years grow to triple digits. Besides," she says, waving her hand. "Come on now. You cannot actually believe I would ever be threatened by something like this, can you?"
He nods, recognizing the point. "True, that."
For a few seconds, they just stand there, neither party really saying anything.
"It's ironic, isn't it," he states more than asks. "Crenshaw brewed this whole mess up thinking it would protect his country from growing foreign interests. And now this is what he'll have to deal with." He turns towards the rest of the hall.
Al Fine doesn't question how he got his hands on that information. "Aye. Karma's known to be a bitch."
They both laugh a quiet laugh. When al Fine turns to face Torres again, there is something almost like sadness in the gesture. "For what little it's worth," she says, her tone almost a whisper, "I really am sorry. Extinguishing the [[[lte-1998-burnout-blaecca-parallax|flame of your predecessor]]] is one of the few things I truly regret, all those years later."
"Even you can't know fate, general. You're lucky I'm no longer young -- I loved my grandfather too much to ever forgive you shutting Prometheus down, when I was still a kid." He smiles, remembering days long since past. "But that's in the past now. Besides -- if you didn't hammer that train down, I would never be standing here, leading the ashes of what little remains."
They pause again.
"You know, a lifetime ago, I would have killed for an ally like you," she says. "If you ever decide you want to expand your domain into politics, I'm sure a seat on the Council would... We could--"
He almost laughs.
"General, I don't feel like you understand. There is no //we// here."
Sudden, cold realization dawns on al Fine's face.
"There is //you//, the foreign invader, the one who the people will blame for every mistake. And then there is //me//, the one who will bring them the cure."
He looks directly into her eyes.
"The one who will save the world, alone."
[[/==]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
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| previous-url=/sc-049-100-049-103 | previous-title=SC-049/100-049/103
| next-url=/under-pressure | next-title=Ourselves, Under Pressure
| hub-url=/8000-dead-rats-hub | hub-title=8,000 Dead Rats
]]
-----
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
> **Filename:** summit.png
> **Name:** World Health Organization Executive Board Room.JPG
> **Author:** Thorkild Tylleskar
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:World_Health_Organization_Executive_Board_Room.JPG Wikimedia Commons]
> **Filename:** asterisk.png
> **Author:** [[*user Navla]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/navla-artwork SCP Foundation Wiki]
> **Additional Notes:** Edited by [[*user Jasiu06]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-04-13T20:05:00
|
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"robert-carter",
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Arco - SCP Foundation
| 50
|
[
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"kte-9817-bluebuster-mendel-shelley-renegade-armbrusteri",
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[
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"8000-dead-rats-hub"
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[
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] |
1453329711
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/arco
|
|
are-you-proud-of-yourself
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><br/></p>
<p><strong><span style="color: purple">“The gods are coming to the city.”</span></strong></p>
<p>Kit nudged aside the Minions throw that had been stapled across the window so he could stare out of it as it rattled and clicked in the sea breeze. On another window ledge to the left of him, two guys sat in the open window, sharing a cider, on the border between falling back a few inches or falling forward three stories.</p>
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/trans-formative">Dawn</a>, on the mattress next to the one Kit used, looked up groggily. <strong><span style="color: pink">“…Whatcha say, Kit?”</span></strong> She mumbled, adjusting her boobs in discomfort. She wished she had the choice not to sleep with them on, but the last time she had removed them, they had somehow ended up thrown on top of a ceiling fan and down someone else’s top, respectively. They weren’t the breast forms she truly wanted, but they were what she needed to get her through each day – and boob money wasn’t exactly something she had an excess of.</p>
<p>Kit looked back, momentarily distracted. <strong><span style="color: purple">“What? Oh. Nothing. Go back to sleep.”</span></strong> He let the blanket fall back into place, to reduce the glaring morning light. Despite the time, the streets were crowded, hectic and sensorily overwhelming. The first Saturday in August – it was Pride. A parade in the streets, a crowd on the beach, and a fuck fest in the sheets and stalls of the park. From here, their illegally occupied office of a home, they would get enviable views of the parade, and they would hear every song from every stage where the parade concluded.</p>
<p>Kit got up from his crouched position, dumped his parka – which doubled as a <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-duvet-queen">duvet</a> – on his mattress, feeling secure that Dawn was right there, and she had learnt how not to take shit and how to dish it out, too. His coat would be safe. He absent-mindedly realised he had rainbow paint and glitter all over his face and hands from a sacrificial action the night before, but he didn’t care, nor would anyone else.</p>
<p>Kit had to step over a dozen mattresses to get out into the living room, mumbling an apology to a still drowsy <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-storyteller">girl called Maria</a> who always dressed all in black and fishnets and mesh and blackened her lids and waterline with Sharpie. She stared up at Kit with distant eyes, then buried her face back into a greying pillow.</p>
<p>Kit's next couple of steps in his Doc Martens was into the living room which was more like their meeting room. It had stacks of unmatching, unsteady chairs dumped in one corner, a whiteboard, and permanent markers that seemed to be everywhere on the floor.</p>
<p>He paused at the <span style="color: brown"><strong>‘Cum-munity Notice Board’</strong></span>, which was just a wall below a window, so Kit crouched again. <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/that-one-time-kit-tried-to-kill-himself">All the writing was from different people</a>, some signed, some not, some written decently, some barely legible.</p>
<p><span style="color: green"><em>‘Bring me 2 lyfe’</em></span></p>
<p><strong>‘Bring me 2 snakebites and black – Smokescrin’</strong></p>
<p><span style="color: blue"><em>‘Bring me stfu’</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: red"><em>‘we could destroy all we wanted if we wanted I no because I asked – Karma’</em></span></p>
<p><strong>‘love is love is love is love is love is love is hate’</strong></p>
<p><span style="color: red"><em>‘all you need is love love is just a game – Rouge’</em></span></p>
<p><strong>‘every ting gud has 2 stop’</strong></p>
<p><span style="color: purple"><em>‘Best tread lightly if you’re using my feet – Magick’</em></span></p>
<p><strong>‘we luv the West Pier’</strong></p>
<p><span style="font-size:larger;"><span style="color: red"><strong>‘g a y’</strong></span></span></p>
<p><span style="color: fuchsia"><em>‘u wait until PRIDE i’ll show u gay – Proud Cocksuckr’</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color: green"><em>‘we advert is in now? cos i’ll give u lip service – Dutch Dike’</em></span></p>
<p>There was a little bit of squabbling and advertising various services – not just blow jobs and cunnilingus but haircuts, rare treat foods as well as extra blankets and pillows. Then –</p>
<p><span style="color: pink"><em>‘we need a cat again – Woody’</em></span></p>
<p><em>‘im allergic fucuk you'</em></p>
<p>Kit sighed and picked up a pen.</p>
<p><span style="color: red"><em>‘u pussy – Kitten’</em></span></p>
<p>Honestly, who was squatting and decided their cat allergy was of any concern?</p>
<p>After catching up on the gossip but seeing nothing of interest, Kit went through to the galley kitchen – long and cramped, but it served its purpose, with a nice surprise of the cold water still running, as Kit took a long drink of water from the first clean mug he found. Then, he reached into his t-shirt, fumbled and fiddled with something, and produced a vial with a pink-purple petaled flower.</p>
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/kit-s-bloomin-adventure">Such beautiful petals.</a> Kit could hardly believe he had managed to ignore temptation for a whole damn week, saving it for Pride. Surviving on bennies and dollies – that was no way to live. But now there was the perfect corked vial, with the perfect-coloured flower, now there was Bloom and it was all for him.</p>
<p>It was easy to find the pestle and mortar – it was sensibly next to the electric scale. There was some white powder left in the mortar, and Kit rubbed it on his gums without thinking twice. It was only a teeny tiny amount, after all. Very carefully, Kit got the flower out and started plucking the precious petals.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: purple">“She loves me,”</span></strong> Kit glanced out of the kitchen, across the living room, into the mattress room. Dawn was looking outside at the crowds waiting for the parade. Kit dropped another petal. <strong><span style="color: pink">“She loves me not,”</span></strong> and now Dawn was looking at him, saw what he was doing, and looked away. <strong><span style="color: purple">“She loves me.”</span></strong> Always best to start low and slow, just one more. <strong><span style="color: pink">“She loves me not.”</span></strong> Fuck it! It couldn’t end that way. <strong><span style="color: purple">“She loves me.”</span></strong> And now the last three petals looked lonely. <strong><span style="color: pink">“She loves me not.”</span></strong> Two, two, what was the point of two when he was just one, wouldn’t even touch the sides, couldn’t save them. <strong><span style="color: purple">“She loves me.”</span></strong> A deep breath, he should have stopped sooner. <strong><span style="color: pink">“She loves me not.”</span></strong></p>
<p>It didn’t take Kit long to prepare the purple powder into a bubbling purple liquid, then retrieve his works from the sole of his steel-capped boots. Tying off his arm with a purple band, finding a good vein that didn’t collapse after one poke, pulling back so a little bit of blood mixed with the purple liquid, then injecting it in.</p>
<p>Bloom had a kick like a mule – quick and hard and fast. Kit held on to the edge of the kitchen counter, but his head with its long and tangled hair tilted back, eyes rolling as he stared at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure if he nodded out for a moment, or if it happened the second after he had injected, but suddenly the front door was open.</p>
<p>Leo stood there, gangly tall with a frizzy afro that matched his name. At some point, he had appointed himself leader, or at least community outreach, as he often came back with new people. That seemed to be the case this time – a young man, shorter than Leo and with bleach blonde hair slightly browning at the roots, also stood in the doorway, with a rucksack in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. <strong><span style="color: darkblue">“Guys, this is Sand.”</span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span style="color: gold">“Sam.”</span></strong> Kit thought he heard the man say quietly, but his head was still woozy so maybe he made it up. He looked more like a ‘Sand’ anyway.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: darkblue">“He’s been homeless for a week, left home, blah blah blah, we all know how the story goes. Sleeping on the beach sucks ass and it’s fucking hot as hell out there. So, in exchange for some nice treaties, and the chores the rest of us have to do, he’s gonna be with us until he doesn’t want to no more.”</span></strong> Leo pushed Sand forward, who looked slightly awkward but dropped the bag of goodies on the floor. Packs of chocolate bars, some fizzy drinks, multipacks of crisps – really, things they all missed. But Kit, at that moment, was more interested in Sand.</p>
<p>With anyone awake being distracted by grabbing their favourite things, and Leo trying to ration it, Kit sauntered over to Sand. He gave him a gap-toothed but charismatic smile. <strong><span style="color: purple">“Sand, huh? Lemme guess – because of your hair.”</span></strong> Kit reached out and ran a hand through those blonde locks, which were dirty but surprisingly untangled. <strong><span style="color: purple">“I like it. So…are you proud today, or just a friend of those of us who are a friend of Dorothy?”</span></strong></p>
<p>Sand looked taken aback but found answering the question easy. <strong><span style="color: gold">“I’m proud today.”</span></strong> He said, with a chuckle. <strong><span style="color: gold">“You know – the only day people like us are allowed to be proud.”</span></strong> He had to assume Kit was that way inclined, too, because of the way he dropped his hip, the way his hand trailed from his hair down the side of his face, the way they had just met but Kit was touching in such a familiar way.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: purple">“Hey, you wanna come with me? I know somewhere we can be alone. Everyone here is lovely, but they become destructive zombies whenever sweet or salty foods are involved.”</span></strong> Kit almost purred the question, trailing just one finger down from Sand’s decolletage to the bottom of his rib cage. Sand paused, but then nodded, letting Kit curl his hand around his wrist, and take him towards a room labelled ‘Stationary Cupboard’.</p>
<p>Even though the room was windowless, the crowd outside, the parade outside, began with loud gusto as Kit pressed Sand against the wall, letting their chapped lips lock together. As Kit put his leg between Sand’s, he could hear one of the floats outside, singing <span style="font-size:larger;"><strong><em>“What have you done today to make you feel proud?</em>”</strong></span> His grip tightened on Sand’s waist as the screaming, stomping, and banging made the street come to life.</p>
<p>Literally.</p>
<p>Graffiti stepped off buildings, huge abstract figures, barely legible tags, tiny spray paint rats, rebellious women spray painted in rebellious clothes, and the two kissing policemen. They climbed off abandoned buildings, and banks, out of playgrounds, and from tunnels and car parks. People had to duck from whatever counted as feet, and press themselves flat against walls to allow 2D giants their freedom, like they were becoming the graffiti instead. Inside the cupboard, Kit just inched forward, pressed himself against Sand, chest to chest, and felt their hearts beat together, trying to work out whose was slower so he could know – who might die first?</p>
<p>The long trailing rainbow flag carried by 30 volunteers on each side freed itself from its human moorings and drifted into the sky, where it took over. Instead of optimistic blue or British-brand grey, it was all the colours, the sun piercing through and blending the space around it. People stopped and gasped, gaping at the miracle of a rainbow overtaking every inch of the sky. Kit ran his free hand against Sand’s inner thigh.</p>
<p>The sea and its waves were grey that morning, the colour of so much paint smeared together. It clashed against the rainbow sky and the sun beating down in the aching August heat. People were doing nitrous on the shore, inhaling from rainbow balloons and laughing at the lightheaded ridiculous feeling. Dead nitrous canisters scattered among the pebbles; vape pen trash too. The sea started to come in. Gently first, although far from the hour it normally came in, waves licking the heavy sand and troublesome stones. Kit pulled away for a minute and studied Sand like a piece of art, waiting to be framed or fucked.</p>
<p>Smeared rainbow paint, transfer from Kit to Sand, across his forehead, accompanied by beads of sweat. There were also Kit’s two handprints on the wall on each side of Sand, showing the degree of their impulsive intimacy. The sea paused in its triumphant return. Sand had cheeks the colour of wine, a sunburnt nose, and lips chapped from living by the salt-strong sea. Piercings, of course, they always had piercings.</p>
<p>Through blurry vision, Kit could count seven as he lifted his hand to stroke that alabaster skin, couldn’t resist using his finger to twirl the paint around into a hypnotising shape on Sand’s forehead. The Bloom was making him feel a million miles away, but also far too close in this room, breathless as if it were running out of oxygen.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: purple">“I’m not gay.”</span></strong> Kit finally said, staring into those blue-green-hazel-everything eyes that made him feel lost and small and lost.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: gold">“I’m not either.”</span></strong> Sand said, staring back at the boy with the wild brown hair, dreadlocked by time unwashed and sleeping on the beach.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: purple">"'Stationary’ means to keep still.”</span></strong> Kit said, abruptly, sinking down the wall to the floor, setting up his works again. <strong><span style="color: purple">“We’re in a ‘Keep Still’ cupboard. I think people outside are frozen in time. You want a hit? I promise I haven’t got shit. M’sure you’ve heard that line before, but it’s true. I mixed too much, y’know, I didn’t want to fuck up my dose on my ‘proud’ day, but I had to figure out if this girl loves me.”</span></strong></p>
<p>Sand sat next to Kit and watched him fumble around with his kit, clumsily. <strong><span style="color: gold">“What was the conclusion to this very scientific experiment?”</span></strong></p>
<p>Kit laughed hollowly. <strong><span style="color: purple">“More research needed. Petals are telling me…she doesn’t. But flowers don’t know jack apart from how to photosynthesise.”</span></strong> As he drew liquid back into the needle, he frowned thoughtfully. <strong><span style="color: purple">“S’gone quiet outside. You think it’s another bomb scare? I dunno how long you’ve been here, but there was a scare like, 10 years ago. Turns out it was cameras. Felt awful for the poor people standing there in wigs in August heat, waiting to be allowed to go and tryin’ to keep their make-up in place. Dawn says it’s hard. Wouldn’t know, I use acrylics on my face.”</span></strong></p>
<p>Sand laughed a little. <strong><span style="color: gold">“Can’t say I didn’t notice that. Trying to get in the mood? For Pride, I mean.”</span></strong> Kit paused, then shook his head. <strong><span style="color: purple">“I was preparing…for the gods come to the city today.”</span></strong></p>
<p>Down on the beach, the sea had stopped dragging itself in, going against its tide, but from somewhere deep inside it, millions of butterflies flew out of the water. They were all the shades, all the colours that a human could see, and some they couldn’t see, but they were there. The butterflies all formed a hand, and came down on the beach, picking up nitrous canisters and vape pens by the handful, and throwing them into the rainbow sky, where they exploded as fireworks.</p>
<p>Across the entire city, everyone could see the display, the rubbish turned into something beautiful, just like Pride brightened up Brighton, just for a moment.</p>
<p>After one last huge handful, with everyone in the city staring at their rainbow sky, surrounded by the spray paint artwork that belonged to the people, the fireworks exploded once more, this time to dramatically write –</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:larger;">The End</span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>« <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/and-then-gabriel-slept">And Then, Gabriel Slept</a> |<a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/kit-s-home-hub-of-happening">Hub</a></strong></p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/are-you-proud-of-yourself">Are You Proud of Yourself?</a>" by Zara Calico, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/are-you-proud-of-yourself">https://scpwiki.com/are-you-proud-of-yourself</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
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|
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
@@@@
@@@@
**##purple|“The gods are coming to the city.”##**
Kit nudged aside the Minions throw that had been stapled across the window so he could stare out of it as it rattled and clicked in the sea breeze. On another window ledge to the left of him, two guys sat in the open window, sharing a cider, on the border between falling back a few inches or falling forward three stories.
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/trans-formative Dawn], on the mattress next to the one Kit used, looked up groggily. **##pink|“…Whatcha say, Kit?”##** She mumbled, adjusting her boobs in discomfort. She wished she had the choice not to sleep with them on, but the last time she had removed them, they had somehow ended up thrown on top of a ceiling fan and down someone else’s top, respectively. They weren’t the breast forms she truly wanted, but they were what she needed to get her through each day – and boob money wasn’t exactly something she had an excess of.
Kit looked back, momentarily distracted. **##purple|“What? Oh. Nothing. Go back to sleep.”##** He let the blanket fall back into place, to reduce the glaring morning light. Despite the time, the streets were crowded, hectic and sensorily overwhelming. The first Saturday in August – it was Pride. A parade in the streets, a crowd on the beach, and a fuck fest in the sheets and stalls of the park. From here, their illegally occupied office of a home, they would get enviable views of the parade, and they would hear every song from every stage where the parade concluded.
Kit got up from his crouched position, dumped his parka – which doubled as a [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-duvet-queen duvet] – on his mattress, feeling secure that Dawn was right there, and she had learnt how not to take shit and how to dish it out, too. His coat would be safe. He absent-mindedly realised he had rainbow paint and glitter all over his face and hands from a sacrificial action the night before, but he didn’t care, nor would anyone else.
Kit had to step over a dozen mattresses to get out into the living room, mumbling an apology to a still drowsy [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-storyteller girl called Maria] who always dressed all in black and fishnets and mesh and blackened her lids and waterline with Sharpie. She stared up at Kit with distant eyes, then buried her face back into a greying pillow.
Kit's next couple of steps in his Doc Martens was into the living room which was more like their meeting room. It had stacks of unmatching, unsteady chairs dumped in one corner, a whiteboard, and permanent markers that seemed to be everywhere on the floor.
He paused at the ##brown|**‘Cum-munity Notice Board’**##, which was just a wall below a window, so Kit crouched again. [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/that-one-time-kit-tried-to-kill-himself All the writing was from different people], some signed, some not, some written decently, some barely legible.
##green|//‘Bring me 2 lyfe’//##
**‘Bring me 2 snakebites and black – Smokescrin’**
##blue|//‘Bring me stfu’//##
##red|//‘we could destroy all we wanted if we wanted I no because I asked – Karma’//##
**‘love is love is love is love is love is love is hate’**
##red|//‘all you need is love love is just a game – Rouge’//##
**‘every ting gud has 2 stop’**
##purple|//‘Best tread lightly if you’re using my feet – Magick’//##
**‘we luv the West Pier’**
[[size larger]]##red|**‘g a y’**##[[/size]]
##fuchsia|//‘u wait until PRIDE i’ll show u gay – Proud Cocksuckr’//##
##green|//‘we advert is in now? cos i’ll give u lip service – Dutch Dike’//##
There was a little bit of squabbling and advertising various services – not just blow jobs and cunnilingus but haircuts, rare treat foods as well as extra blankets and pillows. Then –
##pink|//‘we need a cat again – Woody’//##
//‘im allergic fucuk you'//
Kit sighed and picked up a pen.
##red|//‘u pussy – Kitten’//##
Honestly, who was squatting and decided their cat allergy was of any concern?
After catching up on the gossip but seeing nothing of interest, Kit went through to the galley kitchen – long and cramped, but it served its purpose, with a nice surprise of the cold water still running, as Kit took a long drink of water from the first clean mug he found. Then, he reached into his t-shirt, fumbled and fiddled with something, and produced a vial with a pink-purple petaled flower.
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/kit-s-bloomin-adventure Such beautiful petals.] Kit could hardly believe he had managed to ignore temptation for a whole damn week, saving it for Pride. Surviving on bennies and dollies – that was no way to live. But now there was the perfect corked vial, with the perfect-coloured flower, now there was Bloom and it was all for him.
It was easy to find the pestle and mortar – it was sensibly next to the electric scale. There was some white powder left in the mortar, and Kit rubbed it on his gums without thinking twice. It was only a teeny tiny amount, after all. Very carefully, Kit got the flower out and started plucking the precious petals.
**##purple|“She loves me,”##** Kit glanced out of the kitchen, across the living room, into the mattress room. Dawn was looking outside at the crowds waiting for the parade. Kit dropped another petal. **##pink|“She loves me not,”##** and now Dawn was looking at him, saw what he was doing, and looked away. **##purple|“She loves me.”##** Always best to start low and slow, just one more. **##pink|“She loves me not.”##** Fuck it! It couldn’t end that way. **##purple|“She loves me.”##** And now the last three petals looked lonely. **##pink|“She loves me not.”##** Two, two, what was the point of two when he was just one, wouldn’t even touch the sides, couldn’t save them. **##purple|“She loves me.”##** A deep breath, he should have stopped sooner. **##pink|“She loves me not.”##**
It didn’t take Kit long to prepare the purple powder into a bubbling purple liquid, then retrieve his works from the sole of his steel-capped boots. Tying off his arm with a purple band, finding a good vein that didn’t collapse after one poke, pulling back so a little bit of blood mixed with the purple liquid, then injecting it in.
Bloom had a kick like a mule – quick and hard and fast. Kit held on to the edge of the kitchen counter, but his head with its long and tangled hair tilted back, eyes rolling as he stared at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure if he nodded out for a moment, or if it happened the second after he had injected, but suddenly the front door was open.
Leo stood there, gangly tall with a frizzy afro that matched his name. At some point, he had appointed himself leader, or at least community outreach, as he often came back with new people. That seemed to be the case this time – a young man, shorter than Leo and with bleach blonde hair slightly browning at the roots, also stood in the doorway, with a rucksack in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. **##darkblue|“Guys, this is Sand.”**##
**##gold|“Sam.”##** Kit thought he heard the man say quietly, but his head was still woozy so maybe he made it up. He looked more like a ‘Sand’ anyway.
**##darkblue|“He’s been homeless for a week, left home, blah blah blah, we all know how the story goes. Sleeping on the beach sucks ass and it’s fucking hot as hell out there. So, in exchange for some nice treaties, and the chores the rest of us have to do, he’s gonna be with us until he doesn’t want to no more.”**## Leo pushed Sand forward, who looked slightly awkward but dropped the bag of goodies on the floor. Packs of chocolate bars, some fizzy drinks, multipacks of crisps – really, things they all missed. But Kit, at that moment, was more interested in Sand.
With anyone awake being distracted by grabbing their favourite things, and Leo trying to ration it, Kit sauntered over to Sand. He gave him a gap-toothed but charismatic smile. **##purple|“Sand, huh? Lemme guess – because of your hair.”##** Kit reached out and ran a hand through those blonde locks, which were dirty but surprisingly untangled. **##purple|“I like it. So…are you proud today, or just a friend of those of us who are a friend of Dorothy?”##**
Sand looked taken aback but found answering the question easy. **##gold|“I’m proud today.”##** He said, with a chuckle. **##gold|“You know – the only day people like us are allowed to be proud.”##** He had to assume Kit was that way inclined, too, because of the way he dropped his hip, the way his hand trailed from his hair down the side of his face, the way they had just met but Kit was touching in such a familiar way.
**##purple|“Hey, you wanna come with me? I know somewhere we can be alone. Everyone here is lovely, but they become destructive zombies whenever sweet or salty foods are involved.”##** Kit almost purred the question, trailing just one finger down from Sand’s decolletage to the bottom of his rib cage. Sand paused, but then nodded, letting Kit curl his hand around his wrist, and take him towards a room labelled ‘Stationary Cupboard’.
Even though the room was windowless, the crowd outside, the parade outside, began with loud gusto as Kit pressed Sand against the wall, letting their chapped lips lock together. As Kit put his leg between Sand’s, he could hear one of the floats outside, singing [[size larger]]**//“What have you done today to make you feel proud?//”**[[/size]] His grip tightened on Sand’s waist as the screaming, stomping, and banging made the street come to life.
Literally.
Graffiti stepped off buildings, huge abstract figures, barely legible tags, tiny spray paint rats, rebellious women spray painted in rebellious clothes, and the two kissing policemen. They climbed off abandoned buildings, and banks, out of playgrounds, and from tunnels and car parks. People had to duck from whatever counted as feet, and press themselves flat against walls to allow 2D giants their freedom, like they were becoming the graffiti instead. Inside the cupboard, Kit just inched forward, pressed himself against Sand, chest to chest, and felt their hearts beat together, trying to work out whose was slower so he could know – who might die first?
The long trailing rainbow flag carried by 30 volunteers on each side freed itself from its human moorings and drifted into the sky, where it took over. Instead of optimistic blue or British-brand grey, it was all the colours, the sun piercing through and blending the space around it. People stopped and gasped, gaping at the miracle of a rainbow overtaking every inch of the sky. Kit ran his free hand against Sand’s inner thigh.
The sea and its waves were grey that morning, the colour of so much paint smeared together. It clashed against the rainbow sky and the sun beating down in the aching August heat. People were doing nitrous on the shore, inhaling from rainbow balloons and laughing at the lightheaded ridiculous feeling. Dead nitrous canisters scattered among the pebbles; vape pen trash too. The sea started to come in. Gently first, although far from the hour it normally came in, waves licking the heavy sand and troublesome stones. Kit pulled away for a minute and studied Sand like a piece of art, waiting to be framed or fucked.
Smeared rainbow paint, transfer from Kit to Sand, across his forehead, accompanied by beads of sweat. There were also Kit’s two handprints on the wall on each side of Sand, showing the degree of their impulsive intimacy. The sea paused in its triumphant return. Sand had cheeks the colour of wine, a sunburnt nose, and lips chapped from living by the salt-strong sea. Piercings, of course, they always had piercings.
Through blurry vision, Kit could count seven as he lifted his hand to stroke that alabaster skin, couldn’t resist using his finger to twirl the paint around into a hypnotising shape on Sand’s forehead. The Bloom was making him feel a million miles away, but also far too close in this room, breathless as if it were running out of oxygen.
**##purple|“I’m not gay.”##** Kit finally said, staring into those blue-green-hazel-everything eyes that made him feel lost and small and lost.
**##gold|“I’m not either.”##** Sand said, staring back at the boy with the wild brown hair, dreadlocked by time unwashed and sleeping on the beach.
**##purple|"'Stationary’ means to keep still.”##** Kit said, abruptly, sinking down the wall to the floor, setting up his works again. **##purple|“We’re in a ‘Keep Still’ cupboard. I think people outside are frozen in time. You want a hit? I promise I haven’t got shit. M’sure you’ve heard that line before, but it’s true. I mixed too much, y’know, I didn’t want to fuck up my dose on my ‘proud’ day, but I had to figure out if this girl loves me.”##**
Sand sat next to Kit and watched him fumble around with his kit, clumsily. **##gold|“What was the conclusion to this very scientific experiment?”##**
Kit laughed hollowly. **##purple|“More research needed. Petals are telling me…she doesn’t. But flowers don’t know jack apart from how to photosynthesise.”##** As he drew liquid back into the needle, he frowned thoughtfully. **##purple|“S’gone quiet outside. You think it’s another bomb scare? I dunno how long you’ve been here, but there was a scare like, 10 years ago. Turns out it was cameras. Felt awful for the poor people standing there in wigs in August heat, waiting to be allowed to go and tryin’ to keep their make-up in place. Dawn says it’s hard. Wouldn’t know, I use acrylics on my face.”##**
Sand laughed a little. **##gold|“Can’t say I didn’t notice that. Trying to get in the mood? For Pride, I mean.”##** Kit paused, then shook his head. **##purple|“I was preparing...for the gods come to the city today.”##**
Down on the beach, the sea had stopped dragging itself in, going against its tide, but from somewhere deep inside it, millions of butterflies flew out of the water. They were all the shades, all the colours that a human could see, and some they couldn’t see, but they were there. The butterflies all formed a hand, and came down on the beach, picking up nitrous canisters and vape pens by the handful, and throwing them into the rainbow sky, where they exploded as fireworks.
Across the entire city, everyone could see the display, the rubbish turned into something beautiful, just like Pride brightened up Brighton, just for a moment.
After one last huge handful, with everyone in the city staring at their rainbow sky, surrounded by the spray paint artwork that belonged to the people, the fireworks exploded once more, this time to dramatically write –
[[=]]
[[size larger]]The End[[/size]]
[[/=]]
[[=]]
**<< [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/and-then-gabriel-slept|And Then, Gabriel Slept]]] |[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/kit-s-home-hub-of-happening| Hub]]]**
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
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|
2024-06-27T05:06:00
|
[
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"lgbtq",
"otherworldly",
"pridefest2024",
"romance",
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"surrealism",
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Are You Proud of Yourself? - SCP Foundation
| 8
|
[
"trans-formative",
"the-duvet-queen",
"the-storyteller",
"that-one-time-kit-tried-to-kill-himself",
"kit-s-bloomin-adventure",
"and-then-gabriel-slept",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"pridefest",
"kit-s-home-hub-of-happening"
] |
[] |
1454328081
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/are-you-proud-of-yourself
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armed-with-hell-flames-and-fury
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<th>Armed with Hell-Flames and Fury</th>
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<td style="text-align: center;"><span class="bt bb">Byㅤ</span> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/jasiu06" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6669398); return false;"><img alt="Jasiu06" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6669398&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736645630" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6669398)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/jasiu06" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6669398); return false;">Jasiu06</a></span></td>
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<th>Published on <span class="odate time_1725227160 format_%25d%20%25b%20%25Y">01 Sep 2024 21:46</span></th>
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<p>Armed with Hell-Flames and Fury</p>
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<p><a href="/canon-hub">Canon Hub</a> » <a href="/from-120-s-archives-hub">From 120's Archives Hub</a> » Armed with Hell-Flames and Fury</p>
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<h2 id="toc0"><span>INCIDENT REPORT #14-13/04/2039-ALPHA</span></h2>
<h5 id="toc1"><span>RELATED TO THE CASE</span></h5>
<p><span class="zm comment" style="width: fit-content; padding: 10px; margin: 0 auto -1.5rem; text-align: center;">Casefile #13/04/2039-B ("Silesian Incident")</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h5 id="toc2"><span><span style="text-decoration: underline;">PREAMBLE</span></span></h5>
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<div class="zm comment" style="margin: 1rem 0">
<p>On the 13th of April, 2039, at 21:53 (UTC+2), a group of armed terrorists stormed the local headquarters of the unVeiled company, an international media corporation, in Katowice, Silesian Voivodeship. The offenders took its employees hostage and initiated a live broadcast on television and various social media platforms. During this broadcast, the assailants identified themselves as members of the Chaos Insurgency movement, admitting to <a href="/dark-sushi-file-no-120">intentionally causing the events described in Casefile #13/04/2039-B</a> — the uncontrolled local proliferation of thaumaturgic abilities — and outlining their demands and motivations (see below).</p>
<p>Due to the chaos caused by Casefile #13/04/2039-B events, local law enforcement and Division forces were unable to respond effectively in time. The transmission of the broadcast was not effectively blocked until 22:21, although copies of it had already surfaced online and had been covered by various media organizations, spreading it further.</p>
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<h3 id="toc3"><span><span style="text-decoration: underline;">ATTACHED A/V FOOTAGE</span></span></h3>
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<p><tt><strong>» RECORDING STARTS «</strong></tt></p>
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<p>The footage depicts three individuals wearing balaclavas inside one of the rooms in the unVeiled building. The recording is visibly improvised. Two of them are standing in the back, next to a flag depicting the Chaos Insurgency emblem on a black background, holding assault rifles, while one <span class="bt">UNKNOWN MAN</span> in front is sitting at a table holding a piece of paper in his hands.</p>
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<p><span class="bt bb">UNKNOWN</span> People of Silesia, rejoice! Today marks the day of your liberation from the oppressive clutches of the Polish government. The Chaos Insurgency, a global bastion of resistance against threats to our existence, now empowers you to rise against the neglect and corruption of the so-called Central Committee for the Betterment of Silesia.</p>
<p>With the seizing of this building, we declare the liberation of Silesia. As the dust settles from the chaos unleashed through the thaumaturgical abilities granted by us, a new era of freedom begins. We, as the true representatives of the will of the entire Silesian population, demand an immediate and unconditional withdrawal of the Polish government from these territories.</p>
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<p>The <span class="bt">UNKNOWN MAN</span> stops for a moment, swiftly turns the page, and continues his monologue, gesticulating heavily while speaking.</p>
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<p><span class="bt bb">UNKNOWN</span> To those who may doubt our intentions, allow us to share with you the proud origins of our movement.</p>
<p>Our cause began with an event that would later be known as the Foundation Civil War — a pivotal moment, when part of the former Foundation's staff decided to rebel against the corrupt power of its Overseers. We were fueled by the Foundation betraying its ideals, failing to prevent the horrors of both the Second World War and the Seventh Occult War. We have witnessed the Overseers betray the Foundation's core mission from their ivory tower — to contain the proliferation of forces hostile to humanity, lurking in the darkness.</p>
<p>As the most dedicated <a href="/carroll-022-the-last-stand">soldiers of the Foundation's cause</a>, we could not stand idly by, watching as traitors and incompetent Overseers dismantle everything we have built, all under the guise of their so-called <a href="/ralliston-s-proposal">Directive Alpha/1911</a>.</p>
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<p>Another pause and turn of the page follows, after which the <span class="bt">UNKNOWN MAN</span> continues in a dramatic tone.</p>
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<p><span class="bt bb">UNKNOWN</span> Yet, the blind servants of the Overseers pushed us away. The 108-Headed Cosmopolitan Hydra mocked us when we asked for help.</p>
<p>But we persevered, despite our exile from the Foundation, armed with the knowledge of our predecessors' mistakes. We proudly embraced the mocking name that the true traitors gave us, becoming the real insurgency against the chaos the Overseers wanted to bring upon the world. As the only legitimate heirs to the Foundation's original mission, we were ready to create logic out of illogic and enlighten ourselves and everyone else with the knowledge that they had previously rejected.</p>
<p>We were no longer mere observers; we became soldiers in the battle against the forces that prevented humanity from continuing to evolve. Ready to reach the future and ensure that humanity would never again have to cower in fear of the unknown by using everything in an uncompromising fight against it. Armed with unwavering determination, we stand ready to claim our rightful place as masters over the natural and unnatural world.</p>
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<p>He pauses, quickly turns the page, and proceeds in a more sorrowful tone, still gesticulating heavily.</p>
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<p><span class="bt bb">UNKNOWN</span> In the end, we could only watch as the Foundation completely betrayed the ideas on which it was built, <a href="/hour-zero">transforming itself into Vanguard</a>. Our worst fears have come true. The Foundation, once humanity's last bastion of safety, abandoned its original mission, just as we had predicted when we first rebelled against it. The organization that was once founded with the intent to protect humanity had now sold out its subjects for little more than cancerous tissue.</p>
<p>The Foundation's corruption has finally devoured itself, dismantling the very natural order it once created to secure humanity's stability under the mask of so-called progress. Having utterly renounced its original purpose, this new so-called Vanguard has now fully embraced its new role as an emissary of unrestrained chaos.</p>
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<p>The <span class="bt">UNKNOWN MAN</span> proceeds to turn the page, after which he slaps the table, continuing his monologue in a louder and more dramatic tone.</p>
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<p><span class="bt bb">UNKNOWN</span> Yet, this betrayal has only strengthened us, drawing a wave of new recruits who have seen firsthand the hypocrisy of the Foundation. These individuals, who once swore to uphold the Foundation's mission, now saw years of manipulation at its hands.</p>
<p>As Newton once said, every action has a reaction. Our movement has experienced a rebirth. We have become a bastion for those who oppose the machinations of Vanguard's agenda, which, by seeking to normalize abnormalities, threatens to push humanity into the depths of darkness that we have once overcome.</p>
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<p>As he continues reading, his tone gets increasingly louder, almost shouting; the <span class="bt">UNKNOWN MAN</span> gets up, and the insurgents behind him stand at full attention with their rifles raised. He continues his speech from a standing position.</p>
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<p><span class="bt bb">UNKNOWN</span> It is us, and only us, who can accelerate humanity toward the future. We are the force standing against this onslaught, determined to secure humanity's survival, assert our supremacy, and protect the traditional values of our civilization. The onslaught that continues today as the Polish government pushes its oppression onto free men. Don't be fooled, good people — though this cancer, this regime calls itself independent, it is merely an extension of the disease that plagues our world. The disease that began with Vanguard and spread beyond its borders.</p>
<p>Today marks the culmination of our efforts — a great awakening for the world. In this moment, I assume the position of the New Engineer and the leader of the provisional military government. Our aim will be to ensure the existence of the Free State of Silesia by any means necessary, created based on the ideas combining the national interest of the Silesian people with the ideals of the Chaos Insurgency. Today is the day of your liberation, a day of freedom from the dictates of globalist powers and government tax oppression. Today we stand, in the first country that is free from outside influence!</p>
<p>The Silesian Uprisings of the 20th century were not enough; you were merely handed over from the Germans to the Poles. In many ways, we see ourselves in you. Just like you, we are a lost people looking for its home against the opressive tides of hegemony. Therefore, we promise you a free, prosperous, and sovereign Silesia — so use your newly gained thaumic abilities and fight for it. Our forces will soon begin to establish a new government throughout Silesia — one that will not answer to any satanist occultist lobby or Vanguard's agendas!</p>
<p>Expect further announcements in the coming days.</p>
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<div class="background-text">
<p>The footage no longer shows the room, transitioning to a black flag with the Insurgency emblem and the text <span class="tb">SILESIA FREE STATE</span> at the top and <span class="tb">SHOULD INTERMITTED VENGEANCE ARM AGAIN HIS RED RIGHT HAND TO PLAGUE US?</span> at the bottom. The recording then loops itself.</p>
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<p><tt><strong>» RECORDING ENDS «</strong></tt></p>
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<div class="scp-image-block block-center" style="width:100%;"><img alt="riots.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/armed-with-hell-flames-and-fury/riots.jpg"/>
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<p>Police forces unsuccessfully trying to retain the control of Market Square in Katowice (April 13th 2014, 22:23:31).</p>
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<h5 id="toc4"><span><span style="text-decoration: underline;">AFTERWORD</span></span></h5>
<div class="zm comment" style="margin: 1rem 0">
<p>On the morning of the following day, the 14th of April, local Division forces in Katowice, still struggling to restore order, were stormed by organized paramilitary Insurgency units. They were able to effectively take control of the city, capturing key strategic positions. As a result, Division was forced to execute a tactical withdrawal from Katowice, which was subsequently encased in a thaumic force field by the Insurgency, blocking all entry in and out of the city.</p>
<p>Division's units are currently awaiting orders from the Polish government regarding their next course of action. The situation is still developing.</p>
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<h4><span><span style="color: var(--textColor);">Thursday, 14 April 2039</span></span></h4>
<h5 id="toc5"><span>13:27</span></h5>
<h1><span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Presidential_Palace,_Warsaw">The Presidential Palace</a></span></h1>
<h2><span>Warsaw, Masovian Voivodeship, Poland</span></h2>
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<img alt="Palace.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/armed-with-hell-flames-and-fury/Palace.jpg"/>
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<p>The Presidential Palace was unusually calm and empty, considering the current situation.</p>
<p>A woman with dark brown hair walked briskly and confidently through the halls of the Presidential Palace. She was dressed elegantly, wearing minimalist glasses, and her face bore an expression of intense focus. The neoclassical building she was walking through, with its nearly four hundred year old history, had witnessed many political crises, wars, and conflicts.</p>
<p>Now, it was about to experience yet another one.</p>
<p>She passed through the Column Hall, where media briefings were usually held, and stepped into the golden <em>antichambre</em>. As she approached the secretariat's doors, the two soldiers on guard snapped to attention. It was clear the president didn't want any unwelcome visitors, but she wasn't one of them. Without even acknowledging their presence, she just hurried into the next room.</p>
<p>Inside, an older woman, visibly overwhelmed by the current situation, nervously shuffled papers from one pile to another, trying to appear busy. It was a feeble act of desperation that the woman saw through immediately. On the side of the wooden desk, a phone rang incessantly; it was ignored deliberately. Its repetitive sound filled the room, only adding to the already tense atmosphere.</p>
<p>Having noticed the guest, the secretary suddenly stood up, abandoning her task. She mumbled uncertainly, "The p-president is waiting for you in his o-offic—"</p>
<p>She didn't let her finish. Without a word, she simply walked straight into the president's office. In the current situation, there was no time for unnecessary formalities. The room was decorated in beige with gilded ornaments, and the walls featured many paintings by renowned Polish artists.</p>
<p>As the prime minister fully entered the cabinet, she immediately spotted President Paweł Kozioł standing by the window, shockingly collected considering what was transpiring. The president, around sixty years old, had a stout belly and a head as bald as the shining surface of his wooden desk.</p>
<p>She cleared her throat. "Good afternoon, Mr. President. I've just returned from the emergency staff briefing, and I assume you are probably already aware of the current… situation and this declaration," the prime minister said with visible concern in her voice as she stood by the door, waiting for his response.</p>
<p>The president took a final glance out the window before turning to face her.</p>
<p>"I'm glad you're finally here, Lucy. The Coalition's been calling me all day, and I'm not giving up to no filthy UN bureaucrats. I need <em>our</em> people on this."</p>
<p>"Our forces have been pushed out of Katowice and are currently awaiting orders. We have cut off their transmissions, but the media has already picked up the story…"</p>
<p>The man turned toward his desk with an ambiguous expression on his face.</p>
<p>"Well, the situation in the parliament and polls doesn't look promising. And you know how things are with the upcoming election…"</p>
<p>Lucy was perfectly aware of their current political landscape. Following the <a href="/the-liberal-vampire">decline of the conservatives after the fall of the Veil</a>, the liberals enjoyed uncontested rule for the next decade. But in the 2035 presidential elections, Kozioł and his populist Polish Party of Honesty managed to turn the tide, capitalizing on the social issues neglected by the previous government. However, only a few years later, their grip on power was slipping, with the opposition quickly catching up.</p>
<p>"…and we need some <em>rallying point</em> for the public and the politicians—"</p>
<p>"Maybe even some <em>show of strength</em>," Lucy interrupted, guessing where Kozioł was heading before he could even finish his sentence.</p>
<p>He snapped his fingers. "Exactly."</p>
<p>Lucy had a suspicion of what exactly President Kozioł intended to do, but didn't say anything. Still, the doubts lingered on in her mind.</p>
<p>"We've just been handed the perfect opportunity to unite the people under our cause and convince them of our leadership abilities — if <em>we</em> will be the ones to resolve this situation, and not some UN bureaucrats or other Vanguard," explained Kozioł as he reached for the telephone handset on his desk. For a few seconds, he hesitated in silence, but eventually picked up the handset, pressing it against his ear.</p>
<p>"Basia, could you please connect me to Jadzia? Yes, I mean <a href="http://scp-pl.wikidot.com/ja-jestem-mesjaszem">General Drzyzgewska</a>. Thank you very much." There was a short moment of waiting until a response came from the handset. "General, I need you to come to my office. It's an important matter — we'll need the Division."</p>
<p>After concluding the call, President Kozioł hung up the handset.</p>
<p>"ZM? They have already failed to control the situation in Katowice. Besides — some of their methods seem somewhat… <em>outdated</em>," the prime minister voiced her concerns almost immediately, with evident doubts about the effectiveness of his plan. "I'm not sure we'll be able to control this thaumic situation, and with the lack of cooperation with the interna—"</p>
<p>"Janina will handle it," Kozioł replied with confidence. "She'll scatter those small riots, and within a week, the situation will be under full control. We'll show ourselves as a strong and competent government."</p>
<p>"And what if the Witch Hunters can't handle it?" Lucy pressed.</p>
<p>Kozioł leaned back in his chair with a steady gaze.</p>
<p>"Lucy, I value your analytical perspective on the matter," Kozioł replied, sitting down in his chair with a confident expression on his face, "but we'll double our forces and strike decisively, once and for all. The Coalition is also planning to deploy some units in the region — despite my reservations about involving them. And in addition, we have…"</p>
<p>He paused, considering his next words very carefully.</p>
<p>"They already proved themselves in <em>Królewiec</em>, so to be sure, I'll also call <em>them</em> in," President Kozioł continued, pulling a small light blue business card from the drawer of his wooden desk.</p>
</div>
<div class="overwatch-box argus">
<p><span style="font-size:190%;"><a href="http://scp-int.wikidot.com/argus-inc-hub">A.R.G.U.S. INC.</a></span><br/>
<span style="font-size:80%;">Autonomic Recon Group with Undefined Specialization</span></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>We don't ask questions;</em><br/>
<em>We simply get our job done.</em></p>
</div>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title='Dark Sushi File No. 120 "Mab Maki"'>
<p><a href="/dark-sushi-file-no-120">Dark Sushi File No. 120 "Mab Maki"</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="All Eyes on Silesia">
<p><a href="/all-eyes-on-silesia-hub">All Eyes on Silesia</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="COMING SOON">
<p><a href="/whatever">COMING SOON</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<p><span id="u-fade-away"></span></p>
<span id="u-fade-away"></span>
<p><span id="u-fade-away"></span></p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/armed-with-hell-flames-and-fury">Armed with Hell-Flames and Fury</a>" by Jasiu06 and Zygard, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/armed-with-hell-flames-and-fury">https://scpwiki.com/armed-with-hell-flames-and-fury</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> chaos-insurgency-sigil-1.png/chaos-insurgency-sigil-2.png<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> CIbig.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043747" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/meanwhile-in-australia">SCP Foundation Wiki</a><br/>
<strong>Additional Notes:</strong> Edited by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/jasiu06" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6669398); return false;"><img alt="Jasiu06" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6669398&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043747" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6669398)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/jasiu06" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6669398); return false;">Jasiu06</a></span></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> ZM-1.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/jasiu06" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6669398); return false;"><img alt="Jasiu06" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6669398&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043747" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6669398)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/jasiu06" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6669398); return false;">Jasiu06</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-liberal-vampire">SCP Foundation Wiki</a><br/>
<strong>Derivative Of:</strong></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong>Herb Polski.svg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> N/A<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Herb_Polski.svg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> riots.jpg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> File:Protesters covered with improvised shields holding the barricade line at Grushevskogo str. Kyiv, Ukraine. Jan 22, 2014-2.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Mstyslav Chernov<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Protesters_covered_with_improvised_shields_holding_the_barricade_line_at_Grushevskogo_str._Kyiv,_Ukraine._Jan_22,_2014-2.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> president.png<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> File:Flag of the President of Poland.svg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Poznaniak, <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Herb_Polski.svg">godło: Image:Herb Polski.svg</a><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Flag_of_the_President_of_Poland.svg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> palace.jpg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> File:Pałac Prezydencki w Warszawie korpus główny 2019.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Adrian Grycuk<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0 PL<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pa%C5%82ac_Prezydencki_w_Warszawie_korpus_g%C5%82%C3%B3wny_2019.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[div style="display: none;"]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:flopstyle-dark">:scp-wiki:theme:flopstyle-dark</a>
|witch=a]]
[[/div]]
[[module CSS]]
:root{
--accentColor: #D22B2B;
--accentColorLite: #AD2323;
--hue: hue;
--bgColor: #191b1e;
--fgColor: #0e0f11;
--lgurl: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/armed-with-hell-flames-and-fury/chaos-insurgency-sigil-1.png);
--header-title: "CHAOS INSURGENCY";
--header-subtitle: "CREATING LOGIC OUT OF ILLOGIC";
--titleColor: title_colour;
--subtitleColor: subtitle_colour;
}
#extra-div-1 {
filter: invert(0) opacity(.15);
}
#header h1 a::before {
background: -webkit-linear-gradient(270deg, rgba(255,255,255,1), rgba(179,179,179,1) 75%, rgba(47, 51, 60,1) 100%);
-webkit-background-clip: text;
-webkit-text-fill-color: transparent;
}
.zm,
.zm hr,
.zm.comment {
--accentColor: hsl(220, 18%, 47%);
--accentColorLite: hsla(220, 18%, 47%, .15);
}
.zm .fnnum::after,
.zm .fnnum:hover,
.zm .fncon:before {
--fnColor: var(--accentColor);
}
.zm.comment {
display: block;
margin: .8rem;
padding: .02rem .8rem;
color: var(--textColor);
background: var(--accentColorLite);
}
.report-box hr {
border-top: 3px solid var(--accentColor);
}
.monologue td {
text-align: center;
padding: 0.8rem;
border: 1px solid var(--accentColor);
line-height: 1.5;
}
.monologue th {
text-align: center;
padding: 0.3rem;
background: var(--accentColor);
border: 1px solid var(--accentColor);
}
.monologue th h3 {
color: var(--textColor);
text-decoration-color: var(--textColor);
}
.monologue td .background-text {
opacity: .8;
font-style: italic;
}
.comment {
text-align: justify;
}
#u-fade-away {
/* Mouse Hover Reveals Rating Module */
opacity: calc(1 / 3);
transition: all .25s ease-in-out;
}
#u-fade-away:hover {
opacity: 1;
}
.argus {
--accentColor: #879DCC;
--accentColorLite: #AEC0E6;
--fnColor: var(--accentColor);
background: #eff4ff;
border: thick solid #5B5D61;
color: #333;
text-align: center;
margin-bottom: 2.5rem;
margin-top: 2.5rem;
font: 110% var(--header-font);
font-weight: bold;
}
.argus hr {
border: thin solid #5B5D61;
}
tt {
background-color: transparent;
padding: 0em;
}
[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-ayers">:scp-wiki:component:info-ayers</a>
|lang=en
|page=component:info-ayers
|authorPage=
|comments=
**Co-written by [[*user Jasiu06]] and [[*user Zygard]]**
**[http://scp-pl.wikidot.com/doslownie-1984 ► Jasiu06's Authorpage]**
**[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/zygards-author-page ► Zygard's Authorpage]**
]]
[[module Rate]]
[[div class="byline"]]
[[span style="display:none"]].[[/span]]
[[span]] 10 [[/span]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="meta-title"]]
Armed with Hell-Flames and Fury
[[/div]]
[[div class="pseudocrumbs"]]
[[[canon-hub|Canon Hub]]] >> [[[from-120-s-archives-hub|From 120's Archives Hub]]] >> Armed with Hell-Flames and Fury
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="report-box zm" style="padding-top: .8rem"]]
[[div class="centered"]]
[[=image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-liberal-vampire/ZM-1.png width="170px"]]
++ INCIDENT REPORT #14-13/04/2039-ALPHA
+++++ RELATED TO THE CASE
[[span class="zm comment" style="width: fit-content; padding: 10px; margin: 0 auto -1.5rem; text-align: center;"]]Casefile #13/04/2039-B ("Silesian Incident")[[/span]]
@@ @@
+++++ __PREAMBLE__
[[/div]]
[[div class="zm comment" style="margin: 1rem 0"]]
On the 13th of April, 2039, at 21:53 (UTC+2), a group of armed terrorists stormed the local headquarters of the unVeiled company, an international media corporation, in Katowice, Silesian Voivodeship. The offenders took its employees hostage and initiated a live broadcast on television and various social media platforms. During this broadcast, the assailants identified themselves as members of the Chaos Insurgency movement, admitting to [[[dark-sushi-file-no-120|intentionally causing the events described in Casefile #13/04/2039-B]]] -- the uncontrolled local proliferation of thaumaturgic abilities -- and outlining their demands and motivations (see below).
Due to the chaos caused by Casefile #13/04/2039-B events, local law enforcement and Division forces were unable to respond effectively in time. The transmission of the broadcast was not effectively blocked until 22:21, although copies of it had already surfaced online and had been covered by various media organizations, spreading it further.
[[/div]]
----
[[table class="monologue"]]
[[row]]
[[hcell]]
+++ __ATTACHED A/V FOOTAGE__
[[/hcell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[cell]]
{{**>> RECORDING STARTS <<**}}
[[div class="background-text"]]
The footage depicts three individuals wearing balaclavas inside one of the rooms in the unVeiled building. The recording is visibly improvised. Two of them are standing in the back, next to a flag depicting the Chaos Insurgency emblem on a black background, holding assault rifles, while one [[span class="bt"]] UNKNOWN MAN [[/span]] in front is sitting at a table holding a piece of paper in his hands.
[[/div]]
[[div class="zm comment"]]
[[span class="bt bb"]] UNKNOWN [[/span]] People of Silesia, rejoice! Today marks the day of your liberation from the oppressive clutches of the Polish government. The Chaos Insurgency, a global bastion of resistance against threats to our existence, now empowers you to rise against the neglect and corruption of the so-called Central Committee for the Betterment of Silesia.
With the seizing of this building, we declare the liberation of Silesia. As the dust settles from the chaos unleashed through the thaumaturgical abilities granted by us, a new era of freedom begins. We, as the true representatives of the will of the entire Silesian population, demand an immediate and unconditional withdrawal of the Polish government from these territories.
[[/div]]
[[div class="background-text"]]
The [[span class="bt"]] UNKNOWN MAN [[/span]] stops for a moment, swiftly turns the page, and continues his monologue, gesticulating heavily while speaking.
[[/div]]
[[div class="zm comment"]]
[[span class="bt bb"]] UNKNOWN [[/span]] To those who may doubt our intentions, allow us to share with you the proud origins of our movement.
Our cause began with an event that would later be known as the Foundation Civil War -- a pivotal moment, when part of the former Foundation's staff decided to rebel against the corrupt power of its Overseers. We were fueled by the Foundation betraying its ideals, failing to prevent the horrors of both the Second World War and the Seventh Occult War. We have witnessed the Overseers betray the Foundation's core mission from their ivory tower -- to contain the proliferation of forces hostile to humanity, lurking in the darkness.
As the most dedicated [[[carroll-022-the-last-stand|soldiers of the Foundation's cause]]], we could not stand idly by, watching as traitors and incompetent Overseers dismantle everything we have built, all under the guise of their so-called [[[ralliston-s-proposal|Directive Alpha/1911]]].
[[/div]]
[[div class="background-text"]]
Another pause and turn of the page follows, after which the [[span class="bt"]] UNKNOWN MAN [[/span]] continues in a dramatic tone.
[[/div]]
[[div class="zm comment"]]
[[span class="bt bb"]] UNKNOWN [[/span]] Yet, the blind servants of the Overseers pushed us away. The 108-Headed Cosmopolitan Hydra mocked us when we asked for help.
But we persevered, despite our exile from the Foundation, armed with the knowledge of our predecessors' mistakes. We proudly embraced the mocking name that the true traitors gave us, becoming the real insurgency against the chaos the Overseers wanted to bring upon the world. As the only legitimate heirs to the Foundation's original mission, we were ready to create logic out of illogic and enlighten ourselves and everyone else with the knowledge that they had previously rejected.
We were no longer mere observers; we became soldiers in the battle against the forces that prevented humanity from continuing to evolve. Ready to reach the future and ensure that humanity would never again have to cower in fear of the unknown by using everything in an uncompromising fight against it. Armed with unwavering determination, we stand ready to claim our rightful place as masters over the natural and unnatural world.
[[/div]]
[[div class="background-text"]]
He pauses, quickly turns the page, and proceeds in a more sorrowful tone, still gesticulating heavily.
[[/div]]
[[div class="zm comment"]]
[[span class="bt bb"]] UNKNOWN [[/span]] In the end, we could only watch as the Foundation completely betrayed the ideas on which it was built, [[[hour-zero|transforming itself into Vanguard]]]. Our worst fears have come true. The Foundation, once humanity's last bastion of safety, abandoned its original mission, just as we had predicted when we first rebelled against it. The organization that was once founded with the intent to protect humanity had now sold out its subjects for little more than cancerous tissue.
The Foundation's corruption has finally devoured itself, dismantling the very natural order it once created to secure humanity's stability under the mask of so-called progress. Having utterly renounced its original purpose, this new so-called Vanguard has now fully embraced its new role as an emissary of unrestrained chaos.
[[/div]]
[[div class="background-text"]]
The [[span class="bt"]] UNKNOWN MAN [[/span]] proceeds to turn the page, after which he slaps the table, continuing his monologue in a louder and more dramatic tone.
[[/div]]
[[div class="zm comment"]]
[[span class="bt bb"]] UNKNOWN [[/span]] Yet, this betrayal has only strengthened us, drawing a wave of new recruits who have seen firsthand the hypocrisy of the Foundation. These individuals, who once swore to uphold the Foundation's mission, now saw years of manipulation at its hands.
As Newton once said, every action has a reaction. Our movement has experienced a rebirth. We have become a bastion for those who oppose the machinations of Vanguard's agenda, which, by seeking to normalize abnormalities, threatens to push humanity into the depths of darkness that we have once overcome.
[[/div]]
[[div class="background-text"]]
As he continues reading, his tone gets increasingly louder, almost shouting; the [[span class="bt"]] UNKNOWN MAN [[/span]] gets up, and the insurgents behind him stand at full attention with their rifles raised. He continues his speech from a standing position.
[[/div]]
[[div class="zm comment"]]
[[span class="bt bb"]] UNKNOWN [[/span]] It is us, and only us, who can accelerate humanity toward the future. We are the force standing against this onslaught, determined to secure humanity's survival, assert our supremacy, and protect the traditional values of our civilization. The onslaught that continues today as the Polish government pushes its oppression onto free men. Don't be fooled, good people -- though this cancer, this regime calls itself independent, it is merely an extension of the disease that plagues our world. The disease that began with Vanguard and spread beyond its borders.
Today marks the culmination of our efforts -- a great awakening for the world. In this moment, I assume the position of the New Engineer and the leader of the provisional military government. Our aim will be to ensure the existence of the Free State of Silesia by any means necessary, created based on the ideas combining the national interest of the Silesian people with the ideals of the Chaos Insurgency. Today is the day of your liberation, a day of freedom from the dictates of globalist powers and government tax oppression. Today we stand, in the first country that is free from outside influence!
The Silesian Uprisings of the 20th century were not enough; you were merely handed over from the Germans to the Poles. In many ways, we see ourselves in you. Just like you, we are a lost people looking for its home against the opressive tides of hegemony. Therefore, we promise you a free, prosperous, and sovereign Silesia -- so use your newly gained thaumic abilities and fight for it. Our forces will soon begin to establish a new government throughout Silesia -- one that will not answer to any satanist occultist lobby or Vanguard's agendas!
Expect further announcements in the coming days.
[[/div]]
[[div class="background-text"]]
The footage no longer shows the room, transitioning to a black flag with the Insurgency emblem and the text [[span class="tb"]] SILESIA FREE STATE [[/span]] at the top and [[span class="tb"]] SHOULD INTERMITTED VENGEANCE ARM AGAIN HIS RED RIGHT HAND TO PLAGUE US? [[/span]] at the bottom. The recording then loops itself.
[[/div]]
{{**>> RECORDING ENDS <<**}}
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
----
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a>
|name=riots.jpg
|caption=Police forces unsuccessfully trying to retain the control of Market Square in Katowice (April 13th 2014, 22:23:31).
|align=center
|width=100%
]]
----
+++++ __AFTERWORD__
[[div class="zm comment" style="margin: 1rem 0"]]
On the morning of the following day, the 14th of April, local Division forces in Katowice, still struggling to restore order, were stormed by organized paramilitary Insurgency units. They were able to effectively take control of the city, capturing key strategic positions. As a result, Division was forced to execute a tactical withdrawal from Katowice, which was subsequently encased in a thaumic force field by the Insurgency, blocking all entry in and out of the city.
Division's units are currently awaiting orders from the Polish government regarding their next course of action. The situation is still developing.
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
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[[=image President.png class="scene-break"]]
++++* [[span style="color: var(--textColor);"]]Thursday, 14 April 2039[[/span]]
+++++ 13:27
+* [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Presidential_Palace,_Warsaw The Presidential Palace]
++* Warsaw, Masovian Voivodeship, Poland
----
[[image Palace.jpg]]
[[div class="justified indented end-mark"]]
The Presidential Palace was unusually calm and empty, considering the current situation.
A woman with dark brown hair walked briskly and confidently through the halls of the Presidential Palace. She was dressed elegantly, wearing minimalist glasses, and her face bore an expression of intense focus. The neoclassical building she was walking through, with its nearly four hundred year old history, had witnessed many political crises, wars, and conflicts.
Now, it was about to experience yet another one.
She passed through the Column Hall, where media briefings were usually held, and stepped into the golden //antichambre//. As she approached the secretariat's doors, the two soldiers on guard snapped to attention. It was clear the president didn't want any unwelcome visitors, but she wasn't one of them. Without even acknowledging their presence, she just hurried into the next room.
Inside, an older woman, visibly overwhelmed by the current situation, nervously shuffled papers from one pile to another, trying to appear busy. It was a feeble act of desperation that the woman saw through immediately. On the side of the wooden desk, a phone rang incessantly; it was ignored deliberately. Its repetitive sound filled the room, only adding to the already tense atmosphere.
Having noticed the guest, the secretary suddenly stood up, abandoning her task. She mumbled uncertainly, "The p-president is waiting for you in his o-offic--"
She didn't let her finish. Without a word, she simply walked straight into the president's office. In the current situation, there was no time for unnecessary formalities. The room was decorated in beige with gilded ornaments, and the walls featured many paintings by renowned Polish artists.
As the prime minister fully entered the cabinet, she immediately spotted President Paweł Kozioł standing by the window, shockingly collected considering what was transpiring. The president, around sixty years old, had a stout belly and a head as bald as the shining surface of his wooden desk.
She cleared her throat. "Good afternoon, Mr. President. I've just returned from the emergency staff briefing, and I assume you are probably already aware of the current... situation and this declaration," the prime minister said with visible concern in her voice as she stood by the door, waiting for his response.
The president took a final glance out the window before turning to face her.
"I'm glad you're finally here, Lucy. The Coalition's been calling me all day, and I'm not giving up to no filthy UN bureaucrats. I need //our// people on this."
"Our forces have been pushed out of Katowice and are currently awaiting orders. We have cut off their transmissions, but the media has already picked up the story..."
The man turned toward his desk with an ambiguous expression on his face.
"Well, the situation in the parliament and polls doesn't look promising. And you know how things are with the upcoming election..."
Lucy was perfectly aware of their current political landscape. Following the [[[the-liberal-vampire|decline of the conservatives after the fall of the Veil]]], the liberals enjoyed uncontested rule for the next decade. But in the 2035 presidential elections, Kozioł and his populist Polish Party of Honesty managed to turn the tide, capitalizing on the social issues neglected by the previous government. However, only a few years later, their grip on power was slipping, with the opposition quickly catching up.
"...and we need some //rallying point// for the public and the politicians--"
"Maybe even some //show of strength//," Lucy interrupted, guessing where Kozioł was heading before he could even finish his sentence.
He snapped his fingers. "Exactly."
Lucy had a suspicion of what exactly President Kozioł intended to do, but didn't say anything. Still, the doubts lingered on in her mind.
"We've just been handed the perfect opportunity to unite the people under our cause and convince them of our leadership abilities -- if //we// will be the ones to resolve this situation, and not some UN bureaucrats or other Vanguard," explained Kozioł as he reached for the telephone handset on his desk. For a few seconds, he hesitated in silence, but eventually picked up the handset, pressing it against his ear.
"Basia, could you please connect me to Jadzia? Yes, I mean [http://scp-pl.wikidot.com/ja-jestem-mesjaszem General Drzyzgewska]. Thank you very much." There was a short moment of waiting until a response came from the handset. "General, I need you to come to my office. It's an important matter -- we'll need the Division."
After concluding the call, President Kozioł hung up the handset.
"ZM? They have already failed to control the situation in Katowice. Besides -- some of their methods seem somewhat... //outdated//," the prime minister voiced her concerns almost immediately, with evident doubts about the effectiveness of his plan. "I'm not sure we'll be able to control this thaumic situation, and with the lack of cooperation with the interna--"
"Janina will handle it," Kozioł replied with confidence. "She'll scatter those small riots, and within a week, the situation will be under full control. We'll show ourselves as a strong and competent government."
"And what if the Witch Hunters can't handle it?" Lucy pressed.
Kozioł leaned back in his chair with a steady gaze.
"Lucy, I value your analytical perspective on the matter," Kozioł replied, sitting down in his chair with a confident expression on his face, "but we'll double our forces and strike decisively, once and for all. The Coalition is also planning to deploy some units in the region -- despite my reservations about involving them. And in addition, we have..."
He paused, considering his next words very carefully.
"They already proved themselves in //Królewiec//, so to be sure, I'll also call //them// in," President Kozioł continued, pulling a small light blue business card from the drawer of his wooden desk.
[[/div]]
[[div class="overwatch-box argus"]]
[[size 190%]][[[http://scp-int.wikidot.com/argus-inc-hub|A.R.G.U.S. INC.]]][[/size]]
[[size 80%]]Autonomic Recon Group with Undefined Specialization[[/size]]
------
//We don't ask questions;//
//We simply get our job done.//
[[/div]]
[[=image chaos-insurgency-sigil_2.png class="scene-break"]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=/dark-sushi-file-no-120 | previous-title=Dark Sushi File No. 120 "Mab Maki"
| next-url=/whatever | next-title=COMING SOON
| hub-url=/all-eyes-on-silesia-hub | hub-title=All Eyes on Silesia
]]
[[div class="footing"]]
[[/div]]
[[span id="fade-away"]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/span]]
----
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=Jasiu06 and Zygard]]
=====
> **Filename:** chaos-insurgency-sigil-1.png/chaos-insurgency-sigil-2.png
> **Name:** CIbig.png
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/meanwhile-in-australia SCP Foundation Wiki]
> **Additional Notes:** Edited by [[*user Jasiu06]]
> **Filename:** ZM-1.png
> **Author:** [[*user Jasiu06]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-liberal-vampire SCP Foundation Wiki]
> **Derivative Of:**
> **Name:**Herb Polski.svg
> **Author:** N/A
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Herb_Polski.svg Wikimedia Commons]
> **Filename:** riots.jpg
> **Name:** File:Protesters covered with improvised shields holding the barricade line at Grushevskogo str. Kyiv, Ukraine. Jan 22, 2014-2.jpg
> **Author:** Mstyslav Chernov
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Protesters_covered_with_improvised_shields_holding_the_barricade_line_at_Grushevskogo_str._Kyiv,_Ukraine._Jan_22,_2014-2.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
> **Filename:** president.png
> **Name:** File:Flag of the President of Poland.svg
> **Author:** Poznaniak, [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Herb_Polski.svg godło: Image:Herb Polski.svg]
> **License:** Public domain
> **Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Flag_of_the_President_of_Poland.svg Wikimedia Commons]
> **Filename:** palace.jpg
> **Name:** File:Pałac Prezydencki w Warszawie korpus główny 2019.jpg
> **Author:** Adrian Grycuk
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0 PL
> **Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pa%C5%82ac_Prezydencki_w_Warszawie_korpus_g%C5%82%C3%B3wny_2019.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-09-01T21:46:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"chaos-insurgency",
"from-120s-archives",
"military-fiction",
"tale",
"the-engineer",
"worldbuilding"
] |
Armed with Hell-Flames and Fury - SCP Foundation
| 19
|
[
"zygards-author-page",
"component:info-ayers",
"canon-hub",
"from-120-s-archives-hub",
"dark-sushi-file-no-120",
"carroll-022-the-last-stand",
"ralliston-s-proposal",
"hour-zero",
"the-liberal-vampire",
"all-eyes-on-silesia-hub",
"whatever",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide",
"meanwhile-in-australia"
] |
[
"from-120-s-archives-hub",
"chaos-insurgency-hub"
] |
[
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/armed-with-hell-flames-and-fury/riots.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/armed-with-hell-flames-and-fury/Palace.jpg"
] |
1456624180
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/armed-with-hell-flames-and-fury
|
|
art:forgotten-files-scp
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aisolated-terminal/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p>Note : "Forgotten files SCP" chapter 01, last vesrions: by GAELDK</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>chapter 01 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp">Forgotten files SCP 01</a></td>
<td>chapter 02 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2">Forgotten files SCP 02</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 03 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3">Forgotten files SCP 03</a></td>
<td>chapter 04 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04">work in progress</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 05 —></td>
<td>coming soon</td>
<td>bonus —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus">Meanwhile, in a...</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers">infinity-beers</a></td>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable">the-cable</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk">FANART SCP</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<img alt="pnglogo4.png-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9NDUwIiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvZTQwMDE5YjktYjc0ZC00ZWY2LTljYWQtYzhmZTcxNzM1ZTY2XC9kaXExd2cxLTk0N2MxYTlmLTFjY2QtNGU4ZC05NmNkLTI2ZDJhZGMyZThjMC5wbmciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MTAwMCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl19.ZqlG-QVQlm5eVHjg58o12fThExh_Hh0n728HOMvQUaM" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq1wg1-947c1a9f-1ccd-4e8d-96cd-26d2adc2e8c0.png/v1/fill/w_1000,h_450,q_80,strp/pnglogo4.png-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9NDUwIiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvZTQwMDE5YjktYjc0ZC00ZWY2LTljYWQtYzhmZTcxNzM1ZTY2XC9kaXExd2cxLTk0N2MxYTlmLTFjY2QtNGU4ZC05NmNkLTI2ZDJhZGMyZThjMC5wbmciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MTAwMCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl19.ZqlG-QVQlm5eVHjg58o12fThExh_Hh0n728HOMvQUaM"/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc1"><span>preface</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;"><img alt="preface1.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY2MyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1jMWVhMTg5ZC03ZTQ0LTQ0ZDQtYmFkNS03ZjgxYjQ4YmUxNjcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.HTwP0qV5xuJYNpCW3AxG2bIj4ccO-L7FbNOuKJ635w0" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-c1ea189d-7e44-44d4-bad5-7f81b48be167.jpg/v1/fill/w_784,h_1019,q_70,strp/preface1.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY2MyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1jMWVhMTg5ZC03ZTQ0LTQ0ZDQtYmFkNS03ZjgxYjQ4YmUxNjcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.HTwP0qV5xuJYNpCW3AxG2bIj4ccO-L7FbNOuKJ635w0"/>
<h1 id="toc2"><span>couv v1</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(1).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC01MTI4MDI4YS1iODUxLTRkNWUtODFmYS0xNDQ3NzU0MmI0NTkuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.6awfA9iKLxCaaqwg744QcMuB2st9veHb65DrVpEqWIc" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-5128028a-b851-4d5e-81fa-14477542b459.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1635,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(1).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC01MTI4MDI4YS1iODUxLTRkNWUtODFmYS0xNDQ3NzU0MmI0NTkuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.6awfA9iKLxCaaqwg744QcMuB2st9veHb65DrVpEqWIc"/>
<h1 id="toc3"><span>p01</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(2).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC01NzMzMWQ2Ny02MGU4LTRmYTItOTg5Yy1jNTM0YmQwYTM2OWUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.dlael6_yaDwO-4q7BgPH4i8rTJSrhsQseXFITv3SkVw" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-57331d67-60e8-4fa2-989c-c534bd0a369e.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1642,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(2).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC01NzMzMWQ2Ny02MGU4LTRmYTItOTg5Yy1jNTM0YmQwYTM2OWUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.dlael6_yaDwO-4q7BgPH4i8rTJSrhsQseXFITv3SkVw"/>
<h1 id="toc4"><span>p02</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(3).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC0wNTEzYWQyZi03MjVhLTRlMWEtOTY1Ni05NTZhNGY5MzQ5NGEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.HZPhhnPPE4ctNMoCo9Xh1HV7n6shv71k6gEu1hqX6c8" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-0513ad2f-725a-4e1a-9656-956a4f93494a.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1642,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(3).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC0wNTEzYWQyZi03MjVhLTRlMWEtOTY1Ni05NTZhNGY5MzQ5NGEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.HZPhhnPPE4ctNMoCo9Xh1HV7n6shv71k6gEu1hqX6c8"/>
<h1 id="toc5"><span>p03</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(4).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC03N2FkNjU4MS01MzQ5LTQ2MWMtOGQ1Ni0xMTYwOWQwZDM5ZjEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.hhsoPnskvKsJBUBysRQ36xSX8ecHX7SBlQN_Pq4Icyg" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-77ad6581-5349-461c-8d56-11609d0d39f1.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1642,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(4).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC03N2FkNjU4MS01MzQ5LTQ2MWMtOGQ1Ni0xMTYwOWQwZDM5ZjEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.hhsoPnskvKsJBUBysRQ36xSX8ecHX7SBlQN_Pq4Icyg"/>
<h1 id="toc6"><span>p04</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(5).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY3MCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1jMDdkYTlmZC03YzhjLTQxZDEtOTU2YS01ZGViMDZjMzk2NTUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.rBw_M8LsIF0C7rQg9dRvPVOadksbfXmZSOPPL0RjGDc" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-c07da9fd-7c8c-41d1-956a-5deb06c39655.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1670,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(5).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY3MCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1jMDdkYTlmZC03YzhjLTQxZDEtOTU2YS01ZGViMDZjMzk2NTUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.rBw_M8LsIF0C7rQg9dRvPVOadksbfXmZSOPPL0RjGDc"/>
<h1 id="toc7"><span>p05</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(6).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1hNGJiZmQxNS04NDFlLTQzMWQtODM3Ni05MDQ3MDNjYzc5YjQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.J-0j7K2wD4DngoC6iqwhfQyxE9pQmehWLo9T5gkkbEc" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-a4bbfd15-841e-431d-8376-904703cc79b4.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1640,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(6).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1hNGJiZmQxNS04NDFlLTQzMWQtODM3Ni05MDQ3MDNjYzc5YjQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.J-0j7K2wD4DngoC6iqwhfQyxE9pQmehWLo9T5gkkbEc"/>
<h1 id="toc8"><span>p06</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(7).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1hOTFhMzhmMC0wNjU4LTQzOTUtYWFkOC0wZGU1ODg1NzJlYzUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.dn0-qzvNNTaVraalPaJbZfFzxkyiZEDGh7FuZ6uujmA" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-a91a38f0-0658-4395-aad8-0de588572ec5.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1642,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(7).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1hOTFhMzhmMC0wNjU4LTQzOTUtYWFkOC0wZGU1ODg1NzJlYzUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.dn0-qzvNNTaVraalPaJbZfFzxkyiZEDGh7FuZ6uujmA"/>
<h1 id="toc9"><span>p07</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(8).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzMyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kMmI2YTc4YS1jZjdmLTQzOTYtYjFiMS1lMzVmNmZiOWQyZDMuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.f3sI2btDSHLRH5fMhrpIWAl4I29GGX8F5SvT2TvVI54" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-d2b6a78a-cf7f-4396-b1b1-e35f6fb9d2d3.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1633,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(8).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzMyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kMmI2YTc4YS1jZjdmLTQzOTYtYjFiMS1lMzVmNmZiOWQyZDMuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.f3sI2btDSHLRH5fMhrpIWAl4I29GGX8F5SvT2TvVI54"/>
<h1 id="toc10"><span>p08</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(9).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kYTA2MDgzNC01NzM1LTRkYTQtYWQ2OS00NWU5NTRkOTE1ZWQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.wGbPyCBTVmya7XYOBfkG_TOMyxqABZKh_TOWjMFG9RU" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-da060834-5735-4da4-ad69-45e954d915ed.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1642,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(9).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kYTA2MDgzNC01NzM1LTRkYTQtYWQ2OS00NWU5NTRkOTE1ZWQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.wGbPyCBTVmya7XYOBfkG_TOMyxqABZKh_TOWjMFG9RU"/>
<h1 id="toc11"><span>p09</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(16).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kOTYzOTJjMC1lMGFiLTQ4MjYtOTA0YS1iZGRiZDdlMDQyM2UuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.vfd-NMSbGI9J5RSWXmi8XYklfAykyY6HJ-vw8NK4pGo" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-d96392c0-e0ab-4826-904a-bddbd7e0423e.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1811,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(16).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kOTYzOTJjMC1lMGFiLTQ4MjYtOTA0YS1iZGRiZDdlMDQyM2UuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.vfd-NMSbGI9J5RSWXmi8XYklfAykyY6HJ-vw8NK4pGo"/>
<h1 id="toc12"><span>p10</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(17).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTc1MCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1hYmE2ZTRlNy03YjdjLTRlNGMtOWY3Ni1hZTA3MjkwZWMwNTcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.OcxH3dji58FaB97oy1vAOnvMw_nMiDFYkq3QE1VDhTo" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-aba6e4e7-7b7c-4e4c-9f76-ae07290ec057.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1750,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(17).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTc1MCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1hYmE2ZTRlNy03YjdjLTRlNGMtOWY3Ni1hZTA3MjkwZWMwNTcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.OcxH3dji58FaB97oy1vAOnvMw_nMiDFYkq3QE1VDhTo"/>
<h1 id="toc13"><span>p11</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(10).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kZjRmNzQ3Ni1lODI3LTQ4YjYtYjViMy0wZDEwOTVmMzRhOWEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.SnkXWKK_ztYVYl4Kudc2TzupKM4udrWsBWmXojFuLTU" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-df4f7476-e827-48b6-b5b3-0d1095f34a9a.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1636,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(10).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kZjRmNzQ3Ni1lODI3LTQ4YjYtYjViMy0wZDEwOTVmMzRhOWEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.SnkXWKK_ztYVYl4Kudc2TzupKM4udrWsBWmXojFuLTU"/>
<h1 id="toc14"><span>p12</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(11).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kNTc3MmU0My0xYTRiLTQxZDQtOGRhZS1lYzRkMzgxZWQ4MTcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.JL7UI0HIJUFUR4xUGq0LvawekSkCwqY9nIiqeP5jW5Q" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-d5772e43-1a4b-41d4-8dae-ec4d381ed817.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1634,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(11).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kNTc3MmU0My0xYTRiLTQxZDQtOGRhZS1lYzRkMzgxZWQ4MTcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.JL7UI0HIJUFUR4xUGq0LvawekSkCwqY9nIiqeP5jW5Q"/>
<h1 id="toc15"><span>p13</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(12).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kYjdmMzMwYS0wYzY3LTQ0ZWMtYWEwMi1lMWY5YTc2NjNmZTguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.qcs9Cn4v0njBC_yin6YevQLuBm7GFgfuNRHdOgRZQXY" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-db7f330a-0c67-44ec-aa02-e1f9a7663fe8.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1812,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(12).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kYjdmMzMwYS0wYzY3LTQ0ZWMtYWEwMi1lMWY5YTc2NjNmZTguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.qcs9Cn4v0njBC_yin6YevQLuBm7GFgfuNRHdOgRZQXY"/>
<h1 id="toc16"><span>p14</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(13).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzOCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1iMWZlYzQ0My1kYjkwLTQ1ZjItYmRiNC00ODM3NzQ5ZjA4NmMuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.xR9xh4Y3c5hOGM0PhfbSGtRT2Rvg4ctGAYNzWJ4trgw" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-b1fec443-db90-45f2-bdb4-4837749f086c.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1638,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(13).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzOCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1iMWZlYzQ0My1kYjkwLTQ1ZjItYmRiNC00ODM3NzQ5ZjA4NmMuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.xR9xh4Y3c5hOGM0PhfbSGtRT2Rvg4ctGAYNzWJ4trgw"/>
<h1 id="toc17"><span>p15</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(14).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC0xOTZjZWNjMy1mYmQ3LTRlMTAtOTlkNy1iMTZkMzdkMDUxMDUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.bP-jNTUQz4AC0KtoaDxrkkPmJjyGWswpw4Lxdnj3ikk" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-196cecc3-fbd7-4e10-99d7-b16d37d05105.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1637,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(14).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC0xOTZjZWNjMy1mYmQ3LTRlMTAtOTlkNy1iMTZkMzdkMDUxMDUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.bP-jNTUQz4AC0KtoaDxrkkPmJjyGWswpw4Lxdnj3ikk"/>
<h1 id="toc18"><span>p16</span></h1>
<img alt="scp%20FF%2000%20(15).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC0zMWM0NmJjZS02MDdjLTQxYjktYTczZS0zOTdmMzllYjE5NTcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.SOB6sAkMa00SzuUzF-OeaOqQMgfKD20Peluaq4yq5V8" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-31c46bce-607c-41b9-a73e-397f39eb1957.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1641,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(15).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC0zMWM0NmJjZS02MDdjLTQxYjktYTczZS0zOTdmMzllYjE5NTcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.SOB6sAkMa00SzuUzF-OeaOqQMgfKD20Peluaq4yq5V8"/></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc19"><span>Bonus</span></h1>
</div>
<p><tt>doc : 01A</tt></p>
<img alt="scp_beer_forgotten_files_scp_by_gael_d_k_dipv2t7-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9NTI1IiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvZTQwMDE5YjktYjc0ZC00ZWY2LTljYWQtYzhmZTcxNzM1ZTY2XC9kaXB2MnQ3LTg1M2I0YzVjLTJiZGEtNDYxYS1hYzg1LWE3MjVlZmQ0NjNmNy5wbmciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MTI4MCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl19.ptTGy_5JGOFsueepyBk6QToBfcgI7ufQEyaYScOyCoM" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dipv2t7-853b4c5c-2bda-461a-ac85-a725efd463f7.png/v1/fill/w_1280,h_525,q_80,strp/scp_beer_forgotten_files_scp_by_gael_d_k_dipv2t7-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9NTI1IiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvZTQwMDE5YjktYjc0ZC00ZWY2LTljYWQtYzhmZTcxNzM1ZTY2XC9kaXB2MnQ3LTg1M2I0YzVjLTJiZGEtNDYxYS1hYzg1LWE3MjVlZmQ0NjNmNy5wbmciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MTI4MCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl19.ptTGy_5JGOFsueepyBk6QToBfcgI7ufQEyaYScOyCoM"/>
<div style="border: 2px solid #222222; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc20"><span>forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)</span></h1>
</div>
<br/>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>chapter 01 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp">Forgotten files SCP 01</a></td>
<td>chapter 02 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2">Forgotten files SCP 02</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 03 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3">Forgotten files SCP 03</a></td>
<td>chapter 04 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04">work in progress</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 05 —></td>
<td>coming soon</td>
<td>bonus —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus">Meanwhile, in a...</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers">infinity-beers</a></td>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable">the-cable</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk">FANART SCP</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<hr/>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:isolated-terminal">:scp-wiki:theme:isolated-terminal</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Note : "Forgotten files SCP" chapter 01, last vesrions: by GAELDK
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
+ forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)
[[/=]]
[[div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;"]]
|| chapter 01 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp Forgotten files SCP 01] || chapter 02 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2 Forgotten files SCP 02] ||
|| chapter 03 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3 Forgotten files SCP 03] || chapter 04 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04 work in progress] ||
|| chapter 05 --> || coming soon || bonus --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus Meanwhile, in a...] ||
|| SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers infinity-beers] || SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable the-cable] ||
|| SCP --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk FANART SCP] ||
[[/div]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq1wg1-947c1a9f-1ccd-4e8d-96cd-26d2adc2e8c0.png/v1/fill/w_1000,h_450,q_80,strp/pnglogo4.png-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9NDUwIiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvZTQwMDE5YjktYjc0ZC00ZWY2LTljYWQtYzhmZTcxNzM1ZTY2XC9kaXExd2cxLTk0N2MxYTlmLTFjY2QtNGU4ZC05NmNkLTI2ZDJhZGMyZThjMC5wbmciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MTAwMCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl19.ZqlG-QVQlm5eVHjg58o12fThExh_Hh0n728HOMvQUaM]]
[[=]]
+ preface
[[/=]]
[[div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;"]]
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-c1ea189d-7e44-44d4-bad5-7f81b48be167.jpg/v1/fill/w_784,h_1019,q_70,strp/preface1.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY2MyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1jMWVhMTg5ZC03ZTQ0LTQ0ZDQtYmFkNS03ZjgxYjQ4YmUxNjcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.HTwP0qV5xuJYNpCW3AxG2bIj4ccO-L7FbNOuKJ635w0]]
+ couv v1
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+ p01
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+ p02
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-0513ad2f-725a-4e1a-9656-956a4f93494a.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1642,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(3).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC0wNTEzYWQyZi03MjVhLTRlMWEtOTY1Ni05NTZhNGY5MzQ5NGEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.HZPhhnPPE4ctNMoCo9Xh1HV7n6shv71k6gEu1hqX6c8]]
+ p03
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-77ad6581-5349-461c-8d56-11609d0d39f1.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1642,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(4).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC03N2FkNjU4MS01MzQ5LTQ2MWMtOGQ1Ni0xMTYwOWQwZDM5ZjEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.hhsoPnskvKsJBUBysRQ36xSX8ecHX7SBlQN_Pq4Icyg]]
+ p04
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-c07da9fd-7c8c-41d1-956a-5deb06c39655.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1670,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(5).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY3MCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1jMDdkYTlmZC03YzhjLTQxZDEtOTU2YS01ZGViMDZjMzk2NTUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.rBw_M8LsIF0C7rQg9dRvPVOadksbfXmZSOPPL0RjGDc]]
+ p05
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-a4bbfd15-841e-431d-8376-904703cc79b4.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1640,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(6).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1hNGJiZmQxNS04NDFlLTQzMWQtODM3Ni05MDQ3MDNjYzc5YjQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.J-0j7K2wD4DngoC6iqwhfQyxE9pQmehWLo9T5gkkbEc]]
+ p06
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-a91a38f0-0658-4395-aad8-0de588572ec5.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1642,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(7).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1hOTFhMzhmMC0wNjU4LTQzOTUtYWFkOC0wZGU1ODg1NzJlYzUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.dn0-qzvNNTaVraalPaJbZfFzxkyiZEDGh7FuZ6uujmA]]
+ p07
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-d2b6a78a-cf7f-4396-b1b1-e35f6fb9d2d3.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1633,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(8).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzMyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kMmI2YTc4YS1jZjdmLTQzOTYtYjFiMS1lMzVmNmZiOWQyZDMuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.f3sI2btDSHLRH5fMhrpIWAl4I29GGX8F5SvT2TvVI54]]
+ p08
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-da060834-5735-4da4-ad69-45e954d915ed.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1642,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(9).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kYTA2MDgzNC01NzM1LTRkYTQtYWQ2OS00NWU5NTRkOTE1ZWQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.wGbPyCBTVmya7XYOBfkG_TOMyxqABZKh_TOWjMFG9RU]]
+ p09
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-d96392c0-e0ab-4826-904a-bddbd7e0423e.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1811,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(16).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kOTYzOTJjMC1lMGFiLTQ4MjYtOTA0YS1iZGRiZDdlMDQyM2UuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.vfd-NMSbGI9J5RSWXmi8XYklfAykyY6HJ-vw8NK4pGo]]
+ p10
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-aba6e4e7-7b7c-4e4c-9f76-ae07290ec057.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1750,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(17).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTc1MCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1hYmE2ZTRlNy03YjdjLTRlNGMtOWY3Ni1hZTA3MjkwZWMwNTcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.OcxH3dji58FaB97oy1vAOnvMw_nMiDFYkq3QE1VDhTo]]
+ p11
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-df4f7476-e827-48b6-b5b3-0d1095f34a9a.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1636,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(10).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kZjRmNzQ3Ni1lODI3LTQ4YjYtYjViMy0wZDEwOTVmMzRhOWEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.SnkXWKK_ztYVYl4Kudc2TzupKM4udrWsBWmXojFuLTU]]
+ p12
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-d5772e43-1a4b-41d4-8dae-ec4d381ed817.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1634,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(11).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kNTc3MmU0My0xYTRiLTQxZDQtOGRhZS1lYzRkMzgxZWQ4MTcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.JL7UI0HIJUFUR4xUGq0LvawekSkCwqY9nIiqeP5jW5Q]]
+ p13
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-db7f330a-0c67-44ec-aa02-e1f9a7663fe8.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1812,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(12).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1kYjdmMzMwYS0wYzY3LTQ0ZWMtYWEwMi1lMWY5YTc2NjNmZTguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.qcs9Cn4v0njBC_yin6YevQLuBm7GFgfuNRHdOgRZQXY]]
+ p14
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-b1fec443-db90-45f2-bdb4-4837749f086c.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1638,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(13).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzOCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC1iMWZlYzQ0My1kYjkwLTQ1ZjItYmRiNC00ODM3NzQ5ZjA4NmMuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.xR9xh4Y3c5hOGM0PhfbSGtRT2Rvg4ctGAYNzWJ4trgw]]
+ p15
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-196cecc3-fbd7-4e10-99d7-b16d37d05105.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1637,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(14).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC0xOTZjZWNjMy1mYmQ3LTRlMTAtOTlkNy1iMTZkMzdkMDUxMDUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.bP-jNTUQz4AC0KtoaDxrkkPmJjyGWswpw4Lxdnj3ikk]]
+ p16
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq5638-31c46bce-607c-41b9-a73e-397f39eb1957.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_1641,q_75,strp/scp%20FF%2000%20(15).jpg-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTYzOC0zMWM0NmJjZS02MDdjLTQxYjktYTczZS0zOTdmMzllYjE5NTcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.SOB6sAkMa00SzuUzF-OeaOqQMgfKD20Peluaq4yq5V8]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
+ Bonus
[[/=]]
{{doc : 01A}}
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dipv2t7-853b4c5c-2bda-461a-ac85-a725efd463f7.png/v1/fill/w_1280,h_525,q_80,strp/scp_beer_forgotten_files_scp_by_gael_d_k_dipv2t7-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9NTI1IiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvZTQwMDE5YjktYjc0ZC00ZWY2LTljYWQtYzhmZTcxNzM1ZTY2XC9kaXB2MnQ3LTg1M2I0YzVjLTJiZGEtNDYxYS1hYzg1LWE3MjVlZmQ0NjNmNy5wbmciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MTI4MCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl19.ptTGy_5JGOFsueepyBk6QToBfcgI7ufQEyaYScOyCoM]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #222222; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[=]]
+ forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)
[[/=]]
[[div style="background-color: #ff0000; color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
|| chapter 01 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp Forgotten files SCP 01] || chapter 02 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2 Forgotten files SCP 02] ||
|| chapter 03 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3 Forgotten files SCP 03] || chapter 04 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04 work in progress] ||
|| chapter 05 --> || coming soon || bonus --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus Meanwhile, in a...] ||
|| SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers infinity-beers] || SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable the-cable] ||
|| SCP --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk FANART SCP] ||
[[/div]]
------
|
2024-12-06T18:50:00
|
[
"comic",
"tale"
] |
Forgotten files SCP chapter 01 - SCP Foundation
| 12
|
[
"art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2",
"art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3",
"art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04",
"art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus",
"art:gaeldk"
] |
[
"artwork-hub",
"tales-by-year",
"artist-showcase-archive",
"news"
] |
[
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] |
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art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04
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<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aisolated-terminal/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<h1 id="toc0"><span>Work in progress :</span></h1>
<p>Currently, Chapter 4 is being written. Since it contains the key revelations, it's taking me a bit more time to write and lay out. Here are some drawings from the upcoming Chapter 04 in the meantime…</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc1"><span>forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>chapter 01 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp">Forgotten files SCP 01</a></td>
<td>chapter 02 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2">Forgotten files SCP 02</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 03 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3">Forgotten files SCP 03</a></td>
<td>chapter 04 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04">work in progress</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 05 —></td>
<td>coming soon</td>
<td>bonus —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus">Meanwhile, in a...</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers">infinity-beers</a></td>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable">the-cable</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk">FANART SCP</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<hr/>
<h1 id="toc2"><span>Work in progress :</span></h1>
<div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;">
<h1 id="toc3"><span>p40</span></h1>
<img alt="scp33_by_gael_d_k_diq0mo4-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYwMCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG1vNC04ZTE3NTY1MC04Mjc3LTQzMmEtYjZkZC02MmEyMTcwMTcxOWMuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTExMDUifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.WdRv_Xzt6kpcVxnAsohES2zfwa3w8UqwZVulLoxOO6k" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq0mo4-8e175650-8277-432a-b6dd-62a21701719c.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1198,q_70,strp/scp33_by_gael_d_k_diq0mo4-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYwMCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG1vNC04ZTE3NTY1MC04Mjc3LTQzMmEtYjZkZC02MmEyMTcwMTcxOWMuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTExMDUifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.WdRv_Xzt6kpcVxnAsohES2zfwa3w8UqwZVulLoxOO6k"/>
<h1 id="toc4"><span>p41</span></h1>
<img alt="scpbdch04b_by_gael_d_k_diq0mnk-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxNSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG1uay01YzI2MGJhYy02NzlhLTQwNjgtYjA2OS03NWM1NTMxYWEyN2QuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.dhLclL5XRg56HvIZTpjM0xVgSOtAZ869sRyHFcTOFoE" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq0mnk-5c260bac-679a-4068-b069-75c5531aa27d.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1174,q_70,strp/scpbdch04b_by_gael_d_k_diq0mnk-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxNSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG1uay01YzI2MGJhYy02NzlhLTQwNjgtYjA2OS03NWM1NTMxYWEyN2QuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.dhLclL5XRg56HvIZTpjM0xVgSOtAZ869sRyHFcTOFoE"/>
<h1 id="toc5"><span>p42</span></h1>
<img alt="scp35a_by_gael_d_k_diq0n7k-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG43ay0xYjc5ZmU1ZS0yMWY0LTQ2MjItOWYyYS1hMzY0MzA4MmYzYzUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.bSh4-BjBaSb3QNQLvKr2oCjZLeHS1lLr8x8kB9WAUWs" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq0n7k-1b79fe5e-21f4-4622-9f2a-a3643082f3c5.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1172,q_70,strp/scp35a_by_gael_d_k_diq0n7k-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG43ay0xYjc5ZmU1ZS0yMWY0LTQ2MjItOWYyYS1hMzY0MzA4MmYzYzUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.bSh4-BjBaSb3QNQLvKr2oCjZLeHS1lLr8x8kB9WAUWs"/>
<h1 id="toc6"><span>p43</span></h1>
<img alt="forgotten_files_scp_chapter_04_p43_by_gael_d_k_diqsat3-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY5MyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxc2F0My1iNThkZjI1Yy1lNTQyLTRkYzItODMyNC02MjBkNTY1MDNmM2YuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.bD3nBrsTJJjxf2KHv0iK_iu1fw-mVhejmWfk_QifaPA" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diqsat3-b58df25c-e542-4dc2-8324-620d56503f3f.jpg/v1/fill/w_777,h_1028,q_70,strp/forgotten_files_scp_chapter_04_p43_by_gael_d_k_diqsat3-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY5MyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxc2F0My1iNThkZjI1Yy1lNTQyLTRkYzItODMyNC02MjBkNTY1MDNmM2YuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.bD3nBrsTJJjxf2KHv0iK_iu1fw-mVhejmWfk_QifaPA"/>
<h1 id="toc7"><span>p44</span></h1>
<img alt="forgotten_files_scp_chapter_04_p44_by_gael_d_k_diqsa1q-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgwMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxc2ExcS03NGU3MmY5OS1kOGRjLTQ3YWMtOTgzMi0zMjZjZjJhN2MxNDYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.KUiY3wDqPlD_5G38NRQiA8axEtGDCx9ZllapFXOSct0" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diqsa1q-74e72f99-d8dc-47ac-9832-326cf2a7c146.jpg/v1/fill/w_754,h_1060,q_70,strp/forgotten_files_scp_chapter_04_p44_by_gael_d_k_diqsa1q-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgwMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxc2ExcS03NGU3MmY5OS1kOGRjLTQ3YWMtOTgzMi0zMjZjZjJhN2MxNDYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.KUiY3wDqPlD_5G38NRQiA8axEtGDCx9ZllapFXOSct0"/>
<h1 id="toc8"><span>p45</span></h1>
<img alt="scp36c1dd_by_gael_d_k_diq0n89-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgwOCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG44OS0wNDMxYTFmNy1iMDIyLTQzNDAtOWU1OC0xOTIzNDFlMzlmYzQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.uDE32t8KJF5SSE647ztqwFjTDSvfzWuNFT4Qd3e57sw" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq0n89-0431a1f7-b022-4340-9e58-192341e39fc4.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1170,q_70,strp/scp36c1dd_by_gael_d_k_diq0n89-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgwOCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG44OS0wNDMxYTFmNy1iMDIyLTQzNDAtOWU1OC0xOTIzNDFlMzlmYzQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.uDE32t8KJF5SSE647ztqwFjTDSvfzWuNFT4Qd3e57sw"/>
<h1 id="toc9"><span>p46</span></h1>
<img alt="work_in_progress_by_gael_d_k_diq0p3i-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMHAzaS0zOTBjMTc1Ny1kYjc5LTRkODctYjhhOS1kYTBkNzgxY2MxM2UucG5nIiwiaGVpZ2h0IjoiPD04MjgiLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MTAyNCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS53YXRlcm1hcmsiXSwid21rIjp7InBhdGgiOiJcL3dtXC9lNDAwMTliOS1iNzRkLTRlZjYtOWNhZC1jOGZlNzE3MzVlNjZcL2dhZWwtZC1rLTQucG5nIiwib3BhY2l0eSI6OTUsInByb3BvcnRpb25zIjowLjQ1LCJncmF2aXR5IjoiY2VudGVyIn19.DwZ__i594bAQmkqqgRBQALfQD_7K2z75hufjHAlYDQU" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq0p3i-390c1757-db79-4d87-b8a9-da0d781cc13e.png/v1/fill/w_994,h_804,q_70,strp/work_in_progress_by_gael_d_k_diq0p3i-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.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.DwZ__i594bAQmkqqgRBQALfQD_7K2z75hufjHAlYDQU"/></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc10"><span>forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>chapter 01 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp">Forgotten files SCP 01</a></td>
<td>chapter 02 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2">Forgotten files SCP 02</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 03 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3">Forgotten files SCP 03</a></td>
<td>chapter 04 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04">work in progress</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 05 —></td>
<td>coming soon</td>
<td>bonus —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus">Meanwhile, in a...</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers">infinity-beers</a></td>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable">the-cable</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk">FANART SCP</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<hr/>
<hr/>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:isolated-terminal">:scp-wiki:theme:isolated-terminal</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
+ Work in progress :
Currently, Chapter 4 is being written. Since it contains the key revelations, it's taking me a bit more time to write and lay out. Here are some drawings from the upcoming Chapter 04 in the meantime...
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
+ forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)
[[/=]]
[[div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;"]]
|| chapter 01 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp Forgotten files SCP 01] || chapter 02 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2 Forgotten files SCP 02] ||
|| chapter 03 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3 Forgotten files SCP 03] || chapter 04 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04 work in progress] ||
|| chapter 05 --> || coming soon || bonus --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus Meanwhile, in a...] ||
|| SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers infinity-beers] || SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable the-cable] ||
|| SCP --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk FANART SCP] ||
[[/div]]
------
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
+ Work in progress :
[[div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;"]]
+ p40
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq0mo4-8e175650-8277-432a-b6dd-62a21701719c.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1198,q_70,strp/scp33_by_gael_d_k_diq0mo4-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYwMCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG1vNC04ZTE3NTY1MC04Mjc3LTQzMmEtYjZkZC02MmEyMTcwMTcxOWMuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTExMDUifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.WdRv_Xzt6kpcVxnAsohES2zfwa3w8UqwZVulLoxOO6k]]
+ p41
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq0mnk-5c260bac-679a-4068-b069-75c5531aa27d.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1174,q_70,strp/scpbdch04b_by_gael_d_k_diq0mnk-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxNSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG1uay01YzI2MGJhYy02NzlhLTQwNjgtYjA2OS03NWM1NTMxYWEyN2QuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.dhLclL5XRg56HvIZTpjM0xVgSOtAZ869sRyHFcTOFoE]]
+ p42
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq0n7k-1b79fe5e-21f4-4622-9f2a-a3643082f3c5.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1172,q_70,strp/scp35a_by_gael_d_k_diq0n7k-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG43ay0xYjc5ZmU1ZS0yMWY0LTQ2MjItOWYyYS1hMzY0MzA4MmYzYzUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.bSh4-BjBaSb3QNQLvKr2oCjZLeHS1lLr8x8kB9WAUWs]]
+ p43
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diqsat3-b58df25c-e542-4dc2-8324-620d56503f3f.jpg/v1/fill/w_777,h_1028,q_70,strp/forgotten_files_scp_chapter_04_p43_by_gael_d_k_diqsat3-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY5MyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxc2F0My1iNThkZjI1Yy1lNTQyLTRkYzItODMyNC02MjBkNTY1MDNmM2YuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.bD3nBrsTJJjxf2KHv0iK_iu1fw-mVhejmWfk_QifaPA]]
+ p44
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diqsa1q-74e72f99-d8dc-47ac-9832-326cf2a7c146.jpg/v1/fill/w_754,h_1060,q_70,strp/forgotten_files_scp_chapter_04_p44_by_gael_d_k_diqsa1q-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgwMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxc2ExcS03NGU3MmY5OS1kOGRjLTQ3YWMtOTgzMi0zMjZjZjJhN2MxNDYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.KUiY3wDqPlD_5G38NRQiA8axEtGDCx9ZllapFXOSct0]]
+ p45
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq0n89-0431a1f7-b022-4340-9e58-192341e39fc4.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1170,q_70,strp/scp36c1dd_by_gael_d_k_diq0n89-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgwOCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG44OS0wNDMxYTFmNy1iMDIyLTQzNDAtOWU1OC0xOTIzNDFlMzlmYzQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.uDE32t8KJF5SSE647ztqwFjTDSvfzWuNFT4Qd3e57sw]]
+ p46
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq0p3i-390c1757-db79-4d87-b8a9-da0d781cc13e.png/v1/fill/w_994,h_804,q_70,strp/work_in_progress_by_gael_d_k_diq0p3i-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.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.DwZ__i594bAQmkqqgRBQALfQD_7K2z75hufjHAlYDQU]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
+ forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)
[[/=]]
[[div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;"]]
|| chapter 01 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp Forgotten files SCP 01] || chapter 02 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2 Forgotten files SCP 02] ||
|| chapter 03 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3 Forgotten files SCP 03] || chapter 04 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04 work in progress] ||
|| chapter 05 --> || coming soon || bonus --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus Meanwhile, in a...] ||
|| SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers infinity-beers] || SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable the-cable] ||
|| SCP --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk FANART SCP] ||
[[/div]]
------
------
|
2024-12-09T22:26:00
|
[
"comic",
"tale"
] |
Forgotten files SCP chapter 04 - SCP Foundation
| 3
|
[
"art:forgotten-files-scp",
"art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2",
"art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3",
"art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus",
"art:gaeldk"
] |
[
"artwork-hub",
"tales-by-year",
"news"
] |
[
"https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq0mo4-8e175650-8277-432a-b6dd-62a21701719c.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1198,q_70,strp/scp33_by_gael_d_k_diq0mo4-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYwMCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG1vNC04ZTE3NTY1MC04Mjc3LTQzMmEtYjZkZC02MmEyMTcwMTcxOWMuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTExMDUifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.WdRv_Xzt6kpcVxnAsohES2zfwa3w8UqwZVulLoxOO6k",
"https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq0mnk-5c260bac-679a-4068-b069-75c5531aa27d.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1174,q_70,strp/scpbdch04b_by_gael_d_k_diq0mnk-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxNSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG1uay01YzI2MGJhYy02NzlhLTQwNjgtYjA2OS03NWM1NTMxYWEyN2QuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.dhLclL5XRg56HvIZTpjM0xVgSOtAZ869sRyHFcTOFoE",
"https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq0n7k-1b79fe5e-21f4-4622-9f2a-a3643082f3c5.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1172,q_70,strp/scp35a_by_gael_d_k_diq0n7k-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG43ay0xYjc5ZmU1ZS0yMWY0LTQ2MjItOWYyYS1hMzY0MzA4MmYzYzUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.bSh4-BjBaSb3QNQLvKr2oCjZLeHS1lLr8x8kB9WAUWs",
"https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diqsat3-b58df25c-e542-4dc2-8324-620d56503f3f.jpg/v1/fill/w_777,h_1028,q_70,strp/forgotten_files_scp_chapter_04_p43_by_gael_d_k_diqsat3-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY5MyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxc2F0My1iNThkZjI1Yy1lNTQyLTRkYzItODMyNC02MjBkNTY1MDNmM2YuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.bD3nBrsTJJjxf2KHv0iK_iu1fw-mVhejmWfk_QifaPA",
"https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diqsa1q-74e72f99-d8dc-47ac-9832-326cf2a7c146.jpg/v1/fill/w_754,h_1060,q_70,strp/forgotten_files_scp_chapter_04_p44_by_gael_d_k_diqsa1q-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgwMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxc2ExcS03NGU3MmY5OS1kOGRjLTQ3YWMtOTgzMi0zMjZjZjJhN2MxNDYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.KUiY3wDqPlD_5G38NRQiA8axEtGDCx9ZllapFXOSct0",
"https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq0n89-0431a1f7-b022-4340-9e58-192341e39fc4.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1170,q_70,strp/scp36c1dd_by_gael_d_k_diq0n89-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgwOCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxMG44OS0wNDMxYTFmNy1iMDIyLTQzNDAtOWU1OC0xOTIzNDFlMzlmYzQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.uDE32t8KJF5SSE647ztqwFjTDSvfzWuNFT4Qd3e57sw",
"https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq0p3i-390c1757-db79-4d87-b8a9-da0d781cc13e.png/v1/fill/w_994,h_804,q_70,strp/work_in_progress_by_gael_d_k_diq0p3i-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.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.DwZ__i594bAQmkqqgRBQALfQD_7K2z75hufjHAlYDQU"
] |
1457962074
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04
|
|
art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aisolated-terminal/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>chapter 01 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp">Forgotten files SCP 01</a></td>
<td>chapter 02 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2">Forgotten files SCP 02</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 03 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3">Forgotten files SCP 03</a></td>
<td>chapter 04 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04">work in progress</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 05 —></td>
<td>coming soon</td>
<td>bonus —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus">Meanwhile, in a...</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers">infinity-beers</a></td>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable">the-cable</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk">FANART SCP</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>note : Forgotten files SCP (by me) chapter 02 (vesrions not final)<br/>
Chapter 2 is currently under revision following beta feedback received. The story won't change, but some drawings and color grading will be improved, along with a few added pages for better readability.</p>
<div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;">
<h1 id="toc1"><span>17</span></h1>
<img alt="forgotten_files_scp_chapter_02_by_gael_d_k_diq57rg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1jNDNhMjBjZi1iMmIzLTQzNmUtOTI3ZC02NzBhOTJjMzcyNzguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.OiT8DRcSh5EXr4e2dkUtiK_EEILteYvX2uOLKjdcZmM" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-c43a20cf-b2b3-436e-927d-670a92c37278.jpg/v1/fill/w_791,h_1010,q_70,strp/forgotten_files_scp_chapter_02_by_gael_d_k_diq57rg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1jNDNhMjBjZi1iMmIzLTQzNmUtOTI3ZC02NzBhOTJjMzcyNzguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.OiT8DRcSh5EXr4e2dkUtiK_EEILteYvX2uOLKjdcZmM"/>
<h1 id="toc2"><span>18</span></h1>
<img alt="scp15v2.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1kYjc5NDQ5ZS0yM2E1LTQ5NDctODMwNy05ODQzYWFkOWNkM2UuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.n3HIVgr06m8yJlVpk-jGN58kdR37yk86sDZ1byOvX8g" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-db79449e-23a5-4947-8307-9843aad9cd3e.jpg/v1/fill/w_792,h_1009,q_70,strp/scp15v2.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1kYjc5NDQ5ZS0yM2E1LTQ5NDctODMwNy05ODQzYWFkOWNkM2UuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.n3HIVgr06m8yJlVpk-jGN58kdR37yk86sDZ1byOvX8g"/>
<h1 id="toc3"><span>19</span></h1>
<img alt="scp16v2.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTc3MyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy0wODcyMGJlZC0zNDQ5LTRhYmUtYjFkMC0xNzA1MTBlZDZkMjMuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.1vevv7hbC7S9rGLkqiLgpEfISTTFEtlWSaX2Qbdhwxg" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-08720bed-3449-4abe-b1d0-170510ed6d23.jpg/v1/fill/w_759,h_1052,q_70,strp/scp16v2.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTc3MyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy0wODcyMGJlZC0zNDQ5LTRhYmUtYjFkMC0xNzA1MTBlZDZkMjMuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.1vevv7hbC7S9rGLkqiLgpEfISTTFEtlWSaX2Qbdhwxg"/>
<h1 id="toc4"><span>20</span></h1>
<img alt="scp13.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1jMzkwZDI3NC00ZDE3LTQ3NzgtYjVmZS0zNGRhY2ZiZDcyMTYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.XY1AgMVQa7ga8HDq23ioAjuv6voQxF_Mw91-N_r2fes" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-c390d274-4d17-4778-b5fe-34dacfbd7216.jpg/v1/fill/w_791,h_1010,q_70,strp/scp13.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1jMzkwZDI3NC00ZDE3LTQ3NzgtYjVmZS0zNGRhY2ZiZDcyMTYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.XY1AgMVQa7ga8HDq23ioAjuv6voQxF_Mw91-N_r2fes"/>
<h1 id="toc5"><span>21</span></h1>
<img alt="scp14.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1jZWY3ZjVmNC0wYzBiLTQ1ZjktODU2NC0xNmJmOGU4NThhZWQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.E20yN1DD1FV0g4Jex1Sij2hDXHAjiAI7BnCPNwEksac" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-cef7f5f4-0c0b-45f9-8564-16bf8e858aed.jpg/v1/fill/w_791,h_1010,q_70,strp/scp14.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1jZWY3ZjVmNC0wYzBiLTQ1ZjktODU2NC0xNmJmOGU4NThhZWQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.E20yN1DD1FV0g4Jex1Sij2hDXHAjiAI7BnCPNwEksac"/>
<h1 id="toc6"><span>22</span></h1>
<img alt="scp15.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYxNyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1mMmExMjc0ZS1mZGQ1LTQ4MWQtOWM3Ni0wYmM3NDc5MThmYzkuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.ZJjx5i-djrZCLO7TxX7eJksx4O2vLPJK15eR-1eRQ8g" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-f2a1274e-fdd5-481d-9c76-0bc747918fc9.jpg/v1/fill/w_795,h_1005,q_70,strp/scp15.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYxNyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1mMmExMjc0ZS1mZGQ1LTQ4MWQtOWM3Ni0wYmM3NDc5MThmYzkuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.ZJjx5i-djrZCLO7TxX7eJksx4O2vLPJK15eR-1eRQ8g"/>
<h1 id="toc7"><span>23</span></h1>
<img alt="scp16.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYxNyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1hNGMyZmMwYy1lMjJmLTRjMWMtOWE5OS03NTNlZDRjZmYxOGUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.HascvZDsFW7_xhT3odj5Se19keV6V8pCs3UZ4ktFkAI" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-a4c2fc0c-e22f-4c1c-9a99-753ed4cff18e.jpg/v1/fill/w_795,h_1005,q_70,strp/scp16.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYxNyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1hNGMyZmMwYy1lMjJmLTRjMWMtOWE5OS03NTNlZDRjZmYxOGUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.HascvZDsFW7_xhT3odj5Se19keV6V8pCs3UZ4ktFkAI"/>
<h1 id="toc8"><span>24</span></h1>
<img alt="scp17.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy00YjdjNjM4ZS01MDFmLTQzNWYtYWNmYS02MWRmMGYyYzFjZjguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.8rOrcnozm1PtLg0TZ3AOAf1NRayt0hPCOByqxL-a7q4" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-4b7c638e-501f-435f-acfa-61df0f2c1cf8.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp17.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy00YjdjNjM4ZS01MDFmLTQzNWYtYWNmYS02MWRmMGYyYzFjZjguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.8rOrcnozm1PtLg0TZ3AOAf1NRayt0hPCOByqxL-a7q4"/>
<h1 id="toc9"><span>25</span></h1>
<img alt="scp18.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy04MDE5NTA2ZS1jNDBjLTQ1NzUtYWM3Yy04NDM1ZGYzYzcyODIuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.RkIv91UdMaG4bPd8fZVkM-3CwDwc3bwu0RYwgOismq8" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-8019506e-c40c-4575-ac7c-8435df3c7282.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp18.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy04MDE5NTA2ZS1jNDBjLTQ1NzUtYWM3Yy04NDM1ZGYzYzcyODIuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.RkIv91UdMaG4bPd8fZVkM-3CwDwc3bwu0RYwgOismq8"/>
<h1 id="toc10"><span>26</span></h1>
<img alt="scp19.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy01ZTZlMjIwOS03YmFiLTRiYjctYjk4Zi02MjJhZTllZTUzN2YuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.IK7JaQddhPBgZjA35DuuwvyDWKOcMbsltLl7Vw9qTD0" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-5e6e2209-7bab-4bb7-b98f-622ae9ee537f.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp19.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy01ZTZlMjIwOS03YmFiLTRiYjctYjk4Zi02MjJhZTllZTUzN2YuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.IK7JaQddhPBgZjA35DuuwvyDWKOcMbsltLl7Vw9qTD0"/>
<h1 id="toc11"><span>27</span></h1>
<img alt="scp21.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY2NyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1mYTg1MmI2NS1iNGE2LTQ1MjgtYTU2Yy1kM2YwYzI2MmZhZDguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.uH56hnZyTbE1nWzyLBf1LmrX0KOx4PnDQE0yX7qQMHg" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-fa852b65-b4a6-4528-a56c-d3f0c262fad8.jpg/v1/fill/w_783,h_1020,q_70,strp/scp21.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY2NyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1mYTg1MmI2NS1iNGE2LTQ1MjgtYTU2Yy1kM2YwYzI2MmZhZDguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.uH56hnZyTbE1nWzyLBf1LmrX0KOx4PnDQE0yX7qQMHg"/>
<h1 id="toc12"><span>28</span></h1>
<img alt="scp22.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY2NyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy01ODA1NTRhYS02NWNiLTQzNjctYmQwMy03ZTljOGNiZGEwY2QuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.9ZczZOsW-c8qo329oRGD1CMUxVUGJiiMlfqJ8E057Co" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-580554aa-65cb-4367-bd03-7e9c8cbda0cd.jpg/v1/fill/w_783,h_1020,q_70,strp/scp22.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY2NyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy01ODA1NTRhYS02NWNiLTQzNjctYmQwMy03ZTljOGNiZGEwY2QuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.9ZczZOsW-c8qo329oRGD1CMUxVUGJiiMlfqJ8E057Co"/></div>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc13"><span>forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>chapter 01 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp">Forgotten files SCP 01</a></td>
<td>chapter 02 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2">Forgotten files SCP 02</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 03 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3">Forgotten files SCP 03</a></td>
<td>chapter 04 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04">work in progress</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 05 —></td>
<td>coming soon</td>
<td>bonus —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus">Meanwhile, in a...</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers">infinity-beers</a></td>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable">the-cable</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk">FANART SCP</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<hr/>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:isolated-terminal">:scp-wiki:theme:isolated-terminal</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
------
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
+ forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)
[[/=]]
[[div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;"]]
|| chapter 01 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp Forgotten files SCP 01] || chapter 02 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2 Forgotten files SCP 02] ||
|| chapter 03 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3 Forgotten files SCP 03] || chapter 04 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04 work in progress] ||
|| chapter 05 --> || coming soon || bonus --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus Meanwhile, in a...] ||
|| SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers infinity-beers] || SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable the-cable] ||
|| SCP --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk FANART SCP] ||
[[/div]]
------
note : Forgotten files SCP (by me) chapter 02 (vesrions not final)
Chapter 2 is currently under revision following beta feedback received. The story won't change, but some drawings and color grading will be improved, along with a few added pages for better readability.
[[div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;"]]
+ 17
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-c43a20cf-b2b3-436e-927d-670a92c37278.jpg/v1/fill/w_791,h_1010,q_70,strp/forgotten_files_scp_chapter_02_by_gael_d_k_diq57rg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1jNDNhMjBjZi1iMmIzLTQzNmUtOTI3ZC02NzBhOTJjMzcyNzguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.OiT8DRcSh5EXr4e2dkUtiK_EEILteYvX2uOLKjdcZmM]]
+ 18
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-db79449e-23a5-4947-8307-9843aad9cd3e.jpg/v1/fill/w_792,h_1009,q_70,strp/scp15v2.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1kYjc5NDQ5ZS0yM2E1LTQ5NDctODMwNy05ODQzYWFkOWNkM2UuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.n3HIVgr06m8yJlVpk-jGN58kdR37yk86sDZ1byOvX8g]]
+ 19
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-08720bed-3449-4abe-b1d0-170510ed6d23.jpg/v1/fill/w_759,h_1052,q_70,strp/scp16v2.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTc3MyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy0wODcyMGJlZC0zNDQ5LTRhYmUtYjFkMC0xNzA1MTBlZDZkMjMuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.1vevv7hbC7S9rGLkqiLgpEfISTTFEtlWSaX2Qbdhwxg]]
+ 20
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-c390d274-4d17-4778-b5fe-34dacfbd7216.jpg/v1/fill/w_791,h_1010,q_70,strp/scp13.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1jMzkwZDI3NC00ZDE3LTQ3NzgtYjVmZS0zNGRhY2ZiZDcyMTYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.XY1AgMVQa7ga8HDq23ioAjuv6voQxF_Mw91-N_r2fes]]
+ 21
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-cef7f5f4-0c0b-45f9-8564-16bf8e858aed.jpg/v1/fill/w_791,h_1010,q_70,strp/scp14.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYzNSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1jZWY3ZjVmNC0wYzBiLTQ1ZjktODU2NC0xNmJmOGU4NThhZWQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.E20yN1DD1FV0g4Jex1Sij2hDXHAjiAI7BnCPNwEksac]]
+ 22
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+ 23
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-a4c2fc0c-e22f-4c1c-9a99-753ed4cff18e.jpg/v1/fill/w_795,h_1005,q_70,strp/scp16.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYxNyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1hNGMyZmMwYy1lMjJmLTRjMWMtOWE5OS03NTNlZDRjZmYxOGUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.HascvZDsFW7_xhT3odj5Se19keV6V8pCs3UZ4ktFkAI]]
+ 24
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-4b7c638e-501f-435f-acfa-61df0f2c1cf8.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp17.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy00YjdjNjM4ZS01MDFmLTQzNWYtYWNmYS02MWRmMGYyYzFjZjguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.8rOrcnozm1PtLg0TZ3AOAf1NRayt0hPCOByqxL-a7q4]]
+ 25
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-8019506e-c40c-4575-ac7c-8435df3c7282.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp18.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy04MDE5NTA2ZS1jNDBjLTQ1NzUtYWM3Yy04NDM1ZGYzYzcyODIuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.RkIv91UdMaG4bPd8fZVkM-3CwDwc3bwu0RYwgOismq8]]
+ 26
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-5e6e2209-7bab-4bb7-b98f-622ae9ee537f.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp19.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy01ZTZlMjIwOS03YmFiLTRiYjctYjk4Zi02MjJhZTllZTUzN2YuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.IK7JaQddhPBgZjA35DuuwvyDWKOcMbsltLl7Vw9qTD0]]
+ 27
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-fa852b65-b4a6-4528-a56c-d3f0c262fad8.jpg/v1/fill/w_783,h_1020,q_70,strp/scp21.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY2NyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1mYTg1MmI2NS1iNGE2LTQ1MjgtYTU2Yy1kM2YwYzI2MmZhZDguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.uH56hnZyTbE1nWzyLBf1LmrX0KOx4PnDQE0yX7qQMHg]]
+ 28
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-580554aa-65cb-4367-bd03-7e9c8cbda0cd.jpg/v1/fill/w_783,h_1020,q_70,strp/scp22.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY2NyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy01ODA1NTRhYS02NWNiLTQzNjctYmQwMy03ZTljOGNiZGEwY2QuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.9ZczZOsW-c8qo329oRGD1CMUxVUGJiiMlfqJ8E057Co]]
[[/div]]
------
------
------
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
+ forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)
[[/=]]
[[div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;"]]
|| chapter 01 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp Forgotten files SCP 01] || chapter 02 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2 Forgotten files SCP 02] ||
|| chapter 03 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3 Forgotten files SCP 03] || chapter 04 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04 work in progress] ||
|| chapter 05 --> || coming soon || bonus --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus Meanwhile, in a...] ||
|| SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers infinity-beers] || SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable the-cable] ||
|| SCP --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk FANART SCP] ||
[[/div]]
------
|
2024-12-08T00:26:00
|
[
"comic",
"tale"
] |
Forgotten files SCP chapter2 - SCP Foundation
| 11
|
[
"art:forgotten-files-scp",
"art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3",
"art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04",
"art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus",
"art:gaeldk"
] |
[
"artwork-hub",
"tales-by-year",
"news"
] |
[
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"https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-8019506e-c40c-4575-ac7c-8435df3c7282.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp18.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy04MDE5NTA2ZS1jNDBjLTQ1NzUtYWM3Yy04NDM1ZGYzYzcyODIuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.RkIv91UdMaG4bPd8fZVkM-3CwDwc3bwu0RYwgOismq8",
"https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-5e6e2209-7bab-4bb7-b98f-622ae9ee537f.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp19.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy01ZTZlMjIwOS03YmFiLTRiYjctYjk4Zi02MjJhZTllZTUzN2YuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.IK7JaQddhPBgZjA35DuuwvyDWKOcMbsltLl7Vw9qTD0",
"https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-fa852b65-b4a6-4528-a56c-d3f0c262fad8.jpg/v1/fill/w_783,h_1020,q_70,strp/scp21.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY2NyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy1mYTg1MmI2NS1iNGE2LTQ1MjgtYTU2Yy1kM2YwYzI2MmZhZDguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.uH56hnZyTbE1nWzyLBf1LmrX0KOx4PnDQE0yX7qQMHg",
"https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq57rg-580554aa-65cb-4367-bd03-7e9c8cbda0cd.jpg/v1/fill/w_783,h_1020,q_70,strp/scp22.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY2NyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTdyZy01ODA1NTRhYS02NWNiLTQzNjctYmQwMy03ZTljOGNiZGEwY2QuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.9ZczZOsW-c8qo329oRGD1CMUxVUGJiiMlfqJ8E057Co"
] |
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2
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art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3
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<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aisolated-terminal/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>chapter 01 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp">Forgotten files SCP 01</a></td>
<td>chapter 02 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2">Forgotten files SCP 02</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 03 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3">Forgotten files SCP 03</a></td>
<td>chapter 04 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04">work in progress</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 05 —></td>
<td>coming soon</td>
<td>bonus —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus">Meanwhile, in a...</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers">infinity-beers</a></td>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable">the-cable</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk">FANART SCP</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<p>note : Forgotten files SCP (by me) chapter 03 (vesrions not final)<br/>
Chapter 3 is currently under revision following beta feedback received. The story won't change, but some drawings and color grading will be improved, along with a few added pages for better readability.</p>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;">
<h1 id="toc1"><span>p29</span></h1>
<img alt="forgotten_files_scp_chapter_03_by_gael_d_k_diq58vu-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTcxMyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS0wYzE1N2Y2Zi05NGNkLTRkMDktOWM2MC04NDQyZjg5NTY4YjguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.QrqqbYTRvY9ySkoaCHsDkXumBQlXxOlKNkn0rVjj44E" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-0c157f6f-94cd-4d09-9c60-8442f89568b8.jpg/v1/fill/w_773,h_1034,q_70,strp/forgotten_files_scp_chapter_03_by_gael_d_k_diq58vu-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTcxMyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS0wYzE1N2Y2Zi05NGNkLTRkMDktOWM2MC04NDQyZjg5NTY4YjguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.QrqqbYTRvY9ySkoaCHsDkXumBQlXxOlKNkn0rVjj44E"/>
<h1 id="toc2"><span>p30</span></h1>
<img alt="scp23.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS1iMGRlYzhiMi0xMWI4LTQ1YjUtYjkxZS01MzkwYjAwMjE0NjYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.Rt9GWVtmFx4ATiJMWXCLFqsIhUtdSxvIP22mzw3L2fU" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-b0dec8b2-11b8-45b5-b91e-5390b0021466.jpg/v1/fill/w_751,h_1063,q_70,strp/scp23.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS1iMGRlYzhiMi0xMWI4LTQ1YjUtYjkxZS01MzkwYjAwMjE0NjYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.Rt9GWVtmFx4ATiJMWXCLFqsIhUtdSxvIP22mzw3L2fU"/>
<h1 id="toc3"><span>p31</span></h1>
<img alt="scp26.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS1jYzViMWM0Ni00NTMzLTQwYTYtYmE4OS01ZGNiMGZhZmM1OTEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.5uFuBnZsfievyv1czEjSgQemCDP4NWm97GtIXsm4gRo" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-cc5b1c46-4533-40a6-ba89-5dcb0fafc591.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp26.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS1jYzViMWM0Ni00NTMzLTQwYTYtYmE4OS01ZGNiMGZhZmM1OTEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.5uFuBnZsfievyv1czEjSgQemCDP4NWm97GtIXsm4gRo"/>
<h1 id="toc4"><span>p32</span></h1>
<img alt="scp27.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS0zNGJkOThmYy1mM2Y5LTQwYzYtYjE0Zi1mODNiNmMxOTk3YzcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.7pyXTcwcLCrVRTyvEdrSBqBHMlSiAgJiQT3t9cElZ70" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-34bd98fc-f3f9-40c6-b14f-f83b6c1997c7.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp27.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS0zNGJkOThmYy1mM2Y5LTQwYzYtYjE0Zi1mODNiNmMxOTk3YzcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.7pyXTcwcLCrVRTyvEdrSBqBHMlSiAgJiQT3t9cElZ70"/>
<h1 id="toc5"><span>p33</span></h1>
<img alt="scp28.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS1kYTNlZWJlMC1kMTA0LTQ2ZTgtODA2ZS02MTk0MmI1NWQyOWQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.pNwwijZfVBMOltbQLXJToldgveYt4ja8_g79EO_Vxhc" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-da3eebe0-d104-46e8-806e-61942b55d29d.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp28.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS1kYTNlZWJlMC1kMTA0LTQ2ZTgtODA2ZS02MTk0MmI1NWQyOWQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.pNwwijZfVBMOltbQLXJToldgveYt4ja8_g79EO_Vxhc"/>
<h1 id="toc6"><span>p34</span></h1>
<img alt="scp29.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS00MTliNDg0Ny0wMTA3LTRiNWEtYTM3YS0xNzNkZjIwYjljYjAuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.Rjrd8k1pZjQEqo43sOcm0LAACLpSu_z_tNrMePVwM9Q" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-419b4847-0107-4b5a-a37a-173df20b9cb0.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp29.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS00MTliNDg0Ny0wMTA3LTRiNWEtYTM3YS0xNzNkZjIwYjljYjAuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.Rjrd8k1pZjQEqo43sOcm0LAACLpSu_z_tNrMePVwM9Q"/>
<h1 id="toc7"><span>p35</span></h1>
<img alt="scp24.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS05YmM3NzRkMy04YmNjLTQyNTEtYmFiYS0wNTNmMWM3NTQ1ZGUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.tT6TuDcGkuKWxzLxoh5BLTYaIo7cmxG_k_0-PoQKH2c" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-9bc774d3-8bcc-4251-baba-053f1c7545de.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp24.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS05YmM3NzRkMy04YmNjLTQyNTEtYmFiYS0wNTNmMWM3NTQ1ZGUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.tT6TuDcGkuKWxzLxoh5BLTYaIo7cmxG_k_0-PoQKH2c"/>
<h1 id="toc8"><span>p36</span></h1>
<img alt="scp25.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS0xYzE2ZWE1Yy0yY2ZmLTQyZWItYTMzOS00N2Q0OWM4OWFkMjcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.qthA4xSYlYWBQqH2NiKXXPwJr1nA2Jn0Ivej7dSVowA" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-1c16ea5c-2cff-42eb-a339-47d49c89ad27.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp25.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS0xYzE2ZWE1Yy0yY2ZmLTQyZWItYTMzOS00N2Q0OWM4OWFkMjcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.qthA4xSYlYWBQqH2NiKXXPwJr1nA2Jn0Ivej7dSVowA"/>
<h1 id="toc9"><span>p37</span></h1>
<img alt="scp30.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS1hZmRmMTRiZC1kYzJkLTQ3YWEtOGM3OC1hMTQ1MDQ5ODJjYzYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.-Gwtva6DtT8KZdQF2jWTBiWWa-CXwysAwm2I_UcHf9w" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-afdf14bd-dc2d-47aa-8c78-a14504982cc6.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp30.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS1hZmRmMTRiZC1kYzJkLTQ3YWEtOGM3OC1hMTQ1MDQ5ODJjYzYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.-Gwtva6DtT8KZdQF2jWTBiWWa-CXwysAwm2I_UcHf9w"/>
<h1 id="toc10"><span>p38</span></h1>
<img alt="scp31.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS02YWY3N2FiNy00YTNmLTQ5NjEtOWE0OC03NGYyODY1ODAxNmEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.KHZBI1_GgHXepRR624WTnK3ae2oMV-bSBfChVsbmce0" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-6af77ab7-4a3f-4961-9a48-74f28658016a.jpg/v1/fill/w_790,h_1012,q_70,strp/scp31.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS02YWY3N2FiNy00YTNmLTQ5NjEtOWE0OC03NGYyODY1ODAxNmEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.KHZBI1_GgHXepRR624WTnK3ae2oMV-bSBfChVsbmce0"/>
<h1 id="toc11"><span>p39</span></h1>
<img alt="scp32.jpg-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYwMCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS1jZTU5MmQ1OC04M2NkLTQzMDktODIxOS0wMTk0YTFiOGJmOTYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTExMDUifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.OnbeEHlj1iof-iNxLMU_7QL57i1bcxpo8SUwUBh4E34" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-ce592d58-83cd-4309-8219-0194a1b8bf96.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1198,q_70,strp/scp32.jpg-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYwMCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS1jZTU5MmQ1OC04M2NkLTQzMDktODIxOS0wMTk0YTFiOGJmOTYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTExMDUifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.OnbeEHlj1iof-iNxLMU_7QL57i1bcxpo8SUwUBh4E34"/></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc12"><span>forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>chapter 01 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp">Forgotten files SCP 01</a></td>
<td>chapter 02 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2">Forgotten files SCP 02</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 03 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3">Forgotten files SCP 03</a></td>
<td>chapter 04 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04">work in progress</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 05 —></td>
<td>coming soon</td>
<td>bonus —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus">Meanwhile, in a...</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers">infinity-beers</a></td>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable">the-cable</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk">FANART SCP</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<hr/>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:isolated-terminal">:scp-wiki:theme:isolated-terminal</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
+ forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)
[[/=]]
[[div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;"]]
|| chapter 01 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp Forgotten files SCP 01] || chapter 02 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2 Forgotten files SCP 02] ||
|| chapter 03 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3 Forgotten files SCP 03] || chapter 04 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04 work in progress] ||
|| chapter 05 --> || coming soon || bonus --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus Meanwhile, in a...] ||
|| SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers infinity-beers] || SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable the-cable] ||
|| SCP --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk FANART SCP] ||
[[/div]]
note : Forgotten files SCP (by me) chapter 03 (vesrions not final)
Chapter 3 is currently under revision following beta feedback received. The story won't change, but some drawings and color grading will be improved, along with a few added pages for better readability.
------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[[div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;"]]
+ p29
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-0c157f6f-94cd-4d09-9c60-8442f89568b8.jpg/v1/fill/w_773,h_1034,q_70,strp/forgotten_files_scp_chapter_03_by_gael_d_k_diq58vu-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTcxMyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS0wYzE1N2Y2Zi05NGNkLTRkMDktOWM2MC04NDQyZjg5NTY4YjguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.QrqqbYTRvY9ySkoaCHsDkXumBQlXxOlKNkn0rVjj44E]]
+ p30
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-b0dec8b2-11b8-45b5-b91e-5390b0021466.jpg/v1/fill/w_751,h_1063,q_70,strp/scp23.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS1iMGRlYzhiMi0xMWI4LTQ1YjUtYjkxZS01MzkwYjAwMjE0NjYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.Rt9GWVtmFx4ATiJMWXCLFqsIhUtdSxvIP22mzw3L2fU]]
+ p31
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-cc5b1c46-4533-40a6-ba89-5dcb0fafc591.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp26.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS1jYzViMWM0Ni00NTMzLTQwYTYtYmE4OS01ZGNiMGZhZmM1OTEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.5uFuBnZsfievyv1czEjSgQemCDP4NWm97GtIXsm4gRo]]
+ p32
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-34bd98fc-f3f9-40c6-b14f-f83b6c1997c7.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp27.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS0zNGJkOThmYy1mM2Y5LTQwYzYtYjE0Zi1mODNiNmMxOTk3YzcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.7pyXTcwcLCrVRTyvEdrSBqBHMlSiAgJiQT3t9cElZ70]]
+ p33
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-da3eebe0-d104-46e8-806e-61942b55d29d.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp28.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS1kYTNlZWJlMC1kMTA0LTQ2ZTgtODA2ZS02MTk0MmI1NWQyOWQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.pNwwijZfVBMOltbQLXJToldgveYt4ja8_g79EO_Vxhc]]
+ p34
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-419b4847-0107-4b5a-a37a-173df20b9cb0.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp29.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS00MTliNDg0Ny0wMTA3LTRiNWEtYTM3YS0xNzNkZjIwYjljYjAuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.Rjrd8k1pZjQEqo43sOcm0LAACLpSu_z_tNrMePVwM9Q]]
+ p35
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-9bc774d3-8bcc-4251-baba-053f1c7545de.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp24.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS05YmM3NzRkMy04YmNjLTQyNTEtYmFiYS0wNTNmMWM3NTQ1ZGUuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.tT6TuDcGkuKWxzLxoh5BLTYaIo7cmxG_k_0-PoQKH2c]]
+ p36
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-1c16ea5c-2cff-42eb-a339-47d49c89ad27.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp25.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS0xYzE2ZWE1Yy0yY2ZmLTQyZWItYTMzOS00N2Q0OWM4OWFkMjcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.qthA4xSYlYWBQqH2NiKXXPwJr1nA2Jn0Ivej7dSVowA]]
+ p37
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-afdf14bd-dc2d-47aa-8c78-a14504982cc6.jpg/v1/fill/w_789,h_1013,q_70,strp/scp30.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS1hZmRmMTRiZC1kYzJkLTQ3YWEtOGM3OC1hMTQ1MDQ5ODJjYzYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.-Gwtva6DtT8KZdQF2jWTBiWWa-CXwysAwm2I_UcHf9w]]
+ p38
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-6af77ab7-4a3f-4961-9a48-74f28658016a.jpg/v1/fill/w_790,h_1012,q_70,strp/scp31.jpg-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY0MCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS02YWY3N2FiNy00YTNmLTQ5NjEtOWE0OC03NGYyODY1ODAxNmEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.KHZBI1_GgHXepRR624WTnK3ae2oMV-bSBfChVsbmce0]]
+ p39
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/diq58vu-ce592d58-83cd-4309-8219-0194a1b8bf96.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1198,q_70,strp/scp32.jpg-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTYwMCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlxNTh2dS1jZTU5MmQ1OC04M2NkLTQzMDktODIxOS0wMTk0YTFiOGJmOTYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTExMDUifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.OnbeEHlj1iof-iNxLMU_7QL57i1bcxpo8SUwUBh4E34]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
+ forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)
[[/=]]
[[div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;"]]
|| chapter 01 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp Forgotten files SCP 01] || chapter 02 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2 Forgotten files SCP 02] ||
|| chapter 03 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3 Forgotten files SCP 03] || chapter 04 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04 work in progress] ||
|| chapter 05 --> || coming soon || bonus --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus Meanwhile, in a...] ||
|| SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers infinity-beers] || SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable the-cable] ||
|| SCP --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk FANART SCP] ||
[[/div]]
------
|
2024-12-08T19:24:00
|
[
"comic",
"tale"
] |
Forgotten files SCP chapter3 - SCP Foundation
| 8
|
[
"art:forgotten-files-scp",
"art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2",
"art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04",
"art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus",
"art:gaeldk"
] |
[
"artwork-hub",
"tales-by-year",
"news"
] |
[
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] |
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3
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art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus
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<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aisolated-terminal/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>chapter 01 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp">Forgotten files SCP 01</a></td>
<td>chapter 02 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2">Forgotten files SCP 02</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 03 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3">Forgotten files SCP 03</a></td>
<td>chapter 04 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04">work in progress</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 05 —></td>
<td>coming soon</td>
<td>bonus —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus">Meanwhile, in a...</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers">infinity-beers</a></td>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable">the-cable</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk">FANART SCP</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<h1 id="toc1"><span>Meanwhile, in a parallel Foundation scp…</span></h1>
<p>Dive into short comics exploring fun and unexpected "what if" scenarios with SCPs. Just a lighthearted take on the strange and impossible! ;)</p>
<table style="margin:0; padding:0">
<tr>
<td style="margin:0; padding:0">
<div id="toc">
<div id="toc-action-bar"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.foldToc(event)">Fold</a><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.unfoldToc(event)" style="display: none">Unfold</a></div>
<div class="title">Table of Contents</div>
<div id="toc-list">
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc0">forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc1">Meanwhile, in a parallel Foundation scp…</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc2">scp 096 -Meanwhile, in a parallel universe</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc3">scp 067 + guest 096 -Meanwhile, in a parallel universe</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc4">scp Allison Eckhart -Meanwhile, in a Allison Eckhart universe</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc5">scp 682-Meanwhile, in a parallel universe</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc6">forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)</a></div>
</div>
</div>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc2"><span>scp 096 -Meanwhile, in a parallel universe</span></h1>
</div>
<p>story01</p>
<img alt="scp_096_by_gael_d_k_dieiw9v-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTc3MyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGllaXc5di02MTk1ZTQ4OS02OGNjLTQ5MWMtYjcxMy01YjY3MjNhZDdjNzkuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.N2GrN0bGQiTwTUj-L42iF4JniLAp64pnklTEab3-uIM" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dieiw9v-6195e489-68cc-491c-b713-5b6723ad7c79.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1146,q_70,strp/scp_096_by_gael_d_k_dieiw9v-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTc3MyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGllaXc5di02MTk1ZTQ4OS02OGNjLTQ5MWMtYjcxMy01YjY3MjNhZDdjNzkuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.N2GrN0bGQiTwTUj-L42iF4JniLAp64pnklTEab3-uIM"/>
<p>story02</p>
<img alt="scp_096_by_gael_d_k_di3yjgm-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTcyOSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGkzeWpnbS1iZjY3NDM4Yy02ZjdkLTRlNjMtOGQzZS1jMWRjMjAxZDA5MWEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.uUElCDk3vatfatUIe8tofVDJiAyryT9LYodCf5ldJ-8" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/di3yjgm-bf67438c-6f7d-4e63-8d3e-c1dc201d091a.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1118,q_70,strp/scp_096_by_gael_d_k_di3yjgm-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTcyOSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGkzeWpnbS1iZjY3NDM4Yy02ZjdkLTRlNjMtOGQzZS1jMWRjMjAxZDA5MWEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.uUElCDk3vatfatUIe8tofVDJiAyryT9LYodCf5ldJ-8"/>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc3"><span>scp 067 + guest 096 -Meanwhile, in a parallel universe</span></h1>
</div>
p1<br/>
<img alt="scp_067_page1_4_by_gael_d_k_dimhp6r-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.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.oa2CGVsqouZMLnPIvvCCEJ--cqLd8ZbnHjmQAuLpIRA" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dimhp6r-7b9b8cff-1fc3-4674-9b80-0abeee568fcc.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1160,q_70,strp/scp_067_page1_4_by_gael_d_k_dimhp6r-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.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.oa2CGVsqouZMLnPIvvCCEJ--cqLd8ZbnHjmQAuLpIRA"/><br/>
p2<br/>
<img alt="scp_067_page2_4_by_gael_d_k_dimoneo-375w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.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.mZX3icbgYmKPJidftTz2koDrWsxuiLTvQ9jpdYLqP9c" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dimoneo-70971268-bcd6-462e-a784-7a4a7e7bc180.jpg/v1/fit/w_600,h_822,q_70,strp/scp_067_page2_4_by_gael_d_k_dimoneo-375w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.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.mZX3icbgYmKPJidftTz2koDrWsxuiLTvQ9jpdYLqP9c"/>]<br/>
p3<br/>
<img alt="scp_067_page3_4_by_gael_d_k_dimuyjq-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGltdXlqcS0yOTE3OWZlYy1lNmUzLTQxMjctODFiOS0wYzQzMmQ3YWJkNWUuanBnIiwiaGVpZ2h0IjoiPD0xODA4Iiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uud2F0ZXJtYXJrIl0sIndtayI6eyJwYXRoIjoiXC93bVwvZTQwMDE5YjktYjc0ZC00ZWY2LTljYWQtYzhmZTcxNzM1ZTY2XC9nYWVsLWQtay00LnBuZyIsIm9wYWNpdHkiOjk1LCJwcm9wb3J0aW9ucyI6MC40NSwiZ3Jhdml0eSI6ImNlbnRlciJ9fQ.qywxTqrH_hbNNW57sbi44Uxy8HfE3bujNHjePUMDVNg" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dimuyjq-29179fec-e6e3-4127-81b9-0c432d7abd5e.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1170,q_70,strp/scp_067_page3_4_by_gael_d_k_dimuyjq-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.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.qywxTqrH_hbNNW57sbi44Uxy8HfE3bujNHjePUMDVNg"/><br/>
p4(final…)<br/>
<img alt="scp_067_page4_4_by_gael_d_k_din02jy-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGluMDJqeS0yMTA1MTUzNC1mYzY4LTRhZTgtOTU5YS1lODQwNzlmMGQwYzkuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.Jf079DlFZneUCXZfC5LRZu6t97AoPEVJG-dVajsFMYk" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/din02jy-21051534-fc68-4ae8-959a-e84079f0d0c9.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1170,q_70,strp/scp_067_page4_4_by_gael_d_k_din02jy-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGluMDJqeS0yMTA1MTUzNC1mYzY4LTRhZTgtOTU5YS1lODQwNzlmMGQwYzkuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.Jf079DlFZneUCXZfC5LRZu6t97AoPEVJG-dVajsFMYk"/>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc4"><span>scp Allison Eckhart -Meanwhile, in a Allison Eckhart universe</span></h1>
</div>
<img alt="scp_allison_eckhart__by_gael_d_k_dipizci-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY4NCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlwaXpjaS00NzlhOTk2Zi04YTYwLTQwYjQtYTRkMi0xOWE0NzAzOTkxYWYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.DZm771vGevHgSETWWdP2CBt2z6olrAJiJDSdXiyU-l0" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dipizci-479a996f-8a60-40b4-a4d2-19a4703991af.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1090,q_70,strp/scp_allison_eckhart__by_gael_d_k_dipizci-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY4NCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlwaXpjaS00NzlhOTk2Zi04YTYwLTQwYjQtYTRkMi0xOWE0NzAzOTkxYWYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.DZm771vGevHgSETWWdP2CBt2z6olrAJiJDSdXiyU-l0"/>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc5"><span>scp 682-Meanwhile, in a parallel universe</span></h1>
</div>
p1<br/>
<img alt="scp682p1_by_gael_d_k_dipizxl-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTg1MSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlwaXp4bC03OGUwMTc3OS1hYzRjLTQzN2EtYTZkMi1hOGVmN2QwZjZiNDYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.97ZGk0UUtdo0MypI5TDM9Hgo8u5Ykp9HpeIKGhwpjd4" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dipizxl-78e01779-ac4c-437a-a6d2-a8ef7d0f6b46.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1198,q_70,strp/scp682p1_by_gael_d_k_dipizxl-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTg1MSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlwaXp4bC03OGUwMTc3OS1hYzRjLTQzN2EtYTZkMi1hOGVmN2QwZjZiNDYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.97ZGk0UUtdo0MypI5TDM9Hgo8u5Ykp9HpeIKGhwpjd4"/><br/>
p2<br/>
<img alt="_scp682p2_by_gael_d_k_dipj076-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTc5NiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlwajA3Ni03MmU0M2VkNy1iMTMzLTQwZWMtYmQyMy1mOTllZTEyOGNkZTAuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.KPxegiiHZIyJ4f4-3DvS6FvLw3EiAc_fAixo1GdAZuA" class="image" src="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dipj076-72e43ed7-b133-40ec-bd23-f99ee128cde0.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1162,q_70,strp/_scp682p2_by_gael_d_k_dipj076-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTc5NiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlwajA3Ni03MmU0M2VkNy1iMTMzLTQwZWMtYmQyMy1mOTllZTEyOGNkZTAuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.KPxegiiHZIyJ4f4-3DvS6FvLw3EiAc_fAixo1GdAZuA"/>
<br/>
next : comming soon</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc6"><span>forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>chapter 01 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp">Forgotten files SCP 01</a></td>
<td>chapter 02 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2">Forgotten files SCP 02</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 03 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3">Forgotten files SCP 03</a></td>
<td>chapter 04 —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04">work in progress</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>chapter 05 —></td>
<td>coming soon</td>
<td>bonus —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus">Meanwhile, in a...</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers">infinity-beers</a></td>
<td>SCP████ —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable">the-cable</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>SCP —></td>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk">FANART SCP</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:isolated-terminal">:scp-wiki:theme:isolated-terminal</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
+ forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)
[[/=]]
[[div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;"]]
|| chapter 01 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp Forgotten files SCP 01] || chapter 02 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2 Forgotten files SCP 02] ||
|| chapter 03 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3 Forgotten files SCP 03] || chapter 04 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04 work in progress] ||
|| chapter 05 --> || coming soon || bonus --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus Meanwhile, in a...] ||
|| SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers infinity-beers] || SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable the-cable] ||
|| SCP --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk FANART SCP] ||
[[/div]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
+ Meanwhile, in a parallel Foundation scp...
Dive into short comics exploring fun and unexpected "what if" scenarios with SCPs. Just a lighthearted take on the strange and impossible! ;)
[[toc]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;"]]
[[=]]
+ scp 096 -Meanwhile, in a parallel universe
[[/=]]
story01
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dieiw9v-6195e489-68cc-491c-b713-5b6723ad7c79.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1146,q_70,strp/scp_096_by_gael_d_k_dieiw9v-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTc3MyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGllaXc5di02MTk1ZTQ4OS02OGNjLTQ5MWMtYjcxMy01YjY3MjNhZDdjNzkuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.N2GrN0bGQiTwTUj-L42iF4JniLAp64pnklTEab3-uIM]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
story02
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/di3yjgm-bf67438c-6f7d-4e63-8d3e-c1dc201d091a.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1118,q_70,strp/scp_096_by_gael_d_k_di3yjgm-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTcyOSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGkzeWpnbS1iZjY3NDM4Yy02ZjdkLTRlNjMtOGQzZS1jMWRjMjAxZDA5MWEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.uUElCDk3vatfatUIe8tofVDJiAyryT9LYodCf5ldJ-8]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
+ scp 067 + guest 096 -Meanwhile, in a parallel universe
[[/=]]
p1
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dimhp6r-7b9b8cff-1fc3-4674-9b80-0abeee568fcc.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1160,q_70,strp/scp_067_page1_4_by_gael_d_k_dimhp6r-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.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.oa2CGVsqouZMLnPIvvCCEJ--cqLd8ZbnHjmQAuLpIRA]]
p2
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dimoneo-70971268-bcd6-462e-a784-7a4a7e7bc180.jpg/v1/fit/w_600,h_822,q_70,strp/scp_067_page2_4_by_gael_d_k_dimoneo-375w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.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.mZX3icbgYmKPJidftTz2koDrWsxuiLTvQ9jpdYLqP9c]]]
p3
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dimuyjq-29179fec-e6e3-4127-81b9-0c432d7abd5e.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1170,q_70,strp/scp_067_page3_4_by_gael_d_k_dimuyjq-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGltdXlqcS0yOTE3OWZlYy1lNmUzLTQxMjctODFiOS0wYzQzMmQ3YWJkNWUuanBnIiwiaGVpZ2h0IjoiPD0xODA4Iiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uud2F0ZXJtYXJrIl0sIndtayI6eyJwYXRoIjoiXC93bVwvZTQwMDE5YjktYjc0ZC00ZWY2LTljYWQtYzhmZTcxNzM1ZTY2XC9nYWVsLWQtay00LnBuZyIsIm9wYWNpdHkiOjk1LCJwcm9wb3J0aW9ucyI6MC40NSwiZ3Jhdml0eSI6ImNlbnRlciJ9fQ.qywxTqrH_hbNNW57sbi44Uxy8HfE3bujNHjePUMDVNg]]
p4(final...)
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/din02jy-21051534-fc68-4ae8-959a-e84079f0d0c9.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1170,q_70,strp/scp_067_page4_4_by_gael_d_k_din02jy-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTgxMCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGluMDJqeS0yMTA1MTUzNC1mYzY4LTRhZTgtOTU5YS1lODQwNzlmMGQwYzkuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.Jf079DlFZneUCXZfC5LRZu6t97AoPEVJG-dVajsFMYk]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
+ scp Allison Eckhart -Meanwhile, in a Allison Eckhart universe
[[/=]]
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dipizci-479a996f-8a60-40b4-a4d2-19a4703991af.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1090,q_70,strp/scp_allison_eckhart__by_gael_d_k_dipizci-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTY4NCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlwaXpjaS00NzlhOTk2Zi04YTYwLTQwYjQtYTRkMi0xOWE0NzAzOTkxYWYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.DZm771vGevHgSETWWdP2CBt2z6olrAJiJDSdXiyU-l0]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
+ scp 682-Meanwhile, in a parallel universe
[[/=]]
p1
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dipizxl-78e01779-ac4c-437a-a6d2-a8ef7d0f6b46.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1198,q_70,strp/scp682p1_by_gael_d_k_dipizxl-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTg1MSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlwaXp4bC03OGUwMTc3OS1hYzRjLTQzN2EtYTZkMi1hOGVmN2QwZjZiNDYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.97ZGk0UUtdo0MypI5TDM9Hgo8u5Ykp9HpeIKGhwpjd4]]
p2
[[image https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dipj076-72e43ed7-b133-40ec-bd23-f99ee128cde0.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1162,q_70,strp/_scp682p2_by_gael_d_k_dipj076-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTc5NiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGlwajA3Ni03MmU0M2VkNy1iMTMzLTQwZWMtYmQyMy1mOTllZTEyOGNkZTAuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.KPxegiiHZIyJ4f4-3DvS6FvLw3EiAc_fAixo1GdAZuA]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
next : comming soon
[[/div]]
[[div style="border: 2px solid #ff0000; background-color: #222222; padding: 10px;"]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
+ forgotten-files-scp (comic/tale)
[[/=]]
[[div style="background-color: #000000; color: #ffffff; padding: 10px;"]]
|| chapter 01 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp Forgotten files SCP 01] || chapter 02 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2 Forgotten files SCP 02] ||
|| chapter 03 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3 Forgotten files SCP 03] || chapter 04 --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04 work in progress] ||
|| chapter 05 --> || coming soon || bonus --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus Meanwhile, in a...] ||
|| SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-infinity-beers infinity-beers] || SCP████ --> ||[https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/scp-the-cable the-cable] ||
|| SCP --> || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:gaeldk FANART SCP] ||
[[/div]]
|
2024-12-09T21:23:00
|
[
"comic",
"tale"
] |
F.F.SCP Bonus : Meanwhile, in a... - SCP Foundation
| 5
|
[
"art:forgotten-files-scp",
"art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter2",
"art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter3",
"art:forgotten-files-scp-chapter-04",
"art:gaeldk",
"art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus#toc0",
"art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus#toc1",
"art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus#toc2",
"art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus#toc3",
"art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus#toc4",
"art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus#toc5",
"art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus#toc6"
] |
[
"artwork-hub",
"tales-by-year",
"news"
] |
[
"https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/e40019b9-b74d-4ef6-9cad-c8fe71735e66/dieiw9v-6195e489-68cc-491c-b713-5b6723ad7c79.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1146,q_70,strp/scp_096_by_gael_d_k_dieiw9v-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTc3MyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2U0MDAxOWI5LWI3NGQtNGVmNi05Y2FkLWM4ZmU3MTczNWU2NlwvZGllaXc5di02MTk1ZTQ4OS02OGNjLTQ5MWMtYjcxMy01YjY3MjNhZDdjNzkuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.N2GrN0bGQiTwTUj-L42iF4JniLAp64pnklTEab3-uIM",
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] |
1457962038
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:forgotten-files-scp:bonus
|
|
artwork-exchange-gift-for-perdoh
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>ARTWORK EXCHANGE GIFT FOR <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/perdoh" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6436213); return false;"><img alt="Perdoh" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6436213&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1704669408" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6436213)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/perdoh" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6436213); return false;">Perdoh</a></span>!</span></h1>
<blockquote>
<p>The request was "song lyrics from a K-Class event survivor", and well- here it is!<br/>
There's no direct inspiration from this - the names are just names, the events are just events - but the story I was trying to tell was of a young reality bender named Mary Rice, who escaped containment and destroyed the world in her rebellion. The protagonist's sister was a Foundation Researcher, and was killed in the fall out. This is the song of how it all went down.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>History’s a loaded gun<br/>
Wielded by Mary Rice<br/>
She aimed the trigger at the sun and shot between the eyes</p>
<p>I stood at my black window<br/>
Watched the scorching skies<br/>
I turned the news to ITV, and saw her nightmares visualise</p>
<p>And the great Hartford fire<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup> has nothing on this tribulation<br/>
A site for sore eyes, red and cracked from devastation<br/>
Nation’s rise and fall under the ringmaster’s hand, lab rats in white coats scurry to the piping band</p>
<p>She says<br/>
“If I think, then I am, and I am the eye<br/>
There is no difference between me and the sky<br/>
If I was, then I will, and I have been on the rise”<br/>
CK class collapsing kingdoms, gentrified time</p>
<p>At the end of the world we’ll sing the old rugged cross<br/>
Will it fall on us? Will it fall on us?<br/>
At the end of my mind I’ll turn the stars to dust<br/>
Will they be enough? Will it be enough?<br/>
To start the exodus?</p>
<p>Reality’s a paintbrush<br/>
Smudged across the skies<br/>
Ms. Rice under emerald soot, clouds of russet wine</p>
<p>Under midnight’s golden blush<br/>
My sister holds me tight<br/>
Her lab coat stained with lapis blood, her tears apologise</p>
<p>And the Mongol forces would have nothing on this desolation<br/>
Consensus says surrender your armies, prepare for your abdication<br/>
They tried their best to toss her to the can, with a subtle wink she slipped her chains and pushed Houdini from his stand</p>
<p>They say<br/>
“Nothing can stop her, from her ascension<br/>
Not her honour, proper convention<br/>
If not her puppets, then her playbook<br/>
Nor apotheosis, or her sainthood”</p>
<p>At the end of the world we’ll sing the old rugged cross<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-2" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-2')">2</a></sup><br/>
Will it fall on us? Will it fall on us?<br/>
At the end of my mind I’ll turn the stars to dust<br/>
Will they be enough? Will it be enough?<br/>
To start the exodus?</p>
<p>At the end of the world we’ll sing the old rugged cross<br/>
Will it fall on us? Will it fall on us?<br/>
At the end of my mind I’ll turn the stars to dust<br/>
Will they be enough? Will it be enough?<br/>
To start the exodus?</p>
<p>Is death an apology<br/>
For the mistakes of life?<br/>
Do we live in Mary’s world now?<br/>
Or do we just survive?</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h2 id="toc1"><span>AN A CAPELLA VERSION OF THE SONG SUNG BY ME!!!!</span></h2>
<p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; rel=0; modestbranding; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="396" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/G8SJrrwJzcU" title="MARYRICE" width="703"></iframe></p>
</div>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. Note: Keeping in with the theme of the Foundation as a circus (making a fool of themselves), I referenced the Hartford Circus fire of 1944, which was one of the worst fire disasters in U.S history.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-2"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-2')">2</a>. "The Old Rugged Cross" is a song historically tied to funerals, which makes sense - it's a funeral for the world. However, it's also a song about finding beauty in suffering - which ties in to the artistic language I tried to incorporate.</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[=]]
+ ARTWORK EXCHANGE GIFT FOR [[*user Perdoh]]!
> The request was "song lyrics from a K-Class event survivor", and well- here it is!
> There's no direct inspiration from this - the names are just names, the events are just events - but the story I was trying to tell was of a young reality bender named Mary Rice, who escaped containment and destroyed the world in her rebellion. The protagonist's sister was a Foundation Researcher, and was killed in the fall out. This is the song of how it all went down.
History’s a loaded gun
Wielded by Mary Rice
She aimed the trigger at the sun and shot between the eyes
I stood at my black window
Watched the scorching skies
I turned the news to ITV, and saw her nightmares visualise
And the great Hartford fire[[footnote]] Note: Keeping in with the theme of the Foundation as a circus (making a fool of themselves), I referenced the Hartford Circus fire of 1944, which was one of the worst fire disasters in U.S history. [[/footnote]] has nothing on this tribulation
A site for sore eyes, red and cracked from devastation
Nation’s rise and fall under the ringmaster’s hand, lab rats in white coats scurry to the piping band
She says
“If I think, then I am, and I am the eye
There is no difference between me and the sky
If I was, then I will, and I have been on the rise”
CK class collapsing kingdoms, gentrified time
At the end of the world we’ll sing the old rugged cross
Will it fall on us? Will it fall on us?
At the end of my mind I’ll turn the stars to dust
Will they be enough? Will it be enough?
To start the exodus?
Reality’s a paintbrush
Smudged across the skies
Ms. Rice under emerald soot, clouds of russet wine
Under midnight’s golden blush
My sister holds me tight
Her lab coat stained with lapis blood, her tears apologise
And the Mongol forces would have nothing on this desolation
Consensus says surrender your armies, prepare for your abdication
They tried their best to toss her to the can, with a subtle wink she slipped her chains and pushed Houdini from his stand
They say
“Nothing can stop her, from her ascension
Not her honour, proper convention
If not her puppets, then her playbook
Nor apotheosis, or her sainthood”
At the end of the world we’ll sing the old rugged cross[[footnote]] "The Old Rugged Cross" is a song historically tied to funerals, which makes sense - it's a funeral for the world. However, it's also a song about finding beauty in suffering - which ties in to the artistic language I tried to incorporate. [[/footnote]]
Will it fall on us? Will it fall on us?
At the end of my mind I’ll turn the stars to dust
Will they be enough? Will it be enough?
To start the exodus?
At the end of the world we’ll sing the old rugged cross
Will it fall on us? Will it fall on us?
At the end of my mind I’ll turn the stars to dust
Will they be enough? Will it be enough?
To start the exodus?
Is death an apology
For the mistakes of life?
Do we live in Mary’s world now?
Or do we just survive?
@@ @@
@@ @@
++ AN A CAPELLA VERSION OF THE SONG SUNG BY ME!!!!
[[embedvideo]]
<iframe width="703" height="396" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/G8SJrrwJzcU" title="MARYRICE" frameborder="0"
allow="accelerometer; autoplay; rel=0; modestbranding; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>
[[/embedvideo]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-01-03T18:35:00
|
[
"art-exchange",
"tale",
"video"
] |
Artwork Exchange Gift For Perdoh - SCP Foundation
| 6
|
[] |
[] |
[] |
1452023609
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/artwork-exchange-gift-for-perdoh
|
|
as-bruises-linger-and-munitions-molder
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:90%;"><strong>« Previous Tale | <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swords-unto-scramjets">Swords unto Scramjets</a> | <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/hybrid-analysis-and-advisement-hmid1014">Next Tale</a> »</strong></span></p>
</div>
<blockquote>
<p><em>"Is it raining in <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7636">Cherinmark</a>?"</em><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>—An expression of resigned certainty, used worldwide</p>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p>It was, of course, raining in Cherinmark. Sixteen miles from the still-glowing ruins of Fort Gräd lay a sprawling graveyard of aircraft—Foundation-provided NUZ-21s and GOC-affiliated Caterwaulers, plus the bastard generation produced by neighboring kingdoms in their fight over fertile-but-fraught territory. Wings and flaps and wheels glistened in that persistent drizzle. Opened cockpits were inundated already. Between those that crashed and those abandoned under disarmament treaties, tragic metal forms numbered in the thousands there. Cherinmark cared for all its cast-offs equally.</p>
<p>It was, in the same vein, raining over the broad wings of a prototype bomber that never received a designation despite how much care was invested in its construction. Bays yawned wide now, cavernous expanses sheltering any number of bugs, birds, and bats; its shadow sheltered too, allowing for a fire that had burned low while its owner was occupied.</p>
<p>Mealworm stood only 5'4" compared to her dig site's intruder, who seemed closer to 7' when cloaked in the layered, loose-flowing garb that had become popular among adventurers. It left her scavenged uniform looking all the more motley, with armor plates and extra pockets aplenty, with a ventilator still hanging around her neck from that morning's excursion underground. Close-cropped hair and a grimy coating further emphasized the difference between herself and the handsome man whose naked blade glistened with rainwater.</p>
<p>"Easy to go feral these days, isn't it?" said Mealworm, circling the fire pit to keep it evenly between them. A ball-peen hammer shifted in hand as she slowly reached for one pouch in particular.</p>
<p>"Do you deny the caravan at the crossroads was your handiwork?" Five steps to his right. Sword in a relaxed guard.</p>
<p>"I meant you should have killed me from range. What, did some knightly honor gestate after pretending too long?" Five steps to her right. Fingers undoing that sole button.</p>
<p>"'Tis not I who–"</p>
<p>"'Tis not, prithee, <em>my liege</em>! Aren't you from one of the TAMPER teams? Did the Coalition never teach you self-respect?"</p>
<p>His upper lip twitched at that, moving in time with a crinkle between neat eyebrows. Its parting revealed a golden canine—equally fashionable among his cohort in imitation of true magi's conductive maws. "Is it self-respect to grasp for shadows that slipped away years ago? There is no Coalition here since the gaps closed, no Foundation, no groups distorting chivalry and the proper conduct of warfare. Did Alpha-85 not teach–"</p>
<p>Mealworm threw a handful of metal shavings across the fire pit. More spilled out as she leapt forward, hammer swinging upward, but a quick lean backwards avoided it. Nictitating membranes protected his eyes from any harm as a full swing of that bastard sword caught her side. Skidding across the mud wasn't pleasant by any means, nor were a set of bruised ribs, but a few quick pats confirmed that only the flat of his blade struck true.</p>
<p>"Where is your weapon?" He stomped past her makeshift encampment, all while a few more nervous birds flitted from their nests in the plane above. "Where are the peerless blades? Is that not what slew my brethren at the crossroads?"</p>
<p>"Don't kid yourself. Nobody needs magic swords to kill a few hopped-up adventurers."</p>
<p>He charged as Mealworm got her feet under her, swinging down with his sword's proper edge this time. It was well-maintained and better-sharpened, so much so that battering its edge away with her hammer seemed rude. All it required at that distance was precision, something Alpha-85's 'military advisors' always attempted to instill.</p>
<p>Her foe was no hastily trained militiaman though. Following through with that diverted momentum, he drove an iron-toed boot square into her forehead. Colorful light, deafening sound, no senses quite captured the concussive experience, nor the disorientation of limply flipping backwards. Birds fled in earnest now. Bats chased the bugs that scattered, and raindrops fell all the while. A few even leaked through the metal behemoth, landing square between Mealworm's eyes as that would-be knight loomed above.</p>
<p>"Unifying was the proper path after being cast off here; adaptation and acclimation, our only options to avoid a stray's life. Call it foolhardy if you wish, but we fools will carry on!"</p>
<p>With that, he chopped again. Her hammer flew from an outstretched hand moments later, spinning past his head as she took the chance to roll aside, kicking at one hamstring in the process. A combination of mud, geometries, and half-learned jiu-jitsu helped her lever him over, bringing both into a singular squabble of holds and counter-holds. Joint locks. Pain points. Elbow into a nose, then thumb into an eye. Blood dripped onto Mealworm's face instead of rainwater as one calloused hand pressed against her throat, displacing mud while he grasped for a hunting knife strapped to his thigh.</p>
<p>She relaxed just enough to allow its easy drawing. Being bigger, being <em>stronger,</em> such heroic figures always assumed that any advantage was their inborn right. Once clear of its scabbard, she thrust it back—only an inch to the side this time. More blood gushed from his thigh, staining that cloak a proper color as centers of gravity shifted again. Tight-clenched fingers never left her throat though. Darkness crept in as iron-cut odors overcame petrichor. Her own fingers closed around the hilt of that knife, already written off as a wound he couldn't help. One sharp tug pulled it free. A sharper shove drove it into his sculpted abdomen. Finally, blessedly, that was enough to drive him back.</p>
<p>Mealworm reached for the fire poker standing proud beside smoldering embers. Bioengineering and TAMPER training weren't enough to withstand a blow straight to the temple. He collapsed in full, twitching in the mud as she simply breathed, urging rampant heartbeats back into time. Nothing like a life-or-death struggle to spark memories of flitting between forest encampments and nondescript forts across two worlds. That her own trainees had been unable to achieve the Foundation's objectives was a single failure among many, but it continued pricking all the same.</p>
<p>One more blow with the poker caved in that handsome cranium, stilling residual twitches in full. How could anyone proclaim that most perennial grudge to be dead and forgotten when there remained blood ready for shedding upon its altar? All she needed was the right blood, the right puzzle pieces, the right long-buried keys, and the struggle that gave her life—any life—meaning could be unsealed once more. The Foundation would return once a gap between worlds stretched wide. The Coalition would flock back in turn. Armed with <em>civilized</em> weapons, they could finally settle what had been left adrift in the decade since.</p>
<p>Mealworm had already salvaged plan upon plan to see that much done. Barely outdated PSYOPs. Newly revised hit lists. So much capacity for violence had been abandoned in the retreat from this world, but triggers never stayed untouched for long.</p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><em>A Cherinmarker's mansion.</em><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>—Term for unusually large basements</p>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p>Although scant few inches of those territories ever went untouched by rain, even fewer stood on truly solid ground. Caves and catacombs, crevices and chutes, all drank deep of what the sky provided, siphoning it away into depths unknown by even the bravest spelunkers. How could visitors from another world help but add their own specialty? Thousands of tunnels still laced Cherinmark's borders to neighboring kingdoms' tighter than any stitch. Silos and bunkers accompanied them—filled and unfilled both—lying ready for the order to escalate beyond proxy warfare. Even for vaults accessible in the Banner Burning's final days, there was no dragging their contents back through the gaps widened by paratechnology, nor intent to do so. What did either side care for a world that would never be seen again?</p>
<p>Of that deterrent's priesthood, there were naturally some left behind to fend for themselves: those who knew the hidden hatches and panel passcodes. They only had so many ways to live off leftovers. Some sold access to adventurers who saw their defenses as yet another dungeon to be braved in that most honorable tradition despite rewards consisting of guns instead of gold. Others simply continued about their lives without concern for the world above, save for its rare intrusions.</p>
<p>"Never got the order after all that fuss, huh?" asked Mealworm, squinting against the harsh flood light that illuminated a mere sliver of the hanger. The forms that stood in motionless ranks throughout outnumbered any living occupants—namely, herself and the lanky woman with such an extravagant mane that its red locks swept the floor.</p>
<p>"That's how it always is," said Aster. She put a steaming mug on the table in front of Mealworm, then took a seat with her own in hand. Light caught the metallic ports on her arms and neck, which offered access to however many nerve clusters and lymph nodes were necessary to sublimate a consciousness within the armored warriors resting around them. "Prepare for the last war with all your might, stumble into the next without what you need, never think to use what you actually have."</p>
<p>"Yup. Just how it always is." Mealworm sipped, ignoring the aftertaste of whatever vile fluids had been stored in the mug previously. Industrial lubricant, maybe, or at least runoff from some drainage port. She sipped again. "Our side wasn't much better at the end of the day. Not even after they realized the game plan yours was running."</p>
<p>"We had a plan? You'll have to brief the 108 on it some day."</p>
<p>Both laughed, a harrowing sound when left to its own devices; one harmonious, one harsh, they echoed around around cleavers the size of billboards and guns the size of chimneys, around fists powerful enough to crush even the heaviest armor. Eventually it sounded as though those golems were laughing themselves. Perhaps they even had that capability tucked away somewhere. Such noise would surely be enough to demoralize any foe when issuing from land-borne battlecruisers.</p>
<p>"Did you ever test one out?" asked Mealworm. Aster's eyes drifted toward the nearest golem, misty in the way that only poets described. Elegant fingers found the ports implanted in her neck, brushing away hair, then stroking each like a comfort object. Mealworm could only sip tea and chew sunflower seeds taken from one pocket of many while she waited.</p>
<p>"I still run their diagnostics directly during maintenance," said Aster eventually. Each word bore an uncertainty that was never felt in the letters they usually exchanged through intermediaries. "But to take control… It would be difficult, quite difficult, to do that without feeling how lonely they are. I'm starting to worry they'll outlive me in truth and be all the worse for it."</p>
<p>"What'd you reckon the lifespan on their bioreactors is?"</p>
<p>"That's classified," snapped Aster quickly enough to make them both burst out laughing again.</p>
<p>"I'm sure someone back home already knows. Probably has the plans and everything."</p>
<p>"No doubt full of inaccuracies. The Foundation always thinks everything they snatch must be flawless; they wouldn't have snatched it otherwise!"</p>
<p>Wry smiles lingered as they sipped their disgusting tea over a folding table that might well have once hosted those classified plans. Dirty fingernails matched against clean ones. Travel grime in excess of what industrial showers left behind. Mealworm thumbed a lens on the goggles hanging from her vest after finishing. A more considerate type might spend time mulling over their next words, the next item on her agenda, but a more considerate type wouldn't be in that position at all.</p>
<p>"I reckon it can't be more than twenty years without refueling."</p>
<p>"Fifteen at most. But as I said, classified."</p>
<p>"Seems only right that they get to see the light of day before then," said Mealworm, scratching a scab on her elbow where that adventurer's sword scraped more than skin away. "Not just through Cherinmark's clouds, but real, proper daylight."</p>
<p>"Set against who? Not to brag, but they aren't interested in knights on horseback."</p>
<p>What Mealworm leaned in to whisper wasn't for other ears. It shouldn't have been for Aster's either, not as she tucked locks of her mane behind them, but what was a war without a few good conspiracies between the parties most keenly involved? Her eyes went wide in turn, then narrowed to self-satisfied slits that ill-matched the energy she exuded.</p>
<p>"They warned me how devious the Foundation is."</p>
<p>"We're real bastards. They always told us about the Coalition's bloodthirsty ways too."</p>
<p>"Oh, we're much worse than that. I can't wait to properly crush you dogs beneath my hooves, to fire my main cannon at last…" Aster sighed and sipped her tea again, clearly immersed in imagining sensations beyond human ken—nervous systems exceeding what could ever be contained in a single, fleshy shell. And why not? Such were the joys afforded to those who sacrificed and forced other sacrifices in turn.</p>
<p>It was only a question of when they needed to be made.</p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Worth a mage's tooth.</em><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>—Casual expression of price<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup></p>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p>"Whoresons," rumbled Gregor the Sonorous, archmage (former) of the Seven Organ Towers, advisor (disgraced) to at least one loyalist army, person of interest (current) in any number of counterintelligence investigations.</p>
<p>Even that sounded like a spell through gilded teeth, each molar, canine, and incisor having been shaped to imbue mortal speech with immortal power. Only careful enunciation prevented a simple curse from turning into something far more baleful. Until then, they simply sparked when gnashed, careful engravings stained a slightly different shade by the stumpy cigar clamped between them.</p>
<p>"Any particular whoresons this time?" asked Mealworm.</p>
<p>"Must I differentiate between them now? Gods below." He exhaled a billowing cloud that seemed to fill every nook and cranny of the corner they occupied in a particularly grimy tavern. Allaingar was rife with them, a nexus of trade routes following tributaries. Few were so obviously unseemly. Gregor's wrinkled hand reached through the stationary cloud, clearing enough space in front of Mealworm for letters to form: MIDAR IS LISTENING.</p>
<p>"Just the typical whoresons then."</p>
<p>"Typical indeed. Witness the horseshit I've been forced to clean since the Towers grew a conscience." He waved the worst smog away, though enough animate wisps remained to illustrate the following litany of humiliations. "Horseshit in truth with the city's sanitation spells. Basilisk infestation in the sewers. Ghosts in the royal crypt. Do I, perchance, by some miracle, seem an apprentice of twenty years setting out to make a name for myself? Do my knees not creak and does my back not ache? Is this not a truly magnificent beard befitting a magus of my stature?"</p>
<p>He flopped two feet of pure white hair in Mealworm's direction as more smoke sketched out their surroundings on the stained table. <em>Wyrmidon's</em> in the middle, sidled up between tight-packed row houses and a guard post on the river. MIDAR agents occupied the latter, no doubt having displaced normal guards with authority handed down from the royal Master of Whispers, through his Foundation-established intelligence directorate, through Group 13 or 44, until it ended up with the types Mealworm herself trained to cause trouble. How typical.</p>
<p>"You should just quit," she said casually, tracing a path through the smoky grid with one finger. "Can't be very hard for the <em>Hero of Mt. Daendil</em> to find a new patron."</p>
<p>"Bah, whose whelps did we brush from its face? Her Majesty would never permit my retirement regardless. 'National asset' and all that hogwash."</p>
<p>"You've got my deepest sympathies. Watch this for me." He received her unopened beer bottle with grace, placing its neck between golden teeth before she even turned. After a quick flash of light, he spat out the clean-cut glass and began drinking from its new opening.</p>
<p>A few strands of smoke followed Mealworm's path toward bathrooms sequestered in the tavern's rear. They kept pace as she went out a window, tumbled into the dumpster below, and slunk through alleyways with an appropriately unsteady gait. Gregor was an old hand at being spied upon and knew how much to distract in the meantime.</p>
<p>Even Allaingar's less reputable streets were brighter than most, enjoying all the Foundation left behind. Whatever reactors rumbled under the royal palace were more than enough to keep every lamp alight, dispelling both shadows and any notion that such measures held "distasteful practices" at bay. Mealworm stumbled past a mugging, or perhaps a different form of peacekeeping, then crossed the street behind a horse-drawn carriage and soon found herself behind the guardhouse in question.</p>
<p>Two stories—not too old, not too new, a few ceramic tiles already sliding off the roof. Its upper windows were wide open, probably to facilitate the collection taking place. Gregor could never help but be at the center of everything. She moved one of those persistent wisps of smoke to the back door, careful not to disrupt its cohesion while doing so; gasses became just solid enough inside the lock to shift pins into place. The knob offered little resistance as she eased forward.</p>
<p>Movement on her left. Mealworm spun quickly enough to turn the pistol's silencer aside, runes constraining sound far better than conventional technology could. Two gunshots were barely a whisper past her face as bullets dinged off a dumpster outside. It was even quieter than her switchblade's determined <em>click</em>, which barely sounded before finding his throat. Whatever words he tried to form through that slit were suppressed by Gregor yelling outside.</p>
<p>"Show yourselves, maggots!" came those booming words, no doubt waking whichever half of the neighborhood was asleep. Mealworm wrestled for the pistol as it went off twice more. Activated runes burned in hand as noise was shunted into a different form. "Face Gregor the Sonorous and know his displeasure!" The next bullet caught her shoulder, but only as she roughly sawed the knife to one side, splitting even more necessary meat in the process. "I have fought, and bled, and died four times over, and I will not be made a fool in my own lands!"</p>
<p>Those fingers finally relinquished their grip on the pistol. Just in time too, as heavy boots clomped downstairs. Mealworm learned over to see a man in black leather and soot-stained chainmail approach the front door, and firing twice into his back from that angle proved simple. The silencer was practically smoldering by then, but no matter. She only needed to push the body aside before letting Gregor in. He kept drinking from that bisected bottle while stepping over the MIDAR agent, spilling only a little on already-stained robes in the process.</p>
<p>"Such a tragedy to befall the loyal soldiers who protect our nation. Alas, I arrived too late even after realizing something had gone awry here. Ah, well… This will be blamed on you, of course."</p>
<p>Mealworm coughed as Gregor exhaled another cloud, then clacked his teeth together in a word that didn't properly translate in her ears. Most of the smoke diffused, seeking out every nook and cranny that might hide reports or recordings of his various wrongdoings. "Just remember how useful the Foundation can be when we're allowed."</p>
<p>"No need to convince me, little Mealworm. I very much anticipate returning to a proper order of things. Not this… playacting at peace." With that, he sucked the cigar's nub between his teeth and began chewing. Nothing in it offered much resistance. "Here, the promised key. Whichever gap you choose to reopen, I pray it will prove correct; few places are better guarded these days."</p>
<p>She accepted the key with both hands—a key in truth, wrought from old iron that nevertheless thrummed with power. The gun was left alongside other evidence of Foundation meddling for Gregor to show off. A bit convoluted perhaps, but he had his games and she had her own. So many pieces were assembled that it almost seemed too easy, bleeding shoulder aside. But what were a few wounds when she sought so very many more?</p>
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<p><span style="font-size:90%;"><strong>« Previous Tale | <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swords-unto-scramjets">Swords unto Scramjets</a> | <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/hybrid-analysis-and-advisement-hmid1014">Next Tale</a> »</strong></span></p>
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<p>"<a href="/as-bruises-linger-and-munitions-molder">As Bruises Linger and Munitions Molder</a>" by Pedantique, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/as-bruises-linger-and-munitions-molder">https://scpwiki.com/as-bruises-linger-and-munitions-molder</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. Archaic: A precise unit of measurement for precious metals.</div>
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[[span style="font-size:90%;"]]**<< Previous Tale | [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swords-unto-scramjets Swords unto Scramjets] | [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/hybrid-analysis-and-advisement-hmid1014 Next Tale] >>**[[/span]]
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> //"Is it raining in [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7636 Cherinmark]?"//
> [[>]]
> —An expression of resigned certainty, used worldwide
> [[/>]]
It was, of course, raining in Cherinmark. Sixteen miles from the still-glowing ruins of Fort Gräd lay a sprawling graveyard of aircraft—Foundation-provided NUZ-21s and GOC-affiliated Caterwaulers, plus the bastard generation produced by neighboring kingdoms in their fight over fertile-but-fraught territory. Wings and flaps and wheels glistened in that persistent drizzle. Opened cockpits were inundated already. Between those that crashed and those abandoned under disarmament treaties, tragic metal forms numbered in the thousands there. Cherinmark cared for all its cast-offs equally.
It was, in the same vein, raining over the broad wings of a prototype bomber that never received a designation despite how much care was invested in its construction. Bays yawned wide now, cavernous expanses sheltering any number of bugs, birds, and bats; its shadow sheltered too, allowing for a fire that had burned low while its owner was occupied.
Mealworm stood only 5'4" compared to her dig site's intruder, who seemed closer to 7' when cloaked in the layered, loose-flowing garb that had become popular among adventurers. It left her scavenged uniform looking all the more motley, with armor plates and extra pockets aplenty, with a ventilator still hanging around her neck from that morning's excursion underground. Close-cropped hair and a grimy coating further emphasized the difference between herself and the handsome man whose naked blade glistened with rainwater.
"Easy to go feral these days, isn't it?" said Mealworm, circling the fire pit to keep it evenly between them. A ball-peen hammer shifted in hand as she slowly reached for one pouch in particular.
"Do you deny the caravan at the crossroads was your handiwork?" Five steps to his right. Sword in a relaxed guard.
"I meant you should have killed me from range. What, did some knightly honor gestate after pretending too long?" Five steps to her right. Fingers undoing that sole button.
"'Tis not I who–"
"'Tis not, prithee, //my liege//! Aren't you from one of the TAMPER teams? Did the Coalition never teach you self-respect?"
His upper lip twitched at that, moving in time with a crinkle between neat eyebrows. Its parting revealed a golden canine—equally fashionable among his cohort in imitation of true magi's conductive maws. "Is it self-respect to grasp for shadows that slipped away years ago? There is no Coalition here since the gaps closed, no Foundation, no groups distorting chivalry and the proper conduct of warfare. Did Alpha-85 not teach–"
Mealworm threw a handful of metal shavings across the fire pit. More spilled out as she leapt forward, hammer swinging upward, but a quick lean backwards avoided it. Nictitating membranes protected his eyes from any harm as a full swing of that bastard sword caught her side. Skidding across the mud wasn't pleasant by any means, nor were a set of bruised ribs, but a few quick pats confirmed that only the flat of his blade struck true.
"Where is your weapon?" He stomped past her makeshift encampment, all while a few more nervous birds flitted from their nests in the plane above. "Where are the peerless blades? Is that not what slew my brethren at the crossroads?"
"Don't kid yourself. Nobody needs magic swords to kill a few hopped-up adventurers."
He charged as Mealworm got her feet under her, swinging down with his sword's proper edge this time. It was well-maintained and better-sharpened, so much so that battering its edge away with her hammer seemed rude. All it required at that distance was precision, something Alpha-85's 'military advisors' always attempted to instill.
Her foe was no hastily trained militiaman though. Following through with that diverted momentum, he drove an iron-toed boot square into her forehead. Colorful light, deafening sound, no senses quite captured the concussive experience, nor the disorientation of limply flipping backwards. Birds fled in earnest now. Bats chased the bugs that scattered, and raindrops fell all the while. A few even leaked through the metal behemoth, landing square between Mealworm's eyes as that would-be knight loomed above.
"Unifying was the proper path after being cast off here; adaptation and acclimation, our only options to avoid a stray's life. Call it foolhardy if you wish, but we fools will carry on!"
With that, he chopped again. Her hammer flew from an outstretched hand moments later, spinning past his head as she took the chance to roll aside, kicking at one hamstring in the process. A combination of mud, geometries, and half-learned jiu-jitsu helped her lever him over, bringing both into a singular squabble of holds and counter-holds. Joint locks. Pain points. Elbow into a nose, then thumb into an eye. Blood dripped onto Mealworm's face instead of rainwater as one calloused hand pressed against her throat, displacing mud while he grasped for a hunting knife strapped to his thigh.
She relaxed just enough to allow its easy drawing. Being bigger, being //stronger,// such heroic figures always assumed that any advantage was their inborn right. Once clear of its scabbard, she thrust it back—only an inch to the side this time. More blood gushed from his thigh, staining that cloak a proper color as centers of gravity shifted again. Tight-clenched fingers never left her throat though. Darkness crept in as iron-cut odors overcame petrichor. Her own fingers closed around the hilt of that knife, already written off as a wound he couldn't help. One sharp tug pulled it free. A sharper shove drove it into his sculpted abdomen. Finally, blessedly, that was enough to drive him back.
Mealworm reached for the fire poker standing proud beside smoldering embers. Bioengineering and TAMPER training weren't enough to withstand a blow straight to the temple. He collapsed in full, twitching in the mud as she simply breathed, urging rampant heartbeats back into time. Nothing like a life-or-death struggle to spark memories of flitting between forest encampments and nondescript forts across two worlds. That her own trainees had been unable to achieve the Foundation's objectives was a single failure among many, but it continued pricking all the same.
One more blow with the poker caved in that handsome cranium, stilling residual twitches in full. How could anyone proclaim that most perennial grudge to be dead and forgotten when there remained blood ready for shedding upon its altar? All she needed was the right blood, the right puzzle pieces, the right long-buried keys, and the struggle that gave her life—any life—meaning could be unsealed once more. The Foundation would return once a gap between worlds stretched wide. The Coalition would flock back in turn. Armed with //civilized// weapons, they could finally settle what had been left adrift in the decade since.
Mealworm had already salvaged plan upon plan to see that much done. Barely outdated PSYOPs. Newly revised hit lists. So much capacity for violence had been abandoned in the retreat from this world, but triggers never stayed untouched for long.
-----
> //A Cherinmarker's mansion.//
> [[>]]
> —Term for unusually large basements
> [[/>]]
Although scant few inches of those territories ever went untouched by rain, even fewer stood on truly solid ground. Caves and catacombs, crevices and chutes, all drank deep of what the sky provided, siphoning it away into depths unknown by even the bravest spelunkers. How could visitors from another world help but add their own specialty? Thousands of tunnels still laced Cherinmark's borders to neighboring kingdoms' tighter than any stitch. Silos and bunkers accompanied them—filled and unfilled both—lying ready for the order to escalate beyond proxy warfare. Even for vaults accessible in the Banner Burning's final days, there was no dragging their contents back through the gaps widened by paratechnology, nor intent to do so. What did either side care for a world that would never be seen again?
Of that deterrent's priesthood, there were naturally some left behind to fend for themselves: those who knew the hidden hatches and panel passcodes. They only had so many ways to live off leftovers. Some sold access to adventurers who saw their defenses as yet another dungeon to be braved in that most honorable tradition despite rewards consisting of guns instead of gold. Others simply continued about their lives without concern for the world above, save for its rare intrusions.
"Never got the order after all that fuss, huh?" asked Mealworm, squinting against the harsh flood light that illuminated a mere sliver of the hanger. The forms that stood in motionless ranks throughout outnumbered any living occupants—namely, herself and the lanky woman with such an extravagant mane that its red locks swept the floor.
"That's how it always is," said Aster. She put a steaming mug on the table in front of Mealworm, then took a seat with her own in hand. Light caught the metallic ports on her arms and neck, which offered access to however many nerve clusters and lymph nodes were necessary to sublimate a consciousness within the armored warriors resting around them. "Prepare for the last war with all your might, stumble into the next without what you need, never think to use what you actually have."
"Yup. Just how it always is." Mealworm sipped, ignoring the aftertaste of whatever vile fluids had been stored in the mug previously. Industrial lubricant, maybe, or at least runoff from some drainage port. She sipped again. "Our side wasn't much better at the end of the day. Not even after they realized the game plan yours was running."
"We had a plan? You'll have to brief the 108 on it some day."
Both laughed, a harrowing sound when left to its own devices; one harmonious, one harsh, they echoed around around cleavers the size of billboards and guns the size of chimneys, around fists powerful enough to crush even the heaviest armor. Eventually it sounded as though those golems were laughing themselves. Perhaps they even had that capability tucked away somewhere. Such noise would surely be enough to demoralize any foe when issuing from land-borne battlecruisers.
"Did you ever test one out?" asked Mealworm. Aster's eyes drifted toward the nearest golem, misty in the way that only poets described. Elegant fingers found the ports implanted in her neck, brushing away hair, then stroking each like a comfort object. Mealworm could only sip tea and chew sunflower seeds taken from one pocket of many while she waited.
"I still run their diagnostics directly during maintenance," said Aster eventually. Each word bore an uncertainty that was never felt in the letters they usually exchanged through intermediaries. "But to take control... It would be difficult, quite difficult, to do that without feeling how lonely they are. I'm starting to worry they'll outlive me in truth and be all the worse for it."
"What'd you reckon the lifespan on their bioreactors is?"
"That's classified," snapped Aster quickly enough to make them both burst out laughing again.
"I'm sure someone back home already knows. Probably has the plans and everything."
"No doubt full of inaccuracies. The Foundation always thinks everything they snatch must be flawless; they wouldn't have snatched it otherwise!"
Wry smiles lingered as they sipped their disgusting tea over a folding table that might well have once hosted those classified plans. Dirty fingernails matched against clean ones. Travel grime in excess of what industrial showers left behind. Mealworm thumbed a lens on the goggles hanging from her vest after finishing. A more considerate type might spend time mulling over their next words, the next item on her agenda, but a more considerate type wouldn't be in that position at all.
"I reckon it can't be more than twenty years without refueling."
"Fifteen at most. But as I said, classified."
"Seems only right that they get to see the light of day before then," said Mealworm, scratching a scab on her elbow where that adventurer's sword scraped more than skin away. "Not just through Cherinmark's clouds, but real, proper daylight."
"Set against who? Not to brag, but they aren't interested in knights on horseback."
What Mealworm leaned in to whisper wasn't for other ears. It shouldn't have been for Aster's either, not as she tucked locks of her mane behind them, but what was a war without a few good conspiracies between the parties most keenly involved? Her eyes went wide in turn, then narrowed to self-satisfied slits that ill-matched the energy she exuded.
"They warned me how devious the Foundation is."
"We're real bastards. They always told us about the Coalition's bloodthirsty ways too."
"Oh, we're much worse than that. I can't wait to properly crush you dogs beneath my hooves, to fire my main cannon at last..." Aster sighed and sipped her tea again, clearly immersed in imagining sensations beyond human ken—nervous systems exceeding what could ever be contained in a single, fleshy shell. And why not? Such were the joys afforded to those who sacrificed and forced other sacrifices in turn.
It was only a question of when they needed to be made.
-----
> //Worth a mage's tooth.//
> [[>]]
> —Casual expression of price[[footnote]]Archaic: A precise unit of measurement for precious metals.[[/footnote]]
> [[/>]]
"Whoresons," rumbled Gregor the Sonorous, archmage (former) of the Seven Organ Towers, advisor (disgraced) to at least one loyalist army, person of interest (current) in any number of counterintelligence investigations.
Even that sounded like a spell through gilded teeth, each molar, canine, and incisor having been shaped to imbue mortal speech with immortal power. Only careful enunciation prevented a simple curse from turning into something far more baleful. Until then, they simply sparked when gnashed, careful engravings stained a slightly different shade by the stumpy cigar clamped between them.
"Any particular whoresons this time?" asked Mealworm.
"Must I differentiate between them now? Gods below." He exhaled a billowing cloud that seemed to fill every nook and cranny of the corner they occupied in a particularly grimy tavern. Allaingar was rife with them, a nexus of trade routes following tributaries. Few were so obviously unseemly. Gregor's wrinkled hand reached through the stationary cloud, clearing enough space in front of Mealworm for letters to form: MIDAR IS LISTENING.
"Just the typical whoresons then."
"Typical indeed. Witness the horseshit I've been forced to clean since the Towers grew a conscience." He waved the worst smog away, though enough animate wisps remained to illustrate the following litany of humiliations. "Horseshit in truth with the city's sanitation spells. Basilisk infestation in the sewers. Ghosts in the royal crypt. Do I, perchance, by some miracle, seem an apprentice of twenty years setting out to make a name for myself? Do my knees not creak and does my back not ache? Is this not a truly magnificent beard befitting a magus of my stature?"
He flopped two feet of pure white hair in Mealworm's direction as more smoke sketched out their surroundings on the stained table. //Wyrmidon's// in the middle, sidled up between tight-packed row houses and a guard post on the river. MIDAR agents occupied the latter, no doubt having displaced normal guards with authority handed down from the royal Master of Whispers, through his Foundation-established intelligence directorate, through Group 13 or 44, until it ended up with the types Mealworm herself trained to cause trouble. How typical.
"You should just quit," she said casually, tracing a path through the smoky grid with one finger. "Can't be very hard for the //Hero of Mt. Daendil// to find a new patron."
"Bah, whose whelps did we brush from its face? Her Majesty would never permit my retirement regardless. 'National asset' and all that hogwash."
"You've got my deepest sympathies. Watch this for me." He received her unopened beer bottle with grace, placing its neck between golden teeth before she even turned. After a quick flash of light, he spat out the clean-cut glass and began drinking from its new opening.
A few strands of smoke followed Mealworm's path toward bathrooms sequestered in the tavern's rear. They kept pace as she went out a window, tumbled into the dumpster below, and slunk through alleyways with an appropriately unsteady gait. Gregor was an old hand at being spied upon and knew how much to distract in the meantime.
Even Allaingar's less reputable streets were brighter than most, enjoying all the Foundation left behind. Whatever reactors rumbled under the royal palace were more than enough to keep every lamp alight, dispelling both shadows and any notion that such measures held "distasteful practices" at bay. Mealworm stumbled past a mugging, or perhaps a different form of peacekeeping, then crossed the street behind a horse-drawn carriage and soon found herself behind the guardhouse in question.
Two stories—not too old, not too new, a few ceramic tiles already sliding off the roof. Its upper windows were wide open, probably to facilitate the collection taking place. Gregor could never help but be at the center of everything. She moved one of those persistent wisps of smoke to the back door, careful not to disrupt its cohesion while doing so; gasses became just solid enough inside the lock to shift pins into place. The knob offered little resistance as she eased forward.
Movement on her left. Mealworm spun quickly enough to turn the pistol's silencer aside, runes constraining sound far better than conventional technology could. Two gunshots were barely a whisper past her face as bullets dinged off a dumpster outside. It was even quieter than her switchblade's determined //click//, which barely sounded before finding his throat. Whatever words he tried to form through that slit were suppressed by Gregor yelling outside.
"Show yourselves, maggots!" came those booming words, no doubt waking whichever half of the neighborhood was asleep. Mealworm wrestled for the pistol as it went off twice more. Activated runes burned in hand as noise was shunted into a different form. "Face Gregor the Sonorous and know his displeasure!" The next bullet caught her shoulder, but only as she roughly sawed the knife to one side, splitting even more necessary meat in the process. "I have fought, and bled, and died four times over, and I will not be made a fool in my own lands!"
Those fingers finally relinquished their grip on the pistol. Just in time too, as heavy boots clomped downstairs. Mealworm learned over to see a man in black leather and soot-stained chainmail approach the front door, and firing twice into his back from that angle proved simple. The silencer was practically smoldering by then, but no matter. She only needed to push the body aside before letting Gregor in. He kept drinking from that bisected bottle while stepping over the MIDAR agent, spilling only a little on already-stained robes in the process.
"Such a tragedy to befall the loyal soldiers who protect our nation. Alas, I arrived too late even after realizing something had gone awry here. Ah, well... This will be blamed on you, of course."
Mealworm coughed as Gregor exhaled another cloud, then clacked his teeth together in a word that didn't properly translate in her ears. Most of the smoke diffused, seeking out every nook and cranny that might hide reports or recordings of his various wrongdoings. "Just remember how useful the Foundation can be when we're allowed."
"No need to convince me, little Mealworm. I very much anticipate returning to a proper order of things. Not this... playacting at peace." With that, he sucked the cigar's nub between his teeth and began chewing. Nothing in it offered much resistance. "Here, the promised key. Whichever gap you choose to reopen, I pray it will prove correct; few places are better guarded these days."
She accepted the key with both hands—a key in truth, wrought from old iron that nevertheless thrummed with power. The gun was left alongside other evidence of Foundation meddling for Gregor to show off. A bit convoluted perhaps, but he had his games and she had her own. So many pieces were assembled that it almost seemed too easy, bleeding shoulder aside. But what were a few wounds when she sought so very many more?
[[=]]
[[span style="font-size:90%;"]]**<< Previous Tale | [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swords-unto-scramjets Swords unto Scramjets] | [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/hybrid-analysis-and-advisement-hmid1014 Next Tale] >>**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-03-07T02:25:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"action",
"fantasy",
"spy-fiction",
"tale"
] |
As Bruises Linger and Munitions Molder - SCP Foundation
| 22
|
[
"swords-unto-scramjets",
"hybrid-analysis-and-advisement-hmid1014",
"scp-7636",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"swords-unto-scramjets"
] |
[] |
1452940369
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/as-bruises-linger-and-munitions-molder
|
|
asset-florida-grey
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none;">
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/asset-florida-grey/."><img alt="." class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/asset-florida-grey/./medium.jpg"/></a>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<div class="dyna-email-container">
<div class="dyna-email">
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<div class="top-left-box cc-none">
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<div class="subject-box">Subject:</div>
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<div class="top-middle-box cc-none">
<div class="from-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="to-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="cc-text-box cc-none"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">none</span></div>
<div class="subject-text-box">Supply Chain Issues</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="content-box">
<hr/>
<p>Hello again,</p>
<p>As much as we both know I hate this, I need your help. Again.</p>
<p>We've been noticing a reduction in the shipments of <a href="/asset-florida-orange">Florida Orange</a>. At first I was concerned that we would see a return to previous levels of employee dissatisfaction. While we haven't seen a noticeable downturn, there have been numerous complaints regarding running out of Florida Orange, including multiple physical outbursts that have required temporary restraint of otherwise non-violent Foundation Researchers.</p>
<p>I cannot afford to handle an insurrection simply because we do not have enough Florida Orange to go around.</p>
Tell me that you can do something about this.</div>
<div class="footer-box">
<div class="bottom-left-box">
<div class="name-box">Tilda D. Moose</div>
<div class="title-box">Director, Site-19</div>
<div class="sign-off-box">Secure, Contain, Protect</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<div class="subject-box">Subject:</div>
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<div class="top-middle-box cc-none">
<div class="from-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="to-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="cc-text-box cc-none"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">none</span></div>
<div class="subject-text-box">RE: Supply Chain Issues</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="content-box">
<hr/>
<p>Dearest Director Moose,</p>
<p>Would you like the reason behind the issue, or would you like me to find a solution?</p>
Your friend,</div>
<div class="footer-box">
<div class="bottom-left-box">
<div class="name-box">Michelle Iverson</div>
<div class="title-box">Site-19 Fire Suppression Department Head</div>
<div class="sign-off-box">Secure, Contain, Protect</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<div class="dyna-email-container">
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<div class="top-middle-box cc-none">
<div class="from-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="to-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="cc-text-box cc-none"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">none</span></div>
<div class="subject-text-box">RE: RE: Supply Chain Issues</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="content-box">
<hr/>
The solution. The less I know, the better.</div>
<div class="footer-box">
<div class="bottom-left-box">
<div class="name-box">Tilda D. Moose</div>
<div class="title-box">Director, Site-19</div>
<div class="sign-off-box">Secure, Contain, Protect</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><span style="font-size: 2em;"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">ACCESS ASSET 'FLORIDA GREY'?</a></span></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><span style="font-size: 2em;"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">ACCESS GRANTED.</a></span></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/life-insurance-policy/fsd.png) center no-repeat; background-size: contain; text-align: center; width: 600px; margin: 0 auto; font-size: 20px; padding: 0px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span><span style="color: black">BY ORDER OF THE FIRE SUPPRESSION DEPARTMENT</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="color: black">Access to the following file is limited to the Fire Suppression Department. Unauthorized access is forbidden.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="meta-title">
<p>SCP-999</p>
</div>
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"><img alt="999_remains.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/asset-florida-grey/999_remains.jpg"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>SCP-999's remains.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><strong>Item #:</strong> SCP-999</p>
<p><strong>Object Class:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Thaumiel</span> Neutralized</p>
<p><strong>Special Containment Procedures:</strong> The remains of SCP-999 are to be kept in the Secure FSD Containment Facility in a hermetically sealed box, with no official records available to researchers. SCP-999's public documentation is <strong>not</strong> to be modified without direct approval of the FSD. In addition, any requests or complaints regarding SCP-999 are to be forwarded directly to Department Head Iverson.</p>
<p>Under no circumstances should the rest of The Foundation learn of SCP-999's neutralization.</p>
<p><strong>Description:</strong> SCP-999 was a large gelatinous mass that caused near-instant euphoria when touched. SCP-999-1 referred to the harvested offal of SCP-999 that was used in the production of Asset 'Florida Orange'.</p>
<p>Following the debut and initial distribution of Asset 'Florida Orange', Site-19 saw an 85% reduction in employee complaints, and an overall increase in employee satisfaction by 43%. Despite initial reports stating that euphoria remained in subjects long after consumption, due to the rush of endorphins caused by SCP-999-1, when the effect faded, subjects face greater mental distress. As a result, over 95% of Site-19 has become addicted to SCP-999-1, and demand increased to the point where production was unable to keep up.</p>
<p>As a result of overharvesting of SCP-999 to meet the new demand, the anomaly was neutralized following an emergency harvest; SCP-999 was found to be non-responsive, and has since failed to show any signs of regeneration or life.</p>
<p><strong>Addendum 1:</strong> Asset 'Florida Grey'</p>
<p>Due to the neutralization of SCP-999, it is no longer possible to produce additional SCP-999-1. At the present time, the remaining inventory is as follows:<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th>Product</th>
<th>Remaining Inventory</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Unprocessed SCP-999-1</td>
<td>~50kg</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Processed Asset 'Florida Orange'</td>
<td>~300 Gallons</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<p>It is estimated that at the current rate of demand, the supply will be depleted within ~2 months time. As a result, the creation of an alternative product is required.</p>
<p>Production of 'Florida Grey' is to begin at Site-19 within 6 months, with multiple processing machines to be installed within the site's utility tunnels. It is expected that 'Florida Grey' will be able to meet the demand levels at Site-19, without the need to expend the remaining 'Florida Orange' stores.</p>
<div class="scp-image-block block-left" style="width:313px;"><img alt="treatment.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/asset-florida-grey/treatment.jpg"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>Asset 'Florida Grey' Processing Center A</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><strong>Asset 'Florida Grey':</strong> Asset 'Florida Grey' refers to a product replacing Asset 'Florida Orange', and the processing facilities utilized in its creation. Tests determined that the chemical and anomalous compounds that cause the euphoric effects of Asset 'Florida Orange' persist within waste products at a concentration of 95%.</p>
<p>Processing facilities have been installed and integrated into Site-19's plumbing systems. These systems process all waste water from Site-19, and are able to extract this product from waste materials, which are recycled into Asset 'Florida Grey'. Due to the sustainable nature of 'Florida Grey', it is expected to permanently address the supply chain issues.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="dyna-email-container">
<div class="dyna-email">
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<div class="from-box">From:</div>
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<div class="cc-box cc-none">CC:</div>
<div class="subject-box">Subject:</div>
</div>
<div class="top-middle-box cc-none">
<div class="from-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="to-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="cc-text-box cc-none"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">none</span></div>
<div class="subject-text-box">I don't believe it</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="content-box">
<hr/>
<p>Howdy again!</p>
<p>I don't know how you did it again, but the new Florida package is an even bigger hit! The carbonation was delightfully unexpected, and it reminds us all of the old version.</p>
Glad to see shipments resuming, even with a new formulation!</div>
<div class="footer-box">
<div class="bottom-left-box">
<div class="name-box">Anders Bailey</div>
<div class="title-box">Site-19 Culinary Department Head</div>
<div class="sign-off-box">Secure, Contain, Protect</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="dyna-email-container">
<div class="dyna-email">
<div class="header-box">
<div class="top-left-box cc-none">
<div class="from-box">From:</div>
<div class="to-box">To:</div>
<div class="cc-box cc-none">CC:</div>
<div class="subject-box">Subject:</div>
</div>
<div class="top-middle-box cc-none">
<div class="from-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="to-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="cc-text-box cc-none"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">none</span></div>
<div class="subject-text-box">RE: RE: RE: Supply Chain Issues</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="content-box">
<hr/>
<p>Dearest Director Moose,</p>
<p>I hope that the supply chain issues have been resolved.</p>
<p>Just don't let anybody see or hear the machines.</p>
Your friend,</div>
<div class="footer-box">
<div class="bottom-left-box">
<div class="name-box">Michelle Iverson</div>
<div class="title-box">Site-19 Fire Suppression Department Head</div>
<div class="sign-off-box">Secure, Contain, Protect</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-no {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="ASSET 'FLORIDA ORANGE'">
<p><a href="/asset-florida-orange">ASSET 'FLORIDA ORANGE'</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="ASSET FLORIDA">
<p><a href="/">ASSET FLORIDA</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="ASSET 'FLORIDA ZERO'">
<p><a href="/asset-florida-zero">ASSET 'FLORIDA ZERO'</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="collection">
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<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
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<p>Queerious's Works</p>
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<p><a href="/scp-7748">SCP-7748</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
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<p><a href="/scp-8480">SCP-8480</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
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<p><a href="/scp-8688">SCP-8688</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
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<p><a href="/scp-821">SCP-821</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
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<p><a href="/scp-2346-ex">SCP-2346-EX</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8843">SCP-8843</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Tales/GoI Formats</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/the-bowe-transition">The Bowe Transition</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/the-hard-to-define-reptile">The Hard-to-Define Reptile</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/don-t-let-me-forget">Don't Let Me Forget</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/survivor-s-guilt">Survivor's Guilt</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/why-vktm-creates">Lost in Translation: Media Literacy and The Relativity of the Absurd</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/good-morning-anomalies">Good Morning Anomalies</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/no-reason">No Reason</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/critter-profile-corey">Critter Profile: Corey!</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/parker-informational-breach">The Magic Circle Hijacking</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/why-scp-173-shits">SCP-173 — An Anartistic Analysis of the Industrial-Biological-Sculptural Contradiction</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/the-lillihammer-test">The Lillihammer Test</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/the-deadname-meme">The Deadname Meme</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/bystander-s-guilt">Bystander's Guilt</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/reostiation">Reostiation</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/the-legend-of-the-iron-goat">The Legend Of The Iron Goat</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Other</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/queerious">Cabinet of Queerious-ities</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/asset-florida-grey">ASSET 'FLORIDA GREY'</a>" by Queerious, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/asset-florida-grey">https://scpwiki.com/asset-florida-grey</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> 999_remains.jpg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> ImagineRIT2018Oobleck.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> DanielPenfield<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:ImagineRIT2018Oobleck.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:ImagineRIT2018Oobleck.jpg</a><br/>
<strong>Additional Notes:</strong> Color correction by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/queerious" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7453143); return false;"><img alt="Queerious" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=7453143&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735792364" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=7453143)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/queerious" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7453143); return false;">Queerious</a></span></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> treatment.png<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Water treatment plant in an abandoned steel factory in Oupeye, Belgium (DSCF3285).jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Trougnouf<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC Attribution 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Water_treatment_plant_in_an_abandoned_steel_factory_in_Oupeye,_Belgium_(DSCF3285).jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Water_treatment_plant_in_an_abandoned_steel_factory_in_Oupeye,_Belgium_(DSCF3285).jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> code=--]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:scp-pride">:scp-wiki:component:scp-pride</a>]]
[[module css]]
#page-title {
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}
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border-bottom: solid 1px #bbbbbb;
color: #990011;
font-weight: normal;
margin: 0 0 0.6em;
padding: 0 0 0.25em;
font-size: 200%;
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width: 313px;
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[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> start=--
|from= [email protected]
|to= [email protected]
|cc= none
|subject= Supply Chain Issues
]]
Hello again,
As much as we both know I hate this, I need your help. Again.
We've been noticing a reduction in the shipments of [[[Asset 'Florida Orange' | Florida Orange]]]. At first I was concerned that we would see a return to previous levels of employee dissatisfaction. While we haven't seen a noticeable downturn, there have been numerous complaints regarding running out of Florida Orange, including multiple physical outbursts that have required temporary restraint of otherwise non-violent Foundation Researchers.
I cannot afford to handle an insurrection simply because we do not have enough Florida Orange to go around.
Tell me that you can do something about this.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> end=--
|name= Tilda D. Moose
|title= Director, Site-19
|signoff= Secure, Contain, Protect
|signoff-icon= https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/component:dynamic-emails/transparent.png
]]
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> start=--
|from= [email protected]
|to= [email protected]
|cc= none
|subject= RE: Supply Chain Issues
]]
Dearest Director Moose,
Would you like the reason behind the issue, or would you like me to find a solution?
Your friend,
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> end=--
|name= Michelle Iverson
|title= Site-19 Fire Suppression Department Head
|signoff= Secure, Contain, Protect
|signoff-icon= https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/life-insurance-policy/fsd.png
]]
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> start=--
|from= [email protected]
|to= [email protected]
|cc= none
|subject= RE: RE: Supply Chain Issues
]]
The solution. The less I know, the better.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> end=--
|name= Tilda D. Moose
|title= Director, Site-19
|signoff= Secure, Contain, Protect
|signoff-icon= https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/component:dynamic-emails/transparent.png
]]
[[=]]
[[span style="font-size: 2em;"]] [[collapsible show="ACCESS ASSET 'FLORIDA GREY'?" hide="ACCESS GRANTED."]] [[/span]]
[[<]]
[[div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/life-insurance-policy/fsd.png) center no-repeat; background-size: contain; text-align: center; width: 600px; margin: 0 auto; font-size: 20px; padding: 0px;"]]
[[=]]
++* ##black|BY ORDER OF THE FIRE SUPPRESSION DEPARTMENT##
##black|Access to the following file is limited to the Fire Suppression Department. Unauthorized access is forbidden.##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="meta-title"]]
SCP-999
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=999_remains.jpg|caption=SCP-999's remains.]]
**Item #:** SCP-999
**Object Class:** --Thaumiel-- Neutralized
**Special Containment Procedures:** The remains of SCP-999 are to be kept in the Secure FSD Containment Facility in a hermetically sealed box, with no official records available to researchers. SCP-999's public documentation is **not** to be modified without direct approval of the FSD. In addition, any requests or complaints regarding SCP-999 are to be forwarded directly to Department Head Iverson.
Under no circumstances should the rest of The Foundation learn of SCP-999's neutralization.
**Description:** SCP-999 was a large gelatinous mass that caused near-instant euphoria when touched. SCP-999-1 referred to the harvested offal of SCP-999 that was used in the production of Asset 'Florida Orange'.
Following the debut and initial distribution of Asset 'Florida Orange', Site-19 saw an 85% reduction in employee complaints, and an overall increase in employee satisfaction by 43%. Despite initial reports stating that euphoria remained in subjects long after consumption, due to the rush of endorphins caused by SCP-999-1, when the effect faded, subjects face greater mental distress. As a result, over 95% of Site-19 has become addicted to SCP-999-1, and demand increased to the point where production was unable to keep up.
As a result of overharvesting of SCP-999 to meet the new demand, the anomaly was neutralized following an emergency harvest; SCP-999 was found to be non-responsive, and has since failed to show any signs of regeneration or life.
**Addendum 1:** Asset 'Florida Grey'
Due to the neutralization of SCP-999, it is no longer possible to produce additional SCP-999-1. At the present time, the remaining inventory is as follows:
[[=]]
||~ Product ||~ Remaining Inventory ||
|| Unprocessed SCP-999-1 || ~50kg ||
|| Processed Asset 'Florida Orange' || ~300 Gallons ||
[[/=]]
It is estimated that at the current rate of demand, the supply will be depleted within ~2 months time. As a result, the creation of an alternative product is required.
Production of 'Florida Grey' is to begin at Site-19 within 6 months, with multiple processing machines to be installed within the site's utility tunnels. It is expected that 'Florida Grey' will be able to meet the demand levels at Site-19, without the need to expend the remaining 'Florida Orange' stores.
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a>
name=treatment.jpg|
caption=Asset 'Florida Grey' Processing Center A|
align=left|
width=313px|
]]
**Asset 'Florida Grey':** Asset 'Florida Grey' refers to a product replacing Asset 'Florida Orange', and the processing facilities utilized in its creation. Tests determined that the chemical and anomalous compounds that cause the euphoric effects of Asset 'Florida Orange' persist within waste products at a concentration of 95%.
Processing facilities have been installed and integrated into Site-19's plumbing systems. These systems process all waste water from Site-19, and are able to extract this product from waste materials, which are recycled into Asset 'Florida Grey'. Due to the sustainable nature of 'Florida Grey', it is expected to permanently address the supply chain issues.
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> start=--
|from= [email protected]
|to= [email protected]
|cc= none
|subject= I don't believe it
]]
Howdy again!
I don't know how you did it again, but the new Florida package is an even bigger hit! The carbonation was delightfully unexpected, and it reminds us all of the old version.
Glad to see shipments resuming, even with a new formulation!
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> end=--
|name= Anders Bailey
|title= Site-19 Culinary Department Head
|signoff= Secure, Contain, Protect
|signoff-icon= https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/component:dynamic-emails/transparent.png
]]
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> start=--
|from= [email protected]
|to= [email protected]
|cc= none
|subject= RE: RE: RE: Supply Chain Issues
]]
Dearest Director Moose,
I hope that the supply chain issues have been resolved.
Just don't let anybody see or hear the machines.
Your friend,
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> end=--
|name= Michelle Iverson
|title= Site-19 Fire Suppression Department Head
|signoff= Secure, Contain, Protect
|signoff-icon= https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/life-insurance-policy/fsd.png
]]
[[/<]]
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
first=false | last=false | hub=no |
previous-url=/asset-florida-orange | previous-title=ASSET 'FLORIDA ORANGE' |
next-url=/asset-florida-zero | next-title=ASSET 'FLORIDA ZERO' |
hub-url=/ | hub-title=ASSET FLORIDA|
]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:wikimodule">:scp-wiki:component:wikimodule</a> |normal= --]]]
-----
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
> **Filename:** 999_remains.jpg
> **Name:** ImagineRIT2018Oobleck.jpg
> **Author:** DanielPenfield
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:ImagineRIT2018Oobleck.jpg
> **Additional Notes:** Color correction by [[*user Queerious]]
=====
> **Filename:** treatment.png
> **Name:** Water treatment plant in an abandoned steel factory in Oupeye, Belgium (DSCF3285).jpg
> **Author:** Trougnouf
> **License:** CC Attribution 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Water_treatment_plant_in_an_abandoned_steel_factory_in_Oupeye,_Belgium_(DSCF3285).jpg
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-08-12T00:37:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"correspondence",
"director-moose",
"fire-suppression-dept",
"horror",
"tale",
"tickle-monster"
] |
ASSET 'FLORIDA GREY' - SCP Foundation
| 127
|
[
"asset-florida-orange",
"asset-florida-zero",
"scp-7748",
"scp-8887",
"scp-1611",
"scp-8740",
"scp-8478",
"scp-7643",
"scp-8811",
"scp-8480",
"scp-5632",
"scp-7238",
"scp-8688",
"scp-821",
"scp-2346-ex",
"scp-8843",
"the-bowe-transition",
"the-hard-to-define-reptile",
"don-t-let-me-forget",
"survivor-s-guilt",
"why-vktm-creates",
"good-morning-anomalies",
"no-reason",
"critter-profile-corey",
"parker-informational-breach",
"why-scp-173-shits",
"the-lillihammer-test",
"the-deadname-meme",
"bystander-s-guilt",
"reostiation",
"the-legend-of-the-iron-goat",
"queerious",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"fire-suppression-department-hub"
] |
[
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"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/asset-florida-grey/treatment.jpg"
] |
1456174933
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/asset-florida-grey
|
|
asset-florida-orange
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="background: url(http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-great-hippo/SCP_icon%281%29.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);">
<table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;">
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>From:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>To:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>Subject:</strong></th>
<td>Need Your Help</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr/>
<p>Hello,</p>
<p>As much as I hate to request your services, I'm afraid I no longer have a choice.</p>
<p>There is growing distrust of management among the rank and file due to the repeated containment breaches in the past few months, and many are threatening to quit if we don't do something soon. We just cannot afford to hire more security and Task Force units if they will simply end up getting mowed down by whatever monster we have to contain next week.</p>
<p>I need you to make them happy.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Director Tilda D. Moose<br/>
Site-19 Director<br/>
Secure, Contain, Protect</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/life-insurance-policy/fsdtiny.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);">
<table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;">
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>From:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>To:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>Subject:</strong></th>
<td>RE: Need Your Help</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr/>
<p>Dearest Director Moose,</p>
<p>As you wish.</p>
<p>Your friend,</p>
<hr/>
<p>Michelle Iverson<br/>
Site-19 Fire Suppression Department Head<br/>
Secure. Contain. Protect.</p>
</div>
<br/>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><span style="font-size: 2em;"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">ACCESS ASSET 'FLORIDA ORANGE'?</a></span></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><span style="font-size: 2em;"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">ACCESS GRANTED.</a></span></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="meta-title">
<p>SCP-999</p>
</div>
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"><img alt="jello.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/asset-florida-orange/jello.jpg"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>SCP-999-1 following harvest.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><strong>Item #:</strong> SCP-999</p>
<p><strong>Object Class:</strong> Thaumiel</p>
<p><strong>Special Containment Procedures:</strong> SCP-999 is to be kept in a hermetically sealed tank with oleophobic material coating the display glass. Said tank is to measure 4 meters in height and 3 meters in width. The top of the tank has been custom-built to compress for harvesting and additionally has a grinder installed at its bottom for collection purposes.</p>
<p>Personnel assigned to SCP-999 harvesting duties are to open the hatch at the bottom of the object's containment tank and collect the fallen chunks (designated SCP-999-1) after the object has been pressed down into the grinder. Soundproof earphones are to be made available to all assigned personnel.</p>
<div class="scp-image-block block-left" style="width:313px;"><img alt="oj.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/asset-florida-orange/oj.png"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>SCP-999-1 pulped.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>SCP-999 is to be fed 50,000 calories worth of sweets immediately following harvest in order to recuperate its mass.</p>
<p><strong>Description:</strong> SCP-999 is a large, amorphous, gelatinous mass of translucent orange slime, weighing approximately 54 kg. Its surface possesses a thin membrane which prevents the slime within from spilling out while it moves. Touching SCP-999 inflicts a near-instant sensation of euphoria, which intensifies the longer one is exposed to the object, and lasts long after separation.</p>
<p>SCP-999-1 refers to harvested SCP-999 offal.</p>
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<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
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<td>We Love It!</td>
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<hr/>
<p>Howdy!</p>
<p>We received the first shipment of the Florida package the other day, and I am surprised to say, it's a hit! I don't know how Director Moose knew everyone would love orange cream soda, but I am so glad they did.</p>
<p>Needless to say, keep 'em coming, Mrs. Iverson!</p>
<hr/>
<p>Anders Bailey<br/>
Site-19 Culinary Department<br/>
Secure, Contain, Protect</p>
</div>
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<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
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<th style="text-align:right"><strong>Subject:</strong></th>
<td>RE: Does 999 feel pain when we juice it?</td>
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<p>Dearest Researcher Williams,</p>
<p>I understand your concerns for SCP-999's well being, but I can guarantee that it does not feel a thing as a result of our SCP-999-1 extraction process. If anything, have you noticed how its tank shakes during extraction? That's SCP-999 enjoying the tickles it feels when the machine is running! However, I do recommend you and your team keep their ear protection on while extracting its joy-juice; the sound of heavy machinery can be extremely harmful to one's auditory health!</p>
<p>Your friend,</p>
<hr/>
<p>Michelle Iverson<br/>
Site-19 Fire Suppression Department Head<br/>
Secure. Contain. Protect.</p>
</div>
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Need Your Help
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-----
Hello,
As much as I hate to request your services, I'm afraid I no longer have a choice.
There is growing distrust of management among the rank and file due to the repeated containment breaches in the past few months, and many are threatening to quit if we don't do something soon. We just cannot afford to hire more security and Task Force units if they will simply end up getting mowed down by whatever monster we have to contain next week.
I need you to make them happy.
----
Director Tilda D. Moose
Site-19 Director
Secure, Contain, Protect
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RE: Need Your Help
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Dearest Director Moose,
As you wish.
Your friend,
----
Michelle Iverson
Site-19 Fire Suppression Department Head
Secure. Contain. Protect.
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[[span style="font-size: 2em;"]] [[collapsible show="ACCESS ASSET 'FLORIDA ORANGE'?" hide="ACCESS GRANTED."]] [[/span]]
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SCP-999
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=jello.jpg|caption=SCP-999-1 following harvest.]]
**Item #:** SCP-999
**Object Class:** Thaumiel
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-999 is to be kept in a hermetically sealed tank with oleophobic material coating the display glass. Said tank is to measure 4 meters in height and 3 meters in width. The top of the tank has been custom-built to compress for harvesting and additionally has a grinder installed at its bottom for collection purposes.
Personnel assigned to SCP-999 harvesting duties are to open the hatch at the bottom of the object's containment tank and collect the fallen chunks (designated SCP-999-1) after the object has been pressed down into the grinder. Soundproof earphones are to be made available to all assigned personnel.
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a>
name=oj.png|
caption=SCP-999-1 pulped.|
align=left|
width=313px|
]]
SCP-999 is to be fed 50,000 calories worth of sweets immediately following harvest in order to recuperate its mass.
**Description:** SCP-999 is a large, amorphous, gelatinous mass of translucent orange slime, weighing approximately 54 kg. Its surface possesses a thin membrane which prevents the slime within from spilling out while it moves. Touching SCP-999 inflicts a near-instant sensation of euphoria, which intensifies the longer one is exposed to the object, and lasts long after separation.
SCP-999-1 refers to harvested SCP-999 offal.
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We Love It!
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-----
Howdy!
We received the first shipment of the Florida package the other day, and I am surprised to say, it's a hit! I don't know how Director Moose knew everyone would love orange cream soda, but I am so glad they did.
Needless to say, keep 'em coming, Mrs. Iverson!
----
Anders Bailey
Site-19 Culinary Department
Secure, Contain, Protect
[[/div]]
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[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
RE: Does 999 feel pain when we juice it?
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
-----
Dearest Researcher Williams,
I understand your concerns for SCP-999's well being, but I can guarantee that it does not feel a thing as a result of our SCP-999-1 extraction process. If anything, have you noticed how its tank shakes during extraction? That's SCP-999 enjoying the tickles it feels when the machine is running! However, I do recommend you and your team keep their ear protection on while extracting its joy-juice; the sound of heavy machinery can be extremely harmful to one's auditory health!
Your friend,
----
Michelle Iverson
Site-19 Fire Suppression Department Head
Secure. Contain. Protect.
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hub-url=/ | hub-title=ASSET FLORIDA|
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@@ @@
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
> **Filename:** jello.jpg
> **Name:** There's Always Room
> **Author:** Matt Reinbold
> **License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
> **Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/furryscalyman/438250387 Link]
=====
> **Filename:** oj.png
> **Name:** 2021-10-10 08 12 00 A glass of orange juice at the Denny's in Kailua-Kona, Hawaii County, Hawaii.jpg
> **Author:** Famartin
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2021-10-10_08_12_00_A_glass_of_orange_juice_at_the_Denny%27s_in_Kailua-Kona,_Hawaii_County,_Hawaii.jpg Link]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-08-08T19:44:00
|
[
"bleak",
"correspondence",
"director-moose",
"fire-suppression-dept",
"horror",
"tale",
"tickle-monster",
"wrathcon2024"
] |
ASSET 'FLORIDA ORANGE' - SCP Foundation
| 117
|
[
"previous-url",
"asset-florida-grey",
"scp-6161",
"scp-3879",
"scp-es-101-j",
"scp-es-115",
"scp-3803",
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"scp-371-j",
"abraka-davids-proposal",
"scp-726-ex",
"scp-pl-274",
"scp-es-076",
"scp-7221",
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"koigarezaki-news-911-1998-ver",
"paralytic-states",
"nicos-stupid-proposal",
"fifteenth-anonymous-donation",
"divine-intervention",
"zetetic-bulletin-wu-xing-iris",
"cool-guys-dont-look-at-explosions",
"robin",
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"corncrake-of-destiny",
"wonder-world-dossier",
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] |
[
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] |
[
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"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/asset-florida-orange/oj.png"
] |
1456143485
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/asset-florida-orange
|
|
asset-florida-zero
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none;">
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/asset-florida-zero/."><img alt="." class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/asset-florida-zero/./medium.jpg"/></a>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="dyna-email-container">
<div class="dyna-email">
<div class="header-box">
<div class="top-left-box cc-none">
<div class="from-box">From:</div>
<div class="to-box">To:</div>
<div class="cc-box cc-none">CC:</div>
<div class="subject-box">Subject:</div>
</div>
<div class="top-middle-box cc-none">
<div class="from-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="to-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="cc-text-box cc-none"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">none</span></div>
<div class="subject-text-box">Asset 'Florida Grey' Issues?</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="content-box">
<hr/>
<p>I need you to do something about this. I saw some FSD maintenance workers taking one of the Asset 'Florida Grey' machines away for 'repairs'.</p>
<p>That was a month ago.</p>
Where is our 'Florida Grey'?</div>
<div class="footer-box">
<div class="bottom-left-box">
<div class="name-box">Tilda D. Moose</div>
<div class="title-box">Director, Site-19</div>
<div class="sign-off-box">Secure, Contain, Protect</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="dyna-email-container">
<div class="dyna-email">
<div class="header-box">
<div class="top-left-box cc-none">
<div class="from-box">From:</div>
<div class="to-box">To:</div>
<div class="cc-box cc-none">CC:</div>
<div class="subject-box">Subject:</div>
</div>
<div class="top-middle-box cc-none">
<div class="from-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="to-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="cc-text-box cc-none"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">none</span></div>
<div class="subject-text-box">RE: Asset 'Florida Grey' Issues?</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="content-box">
<hr/>
<p>Dearest Director Moose,</p>
<p>You will not be getting the machines back, nor any shipments of 'Florida Orange' or 'Florida Grey'. Do not be concerned - you won't need them anymore.</p>
Your friend,</div>
<div class="footer-box">
<div class="bottom-left-box">
<div class="name-box">Michelle Iverson</div>
<div class="title-box">Site-19 Fire Suppression Department Head</div>
<div class="sign-off-box">Secure, Contain, Protect</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><span style="font-size: 2em;"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">ACCESS ASSET 'FLORIDA ZERO'?</a></span></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><span style="font-size: 2em;"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">ACCESS GRANTED.</a></span></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/life-insurance-policy/fsd.png) center no-repeat; background-size: contain; text-align: center; width: 600px; margin: 0 auto; font-size: 20px; padding: 0px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span><span style="color: black">BY ORDER OF THE FIRE SUPPRESSION DEPARTMENT</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="color: black">Access to the following file is limited to the Fire Suppression Department. Unauthorized access is forbidden.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="meta-title">
<p>SCP-999</p>
</div>
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"><img alt="999_slime.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/asset-florida-zero/999_slime.jpg"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>SCP-999 instances, at 40x magnification.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><strong>Item #:</strong> SCP-999</p>
<p><strong>Object Class:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Thaumiel</span> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Neutralized</span> Thaumiel</p>
<p><strong>Special Containment Procedures:</strong> SCP-999-1 Processing Facilities are to be installed in every Foundation site, as ensuring access to SCP-999-1 by all Foundation employees is tantamount to containment.</p>
<p>Once per month, all Foundation Employees are welcomed to attend the mandatory blood donation, with suggested donations ranging from 1 to 2 pints.</p>
<p>It is critical that all Foundation Employees remain <strong>sufficiently hydrated</strong> at all times.</p>
<p><strong>Description:</strong> SCP-999 refers to a species of cellular slime mold which originated from the neutralized SCP-999-X, an amorphous, orange, gelatinous mass. SCP-999 instances, when consumed orally, enter into a mutualistic relationship with their host. In exchange for the nutrients required for SCP-999 instances to mature, SCP-999 instances secrete endorphins that cause instantaneous, persistent and continual sensations of euphoria and overall 'happiness'.</p>
<p>SCP-999 instances are found within a solution known as Asset 'Florida Zero', a necessary part of the SCP-999 reproductive process.</p>
<p><strong>Addendum 1:</strong> Asset 'Florida Zero'</p>
<p><strong>Asset 'Florida Zero':</strong> Asset 'Florida Zero' refers to both the product replacing Asset 'Florida Orange', Asset 'Florida Grey', and all other variants or derivatives, and the processing facilities utilized in its creation. Tests have determined that the efficacy, permanency, and potency of Asset 'Florida Zero' is multitudes greater than that of previous formulations, as well as the original effects of SCP-999-X.</p>
<div class="scp-image-block block-left" style="width:300px;"><img alt="florida_zero.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/asset-florida-zero/florida_zero.jpg"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>Asset 'Florida Zero' in a glass.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Processing Facilities and Blood Donation Centers are to be installed in every Foundation site, within the next year. In 80% of Foundation sites, processing facilities have already been installed and integrated directly into all plumbing and water filtration systems within the site. Asset 'Florida Zero' is entirely self-sufficient after the initial installation, and has reduced Foundation Mental Health Services usage by over 99.8%. Due to the overwhelming benefits and the sustainable nature of 'Florida Zero', it is expected to permanently address all Foundation hydration needs.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>SCP-999 Lifecycle:</strong> The SCP-999 reproductive lifecycle is what allows the anomalous properties of Asset 'Florida Zero'. This process is detailed below:</p>
<ol>
<li>Initial Asset 'Florida Zero' solution is to be distributed into a given Foundation site's water supply and filtration systems, once Asset 'Florida Zero' processing facilities are functional.</li>
<li>SCP-999 instances are consumed through oral ingestion of Asset 'Florida Zero', a fluid that is nearly indistinguishable from water.</li>
<li>SCP-999 instances enter into a mutualistic relationship with their human hosts, exchanging nutrients for endorphins — SCP-999 instances mature within a human host over a 14 day period.</li>
<li>During the monthly mandatory blood donation, between 1 pint and 1 gallon of blood<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup> will be collected from each Foundation employee, and pumped to Asset 'Florida Zero' processing stations.</li>
<li>SCP-999-rich blood is converted into Asset 'Florida Zero' via the SCP-999 maturation process. The resulting product is produced at a 3:1 ratio, with three gallons of Asset 'Florida Zero' produced per gallon consumed. SCP-999 instances are now ready to being the cycle again.</li>
</ol>
<p>It is estimated that by the end of the year, all Foundation sites will feature fully integrated Asset 'Florida Zero' processing centers. Within the next 12 months, the Foundation will be able to provide potable water to all of humanity. Projections estimate that a total replacement of all water on earth by Asset 'Florida Zero' will take between three to five years, at the current rates.</p>
<p>This is a good thing.</p>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. This amount of blood carries between 1 million to 1 billion SCP-999 instances.</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="dyna-email-container">
<div class="dyna-email">
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<div class="top-left-box cc-none">
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<div class="to-box">To:</div>
<div class="cc-box cc-none">CC:</div>
<div class="subject-box">Subject:</div>
</div>
<div class="top-middle-box cc-none">
<div class="from-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="to-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="cc-text-box cc-none"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">none</span></div>
<div class="subject-text-box">What did you do to me</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="content-box">
<hr/>
<p>What the fuck did you do to me Michelle. I know we're not supposed to feel them, but I can feel them. I can <strong>hear</strong> them, giggling in my sleep, those same emotions haunting me.</p>
You need to fix me. Undo what you've done.</div>
<div class="footer-box">
<div class="bottom-left-box">
<div class="name-box">Tilda D. Moose</div>
<div class="title-box">Director, Site-19</div>
<div class="sign-off-box">Secure, Contain, Protect</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="dyna-email-container">
<div class="dyna-email">
<div class="header-box">
<div class="top-left-box cc-none">
<div class="from-box">From:</div>
<div class="to-box">To:</div>
<div class="cc-box cc-none">CC:</div>
<div class="subject-box">Subject:</div>
</div>
<div class="top-middle-box cc-none">
<div class="from-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="to-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="cc-text-box cc-none"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">none</span></div>
<div class="subject-text-box">RE: What did you do to me</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="content-box">
<hr/>
<p>Dearest Exuberant Director Moose,</p>
<p>I hope you will find working at the only organization boasting a 100% Employee Satisfaction rating a welcoming adjustment. I'm so happy that we can all share in the fun of working at one of our many incredible Foundation Facilities, no matter the danger!</p>
<p>Doesn't it feel good?</p>
Your happy friend,</div>
<div class="footer-box">
<div class="bottom-left-box">
<div class="name-box">Michelle Iverson</div>
<div class="title-box">Site-19 Fire Suppression Department Head</div>
<div class="sign-off-box">Submit, Consume, Produce</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-true earthworm--old-syntax-hub-no {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="ASSET 'FLORIDA GREY'">
<p><a href="/asset-florida-grey">ASSET 'FLORIDA GREY'</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="ASSET FLORIDA">
<p><a href="/">ASSET FLORIDA</a></p>
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<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="{$next-title}">
<p><a href="/">{$next-title}</a></p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/asset-florida-zero">ASSET 'FLORIDA ZERO'</a>" by Queerious, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/asset-florida-zero">https://scpwiki.com/asset-florida-zero</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> 999_slime.jpg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> DAPI Stained Biomass For phosphorus acclimating organism identification.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> BJMWW<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC Attribution 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:DAPI_Stained_Biomass_For_phosphorus_acclimating_organism_identification.jpg">https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:DAPI_Stained_Biomass_For_phosphorus_acclimating_organism_identification.jpg</a><br/>
<strong>Additional Notes:</strong> Color correction by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/queerious" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7453143); return false;"><img alt="Queerious" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=7453143&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735792363" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=7453143)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/queerious" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7453143); return false;">Queerious</a></span></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> florida_zero.jpg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Glass of water ouside 2.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Kurt Kaiser<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC 0 1.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Glass_of_water_ouside_2.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Glass_of_water_ouside_2.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> code=--]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:scp-pride">:scp-wiki:component:scp-pride</a>]]
[[module css]]
#page-title {
display: none;
}
.meta-title {
border-bottom: solid 1px #bbbbbb;
color: #990011;
font-weight: normal;
margin: 0 0 0.6em;
padding: 0 0 0.25em;
font-size: 200%;
}
.meta-title p {
margin: 0;
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div style="display: none;"]]
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=.|caption=.]]
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> start=--
|from= [email protected]
|to= [email protected]
|cc= none
|subject= Asset 'Florida Grey' Issues?
]]
I need you to do something about this. I saw some FSD maintenance workers taking one of the Asset 'Florida Grey' machines away for 'repairs'.
That was a month ago.
Where is our 'Florida Grey'?
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> end=--
|name= Tilda D. Moose
|title= Director, Site-19
|signoff= Secure, Contain, Protect
|signoff-icon= https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/component:dynamic-emails/transparent.png
]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> start=--
|from= [email protected]
|to= [email protected]
|cc= none
|subject= RE: Asset 'Florida Grey' Issues?
]]
Dearest Director Moose,
You will not be getting the machines back, nor any shipments of 'Florida Orange' or 'Florida Grey'. Do not be concerned - you won't need them anymore.
Your friend,
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> end=--
|name= Michelle Iverson
|title= Site-19 Fire Suppression Department Head
|signoff= Secure, Contain, Protect
|signoff-icon= https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/life-insurance-policy/fsd.png
]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
[[span style="font-size: 2em;"]] [[collapsible show="ACCESS ASSET 'FLORIDA ZERO'?" hide="ACCESS GRANTED."]] [[/span]]
[[<]]
[[div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/life-insurance-policy/fsd.png) center no-repeat; background-size: contain; text-align: center; width: 600px; margin: 0 auto; font-size: 20px; padding: 0px;"]]
[[=]]
++* ##black|BY ORDER OF THE FIRE SUPPRESSION DEPARTMENT##
##black|Access to the following file is limited to the Fire Suppression Department. Unauthorized access is forbidden.##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="meta-title"]]
SCP-999
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=999_slime.jpg|caption=SCP-999 instances, at 40x magnification.]]
**Item #:** SCP-999
**Object Class:** --Thaumiel-- --Neutralized-- Thaumiel
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-999-1 Processing Facilities are to be installed in every Foundation site, as ensuring access to SCP-999-1 by all Foundation employees is tantamount to containment.
Once per month, all Foundation Employees are welcomed to attend the mandatory blood donation, with suggested donations ranging from 1 to 2 pints.
It is critical that all Foundation Employees remain **sufficiently hydrated** at all times.
**Description:** SCP-999 refers to a species of cellular slime mold which originated from the neutralized SCP-999-X, an amorphous, orange, gelatinous mass. SCP-999 instances, when consumed orally, enter into a mutualistic relationship with their host. In exchange for the nutrients required for SCP-999 instances to mature, SCP-999 instances secrete endorphins that cause instantaneous, persistent and continual sensations of euphoria and overall 'happiness'.
SCP-999 instances are found within a solution known as Asset 'Florida Zero', a necessary part of the SCP-999 reproductive process.
**Addendum 1:** Asset 'Florida Zero'
**Asset 'Florida Zero':** Asset 'Florida Zero' refers to both the product replacing Asset 'Florida Orange', Asset 'Florida Grey', and all other variants or derivatives, and the processing facilities utilized in its creation. Tests have determined that the efficacy, permanency, and potency of Asset 'Florida Zero' is multitudes greater than that of previous formulations, as well as the original effects of SCP-999-X.
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a>
name=florida_zero.jpg|
caption=Asset 'Florida Zero' in a glass.|
align=left|
width=300px|
]]
Processing Facilities and Blood Donation Centers are to be installed in every Foundation site, within the next year. In 80% of Foundation sites, processing facilities have already been installed and integrated directly into all plumbing and water filtration systems within the site. Asset 'Florida Zero' is entirely self-sufficient after the initial installation, and has reduced Foundation Mental Health Services usage by over 99.8%. Due to the overwhelming benefits and the sustainable nature of 'Florida Zero', it is expected to permanently address all Foundation hydration needs.
@@ @@
**SCP-999 Lifecycle:** The SCP-999 reproductive lifecycle is what allows the anomalous properties of Asset 'Florida Zero'. This process is detailed below:
# Initial Asset 'Florida Zero' solution is to be distributed into a given Foundation site's water supply and filtration systems, once Asset 'Florida Zero' processing facilities are functional.
# SCP-999 instances are consumed through oral ingestion of Asset 'Florida Zero', a fluid that is nearly indistinguishable from water.
# SCP-999 instances enter into a mutualistic relationship with their human hosts, exchanging nutrients for endorphins -- SCP-999 instances mature within a human host over a 14 day period.
# During the monthly mandatory blood donation, between 1 pint and 1 gallon of blood[[footnote]] This amount of blood carries between 1 million to 1 billion SCP-999 instances. [[/footnote]] will be collected from each Foundation employee, and pumped to Asset 'Florida Zero' processing stations.
# SCP-999-rich blood is converted into Asset 'Florida Zero' via the SCP-999 maturation process. The resulting product is produced at a 3:1 ratio, with three gallons of Asset 'Florida Zero' produced per gallon consumed. SCP-999 instances are now ready to being the cycle again.
It is estimated that by the end of the year, all Foundation sites will feature fully integrated Asset 'Florida Zero' processing centers. Within the next 12 months, the Foundation will be able to provide potable water to all of humanity. Projections estimate that a total replacement of all water on earth by Asset 'Florida Zero' will take between three to five years, at the current rates.
This is a good thing.
[[footnoteblock]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> start=--
|from= [email protected]
|to= [email protected]
|cc= none
|subject= What did you do to me
]]
What the fuck did you do to me Michelle. I know we're not supposed to feel them, but I can feel them. I can **hear** them, giggling in my sleep, those same emotions haunting me.
You need to fix me. Undo what you've done.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> end=--
|name= Tilda D. Moose
|title= Director, Site-19
|signoff= Secure, Contain, Protect
|signoff-icon= https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/component:dynamic-emails/transparent.png
]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> start=--
|from= [email protected]
|to= [email protected]
|cc= none
|subject= RE: What did you do to me
]]
Dearest Exuberant Director Moose,
I hope you will find working at the only organization boasting a 100% Employee Satisfaction rating a welcoming adjustment. I'm so happy that we can all share in the fun of working at one of our many incredible Foundation Facilities, no matter the danger!
Doesn't it feel good?
Your happy friend,
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> end=--
|name= Michelle Iverson
|title= Site-19 Fire Suppression Department Head
|signoff= Submit, Consume, Produce
|signoff-icon= https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/life-insurance-policy/fsd.png
]]
[[/<]]
[[/collapsible]]
-----
@@ @@
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
first=false | last=true | hub=no |
previous-url=/asset-florida-grey | previous-title=ASSET 'FLORIDA GREY' |
next-url=/ | next-title= |
hub-url=/ | hub-title=ASSET FLORIDA|
]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:wikimodule">:scp-wiki:component:wikimodule</a> |normal= --]]]
-----
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
> **Filename:** 999_slime.jpg
> **Name:** DAPI Stained Biomass For phosphorus acclimating organism identification.jpg
> **Author:** BJMWW
> **License:** CC Attribution 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:DAPI_Stained_Biomass_For_phosphorus_acclimating_organism_identification.jpg
> **Additional Notes:** Color correction by [[*user Queerious]]
=====
> **Filename:** florida_zero.jpg
> **Name:** Glass of water ouside 2.jpg
> **Author:** Kurt Kaiser
> **License:** CC 0 1.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Glass_of_water_ouside_2.jpg
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-08-13T01:20:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"correspondence",
"director-moose",
"dystopian",
"fire-suppression-dept",
"horror",
"tale",
"tickle-monster"
] |
ASSET 'FLORIDA ZERO' - SCP Foundation
| 109
|
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"a-tale-of-two-mailrooms",
"single-contained-phenomenon",
"why-vktm-creates",
"queerious",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
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[
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] |
[
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/asset-florida-zero/./medium.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/asset-florida-zero/999_slime.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/asset-florida-zero/florida_zero.jpg"
] |
1456180615
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/asset-florida-zero
|
|
at-creation-s-end
|
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<div style="display: none">
<hr/>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Show component code</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Hide component code</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-corner</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right-style:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inset</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow-x:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow-y:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> " "</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">fixed</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url("https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/component%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Acollapsible-sidebar/sidebar-tab.svg")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-attachment:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">fixed</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">is</span><span class="hl-code">(:</span><span class="hl-identifier">hover</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">active</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">focus-within</span><span class="hl-code">) + </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">14.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> " "</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">14.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">translate:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scpnet-interwiki-wrapper</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">ltr</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Print</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Friendly</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Formatting</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Estrella</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body.print-body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">sidebar-width-on-desktop:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body.print-body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">before</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body.print-body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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<p>Long ago, there was nothing. A Great Abyss spanning all that never was, and never would. And it was beautiful. The indescribable nothingness. And all was content. But it was not to last.</p>
<p>Long ago, there were Three Brothers, born of the darkness predating creation. And where others would have seen nothing, they saw a canvas. And so was the Tree of Knowledge <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/chapter-1-verse-1" target="_blank">planted</a>.</p>
<p>Creation exploded outwards like a bomb. Narratives beyond number, <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5712" target="_blank">thought spheres</a> transcending comprehension, <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7650" target="_blank">information circles</a> beyond logic, all of it setting the foundations for what was to come.</p>
<p>And then came the gods. Gods of Metal, of Flesh, of <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/found-in-a-dusty-corner-of-the-library" target="_blank">Knowledge</a> and <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3125" target="_blank">Fives</a>. And there was the King Ordained in Crimson. Their numbers flowed like a river then.</p>
<p>And all was at peace.</p>
<p>And all was content.</p>
<p>But it was not to last. As it was before, so too was it again.</p>
<p>Long ago, there was nothing. A Great Abyss spanning all that never was, and never would. And it was beautiful. The Great Planting had left it <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3930" target="_blank">fragmented</a>, a sickly shade of what it once was. And these fragments, sharp as they were, began to breach the veil between reality and unreality, leaving a path of corruption in their wake. And so it was the King Ordained in Scarlet came across a fragment.</p>
<p>The King was cunning, cunning beyond peer. Where others only saw fear, He saw raw, untapped potential. Potential that could be manipulated, taken. But the King was intelligent enough to know that he was not strong enough to take it. Yet. But there were rumours, rumours of a <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wanderers-library-hub" target="_blank">Great Library</a>, the sum total of all knowledge that could ever exist, and most that never would. An opportunity.</p>
<p>The King Ordained in Crimson was quick to track down those who repeated such rumours. And from them, he would tear the knowledge they had from their minds, tracking down the one who had started such a rumour. And so it was the King came across <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lord-jeser" target="_blank">Jeser the Deceitful</a>, He of Many Faces, and his kingdom of 24 worlds. It was he who had started the rumour. And so he too must have known where it was. Strong as Jeser was, he was helpless to watch as the King crushed all resistance and took control of his kingdom.</p>
<p>To Jeser, a task was given. The Library was to be found. Deep within its catacombs was the knowledge that King Ordained in Scarlet needed to take what was His, the power of the Great Abyss. To this task, Jeser agreed, for what else could he do in the face of such power? And on his way was Jeser sent.</p>
<p>Long did Jeser toil. Long did he walk. Far did he go. The journey was treacherous. The Gods, as innumerable as they were in those days, blocked his path on every route. Threats, attempted murder, violence plenty, Jeser faced this and more on his journey to the Library. Until… there it was. The pillar of wisdom, the river of knowledge. It was all it was imagined to be. And there, wrapped around its base, was a great Serpent.</p>
<p>This Serpent was almost as intelligent as Jeser's master and twice as wise. It could not be fooled. It could not be bypassed. And so Jeser had but one option. He walked up to this great snake and asked if he could read, if he could partake of the knowledge that lay within the Library's walls. And the Serpent let him in. As intelligent as it may have been, it was not omniscient. That privilege lay with his <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/vision-at-betar" target="_blank">master</a>, and his master alone. It could not have known…</p>
<p>In these early days of the Library, security was lax, more lax than it would ever be from then on. And the Prince of Many Faces walked. He walked past the infinite shelves of books, he walked past the locked doors. He walked and walked until he found himself somewhere completely different to the Library. He had entered the catacombs.</p>
<p>The catacombs were the place of residence for only the most forbidden knowledge, banned by the Creator himself. And it was there that the knowledge the Prince's master required. And Jeser walked. And he walked some more. And he walked more until finally he found it. But alas, the alarm had already been raised, the Serpent alerted, and the Docents geared up. Someone had figured it out.</p>
<p>Quickly stashing away the knowledge, Jeser ran. He did not stop. He did not look back. He did not slow down at all. The Serpent was coming. Making use of the art of deceit, Jeser was able to slip out of the catacombs alive, where he ran into more and more problems. Leaving the catacombs revealed his location.</p>
<p>Ironically, it was Jeser's use of force, not deceit, that spared him from the eternity of suffering that would have awaited him had he been captured. Fighting off the Serpent and its Docents, the Prince of Many Faces made his escape. And all the way back to his master he ran, back through the hordes of gods, back through it all. And there the King sat, waiting, expectant. And there, Jeser handed over what he had stolen.</p>
<p>Rising from the throne in one swift movement, the King began. Knowledge did not exist in physical form at the level of the Gods, allowing for all forms of manipulation of it. And so the King subsumed it, made it a part of his being, tying himself to it. And to the Great Abyss, he went, sitting for 7 days and 7 nights, wrestling with the power of the fragment. And at last, he won. The fragment of the Great Abyss was subsumed into himself. But it wasn't enough. He needed more. And so he continued, fragment after fragment, corrupted god after corrupted god.</p>
<p>The shockwaves sent throughout Creation were felt everywhere.</p>
<p>The shockwave was felt on Terra, where it burrowed into the minds of the primitive species that lived there, forming the first of his <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/cotsk-hub">Children</a>.</p>
<p>The shockwave was felt in Heaven Above, where <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-738" target="_blank">Lucifer</a> led a rebellion against the Creator.</p>
<p>The shockwave was felt everywhere, shaking creation to the core. And then the King resurfaced.</p>
<p>What resurfaced eons later could no longer be considered a God. It could no longer be considered the King Ordained in Crimson. No, what rose from its finished task was so evil, so soul-consumingly mad, it could no longer be considered a <em>thing</em>. So consumed in its own madness, the ineffable abomination once known as the King Ordained in Scarlet vowed to devote himself to one thing, and one thing only: the Tree of Knowledge, and all it held in its infinitely many branches, would die.</p>
<p>What rose was not a God, or anything else. What rose that day was, and would always be, the Scarlet King.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong><a href="/metal-and-hellfire">Metal and Hellfire</a> »</strong></p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/at-creation-s-end">At Creation's End</a>" by FreezerMonkey, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/at-creation-s-end">https://scpwiki.com/at-creation-s-end</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Children of the Scarlet King<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> SunnyClockwork<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC-BY-SA<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sunny-art-goi">https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sunny-art-goi</a></p>
</blockquote>
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>
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[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Long ago, there was nothing. A Great Abyss spanning all that never was, and never would. And it was beautiful. The indescribable nothingness. And all was content. But it was not to last.
>
Long ago, there were Three Brothers, born of the darkness predating creation. And where others would have seen nothing, they saw a canvas. And so was the Tree of Knowledge [[[*https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/chapter-1-verse-1 | planted]]].
>
Creation exploded outwards like a bomb. Narratives beyond number, [[[*https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5712 | thought spheres]]] transcending comprehension, [[[*https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7650 | information circles]]] beyond logic, all of it setting the foundations for what was to come.
>
And then came the gods. Gods of Metal, of Flesh, of [[[*https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/found-in-a-dusty-corner-of-the-library | Knowledge]]] and [[[*https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3125 | Fives]]]. And there was the King Ordained in Crimson. Their numbers flowed like a river then.
>
And all was at peace.
>
And all was content.
>
But it was not to last. As it was before, so too was it again.
>
Long ago, there was nothing. A Great Abyss spanning all that never was, and never would. And it was beautiful. The Great Planting had left it [[[*https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3930 | fragmented]]], a sickly shade of what it once was. And these fragments, sharp as they were, began to breach the veil between reality and unreality, leaving a path of corruption in their wake. And so it was the King Ordained in Scarlet came across a fragment.
>
The King was cunning, cunning beyond peer. Where others only saw fear, He saw raw, untapped potential. Potential that could be manipulated, taken. But the King was intelligent enough to know that he was not strong enough to take it. Yet. But there were rumours, rumours of a [[[*https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wanderers-library-hub | Great Library]]], the sum total of all knowledge that could ever exist, and most that never would. An opportunity.
>
The King Ordained in Crimson was quick to track down those who repeated such rumours. And from them, he would tear the knowledge they had from their minds, tracking down the one who had started such a rumour. And so it was the King came across [[[*https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lord-jeser | Jeser the Deceitful]]], He of Many Faces, and his kingdom of 24 worlds. It was he who had started the rumour. And so he too must have known where it was. Strong as Jeser was, he was helpless to watch as the King crushed all resistance and took control of his kingdom.
>
To Jeser, a task was given. The Library was to be found. Deep within its catacombs was the knowledge that King Ordained in Scarlet needed to take what was His, the power of the Great Abyss. To this task, Jeser agreed, for what else could he do in the face of such power? And on his way was Jeser sent.
>
Long did Jeser toil. Long did he walk. Far did he go. The journey was treacherous. The Gods, as innumerable as they were in those days, blocked his path on every route. Threats, attempted murder, violence plenty, Jeser faced this and more on his journey to the Library. Until... there it was. The pillar of wisdom, the river of knowledge. It was all it was imagined to be. And there, wrapped around its base, was a great Serpent.
>
This Serpent was almost as intelligent as Jeser's master and twice as wise. It could not be fooled. It could not be bypassed. And so Jeser had but one option. He walked up to this great snake and asked if he could read, if he could partake of the knowledge that lay within the Library's walls. And the Serpent let him in. As intelligent as it may have been, it was not omniscient. That privilege lay with his [[[*https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/vision-at-betar | master]]], and his master alone. It could not have known...
>
In these early days of the Library, security was lax, more lax than it would ever be from then on. And the Prince of Many Faces walked. He walked past the infinite shelves of books, he walked past the locked doors. He walked and walked until he found himself somewhere completely different to the Library. He had entered the catacombs.
>
The catacombs were the place of residence for only the most forbidden knowledge, banned by the Creator himself. And it was there that the knowledge the Prince's master required. And Jeser walked. And he walked some more. And he walked more until finally he found it. But alas, the alarm had already been raised, the Serpent alerted, and the Docents geared up. Someone had figured it out.
>
Quickly stashing away the knowledge, Jeser ran. He did not stop. He did not look back. He did not slow down at all. The Serpent was coming. Making use of the art of deceit, Jeser was able to slip out of the catacombs alive, where he ran into more and more problems. Leaving the catacombs revealed his location.
>
Ironically, it was Jeser's use of force, not deceit, that spared him from the eternity of suffering that would have awaited him had he been captured. Fighting off the Serpent and its Docents, the Prince of Many Faces made his escape. And all the way back to his master he ran, back through the hordes of gods, back through it all. And there the King sat, waiting, expectant. And there, Jeser handed over what he had stolen.
>
Rising from the throne in one swift movement, the King began. Knowledge did not exist in physical form at the level of the Gods, allowing for all forms of manipulation of it. And so the King subsumed it, made it a part of his being, tying himself to it. And to the Great Abyss, he went, sitting for 7 days and 7 nights, wrestling with the power of the fragment. And at last, he won. The fragment of the Great Abyss was subsumed into himself. But it wasn't enough. He needed more. And so he continued, fragment after fragment, corrupted god after corrupted god.
>
The shockwaves sent throughout Creation were felt everywhere.
>
The shockwave was felt on Terra, where it burrowed into the minds of the primitive species that lived there, forming the first of his [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/cotsk-hub | Children]]].
>
The shockwave was felt in Heaven Above, where [[[*https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-738 | Lucifer]]] led a rebellion against the Creator.
>
The shockwave was felt everywhere, shaking creation to the core. And then the King resurfaced.
>
What resurfaced eons later could no longer be considered a God. It could no longer be considered the King Ordained in Crimson. No, what rose from its finished task was so evil, so soul-consumingly mad, it could no longer be considered a //thing//. So consumed in its own madness, the ineffable abomination once known as the King Ordained in Scarlet vowed to devote himself to one thing, and one thing only: the Tree of Knowledge, and all it held in its infinitely many branches, would die.
>
What rose was not a God, or anything else. What rose that day was, and would always be, the Scarlet King.
>
[[=]]
**[[[Metal and Hellfire]]] >>**
[[/=]]
>
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Name:** Children of the Scarlet King
> **Author:** SunnyClockwork
> **License:** CC-BY-SA
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sunny-art-goi
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-02-14T16:35:00
|
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At Creation's End - SCP Foundation
| 20
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/at-creation-s-end
|
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<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://cdn.scpwiki.com/theme/en/basalt/normalize-min.css&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
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<p>Goodbye, old friend.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="document">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th>PROPOSAL</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Decommission SCP-682, at the anomaly's request.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th>STATUS</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: green"><strong>APPROVED!</strong></span></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="scp-image-block block-center" style="width:100%;"><img alt="Denver_Human_Services_Richard_T._Castro_Building.JPG" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/attempt-successful/Denver_Human_Services_Richard_T._Castro_Building.JPG"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>The Foundation of Denver, Colorado. Formerly Site-19.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="article" style="border: solid 5px rgb(133, 0, 0);">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Charles stood at the edge of the swirling acid bath, the perpetually-twirling turbines that kept the acid flowing coming to a soft and steady stop. For 65 years, Charles Ogden Gears had managed to prevent himself from feeling any true sort of emotion. A light smile at a lover's gesture, a nod of congratulations to a promoted coworker, but nothing enough to prevent his work. Yet as he stood above this tidal wave of acid, watching the still-breathing carcass of that unusual lizard that plagued him and his coworkers with death, pain, and property damage, he felt the slightest twinge in his heart.</p>
<p>He wasn't alone in this endeavor. In fact, to the surprise of nobody, everyone from the crowded Site-19 — or as it had begun to be called after The Farewell, simply "Denver", after being the only Foundation facility in the city — had gathered around the five-by-five-by-five-meter tub they'd all been so accustomed to. The feeling was unusual. Everyone from across all of the Foundation was still reeling from the effects of SCP-8300, their friends, families, projects and jobs having died on the vine in an instant. On the opposite hand, the Lizard was not something anyone here would have considered friend, family, or even a worthy project. More of a headache meant for the younger employees to stifle their careers upon to prevent upwards momentum.</p>
<p>Everyone hated the Lizard. Even the Lizard, at the best of times, romping through the halls of their Denver-based bunker, seemed like it hated the Lizard. Under no circumstances could anyone, other than perhaps the AI, consider it worth a smile.</p>
<p>And yet, Charles was not surprised when the facility gathered around this acid bath, their looks of sorrow and nostalgic regret rather than a deep satisfaction. Everyone other than Charles, of course, the look of eternal stoicism still getting him a gawking look or two. People from other facilities, even, had come to witness this momentous occasion. Mann, staring blankly at the sterile white walls of the chamber. King, free from his personal anomaly at last, still barely smiling as he stood and watched. The humanoid Kain Pathos Crow, now nothing more than a man, still adjusting himself to standing and staring on two legs. Charles could see Lament and Sophia, two disciples long-past the confines of Site-19, holding hands as they watched the acid flush into the drainage system. Diluted, of course. Charles had clarified every safety measure beforehand to not accidentally kill half of the city surrounding them.</p>
<p>When the final drop of acid exited the bath, a gateway was opened by one of the paraveterinarians from Site-19, and she begun to descend the watered-down stairs leading to the Lizard. Charles followed, his clipboard gripped tightly in one hand, a pen in the other. This was going to be the final checkmark.</p>
<p>As they reached the bottom of the stairs, the Lizard finally lurched its head up for the first time in days. The shredded skin and scales of the dilapidated head covered the creature's eyes, yet Charles could almost certainly ascertain the expression on its face. As he and the vet closed their distance, the Lizard snarled. They stopped in their tracks, and the entire containment chamber went silent. After a moment of hesitation, the terror of a violent mistake seeping into everyone but Charles, the lizard let out a dry laugh.</p>
<p>"I jest."</p>
<p>The vet sighed, and Charles let out a light exhale; his closest approximation. When they reached the Lizard, the bones still visible from the years of acidic degradation, it simply slumped its head on the ground. Charles stood over it, preparing the final list of questions and statements, as the vet reached into her bag, pulling out a syringe. The Lizard snorted through the barely open nose, the melting guck on its face moving up enough to reveal the cold, yellow eyes underneath.</p>
<p>"You must feel satisfied, Charlie."</p>
<p>The vet turned around, looking to Charles for a response. He looked away from his clipboard to meet the Lizard in eye contact, his expression unphased.</p>
<p>"No. You would know that is not the case."</p>
<p>The Lizard laughed again. "After all these years, Charlie, I suppose you're right."</p>
<p>"Charles is fine."</p>
<p>"Fine."</p>
<p>"Can we begin?"</p>
<p>The Lizard, with a heave of the melting corpse it inhabited, slowly rolled over onto its backside, the acidic residue flinging to the walls of the tub. "Indeed", it groaned out. Charles flipped to the first page of the Termination Report again.</p>
<p>"SCP-682, you requested a termination via lethal injection, as you feel as though you are capable of being terminated due to recent events. Is this still the case?"</p>
<p>"And because I <em>am</em> dying, but yes."</p>
<p>Charles nodded. "Understood. Next question-"</p>
<p>The Lizard sighed once more. "Charles, please, these redundancies feel especially redundant now. So many decades of your finest idiots attempting to kill me, and I'm finally at death's door, yet you want to carry out the process?"</p>
<p>Not looking up from his clipboard, he responds. "Formalities are the necessity of organization. I apologize, but it is better to do this right than not do it at all."</p>
<p>The Lizard rolled its eyes. "Fine. So it shall be."</p>
<p>"Next question. You understand that you, SCP-682, are one of the final remaining anomalies within the observable universe, after the events of SCP-8300?"</p>
<p>"If that's what you're calling it, yes. The Farewell took only my ability to stay rotting in your chambers forever, not leaving enough to carry me through."</p>
<p>Charles checked off two boxes. "Understood. Next question. Do you truly believe you are incapable of continuing life, in your current form?"</p>
<p>The Lizard hesitated for a moment, the normal gnarled smile turning to a somewhat-soft look of disdain.</p>
<p>"Life, I've not possessed for many years. Existence, however, yes, is done. For me, as it was all the others."</p>
<p>"I see. Only two more questions, then."</p>
<p>"Good."</p>
<p>"Please summarize your time in employment of the SCP Foundation."</p>
<p>The Lizard raised an eyebrow-equivalent brow, the subtle disdain turning to confusion. "Employment?"</p>
<p>"This form is for employees of the Foundation who have requested Medical Assistance in Death. You were considered an approximate to this."</p>
<p>The Lizard paused for a moment, then burst into laughter. The watching crowd, only in stunned silence at the affair, could feel their hearts racing. This was approaching the end. When the Lizard stopped, it smiled, and limply raised its head to Charles.</p>
<p>"My time with you all has been a nightmare. The embodiment of humanity, a bastion of your foolishness and attempt to control every chaotic aspect of the universe. I have endured the pain of a thousand of your strongest men, fought through more than the wars of a thousand of your soldiers, and been burnt by the acids of this treacherous bath more than those of Venus have burned the surface of that planet."</p>
<p>Turning around, the Lizard began to address the entirety of the room. "In all of these years, I have simply collected faces I wished to torment once I could escape. For some of the less fortunate — or less quick — I achieved this, but most time was spent in eternal longing for your suffering. Truly, the hatred I have felt while confined, it is incomparable."</p>
<p>With a sharp turn of the head, the Lizard stared down a front-row observer: Dr. Clef. He gulped.</p>
<p>"Take Clef, oh you sweet monstrous Clef, for example. This 'bastard' — as he so pompously refers to himself — has filled my backside with more shotgun blasts than were received in all of your petulant conflicts. He has referred to me as words even I dare not utter, and has proven only the cruelty of whatever Devil you believe him to be. For him, and all the other fools who attempted to end a 'life' they believed they controlled, I hold only contempt."</p>
<p>The Lizard turned back to Charles.</p>
<p>"Though, you were yourself not terrible, Charles. An unemotive man, something disparaged from humanity itself, I could align with you. Your amount of hatred now is lesser. I think that is something in common, perhaps."</p>
<p>There was a moment of silence. Clef attempted to stifle a sob, through the faux-triumphant grin of victory. He failed. The Lizard let out a long sigh, and laid its head upon the floor again.</p>
<p>"That is to say, I hated you. But, alas, in a case like this, I suppose I must say I am grateful to end it among your… care. It is not a deserved victory for you, yet, in my absence of a heart, I doubt you will consider this much of a victory. So in the end, well, hah. I won."</p>
<p>Charles hesitated, waiting for another snarky word of cruelty. After a moment, there was nothing.</p>
<p>"Have you completed your answer to the question?"</p>
<p>The Lizard sighed. "Yes. Proceed, please, if you will. I tire of the wait."</p>
<p>"Indeed. One final question, then, and the vet here will begin."</p>
<p>"As it is," replied the Lizard, the acceptance clear in its voice, "ask away". With a heavy heart, something Charles had not felt in a long, long, time, he uttered words he never would have expected to hear for this abomination.</p>
<p>"How do you feel, in this current moment?"</p>
<p>The Lizard sighed in tandem with the injection entering its body, looking up at Charles for a final melancholic moment.</p>
</div>
<div class="quoteblock" style='background: url("https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-682/monster8editub9-new.jpg") top center no-repeat; float: center; background-attachment: fixed; background-size: 900px; background-color: #6B6B6B; background-blend-mode: multiply;'>
<p><strong><span style="color: white"><em>"You already know the answer to that one."</em></span></strong></p>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="jotting">
<div class="smallmodal">
<p><strong>EXHIBITION #:</strong> <a href="/scp-682">00682</a></p>
<p><strong>EXHIBITION TITLE:</strong> "THE INTERMINABLE REPTILE"</p>
<p><strong>LOCATION:</strong> The Foundation of Denver, Colorado.</p>
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"><img alt="Expo_2010_Belgium-EU_Pavilion,_Whale_Skull.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/attempt-successful/Expo_2010_Belgium-EU_Pavilion,_Whale_Skull.jpg"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>EXB-00682</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><strong>DESCRIPTION:</strong> EXB-00682 is a disproportionally-sized reptilian skull, formerly belonging to an anomalous entity often nicknamed the "Hard-to-Destroy Reptile". The reptile, though incredibly hostile towards the SCP Foundation, other anomaly-related organizations, and humanity in general, was a central part of the SCP Foundation's evolution from purely a research organization, to that of containment.</p>
<p>Over the course of the anomaly's 78 years within containment, the SCP Foundation attempted to neutralize EXB-00682 14,509 times. Only 3 would succeed, including the final (self-requested) termination upon the advent of SCP-8300. This is an unfortunate display of the other symptom of the anomaly's containment; a Foundation which attempted to neutralize and act violently, with the expenditure on EXB-00682 neutralization attempts entering the millions of culminative dollars.</p>
<p>It is to be acknowledged that, despite the destructive tendencies of EXB-00682, it was still a live entity, contained by extreme violence and frequent physical harassment by members of the SCP Foundation. EXB-00682 stands not only as a memorial to a core part of the organization as a whole, but as a reminder of the SCP Foundation's mistakes.</p>
<p>The skull of the entity was the only recoverable remains after the final termination attempt, by the anomaly's request.</p>
</div>
<div class="document">
<p>There is nothing left to say.</p>
<p>After all these years, I can only find myself feeling disgusted.</p>
<p>Goodbye, old friend.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>Charles Gears,</em><br/>
<em>Director Exhibition and Artefact Curation at Denver, Colorado,</em><br/>
<em>Former Director of General Research at Site-19.</em></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/attempt-successful">Attempt Successful</a>" by ThatGuyThatTime, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/attempt-successful">https://scpwiki.com/attempt-successful</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Denver_Human_Services_Richard_T._Castro_Building.JPG<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Jeffrey Beall<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC-BY-SA-4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Denver_Human_Services_Richard_T._Castro_Building.JPG">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Denver_Human_Services_Richard_T._Castro_Building.JPG</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Expo_2010_Belgium-EU_Pavilion,_Whale_Skull.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Gary Lee Todd, Ph.D.<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC0 1.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Expo_2010_Belgium-EU_Pavilion,_Whale_Skull.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Expo_2010_Belgium-EU_Pavilion,_Whale_Skull.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:wide-image-sizer">:scp-wiki:component:wide-image-sizer</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:basalt">:scp-wiki:theme:basalt</a> hidetitle=a]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:wide-image-sizer">:scp-wiki:component:wide-image-sizer</a>]]
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
Goodbye, old friend.
]]
=====
[[module CSS]]
:root {
--header-title: "THE FOUNDATION";
--header-subtitle: "MUSEUM FOR ANOMALOUS HISTORY";
--logo: url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-8300/Artboard%202.svg');
}
[[/module]]
[[module CSS]]
div.backaroo {
background-color: #d4d4d4;
background-size: contain;
background-position: top center;
background-repeat: no-repeat;
min-height: 4rem;
margin-inline: auto;
margin-block: 2rem;
padding-inline: 20px;
padding-block: 10px;
border: solid 0px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1);
text-align: left;
}
[[/module]]
[[module CSS]]
div.article {
background-color: white;
background-repeat: no-repeat;
min-height: 4rem;
margin-inline: auto;
margin-block: 2rem;
margin-right: 11%;
margin-left: 11%;
padding-inline: 20px;
padding-block: 10px;
box-shadow: 1px 1px 2px 2px #ABABAB;
text-align: center;
}
[[/module]]
[[module CSS]]
div.quoteblock {
min-height: 4rem;
margin-inline: auto;
margin-block: 1rem;
padding: 15px 15px 5px 15px;
border: solid 3px rgb(180, 180, 180);
border-radius: 3px;
text-align: center;
[[/module]]
[[=]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/=]]
@@ @@
[[div class="document"]]
||~ PROPOSAL ||
|| Decommission SCP-682, at the anomaly's request. ||
||~ STATUS ||
||= ##green|**APPROVED!**## ||
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:image-block">:scp-wiki:component:image-block</a>
name=Denver_Human_Services_Richard_T._Castro_Building.JPG |
caption=The Foundation of Denver, Colorado. Formerly Site-19. |
align=center |
width=100%
]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="article" style="border: solid 5px rgb(133, 0, 0);"]]
[[<]]
Charles stood at the edge of the swirling acid bath, the perpetually-twirling turbines that kept the acid flowing coming to a soft and steady stop. For 65 years, Charles Ogden Gears had managed to prevent himself from feeling any true sort of emotion. A light smile at a lover's gesture, a nod of congratulations to a promoted coworker, but nothing enough to prevent his work. Yet as he stood above this tidal wave of acid, watching the still-breathing carcass of that unusual lizard that plagued him and his coworkers with death, pain, and property damage, he felt the slightest twinge in his heart.
He wasn't alone in this endeavor. In fact, to the surprise of nobody, everyone from the crowded Site-19 -- or as it had begun to be called after The Farewell, simply "Denver", after being the only Foundation facility in the city -- had gathered around the five-by-five-by-five-meter tub they'd all been so accustomed to. The feeling was unusual. Everyone from across all of the Foundation was still reeling from the effects of SCP-8300, their friends, families, projects and jobs having died on the vine in an instant. On the opposite hand, the Lizard was not something anyone here would have considered friend, family, or even a worthy project. More of a headache meant for the younger employees to stifle their careers upon to prevent upwards momentum.
Everyone hated the Lizard. Even the Lizard, at the best of times, romping through the halls of their Denver-based bunker, seemed like it hated the Lizard. Under no circumstances could anyone, other than perhaps the AI, consider it worth a smile.
And yet, Charles was not surprised when the facility gathered around this acid bath, their looks of sorrow and nostalgic regret rather than a deep satisfaction. Everyone other than Charles, of course, the look of eternal stoicism still getting him a gawking look or two. People from other facilities, even, had come to witness this momentous occasion. Mann, staring blankly at the sterile white walls of the chamber. King, free from his personal anomaly at last, still barely smiling as he stood and watched. The humanoid Kain Pathos Crow, now nothing more than a man, still adjusting himself to standing and staring on two legs. Charles could see Lament and Sophia, two disciples long-past the confines of Site-19, holding hands as they watched the acid flush into the drainage system. Diluted, of course. Charles had clarified every safety measure beforehand to not accidentally kill half of the city surrounding them.
When the final drop of acid exited the bath, a gateway was opened by one of the paraveterinarians from Site-19, and she begun to descend the watered-down stairs leading to the Lizard. Charles followed, his clipboard gripped tightly in one hand, a pen in the other. This was going to be the final checkmark.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, the Lizard finally lurched its head up for the first time in days. The shredded skin and scales of the dilapidated head covered the creature's eyes, yet Charles could almost certainly ascertain the expression on its face. As he and the vet closed their distance, the Lizard snarled. They stopped in their tracks, and the entire containment chamber went silent. After a moment of hesitation, the terror of a violent mistake seeping into everyone but Charles, the lizard let out a dry laugh.
"I jest."
The vet sighed, and Charles let out a light exhale; his closest approximation. When they reached the Lizard, the bones still visible from the years of acidic degradation, it simply slumped its head on the ground. Charles stood over it, preparing the final list of questions and statements, as the vet reached into her bag, pulling out a syringe. The Lizard snorted through the barely open nose, the melting guck on its face moving up enough to reveal the cold, yellow eyes underneath.
"You must feel satisfied, Charlie."
The vet turned around, looking to Charles for a response. He looked away from his clipboard to meet the Lizard in eye contact, his expression unphased.
"No. You would know that is not the case."
The Lizard laughed again. "After all these years, Charlie, I suppose you're right."
"Charles is fine."
"Fine."
"Can we begin?"
The Lizard, with a heave of the melting corpse it inhabited, slowly rolled over onto its backside, the acidic residue flinging to the walls of the tub. "Indeed", it groaned out. Charles flipped to the first page of the Termination Report again.
"SCP-682, you requested a termination via lethal injection, as you feel as though you are capable of being terminated due to recent events. Is this still the case?"
"And because I //am// dying, but yes."
Charles nodded. "Understood. Next question-"
The Lizard sighed once more. "Charles, please, these redundancies feel especially redundant now. So many decades of your finest idiots attempting to kill me, and I'm finally at death's door, yet you want to carry out the process?"
Not looking up from his clipboard, he responds. "Formalities are the necessity of organization. I apologize, but it is better to do this right than not do it at all."
The Lizard rolled its eyes. "Fine. So it shall be."
"Next question. You understand that you, SCP-682, are one of the final remaining anomalies within the observable universe, after the events of SCP-8300?"
"If that's what you're calling it, yes. The Farewell took only my ability to stay rotting in your chambers forever, not leaving enough to carry me through."
Charles checked off two boxes. "Understood. Next question. Do you truly believe you are incapable of continuing life, in your current form?"
The Lizard hesitated for a moment, the normal gnarled smile turning to a somewhat-soft look of disdain.
"Life, I've not possessed for many years. Existence, however, yes, is done. For me, as it was all the others."
"I see. Only two more questions, then."
"Good."
"Please summarize your time in employment of the SCP Foundation."
The Lizard raised an eyebrow-equivalent brow, the subtle disdain turning to confusion. "Employment?"
"This form is for employees of the Foundation who have requested Medical Assistance in Death. You were considered an approximate to this."
The Lizard paused for a moment, then burst into laughter. The watching crowd, only in stunned silence at the affair, could feel their hearts racing. This was approaching the end. When the Lizard stopped, it smiled, and limply raised its head to Charles.
"My time with you all has been a nightmare. The embodiment of humanity, a bastion of your foolishness and attempt to control every chaotic aspect of the universe. I have endured the pain of a thousand of your strongest men, fought through more than the wars of a thousand of your soldiers, and been burnt by the acids of this treacherous bath more than those of Venus have burned the surface of that planet."
Turning around, the Lizard began to address the entirety of the room. "In all of these years, I have simply collected faces I wished to torment once I could escape. For some of the less fortunate -- or less quick -- I achieved this, but most time was spent in eternal longing for your suffering. Truly, the hatred I have felt while confined, it is incomparable."
With a sharp turn of the head, the Lizard stared down a front-row observer: Dr. Clef. He gulped.
"Take Clef, oh you sweet monstrous Clef, for example. This 'bastard' -- as he so pompously refers to himself -- has filled my backside with more shotgun blasts than were received in all of your petulant conflicts. He has referred to me as words even I dare not utter, and has proven only the cruelty of whatever Devil you believe him to be. For him, and all the other fools who attempted to end a 'life' they believed they controlled, I hold only contempt."
The Lizard turned back to Charles.
"Though, you were yourself not terrible, Charles. An unemotive man, something disparaged from humanity itself, I could align with you. Your amount of hatred now is lesser. I think that is something in common, perhaps."
There was a moment of silence. Clef attempted to stifle a sob, through the faux-triumphant grin of victory. He failed. The Lizard let out a long sigh, and laid its head upon the floor again.
"That is to say, I hated you. But, alas, in a case like this, I suppose I must say I am grateful to end it among your... care. It is not a deserved victory for you, yet, in my absence of a heart, I doubt you will consider this much of a victory. So in the end, well, hah. I won."
Charles hesitated, waiting for another snarky word of cruelty. After a moment, there was nothing.
"Have you completed your answer to the question?"
The Lizard sighed. "Yes. Proceed, please, if you will. I tire of the wait."
"Indeed. One final question, then, and the vet here will begin."
"As it is," replied the Lizard, the acceptance clear in its voice, "ask away". With a heavy heart, something Charles had not felt in a long, long, time, he uttered words he never would have expected to hear for this abomination.
"How do you feel, in this current moment?"
The Lizard sighed in tandem with the injection entering its body, looking up at Charles for a final melancholic moment.
[[/<]]
[[div class="quoteblock" style="background: url("https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-682/monster8editub9-new.jpg") top center no-repeat; float: center; background-attachment: fixed; background-size: 900px; background-color: #6B6B6B; background-blend-mode: multiply;"]]
**##white|//"You already know the answer to that one."//##**
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="jotting"]]
[[div class="smallmodal"]]
**EXHIBITION #:** [[[SCP-682|00682]]]
**EXHIBITION TITLE:** "THE INTERMINABLE REPTILE"
**LOCATION:** The Foundation of Denver, Colorado.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:image-block">:scp-wiki:component:image-block</a> name=Expo_2010_Belgium-EU_Pavilion,_Whale_Skull.jpg|caption=EXB-00682|width=300px]]
**DESCRIPTION:** EXB-00682 is a disproportionally-sized reptilian skull, formerly belonging to an anomalous entity often nicknamed the "Hard-to-Destroy Reptile". The reptile, though incredibly hostile towards the SCP Foundation, other anomaly-related organizations, and humanity in general, was a central part of the SCP Foundation's evolution from purely a research organization, to that of containment.
Over the course of the anomaly's 78 years within containment, the SCP Foundation attempted to neutralize EXB-00682 14,509 times. Only 3 would succeed, including the final (self-requested) termination upon the advent of SCP-8300. This is an unfortunate display of the other symptom of the anomaly's containment; a Foundation which attempted to neutralize and act violently, with the expenditure on EXB-00682 neutralization attempts entering the millions of culminative dollars.
It is to be acknowledged that, despite the destructive tendencies of EXB-00682, it was still a live entity, contained by extreme violence and frequent physical harassment by members of the SCP Foundation. EXB-00682 stands not only as a memorial to a core part of the organization as a whole, but as a reminder of the SCP Foundation's mistakes.
The skull of the entity was the only recoverable remains after the final termination attempt, by the anomaly's request.
[[/div]]
[[div class="document"]]
There is nothing left to say.
After all these years, I can only find myself feeling disgusted.
Goodbye, old friend.
[[>]]
//Charles Gears,//
//Director Exhibition and Artefact Curation at Denver, Colorado,//
//Former Director of General Research at Site-19.//
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Filename:** Denver_Human_Services_Richard_T._Castro_Building.JPG
> **Author:** Jeffrey Beall
> **License:** CC-BY-SA-4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Denver_Human_Services_Richard_T._Castro_Building.JPG
> **Filename:** Expo_2010_Belgium-EU_Pavilion,_Whale_Skull.jpg
> **Author:** Gary Lee Todd, Ph.D.
> **License:** CC0 1.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Expo_2010_Belgium-EU_Pavilion,_Whale_Skull.jpg
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-04-05T21:54:00
|
[
"bittersweet",
"doctor-gears",
"hard-to-destroy-reptile",
"tale"
] |
Attempt Successful - SCP Foundation
| 29
|
[
"scp-682",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/attempt-successful/Denver_Human_Services_Richard_T._Castro_Building.JPG",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/attempt-successful/Expo_2010_Belgium-EU_Pavilion,_Whale_Skull.jpg"
] |
1453259719
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/attempt-successful
|
|
audit-scp-116
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<blockquote>
<p><BEGIN LOG></p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> —w may I help you?</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Just a moment.</p>
<p><em>The auditor places the recorder on the desk between her and Dr. Benson, gets her notes in order.</em></p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Dr. Benson, I was tasked with performing an audit of the budgetary requirements of <a href="/scp-116">SCP-116</a>’s Special Containment Procedures and research outline, as well as the project’s general adherence to the Ethics Committee’s <em>Best Practice Protocols, Version 2.1</em> put in place earlier this year, an anonymous Ethics Committee member installed on your research team assisting. Will you please state your name and position on the SCP-116 project for the record?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> Uh, yes. Dr. George Benson, Head of Research and Containment.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Thank you. Those responsibilities are generally split into two positions, correct? Research, and Containment?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> It’s a small project.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> It certainly doesn’t seem to be, on paper.</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> How so?</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Well, I wonder if you can justify some of these expenses. Let’s start at the top of the Containment Procedures. Why is it that SCP-116, a child who can’t even move without breaking multiple bones, is contained in a 256-square-meter room? He rarely leaves his bed, correct?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> That’s the room he was in when I took over the project.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> I see. And you took over from Colonel ████ after the Foundation’s break with DARPA and the move to demilitarize research?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> That’s right.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Is he the one who ordered the room be constructed from Kevlar?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> Uh, yes.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> And the… <em>eight</em> guards assigned to one nine-year-old?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> Classic military overspending.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Past overspending is no excuse for continued waste, doctor. Nor for unnecessary risk to personnel. Has prolonged exposure to 116 not been shown to cause degradation of mental faculties?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> It has.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> And you feel the need to continue to expose that many guards to the anomaly?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> …We keep a close eye on their mental health.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Yes, by administering an <em>IQ test</em>.</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> N-not just an IQ test. Not anymore. As soon as the Colonel was removed, psych staff suggested a more useful mental evaluation standard be put into place that included other exams in addition to IQ, since IQ results can vary between tests even among people <em>not</em> being regularly exposed to a low-level cognitohazard. They’d apparently been advocating for that for awhile, but it fell on deaf ears until I took over. They’ve since included testing for, for example, dementia: the AD8 exam, NPI-Q—</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Glad to hear that. However, the manner of psych evaluation for guards isn’t the only… <em>unusual</em> policy set down by your predecessors. There are a number of invasive, unnecessary, and, frankly, unethical directives given for personnel assigned to SCP-116 observation, are there not?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> Yes, and actually, I have a theory about that.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> And I would love to hear your theory, doctor. But first, I’d like to know: Are these directives still being enforced?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> Which ones, specifically?</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Are guards still required to undergo a full body cavity search and x-ray before entering 116’s room?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> No, just a pat-down.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Are guards still required to have their canines filed down?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> No, that was ridiculous.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Have any personnel been required to undergo a full bone marrow transplant after physical contact with 116?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> …No, but I did wonder if I made the right decision in not requiring that one. I’ve checked and double-checked every piece of documentation left to me by prior management and I can’t find any reason why such a procedure would need to be performed.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Surely that <em>would</em> be the point to discontinue it, would it not?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> Well… maybe.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Maybe?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> I was worried that perhaps there might be information that had been lost in the changeover—or withheld—that explained why. For such an extreme measure to be taken, I figured there must be something equally extreme that it was meant to prevent or repair. I sent an inquiry to RAISA to make sure I had everything, and they responded that I had… how did they put it… that I had everything “relevant to my assignment.” Which makes me think that maybe there <em>is</em> more, but it’s not anything I’m allowed access to.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> I have also been in contact with RAISA as part of my review, and I can tell you that you do indeed have as much information about that particular directive as exists.</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> That’s good to know. …And it could actually lend some credence to my theory.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Please, explain.</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> I’m pretty much convinced at this point that the prior research team may have been more impacted by 116’s mental-degradation effect than they may have noticed—or even been <em>able</em> to notice. Symptoms of that degradation are quite similar to dementia and schizophrenia, and a common trait of both of those disorders is paranoia. I think maybe they were led to believe by their own delusions that such drastic security measures needed to be taken for whatever reason. Perhaps their reasons for requiring the transplants seemed to them in their own heads to be so self-evident that they didn’t think to write them down in the first place.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> That’s an interesting theory. I don’t believe that would cause them to act <em>unethically</em>…</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> It wouldn’t necessarily, you’re right.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> …but the Colonel and quite a lot of his research team had a history of unethical behavior within the Foundation, even before 116’s containment.</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> That’s what I’ve heard. Introducing that degree of paranoia to the brain of someone without principles is… a recipe for disaster.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> It would seem so.</p>
<p><em>The auditor starts to make a note, pauses.</em></p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Can you be certain that your own thinking has not been influenced by SCP-116?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> That’s a good question. I don’t believe so. I haven’t spent nearly as much time around 116, chiefly due to the moratorium the Colonel put in place on research into his speech patterns.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> But you… I don’t quite understand. Why is it that you so readily stopped enforcing the Colonel’s directives when it came to security, but are continuing to adhere to his moratorium on research?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> Because unlike the Colonel’s research team, I don’t believe there was anything there worth researching in the first place. SCP-116’s speech patterns, in and of themselves, can be easily explained as an extreme case of aphasia. The assigned linguist’s research assistant even said something to that effect quite early on, but—</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> You think the idea that there might be something more to SCP-116’s speech was <em>also</em> a result of the prior research team’s diminished capacity after prolonged exposure.</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> Exactly. I mean, the boy was initially brought into containment due to his unusual skeletal structure, that structure’s ability to heal within minutes of fracture, and the fact that his parents and every guardian he’d ever had were deemed unfit for custody of him one after another. His strange speech was certainly mentioned in the paperwork from when he was brought in—of course it was—but not as an anomaly that required study, just as a thing that we should know, a hurdle we would be faced with when it came to studying everything else.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> I have to say, I think I agree with your assessment. In reading Dr. ███████’s notes concerning his linguistic research, there was certainly something about them that was a bit…</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> …Unhinged?</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Your word, not mine. But yes.</p>
<p><em>The auditor takes a moment to finish her note.</em></p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Now, I’m sure you know the main question I came here to ask.</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> I think so, yes.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Then I’ll go ahead and ask it, for the record: Why is this project still running? Was SCP-116 not documented as having developed, quote, “extreme suicidal tendencies?”</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> He was. However—</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> And did the Colonel not propose allowing SCP-116 to self-terminate in a controlled environment?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> <em>(growing agitated)</em> He did. And I believe that’s exactly the cold language he used to propose it.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Nevertheless, you were brought onto this project to see it to its end. It has been several months. What is the current status of SCP-116?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> SCP-116 has not shown such tendencies for some time.</p>
<p><em>She writes this down.</em></p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> When did they stop?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> Not long after I took over. Within weeks, in fact.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> And do you know why that is?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> Of course I do! Before I got here, the poor boy was being made to speak everyday when it was incredibly painful for him to do so, by a man with a history of abuse, who was, frankly, <em>interrogating</em> him because he thought he was speaking in some kind of code that needed to be deciphered. That’s after the kid spent his life being moved from home to home, unwittingly breaking the minds of everyone who’s ever taken care of him and committing them to psych ward after psych ward. And, christ, don’t even get me started on the horrifying shit they did to test his healing abilities. I would want to take myself out, too!</p>
<p><em>Dr. Benson breathes, calms himself.</em></p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> And then… that all stopped. He wasn’t being poked and prodded anymore. He didn’t have some monster with a clipboard looming over him anymore, forcing him to break his own jaw in order to vocalize multiple times a day. For maybe the first time in his life, he’s allowed to just… <em>be.</em></p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> I see.</p>
<p><em>She takes down another note. Dr. Benson sighs.</em></p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> In that case, how do you see this project continuing?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> …Is it allowed to? You’re not here to shut it down?</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> It’s not my job to shut anything down. I’m just here to collect your statement, doctor. None of this is news to me. We just need it on record.</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> …Right.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> So, how do you see this project continuing? There is still quite a lot we don’t understand about SCP-116.</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> It’s true. But… do we <em>need</em> to understand? It’s the Foundation’s mission, first and foremost, to secure, contain, and protect. Not everything needs to be understood, especially if we can successfully fulfill our mission statement <em>without</em> understanding, or if <em>trying</em> to understand would cause undue harm.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> And what of the redundancy of guards? Current protocols are causing undue harm to them as well, are they not?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> I agree that we don’t need so many. But guards under my management are <em>choosing</em> to be put on this project. To the point that we have quite a large rotation. They want to come back.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Why is that?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> Because they… Actually, can I show you something?</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Please.</p>
<p><em>Dr. Benson picks up a remote control.</em></p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> This is the video feed in 116’s room.</p>
<p><em>He uses the remote to turn on a CCTV monitor to the side of his desk. Through the monitor speakers, a guard is heard reading aloud.</em></p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> What book is that?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> <em>The Jungle Book.</em> It’s one of his favorites.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> …I was under the impression that 116 didn’t understand spoken language.</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> That’s not entirely clear, from what <em>my</em> team has observed. But whether or not he understands, he does seem to enjoy listening. It doesn’t take any bones to smile.</p>
<p><em>They listen for a moment longer. Dr. Benson turns the monitor off again.</em></p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> It’s a relaxing change of pace for the guards, considering some of the horrors they’re often assigned to at Site-19. They get released before any deleterious effects from exposure can set in, get a mandatory two-week break [from SCP-116 observation] just in case, then get put back into rotation.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> It sounds like you have a well-running system already in place.</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> It seems to be working so far.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Why is it, then, that you haven’t updated SCP-116’s file to reflect these changes?</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> I was afraid of what the higher-ups would think. They can be… <em>difficult to read</em>, and I didn’t want them to disagree with my decisions and force me to continue unethical research—or, god forbid, to euthanize a child. I would have resigned if they asked me to do that, but who knows who they would have replaced me with.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Rest assured, doctor, that there will be no need to resign. You’re doing good work here. …But they really do need you to update that file now.</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> Right, yes. I’ll… I’ll get on that.</p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> Great. I’ll be in touch once changes are made. Thank you for your time, doctor.</p>
<p><strong>DR. BENSON:</strong> Thank you.</p>
<p><em>The auditor gathers her things.</em></p>
<p><strong>AUDITOR:</strong> This concludes our meeting.</p>
<p><em>She picks up the recorder, turns if off.</em></p>
<p><END LOG></p>
</blockquote>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/audit-scp-116">AUDIT: SCP-116</a>" by phinnsy, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/audit-scp-116">https://scpwiki.com/audit-scp-116</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> SCP-116 (AUDIT) edited.mp3<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/phinnsy" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5234184); return false;"><img alt="phinnsy" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=5234184&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1729700337" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=5234184)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/phinnsy" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5234184); return false;">phinnsy</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/audit-scp-116/SCP-116%20%28AUDIT%29%20edited.mp3">http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/audit-scp-116/SCP-116%20%28AUDIT%29%20edited.mp3</a><br/>
<strong>Additional Notes:</strong> Performed by Rebekah Alexander, Joshua Alan Lindsay ("phinnsy"), and Romeo Rosales, Jr.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:audio-player-woed-source">:scp-wiki:component:audio-player-woed-source</a>
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|audio-file=http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/audit-scp-116/SCP-116%20%28AUDIT%29%20edited.mp3
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> <BEGIN LOG>
>
> **DR. BENSON:** —w may I help you?
>
> **AUDITOR:** Just a moment.
>
> //The auditor places the recorder on the desk between her and Dr. Benson, gets her notes in order.//
>
> **AUDITOR:** Dr. Benson, I was tasked with performing an audit of the budgetary requirements of [[[SCP-116]]]’s Special Containment Procedures and research outline, as well as the project’s general adherence to the Ethics Committee’s //Best Practice Protocols, Version 2.1// put in place earlier this year, an anonymous Ethics Committee member installed on your research team assisting. Will you please state your name and position on the SCP-116 project for the record?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** Uh, yes. Dr. George Benson, Head of Research and Containment.
>
> **AUDITOR:** Thank you. Those responsibilities are generally split into two positions, correct? Research, and Containment?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** It’s a small project.
>
> **AUDITOR:** It certainly doesn’t seem to be, on paper.
>
> **DR. BENSON:** How so?
>
> **AUDITOR:** Well, I wonder if you can justify some of these expenses. Let’s start at the top of the Containment Procedures. Why is it that SCP-116, a child who can’t even move without breaking multiple bones, is contained in a 256-square-meter room? He rarely leaves his bed, correct?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** That’s the room he was in when I took over the project.
>
> **AUDITOR:** I see. And you took over from Colonel ████ after the Foundation’s break with DARPA and the move to demilitarize research?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** That’s right.
>
> **AUDITOR:** Is he the one who ordered the room be constructed from Kevlar?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** Uh, yes.
>
> **AUDITOR:** And the… //eight// guards assigned to one nine-year-old?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** Classic military overspending.
>
> **AUDITOR:** Past overspending is no excuse for continued waste, doctor. Nor for unnecessary risk to personnel. Has prolonged exposure to 116 not been shown to cause degradation of mental faculties?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** It has.
>
> **AUDITOR:** And you feel the need to continue to expose that many guards to the anomaly?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** …We keep a close eye on their mental health.
>
> **AUDITOR:** Yes, by administering an //IQ test//.
>
> **DR. BENSON:** N-not just an IQ test. Not anymore. As soon as the Colonel was removed, psych staff suggested a more useful mental evaluation standard be put into place that included other exams in addition to IQ, since IQ results can vary between tests even among people //not// being regularly exposed to a low-level cognitohazard. They’d apparently been advocating for that for awhile, but it fell on deaf ears until I took over. They’ve since included testing for, for example, dementia: the AD8 exam, NPI-Q—
>
> **AUDITOR:** Glad to hear that. However, the manner of psych evaluation for guards isn’t the only… //unusual// policy set down by your predecessors. There are a number of invasive, unnecessary, and, frankly, unethical directives given for personnel assigned to SCP-116 observation, are there not?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** Yes, and actually, I have a theory about that.
>
> **AUDITOR:** And I would love to hear your theory, doctor. But first, I’d like to know: Are these directives still being enforced?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** Which ones, specifically?
>
> **AUDITOR:** Are guards still required to undergo a full body cavity search and x-ray before entering 116’s room?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** No, just a pat-down.
>
> **AUDITOR:** Are guards still required to have their canines filed down?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** No, that was ridiculous.
>
> **AUDITOR:** Have any personnel been required to undergo a full bone marrow transplant after physical contact with 116?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** …No, but I did wonder if I made the right decision in not requiring that one. I’ve checked and double-checked every piece of documentation left to me by prior management and I can’t find any reason why such a procedure would need to be performed.
>
> **AUDITOR:** Surely that //would// be the point to discontinue it, would it not?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** Well… maybe.
>
> **AUDITOR:** Maybe?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** I was worried that perhaps there might be information that had been lost in the changeover—or withheld—that explained why. For such an extreme measure to be taken, I figured there must be something equally extreme that it was meant to prevent or repair. I sent an inquiry to RAISA to make sure I had everything, and they responded that I had… how did they put it… that I had everything “relevant to my assignment.” Which makes me think that maybe there //is// more, but it’s not anything I’m allowed access to.
>
> **AUDITOR:** I have also been in contact with RAISA as part of my review, and I can tell you that you do indeed have as much information about that particular directive as exists.
>
> **DR. BENSON:** That’s good to know. …And it could actually lend some credence to my theory.
>
> **AUDITOR:** Please, explain.
>
> **DR. BENSON:** I’m pretty much convinced at this point that the prior research team may have been more impacted by 116’s mental-degradation effect than they may have noticed—or even been //able// to notice. Symptoms of that degradation are quite similar to dementia and schizophrenia, and a common trait of both of those disorders is paranoia. I think maybe they were led to believe by their own delusions that such drastic security measures needed to be taken for whatever reason. Perhaps their reasons for requiring the transplants seemed to them in their own heads to be so self-evident that they didn’t think to write them down in the first place.
>
> **AUDITOR:** That’s an interesting theory. I don’t believe that would cause them to act //unethically//…
>
> **DR. BENSON:** It wouldn’t necessarily, you’re right.
>
> **AUDITOR:** …but the Colonel and quite a lot of his research team had a history of unethical behavior within the Foundation, even before 116’s containment.
>
> **DR. BENSON:** That’s what I’ve heard. Introducing that degree of paranoia to the brain of someone without principles is… a recipe for disaster.
>
> **AUDITOR:** It would seem so.
>
> //The auditor starts to make a note, pauses.//
>
> **AUDITOR:** Can you be certain that your own thinking has not been influenced by SCP-116?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** That’s a good question. I don’t believe so. I haven’t spent nearly as much time around 116, chiefly due to the moratorium the Colonel put in place on research into his speech patterns.
>
> **AUDITOR:** But you… I don’t quite understand. Why is it that you so readily stopped enforcing the Colonel’s directives when it came to security, but are continuing to adhere to his moratorium on research?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** Because unlike the Colonel’s research team, I don’t believe there was anything there worth researching in the first place. SCP-116’s speech patterns, in and of themselves, can be easily explained as an extreme case of aphasia. The assigned linguist’s research assistant even said something to that effect quite early on, but—
>
> **AUDITOR:** You think the idea that there might be something more to SCP-116’s speech was //also// a result of the prior research team’s diminished capacity after prolonged exposure.
>
> **DR. BENSON:** Exactly. I mean, the boy was initially brought into containment due to his unusual skeletal structure, that structure’s ability to heal within minutes of fracture, and the fact that his parents and every guardian he’d ever had were deemed unfit for custody of him one after another. His strange speech was certainly mentioned in the paperwork from when he was brought in—of course it was—but not as an anomaly that required study, just as a thing that we should know, a hurdle we would be faced with when it came to studying everything else.
>
> **AUDITOR:** I have to say, I think I agree with your assessment. In reading Dr. ███████’s notes concerning his linguistic research, there was certainly something about them that was a bit…
>
> **DR. BENSON:** …Unhinged?
>
> **AUDITOR:** Your word, not mine. But yes.
>
> //The auditor takes a moment to finish her note.//
>
> **AUDITOR:** Now, I’m sure you know the main question I came here to ask.
>
> **DR. BENSON:** I think so, yes.
>
> **AUDITOR:** Then I’ll go ahead and ask it, for the record: Why is this project still running? Was SCP-116 not documented as having developed, quote, “extreme suicidal tendencies?”
>
> **DR. BENSON:** He was. However—
>
> **AUDITOR:** And did the Colonel not propose allowing SCP-116 to self-terminate in a controlled environment?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** //(growing agitated)// He did. And I believe that’s exactly the cold language he used to propose it.
>
> **AUDITOR:** Nevertheless, you were brought onto this project to see it to its end. It has been several months. What is the current status of SCP-116?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** SCP-116 has not shown such tendencies for some time.
>
> //She writes this down.//
>
> **AUDITOR:** When did they stop?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** Not long after I took over. Within weeks, in fact.
>
> **AUDITOR:** And do you know why that is?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** Of course I do! Before I got here, the poor boy was being made to speak everyday when it was incredibly painful for him to do so, by a man with a history of abuse, who was, frankly, //interrogating// him because he thought he was speaking in some kind of code that needed to be deciphered. That’s after the kid spent his life being moved from home to home, unwittingly breaking the minds of everyone who’s ever taken care of him and committing them to psych ward after psych ward. And, christ, don’t even get me started on the horrifying shit they did to test his healing abilities. I would want to take myself out, too!
>
> //Dr. Benson breathes, calms himself.//
>
> **DR. BENSON:** And then... that all stopped. He wasn’t being poked and prodded anymore. He didn’t have some monster with a clipboard looming over him anymore, forcing him to break his own jaw in order to vocalize multiple times a day. For maybe the first time in his life, he’s allowed to just… //be.//
>
> **AUDITOR:** I see.
>
> //She takes down another note. Dr. Benson sighs.//
>
> **AUDITOR:** In that case, how do you see this project continuing?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** ...Is it allowed to? You’re not here to shut it down?
>
> **AUDITOR:** It’s not my job to shut anything down. I’m just here to collect your statement, doctor. None of this is news to me. We just need it on record.
>
> **DR. BENSON:** …Right.
>
> **AUDITOR:** So, how do you see this project continuing? There is still quite a lot we don’t understand about SCP-116.
>
> **DR. BENSON:** It’s true. But… do we //need// to understand? It’s the Foundation’s mission, first and foremost, to secure, contain, and protect. Not everything needs to be understood, especially if we can successfully fulfill our mission statement //without// understanding, or if //trying// to understand would cause undue harm.
>
> **AUDITOR:** And what of the redundancy of guards? Current protocols are causing undue harm to them as well, are they not?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** I agree that we don’t need so many. But guards under my management are //choosing// to be put on this project. To the point that we have quite a large rotation. They want to come back.
>
> **AUDITOR:** Why is that?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** Because they… Actually, can I show you something?
>
> **AUDITOR:** Please.
>
> //Dr. Benson picks up a remote control.//
>
> **DR. BENSON:** This is the video feed in 116’s room.
>
> //He uses the remote to turn on a CCTV monitor to the side of his desk. Through the monitor speakers, a guard is heard reading aloud.//
>
> **AUDITOR:** What book is that?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** //The Jungle Book.// It’s one of his favorites.
>
> **AUDITOR:** …I was under the impression that 116 didn’t understand spoken language.
>
> **DR. BENSON:** That’s not entirely clear, from what //my// team has observed. But whether or not he understands, he does seem to enjoy listening. It doesn’t take any bones to smile.
>
> //They listen for a moment longer. Dr. Benson turns the monitor off again.//
>
> **DR. BENSON:** It’s a relaxing change of pace for the guards, considering some of the horrors they’re often assigned to at Site-19. They get released before any deleterious effects from exposure can set in, get a mandatory two-week break [from SCP-116 observation] just in case, then get put back into rotation.
>
> **AUDITOR:** It sounds like you have a well-running system already in place.
>
> **DR. BENSON:** It seems to be working so far.
>
> **AUDITOR:** Why is it, then, that you haven’t updated SCP-116’s file to reflect these changes?
>
> **DR. BENSON:** I was afraid of what the higher-ups would think. They can be... //difficult to read//, and I didn’t want them to disagree with my decisions and force me to continue unethical research—or, god forbid, to euthanize a child. I would have resigned if they asked me to do that, but who knows who they would have replaced me with.
>
> **AUDITOR:** Rest assured, doctor, that there will be no need to resign. You’re doing good work here. ...But they really do need you to update that file now.
>
> **DR. BENSON:** Right, yes. I’ll… I’ll get on that.
>
> **AUDITOR:** Great. I’ll be in touch once changes are made. Thank you for your time, doctor.
>
> **DR. BENSON:** Thank you.
>
> //The auditor gathers her things.//
>
> **AUDITOR:** This concludes our meeting.
>
> //She picks up the recorder, turns if off.//
>
> <END LOG>
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
> **Filename:** SCP-116 (AUDIT) edited.mp3
> **Author:** [[*user phinnsy]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/audit-scp-116/SCP-116%20%28AUDIT%29%20edited.mp3
> **Additional Notes:** Performed by Rebekah Alexander, Joshua Alan Lindsay ("phinnsy"), and Romeo Rosales, Jr.
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-03-18T04:33:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bittersweet",
"bureaucracy",
"tale"
] |
AUDIT: SCP-116 - SCP Foundation
| 37
|
[
"scp-116",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1453065658
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/audit-scp-116
|
|
austinsnegotiation
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/austinsterribletime">Austin S.</a> stood proudly at the sight of his finally organized office. Eight hours of labor culminated in a room so clean even the pen-holder shone. With a sigh of relief, he made his way to the desk, where he prepared to drop into the $2800 suede chair.</p>
<p>His personal cellphone buzzed loudly, and Austin let out a groan. He put the phone to his ear.</p>
<p>“<em>Ah,</em> Austin, my boy!” answered his eccentric boss, Robert Carter. In the background he heard someone making snide comments.</p>
<p>“Yes, Mr. Carter, what can I do for you?”</p>
<p>“Well, you know that Skipper handoff that I was supposed to go to uh, later today?”</p>
<p>“Yes, the one at 3 PM?” Austin questioned while looking at his watch. 2:37 PM.</p>
<p>“Funny that, I cannot attend myself. Bit of a scheduling conflict.” Robert Carter explained sheepishly.</p>
<p>“Hurry up, Robert!” a feminine voice shouted in the background of Robert’s call.</p>
<p>“<em>Shut it,</em> Iris. I’ll hurry this along. Anyhow, Austin, I require your presence at that meeting. You’ll be meeting with the team I was <em>supposed</em> to go with at 2:45 and then you will all meet the Foundation. It’s a simple assignment, really. Just shake hands and have good posture. Our business partner from Anderson Robotics will do all the talking.”</p>
<p>Austin frantically wrote down all the details, while using his shoulder to prop the phone to his ear. He quickly calculated how long it would take to ready up, walk to the car and meet the partner. If lucky, the affair would put them tardy by only five minutes.</p>
<p>“Anything else, boss? I can get there sooner if you text me the details.”</p>
<p>“Ha! Innovative as always, but that’s it for now. Goodbye.”</p>
<p>The Senior Analyst let the phone drop onto the desk with an unceremonious thud.</p>
<p>“Oh, just another day in the office. By the way, you’re meeting with The SCP Foundation. Thanks, Robert.” Austin commented sarcastically.</p>
<p>He did take the time to sit down at his desk and rummage through its drawers to get the right gear for the trip. Backup pens, legal documents, and a locator for a private security service were some of the items he gathered. The locator itself cost exactly $437 every time it was activated. In the hallway, Austin heard a set of boots approach his door.</p>
<p>A loud, erratic knock came seconds later. Austin stood at attention and cleared his throat.</p>
<p>“Come in!” he shouted.</p>
<p>The door swung open and slammed against the wall to reveal the least-professional businessman Austin had ever seen. He was at least a head taller than the Senior Analyst, wearing a leather trench coat that went down to his ankles. The man’s fists were stuffed into his pockets, fidgeting around. A feeling of discomfort went through Austin as he met the man’s amber eyes, which were filled with a look of hunger.</p>
<p>“Hello, Mr. S! I was informed by Mr. Carter to come to this office. Am I at the right location?” he asked, chuckling a little too much for Austin’s liking.</p>
<p>Austin gulped.</p>
<p>“Yes. You came a little early, but I don’t have too much to grab. In fact, I think I’m ready to go now.” came Austin’s nervous reply.</p>
<p>The man’s expression went blank and he stared at Austin without a word. The Senior Analyst looked left and right, not daring to speak. A smile cropped up on the man’s face.</p>
<p>“Alright,” he declared with a clap of his palms, “let’s go!”</p>
<p>Robert’s business partner spun on his heels and walked off. Austin followed suit into the hallway, where he noticed the mix of human security staff and robotic humanoid security drones. The human staff, who were all Marshall, Carter & Dark contractors gave a polite wave. The robots gave an eerie stare, and Austin shuddered. Robert’s business parter waved his hand.</p>
<p>“Well, Mr. S, let us make haste!”</p>
<p>Austin caught up and matched his stride, reaching out for a handshake. The partner gripped his hand tightly, causing him to wince at the sharp pain.</p>
<p>“Oh! I almost forgot, my name is Tyler from Anderson Robotics. Just Tyler will do.”</p>
<p>“Glad to meet you.” Austin replied cautiously. Tyler’s eyes kept flickering about the hall as the group approached a loading elevator. An awkward silence accompanied the marching of footsteps.</p>
<p>“So, Tyler, how long have you worked with Robert?”</p>
<p>“Ah, yes, Robert. I am one of the Anderson Robotics liaisons. Normally, when Robert needs to meet with someone from Anderson, it is me. That’s if the man ever showed up to these meetings.” Tyler explained with a hint of aggression.</p>
<p>“What about you, Mr. S?” Tyler happily asked, all apparent anger fading.</p>
<p>“I’m just his Senior Analyst. Feels like I’m his assistant most of the time, though.” Austin said with an awkward adjustment of his tie. The group reached the elevator and they all filed in. Tyler had a look on his face.</p>
<p>“Robert Carter’s assistant…” he observed absently.</p>
<p>The elevator rumbled to life and took the group down to the garage. When the doors opened to reveal Anderson Robotics branded SUVs, a sense of paranoia overtook Austin.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The group was now at a derelict warehouse, exactly three minutes late. Austin fiddled with his watch while Tyler whispered to one of the drones. He realized he actually couldn’t make out anything the partner was saying. Shrugging it off as confidential business, he finished up with his watch and stood straight with arms to the side. He didn’t notice the deadpan stare Tyler gave while he was turned.</p>
<p>“A little tense there, Mr. S?” Tyler asked. His hands were back deep into his pockets, but Austin heard something, supposedly his hands, moving around inside of them. The metal clanking did not help his theory, however.</p>
<p>“Well, I find it suspicious that The Foundation is late. Odd behavior, even from them.”</p>
<p>“My thoughts exactly.” Tyler snarled.</p>
<p>Doors deep inside the warehouse opened and a team of about ten security guards, all in Foundation garb, rushed in. They formed a column, headed by a meek-looking researcher and the apparent captain of the guards.</p>
<p>“On behalf of the Foundation, we apologize for our tardiness. We had a minor breach to deal with, but it’s all done now.” the researcher spoke. The guard accompanying him rolled her eyes.</p>
<p>“Fuckin squares always messing it up…” she whispered. Austin noted her Australian accent.</p>
<p>Tyler smiled a little too widely and snapped his fingers. One of the robotic guards walked forward with an Anderson Robotics branded folder.</p>
<p>“Ah, but the meeting goes on, regardless. That you show up at all is a miracle!” Tyler exclaimed with a laugh. Austin opened his mouth to calm him, but no words came out.</p>
<p>“In any case… ha! We proceed with the negotiations! A little bit of information from us, and Marshall, Carter & Dark. In exchange, some of your… Foundation goodies.”</p>
<p>The researcher fixed his glasses and stood on his toes to look over Tyler’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“Yes, that is correct. However, we don’t see uh, your partner, Robert Carter. Just some MC&D staff.”</p>
<p>Tyler frowned. The expression on his face caused Austin to step back. If his working theory was right, he calculated a 28% chance of escape from this place. 47% if being taken by the Foundation was an option.</p>
<p>“Robert… Carter…” Tyler drifted off. His body swayed left and right, the objects in his pockets jingling.</p>
<p>“Partner… so what. Can’t grace <em>my</em> presence! Just a peon in his place!” he continued. The guard put a hand over the researcher’s chest, and Austin took a step back. 13% chance of escape.</p>
<p>“After this day, I’ll show <em>him.</em>” Tyler finished with a big step towards the researcher.</p>
<p>A split second later, a knife was stabbed into the researcher, Tyler holding the blade with glee. He turned his head back to the robots. 0%.</p>
<p>“AR-Protocol JUDAS. All parties compromised, terminate <em>everything!</em>” Tyler sung with glee.</p>
<p>The room erupted into chaos. The robots opened fire upon Foundation and MC&D staff alike. Austin ducked in time for a bullet to fly over his head. Another dinged off the briefcase, and he cringed at the inevitable $326 repair on it.</p>
<p>The guard had dropped the body of the researcher and was barking orders at her remaining guards.</p>
<p>“Exfil, now! Get us to base!” she shouted whilst throwing a 5-inch blade through the head of a robot. It went down, sputtering proprietary fuel.</p>
<p>In the distance, Austin heard the panicked screams of the MC&D guards. He grimaced at the tortuous sounds from bones breaking to erratic gunshots. Before he could calculate the damages, a robot crept to the guard captain, who was backing into a room with her crew. Austin bit his lip and wondered about helping. If he stepped in, would it be a PR night-</p>
<p>The robot took another loud step, and Austin dove forward.</p>
<p>“Look out!” he cried, tackling the thing to the floor.</p>
<p>He landed on top of it, and yelped in pain as the thing began punching back at him. His head became weary after four strikes. Dryly, he estimated two more punches before he lost consciousness. The captain let out a scream and stomped the robot’s head in with a crunch.</p>
<p>“Come on!” she yelled, pulling Austin up. He wondered why <em>his</em> shoes weren’t robot-rated.</p>
<p>She threw him into the room where the other Foundation staff remained. Austin was impressed with the speed of their impromptu barricades, though the rhythmic pounding on the walls didn’t help much.</p>
<p>Austin turned to see her close the door and give a thumbs up to everyone in the room.</p>
<p>“Thanks for the save, mate.” she said with a pat on the shoulder. He cringed at the dirt that marked it.</p>
<p>“Oh, it was nothing.” he replied nonchalantly. It was that or get shredded by the death robots.</p>
<p>“Never seen a Macca’s employee stick their neck out for <em>anyone.</em> I’d ask why, but I don’t want to sign my soul for an answer.”</p>
<p>He pulled up the briefcase and opened it.</p>
<p>“I mean, if you do, I have the papers.” he genuinely offered. His brows furrowed at her laugh.</p>
<p>“Ah, that’s the spirit! You’re funny.” she declared heartily.</p>
<p>The captain walked past Austin and attended to her men. He decided to rest and take a seat on a desk, pretending to fiddle with his briefcase.</p>
<p>“Can’t believe a Macca’s saved me, seriously.”</p>
<p>“It’s odd, but we’ll take any save at this point.” someone replied.</p>
<p>“Any word on extraction?” she asked.</p>
<p>“No, can’t get a damn signal in here. Wasn’t a problem before, I think that Anderson guy is responsible for that.”</p>
<p>“Shit.”</p>
<p>“Shit is right, cap. We lost our researcher and two of our boys. What should we do?”</p>
<p>“Let me think about that. Rest up or barricade the room, just pick one and stick to it.”</p>
<p>“Roger that.” the remaining guards responded in unison.</p>
<p>Austin heard them shuffle about and he straightened up, seeing the captain walk to him once more, hand extended. He placed his briefcase down.</p>
<p>“Name’s Alcott. This is a customary greeting, not an agreement to contract.” she stated confidently.</p>
<p>“Austin S. Considering the circumstances, I wouldn’t put that on you.” he chuckled.</p>
<p>“Great. Now let’s cook up a plan. What do you know about your partner?”</p>
<p>“Not much,” he admitted, “I was a last-minute substitute. My boss is the one that normally works with Anderson.”</p>
<p>“Shit. Guess we gotta improvise then. I know you’re a suit, but can you fight?”</p>
<p>The Senior Analyst grimaced, and felt very tempted to lose $437. Alcott read the look on his face and gave an apologetic shrug.</p>
<p>“Guess not, so we’ll sideline you with the rest of my guards. All of you keep lookout and <em>stay down,</em> I don’t need more bodies on my watch. Maybe barricade stuff, yeah?”</p>
<p>“Will do, gladly.”</p>
<p>Austin walked to the folks taking a breather and sat next to them. They gave suspicious glares before turning amongst themselves and talking. He didn’t need to hear them to know his presence was being derided.</p>
<p>He raised a hand to speak when the robotic pounding stopped. A speaker from inside the room crackled to life.</p>
<p>“Hello, hello everyone! I see that you’re all corralled into one room now. Corralled, heh. I’m happy to report that anyone <em>outside</em> hasn’t made it, though not for a lack of trying. Anyway, it’s time. Goodbye!” Tyler spoke.</p>
<p>In a second, the door Austin and Alcott entered through exploded open and flew through the room, hitting a wall behind the team. Tyler came barrelling through with his trench coat off. His chest and arms were pure metal, gears whirring loudly. He opened his smoking fist and smiled with a wave.</p>
<p>Anderson robots rushed in the opening behind Tyler, opening fire upon everything in the room. A couple unlucky guards were struck and fell to the floor. Austin and the rest ducked down to avoid the barrage. The robots stopped shooting and clanked towards them. He caught Alcott’s boots running towards Tyler and she roared as she jumped towards him.</p>
<p>Curious, Austin peeked to see the action.</p>
<p>Alcott was in a fistfight with Tyler, though she was on the defensive. She got two accurate hits to his nose, but the impact simply caused the man to laugh. His nose began to bleed a mixture of blood and fuel. Alcott reached for her gun, and Tyler reacted by punching her fist as the gun came up.</p>
<p>She cried in pain as the gun went flying in the air, Tyler grabbed Alcott by the throat and lifted her up. Alcott swung her legs up and pulled the man to the floor in an armbar submission.</p>
<p>“Oh, you’re good.” he cooed as she tugged on his arm, causing sparks to fly about.</p>
<p>Austin saw that Alcott’s gun had bounced over to him. Hesitant, he picked it up and clicked the safety off. A robot to his right had a guard in its grasp, and he shot it in the head. It fell to the floor and another one rushed to take its place. The replacement took two shots to the chest before going down. He gave the guard a swift thumbs up and now calculated a 25% chance of their long-term survival.</p>
<p>Austin jogged over and aimed his sights at the laid-back Tyler. Wordlessly, he started to pull the trigger.</p>
<p>“Ah, Mr. S! Glad of you to join us!” Tyler declared.</p>
<p>His free arm extended an inhuman length and grabbed Alcott, tossing her across the room. She hit the wall with a crash and fell to the floor. Tyler’s arms extended at some chairs near Austin and pulled him upward so fast Austin had no time to react.</p>
<p>The gun was out of his hands before he could think about firing it. Austin felt the air expel from his lungs as he was tackled to the ground. Tyler had his arms pinned from his elbows, dripping down the mix of blood and fuel onto him. The stench of the mixture nearly caused Austin to vomit.</p>
<p>“Oh, Carter. You just <em>had</em> to spurn me every step of the way! I am a human <em>being</em> you know! I’ll make an example of your prized pupil! Perhaps you’ll learn then.” Tyler cackled.</p>
<p>Austin writhed but couldn’t move. From the corner of his eyes he spotted Alcott, who was limping with the arm of an Anderson robot in her hands. They made eye contact and she mouthed ‘keep him talking’ as she crept up behind Tyler.</p>
<p>“Oh, learn? Carter? I think it might be impossible for the man!” Austin exclaimed.</p>
<p>Tyler raised an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“Yes, in my entire time there, he’s been nothing but erratic, foolish, and downright <em>unprofessional!</em>” he continued. Tyler gave Austin his manic grin.</p>
<p>“Another that sees the light? How charming! How agreeable!” he celebrated. Tyler still kept Austin pinned down.</p>
<p>“Naturally, if I had the time, I could go all day.” Austin replied. The response caused Tyler to inch his face inches from his nose.</p>
<p>“Oh, do tell!”</p>
<p>“I- uh-”</p>
<p>“Well!? You have <em>so</em> much to go off of: The cheap outfits. The snide remarks. His ‘oh, I’m so <em>sorry</em> Tyler, but I <em>just</em> can’t make it today!”</p>
<p>Austin opened his mouth, but Tyler kept talking.</p>
<p>“And by god, the absences! Do you know how long I’ve been <em>working</em> with him?” He spat into Austin’s face. The Senior Analyst shook his head.</p>
<p>“Sixteen <em>years!</em> Sixteen <em>wasted</em> years of deals gone bad, payments called off, and clients <em>laughing</em> in my face! All. Because. Of <em>Robert!</em>” Tyler practically howled. However, he quickly smiled.</p>
<p>“I digress. Because I can just <em>imagine</em> the look on his face when his assistant’s <em>head</em> is on a PIKE!”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t he not show up to that, either?” Austin responded. Tyler’s face contorted into that of white-hot fury and his arm went up, a serrated blade in hand.</p>
<p>At that moment, Alcott struck Tyler on the back of the head, the force sending his face into Austin’s nose. The madman turned with a look of anger.</p>
<p>“We were <em>just</em> having a delightful conversation!” he let go of Austin and jumped in the air at Alcott. The Senior Analyst reached for the gun and fired it twice into Tyler’s back, where it deflected into the roof. Midair, Tyler turned back and growled loudly, though his trajectory still sent him into Alcott’s arms.</p>
<p>She quickly used the momentum to swing him at the last of the robots, their arms reaching out to catch him. However, the force of his body sent them all to the floor. One of the robot’s arms got locked in place, impaling Tyler through the chest as they fell. Austin and Alcott exhaled a sigh of relief.</p>
<p>Austin got up, trying to assist other Foundation staff to their feet while Alcott walked to Tyler, a robot arm still in hand.</p>
<p>“I’d place you under some kind of arrest or containment, but frankly, I don’t think you’re making it far.” she said with a disgusted look at the metallic fuel leaking everywhere onto the floor.</p>
<p>Tyler chuckled, his head turned at Austin helping people.</p>
<p>“Can’t even grace me in my final moments. You pick them well, Carter.” he said to himself. Tyler coughed out more fuel. His eyes closed, and his body went limp. Alcott dropped the arm from her hand.</p>
<p>Austin heard the noise and walked over, looking at Tyler’s body.</p>
<p>“So much for that deal.” he commented.</p>
<p>“Eh, it wasn’t so bad. Minimal losses for us is a win in my book.” Alcott replied with a shit-eating grin.</p>
<p>“Ha, ha. But seriously, what are we going to explain?”</p>
<p>“Oi! I’d say deal is still on! Let’s exchange the items and tell our bosses Anderson ruined everything. Sounds good, yeah?”</p>
<p>“Sounds like a plan to me.” Austin agreed, lightly kicking Tyler’s shoe with his own.</p>
<p>The remaining Foundation staff organized themselves at a record pace, and Austin overheard them finally establish a connection back home. Alcott gave a look his way.</p>
<p>“I won’t arrest you, on account of you helping us. But how about we drop you off somewhere fancy?”</p>
<p>Austin looked about the room and saw the still-angry glares of the Foundation security.</p>
<p>“I’ll pass. I appreciate the offer, however.”</p>
<p>Exactly three minutes and forty-five seconds later, the SCP Foundation team had retrieved their injured or dead, fallen equipment, and the documents for the deal. The items were hastily exchanged, and Austin was alone in a warehouse full of dead human and robot bodies.</p>
<p>He sighed, and pulled a small rectangle out of the briefcase. Using his teeth to open the plastic wrap, he then pressed the small button inside. It let out a pleasant trill and Austin felt the $437 leaving his bank account.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Let me get this straight, my partner went <em>mad</em> and slaughtered just about everyone?” Robert Carter asked in disbelief. Austin nodded.</p>
<p>The two were in Austin’s office, which now had a security camera facing the door.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. It almost ruined the deal, but we were able to hash out an agreement.” Austin explained.</p>
<p>“In our favor, perhaps?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps. We might be in a better spot than Anderson for the foreseeable future.”</p>
<p>“Huh, never thought I’d see the day. It still shocks me my old partner would go to such lengths. Shows you the quality of employee over there.”</p>
<p><em>Maybe if you’d ever</em> met <em>the man, this wouldn’t have happened.</em> Austin thought to himself.</p>
<p>All of a sudden, Robert leaned over the desk and looked him right in the eye.</p>
<p>“Say something?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. Austin immediately felt very alone and afraid in his own office. Beads of sweat formed on the back of his neck, and his mind crafted any excuse to explain his <em>thoughts</em> to Robert.</p>
<p>“Uh… no sir. Nothing new to report. Just going to wrap up the expenses for the deal. I’ll email you a copy when it’s done.”</p>
<p>“Good! Glad to see you’re on top of things, as always.”</p>
<p>Robert slowly leaned back, got up, and walked out of the room. Austin sighed and opened up his laptop to the spreadsheet. He gawked at the final expense number:</p>
<p><strong>-$1,377.</strong></p>
<p>“Fuck <em>off!</em>” he cried, slamming the laptop closed.</p>
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[[module Rate]]
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[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/austinsterribletime Austin S.] stood proudly at the sight of his finally organized office. Eight hours of labor culminated in a room so clean even the pen-holder shone. With a sigh of relief, he made his way to the desk, where he prepared to drop into the $2800 suede chair.
His personal cellphone buzzed loudly, and Austin let out a groan. He put the phone to his ear.
“//Ah,// Austin, my boy!” answered his eccentric boss, Robert Carter. In the background he heard someone making snide comments.
“Yes, Mr. Carter, what can I do for you?”
“Well, you know that Skipper handoff that I was supposed to go to uh, later today?”
“Yes, the one at 3 PM?” Austin questioned while looking at his watch. 2:37 PM.
“Funny that, I cannot attend myself. Bit of a scheduling conflict.” Robert Carter explained sheepishly.
“Hurry up, Robert!” a feminine voice shouted in the background of Robert’s call.
“//Shut it,// Iris. I’ll hurry this along. Anyhow, Austin, I require your presence at that meeting. You’ll be meeting with the team I was //supposed// to go with at 2:45 and then you will all meet the Foundation. It’s a simple assignment, really. Just shake hands and have good posture. Our business partner from Anderson Robotics will do all the talking.”
Austin frantically wrote down all the details, while using his shoulder to prop the phone to his ear. He quickly calculated how long it would take to ready up, walk to the car and meet the partner. If lucky, the affair would put them tardy by only five minutes.
“Anything else, boss? I can get there sooner if you text me the details.”
“Ha! Innovative as always, but that’s it for now. Goodbye.”
The Senior Analyst let the phone drop onto the desk with an unceremonious thud.
“Oh, just another day in the office. By the way, you’re meeting with The SCP Foundation. Thanks, Robert.” Austin commented sarcastically.
He did take the time to sit down at his desk and rummage through its drawers to get the right gear for the trip. Backup pens, legal documents, and a locator for a private security service were some of the items he gathered. The locator itself cost exactly $437 every time it was activated. In the hallway, Austin heard a set of boots approach his door.
A loud, erratic knock came seconds later. Austin stood at attention and cleared his throat.
“Come in!” he shouted.
The door swung open and slammed against the wall to reveal the least-professional businessman Austin had ever seen. He was at least a head taller than the Senior Analyst, wearing a leather trench coat that went down to his ankles. The man’s fists were stuffed into his pockets, fidgeting around. A feeling of discomfort went through Austin as he met the man’s amber eyes, which were filled with a look of hunger.
“Hello, Mr. S! I was informed by Mr. Carter to come to this office. Am I at the right location?” he asked, chuckling a little too much for Austin’s liking.
Austin gulped.
“Yes. You came a little early, but I don’t have too much to grab. In fact, I think I’m ready to go now.” came Austin’s nervous reply.
The man’s expression went blank and he stared at Austin without a word. The Senior Analyst looked left and right, not daring to speak. A smile cropped up on the man’s face.
“Alright,” he declared with a clap of his palms, “let’s go!”
Robert’s business partner spun on his heels and walked off. Austin followed suit into the hallway, where he noticed the mix of human security staff and robotic humanoid security drones. The human staff, who were all Marshall, Carter & Dark contractors gave a polite wave. The robots gave an eerie stare, and Austin shuddered. Robert’s business parter waved his hand.
“Well, Mr. S, let us make haste!”
Austin caught up and matched his stride, reaching out for a handshake. The partner gripped his hand tightly, causing him to wince at the sharp pain.
“Oh! I almost forgot, my name is Tyler from Anderson Robotics. Just Tyler will do.”
“Glad to meet you.” Austin replied cautiously. Tyler’s eyes kept flickering about the hall as the group approached a loading elevator. An awkward silence accompanied the marching of footsteps.
“So, Tyler, how long have you worked with Robert?”
“Ah, yes, Robert. I am one of the Anderson Robotics liaisons. Normally, when Robert needs to meet with someone from Anderson, it is me. That’s if the man ever showed up to these meetings.” Tyler explained with a hint of aggression.
“What about you, Mr. S?” Tyler happily asked, all apparent anger fading.
“I’m just his Senior Analyst. Feels like I’m his assistant most of the time, though.” Austin said with an awkward adjustment of his tie. The group reached the elevator and they all filed in. Tyler had a look on his face.
“Robert Carter’s assistant…” he observed absently.
The elevator rumbled to life and took the group down to the garage. When the doors opened to reveal Anderson Robotics branded SUVs, a sense of paranoia overtook Austin.
----
The group was now at a derelict warehouse, exactly three minutes late. Austin fiddled with his watch while Tyler whispered to one of the drones. He realized he actually couldn’t make out anything the partner was saying. Shrugging it off as confidential business, he finished up with his watch and stood straight with arms to the side. He didn’t notice the deadpan stare Tyler gave while he was turned.
“A little tense there, Mr. S?” Tyler asked. His hands were back deep into his pockets, but Austin heard something, supposedly his hands, moving around inside of them. The metal clanking did not help his theory, however.
“Well, I find it suspicious that The Foundation is late. Odd behavior, even from them.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Tyler snarled.
Doors deep inside the warehouse opened and a team of about ten security guards, all in Foundation garb, rushed in. They formed a column, headed by a meek-looking researcher and the apparent captain of the guards.
“On behalf of the Foundation, we apologize for our tardiness. We had a minor breach to deal with, but it’s all done now.” the researcher spoke. The guard accompanying him rolled her eyes.
“Fuckin squares always messing it up…” she whispered. Austin noted her Australian accent.
Tyler smiled a little too widely and snapped his fingers. One of the robotic guards walked forward with an Anderson Robotics branded folder.
“Ah, but the meeting goes on, regardless. That you show up at all is a miracle!” Tyler exclaimed with a laugh. Austin opened his mouth to calm him, but no words came out.
“In any case… ha! We proceed with the negotiations! A little bit of information from us, and Marshall, Carter & Dark. In exchange, some of your… Foundation goodies.”
The researcher fixed his glasses and stood on his toes to look over Tyler’s shoulder.
“Yes, that is correct. However, we don’t see uh, your partner, Robert Carter. Just some MC&D staff.”
Tyler frowned. The expression on his face caused Austin to step back. If his working theory was right, he calculated a 28% chance of escape from this place. 47% if being taken by the Foundation was an option.
“Robert… Carter…” Tyler drifted off. His body swayed left and right, the objects in his pockets jingling.
“Partner… so what. Can’t grace //my// presence! Just a peon in his place!” he continued. The guard put a hand over the researcher’s chest, and Austin took a step back. 13% chance of escape.
“After this day, I’ll show //him.//” Tyler finished with a big step towards the researcher.
A split second later, a knife was stabbed into the researcher, Tyler holding the blade with glee. He turned his head back to the robots. 0%.
“AR-Protocol JUDAS. All parties compromised, terminate //everything!//” Tyler sung with glee.
The room erupted into chaos. The robots opened fire upon Foundation and MC&D staff alike. Austin ducked in time for a bullet to fly over his head. Another dinged off the briefcase, and he cringed at the inevitable $326 repair on it.
The guard had dropped the body of the researcher and was barking orders at her remaining guards.
“Exfil, now! Get us to base!” she shouted whilst throwing a 5-inch blade through the head of a robot. It went down, sputtering proprietary fuel.
In the distance, Austin heard the panicked screams of the MC&D guards. He grimaced at the tortuous sounds from bones breaking to erratic gunshots. Before he could calculate the damages, a robot crept to the guard captain, who was backing into a room with her crew. Austin bit his lip and wondered about helping. If he stepped in, would it be a PR night-
The robot took another loud step, and Austin dove forward.
“Look out!” he cried, tackling the thing to the floor.
He landed on top of it, and yelped in pain as the thing began punching back at him. His head became weary after four strikes. Dryly, he estimated two more punches before he lost consciousness. The captain let out a scream and stomped the robot’s head in with a crunch.
“Come on!” she yelled, pulling Austin up. He wondered why //his// shoes weren’t robot-rated.
She threw him into the room where the other Foundation staff remained. Austin was impressed with the speed of their impromptu barricades, though the rhythmic pounding on the walls didn’t help much.
Austin turned to see her close the door and give a thumbs up to everyone in the room.
“Thanks for the save, mate.” she said with a pat on the shoulder. He cringed at the dirt that marked it.
“Oh, it was nothing.” he replied nonchalantly. It was that or get shredded by the death robots.
“Never seen a Macca’s employee stick their neck out for //anyone.// I’d ask why, but I don’t want to sign my soul for an answer.”
He pulled up the briefcase and opened it.
“I mean, if you do, I have the papers.” he genuinely offered. His brows furrowed at her laugh.
“Ah, that’s the spirit! You’re funny.” she declared heartily.
The captain walked past Austin and attended to her men. He decided to rest and take a seat on a desk, pretending to fiddle with his briefcase.
“Can’t believe a Macca’s saved me, seriously.”
“It’s odd, but we’ll take any save at this point.” someone replied.
“Any word on extraction?” she asked.
“No, can’t get a damn signal in here. Wasn’t a problem before, I think that Anderson guy is responsible for that.”
“Shit.”
“Shit is right, cap. We lost our researcher and two of our boys. What should we do?”
“Let me think about that. Rest up or barricade the room, just pick one and stick to it.”
“Roger that.” the remaining guards responded in unison.
Austin heard them shuffle about and he straightened up, seeing the captain walk to him once more, hand extended. He placed his briefcase down.
“Name’s Alcott. This is a customary greeting, not an agreement to contract.” she stated confidently.
“Austin S. Considering the circumstances, I wouldn’t put that on you.” he chuckled.
“Great. Now let’s cook up a plan. What do you know about your partner?”
“Not much,” he admitted, “I was a last-minute substitute. My boss is the one that normally works with Anderson.”
“Shit. Guess we gotta improvise then. I know you’re a suit, but can you fight?”
The Senior Analyst grimaced, and felt very tempted to lose $437. Alcott read the look on his face and gave an apologetic shrug.
“Guess not, so we’ll sideline you with the rest of my guards. All of you keep lookout and //stay down,// I don’t need more bodies on my watch. Maybe barricade stuff, yeah?”
“Will do, gladly.”
Austin walked to the folks taking a breather and sat next to them. They gave suspicious glares before turning amongst themselves and talking. He didn’t need to hear them to know his presence was being derided.
He raised a hand to speak when the robotic pounding stopped. A speaker from inside the room crackled to life.
“Hello, hello everyone! I see that you’re all corralled into one room now. Corralled, heh. I’m happy to report that anyone //outside// hasn’t made it, though not for a lack of trying. Anyway, it’s time. Goodbye!” Tyler spoke.
In a second, the door Austin and Alcott entered through exploded open and flew through the room, hitting a wall behind the team. Tyler came barrelling through with his trench coat off. His chest and arms were pure metal, gears whirring loudly. He opened his smoking fist and smiled with a wave.
Anderson robots rushed in the opening behind Tyler, opening fire upon everything in the room. A couple unlucky guards were struck and fell to the floor. Austin and the rest ducked down to avoid the barrage. The robots stopped shooting and clanked towards them. He caught Alcott’s boots running towards Tyler and she roared as she jumped towards him.
Curious, Austin peeked to see the action.
Alcott was in a fistfight with Tyler, though she was on the defensive. She got two accurate hits to his nose, but the impact simply caused the man to laugh. His nose began to bleed a mixture of blood and fuel. Alcott reached for her gun, and Tyler reacted by punching her fist as the gun came up.
She cried in pain as the gun went flying in the air, Tyler grabbed Alcott by the throat and lifted her up. Alcott swung her legs up and pulled the man to the floor in an armbar submission.
“Oh, you’re good.” he cooed as she tugged on his arm, causing sparks to fly about.
Austin saw that Alcott’s gun had bounced over to him. Hesitant, he picked it up and clicked the safety off. A robot to his right had a guard in its grasp, and he shot it in the head. It fell to the floor and another one rushed to take its place. The replacement took two shots to the chest before going down. He gave the guard a swift thumbs up and now calculated a 25% chance of their long-term survival.
Austin jogged over and aimed his sights at the laid-back Tyler. Wordlessly, he started to pull the trigger.
“Ah, Mr. S! Glad of you to join us!” Tyler declared.
His free arm extended an inhuman length and grabbed Alcott, tossing her across the room. She hit the wall with a crash and fell to the floor. Tyler’s arms extended at some chairs near Austin and pulled him upward so fast Austin had no time to react.
The gun was out of his hands before he could think about firing it. Austin felt the air expel from his lungs as he was tackled to the ground. Tyler had his arms pinned from his elbows, dripping down the mix of blood and fuel onto him. The stench of the mixture nearly caused Austin to vomit.
“Oh, Carter. You just //had// to spurn me every step of the way! I am a human //being// you know! I’ll make an example of your prized pupil! Perhaps you’ll learn then.” Tyler cackled.
Austin writhed but couldn’t move. From the corner of his eyes he spotted Alcott, who was limping with the arm of an Anderson robot in her hands. They made eye contact and she mouthed ‘keep him talking’ as she crept up behind Tyler.
“Oh, learn? Carter? I think it might be impossible for the man!” Austin exclaimed.
Tyler raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, in my entire time there, he’s been nothing but erratic, foolish, and downright //unprofessional!//” he continued. Tyler gave Austin his manic grin.
“Another that sees the light? How charming! How agreeable!” he celebrated. Tyler still kept Austin pinned down.
“Naturally, if I had the time, I could go all day.” Austin replied. The response caused Tyler to inch his face inches from his nose.
“Oh, do tell!”
“I- uh-”
“Well!? You have //so// much to go off of: The cheap outfits. The snide remarks. His ‘oh, I’m so //sorry// Tyler, but I //just// can’t make it today!”
Austin opened his mouth, but Tyler kept talking.
“And by god, the absences! Do you know how long I’ve been //working// with him?” He spat into Austin’s face. The Senior Analyst shook his head.
“Sixteen //years!// Sixteen //wasted// years of deals gone bad, payments called off, and clients //laughing// in my face! All. Because. Of //Robert!//” Tyler practically howled. However, he quickly smiled.
“I digress. Because I can just //imagine// the look on his face when his assistant’s //head// is on a PIKE!”
“Wouldn’t he not show up to that, either?” Austin responded. Tyler’s face contorted into that of white-hot fury and his arm went up, a serrated blade in hand.
At that moment, Alcott struck Tyler on the back of the head, the force sending his face into Austin’s nose. The madman turned with a look of anger.
“We were //just// having a delightful conversation!” he let go of Austin and jumped in the air at Alcott. The Senior Analyst reached for the gun and fired it twice into Tyler’s back, where it deflected into the roof. Midair, Tyler turned back and growled loudly, though his trajectory still sent him into Alcott’s arms.
She quickly used the momentum to swing him at the last of the robots, their arms reaching out to catch him. However, the force of his body sent them all to the floor. One of the robot’s arms got locked in place, impaling Tyler through the chest as they fell. Austin and Alcott exhaled a sigh of relief.
Austin got up, trying to assist other Foundation staff to their feet while Alcott walked to Tyler, a robot arm still in hand.
“I’d place you under some kind of arrest or containment, but frankly, I don’t think you’re making it far.” she said with a disgusted look at the metallic fuel leaking everywhere onto the floor.
Tyler chuckled, his head turned at Austin helping people.
“Can’t even grace me in my final moments. You pick them well, Carter.” he said to himself. Tyler coughed out more fuel. His eyes closed, and his body went limp. Alcott dropped the arm from her hand.
Austin heard the noise and walked over, looking at Tyler’s body.
“So much for that deal.” he commented.
“Eh, it wasn’t so bad. Minimal losses for us is a win in my book.” Alcott replied with a shit-eating grin.
“Ha, ha. But seriously, what are we going to explain?”
“Oi! I’d say deal is still on! Let’s exchange the items and tell our bosses Anderson ruined everything. Sounds good, yeah?”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Austin agreed, lightly kicking Tyler’s shoe with his own.
The remaining Foundation staff organized themselves at a record pace, and Austin overheard them finally establish a connection back home. Alcott gave a look his way.
“I won’t arrest you, on account of you helping us. But how about we drop you off somewhere fancy?”
Austin looked about the room and saw the still-angry glares of the Foundation security.
“I’ll pass. I appreciate the offer, however.”
Exactly three minutes and forty-five seconds later, the SCP Foundation team had retrieved their injured or dead, fallen equipment, and the documents for the deal. The items were hastily exchanged, and Austin was alone in a warehouse full of dead human and robot bodies.
He sighed, and pulled a small rectangle out of the briefcase. Using his teeth to open the plastic wrap, he then pressed the small button inside. It let out a pleasant trill and Austin felt the $437 leaving his bank account.
-----
“Let me get this straight, my partner went //mad// and slaughtered just about everyone?” Robert Carter asked in disbelief. Austin nodded.
The two were in Austin’s office, which now had a security camera facing the door.
“Yes, sir. It almost ruined the deal, but we were able to hash out an agreement.” Austin explained.
“In our favor, perhaps?”
“Perhaps. We might be in a better spot than Anderson for the foreseeable future.”
“Huh, never thought I’d see the day. It still shocks me my old partner would go to such lengths. Shows you the quality of employee over there.”
//Maybe if you’d ever// met //the man, this wouldn’t have happened.// Austin thought to himself.
All of a sudden, Robert leaned over the desk and looked him right in the eye.
“Say something?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. Austin immediately felt very alone and afraid in his own office. Beads of sweat formed on the back of his neck, and his mind crafted any excuse to explain his //thoughts// to Robert.
“Uh… no sir. Nothing new to report. Just going to wrap up the expenses for the deal. I’ll email you a copy when it’s done.”
“Good! Glad to see you’re on top of things, as always.”
Robert slowly leaned back, got up, and walked out of the room. Austin sighed and opened up his laptop to the spreadsheet. He gawked at the final expense number:
**-$1,377.**
“Fuck //off!//” he cried, slamming the laptop closed.
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Austin S. & the Anderson/Foundation Meeting - SCP Foundation
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<br/>
Your name is Ayla Lancaster, or at least that’s what people call you, and you were twelve years old when you watched your sister get snapped in half. Your sister was twice your age at the time, and your sole guardian. In an effort to bring you outside more, she brought you on a hiking trail.
<p>It was a beautiful day, the sun high in the sky, just enough clouds to offer a bit of shade, the sound of the wind blowing through the trees was wonderful. She held your little hand in her own and led you down a rock lined path. You wandered off the beaten trail and, being a good sister, she followed you. You dropped to the ground to watch a beatle crawl over a pinecone; you heard the trees creek and felt a shadow pass overhead.</p>
<p>You turned back around just in time to see a <em>tree</em> stand up straight with the top half of your sister in what was unmistakably a mouth. She didn’t even get a chance to scream, and neither did you. The creature’s many eyes passed right over you. It chewed, swallowed, and disappeared among the trees, leaving you alone with a pair of disembodied legs.</p>
<p>For the next fourteen hours you stayed there, frozen to the spot. You didn’t cry, you didn’t sob, you didn’t scream, too afraid even the slightest squeak would attract that monster back to your position. Even when the sun setted and the air grew so cold you could see your breath turn white before your eyes, you remained.</p>
<p>That’s where <em>they</em> found you, curled up in a bush, next to a puddle of blood, soaked in every fluid imaginable.</p>
<p>Ten, or maybe twelve people in black armor appeared out of the woodworks. All of them wore heavy black helmets, obscuring any human features. They were halfway through shoveling your sister’s remains into a bag when one of them noticed you. You couldn’t understand their muffled words through their helmets, but you recognized when one of them pointed right at you.</p>
<p>They approached you slowly, hands outstretched, careful not to frighten the scared little animal you are. They formed a wall around you and, once they deemed you were not a threat, one reached out and took your hand. Your tiny pale fingers slotted between the thick padded gloves. Once freed from the forest’s grasp, they wiped the dirt off your cheeks and feed you into the back of a black van.</p>
<p>The seats in the van were stiff, designed for capacity not comfort. The weighted blanket draped over your shoulders does little to help. Forcing the words, you asked if they’re the <em>Men in Black</em>. One of them laughed and another humored you by saying yes.</p>
<p>After a bumpy ride sandwiched between two adults, you’re brought inside and put in a room somehow even stuffier than the van. The first face you saw, after seeing your sister lose her’s, is a charming older woman in a lab coat. She slid into the seat across from you, notebook in one hand, pen in the other, and asked you some questions. Once satisfied with your answers, you’re finally offered a glass of fresh water.</p>
<p>You woke up in your bed, feeling like you’ve hardly slept at all. You remember being told your sister died in a car crash. You remember a closed casket funeral. You remember wondering why you didn’t cry, even as the coffin was lowered into the ground, even as you returned to an empty home to pack your stuff, even as you felt the last of her drift from your life. These days you barely remember her at all.</p>
<p>You don’t remember a thing about a hike or strange beast hidden among the trees or men and women in black helmets. But, as your hand yanks down the fire alarm, you turn your head just enough to see Cord bound out of her seat. On instinct, every muscle in your body tenses at once. Anything to keep you still, to keep you quiet, to keep you from being noticed.</p>
<p>For just a second you are a twelve year old kid again, and Cord has the top half of your sister in her mouth.</p>
<p>It’s an effort to shake yourself out of it. You have a job to do, and by God are you going to do it. You’ve been in the care of the <em>Men in Black</em> for years now, none of this is new to you. Even if your body feels nothing but terror, <em>you’re better than this</em>.</p>
<p>As you stumble out of the <em>hole in the wall</em> Cord created, your heart races. You dig your fingers into your chest until it hurts, as if you could grab your heart hard enough to calm it down. Behind you the <em>Spicy Crust Pizza that never was</em> disappears and in front of you lays the bestial form of your colleague and you feel nothing but <em>fear</em>.</p>
<p>Your sister died in a car crash, you’re sure of that. Even now, with everything you’ve learned since being a scared little kid, you’ve never thought to question that belief.</p>
<p>Through the sound of your blood rushing in your ears you can make out Barry’s shouts. You watch her throw a sobbing Polly onto the ground and your dignity sparks up. Filling your aching lungs with much needed air, you speak up.</p>
<p>“Hey! Lighten up!”</p>
<p>Barry turns her gaze onto you sharp enough to make your knees buckle. That small prey animal feeling consumes you once again. Your gaze falls to the concrete, your body begging you to cower and shrink.</p>
<p>“Lighten up?” Barry asks, the corner of her eye twitching. She takes a heavy step toward you and, involuntarily, you take a step back. “You want me to <em>lighten up?</em>”</p>
<p>Any words you could say to defend yourself choke you. You’re out in the open and yet you’re cornered. You back up until the back of your foot hits the sidewalk and you trip. Everything around you turns into one blur of color and motion. Your lungs burn, every breath sharp and painful. Looking into the empty space where you assume there must’ve been a restaurant once, doesn’t make you feel any better.</p>
<p>“And you!” You flinch even though the shout isn’t directed at you. “Turn back to normal! I know I <em>did not</em> give you permission to do anything!”</p>
<p>The beast groans, a sharp, pained howl. Ruth stands up straight, taking her weight off of Cord as she begins to compress. The sound of snapping bones and ripping sinew echo around the empty parking lot. She’s back to a form that’s familiar.</p>
<p>A form that’s <em>safe</em>.</p>
<p>You do nothing as Barry strikes Cord across the face. What could you do? You were always too much of a coward to speak up. You rub your cheek, imagining a bruise spreading across your fair skin. Ruth is the one to charge valiantly forward, but she’s not exactly in fighting gear. She loses her balance on her heels, giving Barry a chance to shove her aside.</p>
<p>“As for the rest of you!” Barry turns, her eyes scanning across the scene. “I can’t fucking believe you guys! You couldn’t even coordinate for <em>two fucking seconds</em>! Do you want to end up like- to end up like…?”</p>
<p>You recognize the sort of fear that spreads across her features. She stumbles back, as if shoved. Sweat runs down her forehead, her eyes dart around, and her cheeks puff like she’s holding back vomit. For a moment her face is pale with pure terror.</p>
<p>From her pockets she produces a device, the <em>Amnestics Baton</em>, as you’ve come to know it. An experimental sort of contraption the Foundation would only hand out to people like you. She jams it in her forehead, making an audible pained noise. You suck in a sharp gasp.</p>
<p>You don’t trust those things. They’re too new, too rough, not as clean or as trustworthy as the pills and liquids your employers usually use. Sure, you understand the need for new sources of amnestics, but that doesn’t stop your personal discomfort.</p>
<p>Barry lowers the device, a glassy look in her eyes. A shiver runs down your spine. It is… unfortunately rather common for long time agents to use amnestics for personal use, Barry being no exception.</p>
<p>“Phew, what a night, huh?” She says. “Cord, my keys?” Silently, Cord reaches into her dress pocket, and hands Barry her keys. “Let’s go home, alright? It’s too late for work.” She approaches her car, expecting everyone to follow suit.</p>
<p>You stand and brush the dust off yourself. Every part of you feels weak, rung dry, and you struggle to fill your lungs. You’re hungry, you can’t remember but you doubt you got to eat dinner. There’s nothing to do but get up and get out of this parking lot.</p>
<p>Cord sits between you and Ruth, you’re very careful to make sure Cord isn’t touching you. Ruth wipes blood off her face with a wad of tissues, Cord keeps her eyes forward, expression blank. The seat belt digs into your chest just a little too tightly.</p>
<p>As you pass by residential neighborhoods, you consider asking Barry to drop you off at your house, but the tension is so high the thought of speaking makes you feel ill. Tensions are always high after a run in with those <em>Chaos Insurgency freaks</em>, but the air in here is different.</p>
<p>Polly is the most shaken, the sole member of your team that really knows what’s just happened. While everyone else shuffles back into the headquarters, Polly stands frozen in the parking lot. You glance between the abandoned laundromat and Polly’s pale face, noticing the slight tremor in her legs. After a moment of deliberation, you approach, careful not to startle her.</p>
<p>“Hey? Are you okay?”</p>
<p>“Huh? Uh, yes I- I think so…” She won’t look at you.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to be. Okay- I mean. You don’t have to be okay.” You scratch the back of your neck. “No one’s breach past the veil is easy.”</p>
<p>She looks at you and it occurs to you everything you just said sounded dumb. “Veil?”</p>
<p>“You know-” you say, knowing she doesn’t, “the line between the normal and the screwy. I mean, you didn’t believe in memory erasing holes before today, did you” She doesn’t answer, stuck staring at her own shaky hands. You clear your throat. “Anyway, you’re gonna help us make sure no one has to experience what you did.”</p>
<p>A very generous and very false way of putting her job, but it seems to calm her down. You try to offer her a smile, which is not an expression you’re used to. Something important strikes you. You pat your pockets and find them devoid of what you need.</p>
<p>“Shit.”</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“I had something for you. I left it in my office.” You really hoped that you wouldn’t have to go back to your office tonight, but you think you should. “I’m going to go get it. Don’t- don’t go anywhere.”</p>
<p>Polly looks at you and gazes across the empty parking lot surrounding you. “Alright.”</p>
<p>You turn tail and trek down into headquarters. It’s not uncommon for a Foundation outpost to be hidden under abandoned or otherwise inconspicuous places, but being buried under this place just feels like a slap in the face on top of the other slap that was being assigned here. It wasn’t that the Foundation couldn’t afford to put you up somewhere nicer, it’s that the Foundation doesn’t care to.</p>
<p>The <em>Foundation</em>, the mysterious presence that decided it was too unethical to let a town get eaten but it was totally fine if a few hundred people went missing as long as no one remembered them. The <em>Foundation</em>, who burst into your college dorm when you were nineteen and offered you a job. The <em>Foundation</em>, who once found you crying in the middle of the forest covered in your sister’s blood.</p>
<p>Barry’s office door is cracked open. You sneak a peek inside as you pass. Her chair is swiveled around, you can’t see her face but she isn't moving. It feels like you should say something, ask if she’s okay, but you can’t bring yourself to.</p>
<p>It’s hard to separate <em>Barry Tone</em>, the funny, often even charming person who could’ve been your friend in another life, with <em>Baritone</em>, the person who is currently your boss. You move on, past her office and the makeshift dorms.</p>
<p>In your office, fresh off your 3D printer, is a little badge. An outlined circle with three arrows crossing its contour and pointing to the center. Below that the letters S-C-P. Secure, Contain, Protect. The Foundation’s supposed motto, a motto that never seems to apply to anything. Usually these would be made of medal, not resin and plastic, but the Foundation isn’t going to keep sending you badges for every sad woman Barry dragged up to fill in.</p>
<p>You flip it over, checking to make sure the engraving on the back printed correctly, taking a moment also to pick off the extra resin. Satisfied, you pocket it, and for good measure you also remember to pocket your walkie talkie. Barry insists that phones are much safer and more efficient, but you try to make use of everything you have.</p>
<p>Polly is sitting on the sidewalk, rolling her faux-silver ring between her fingers. She perks up as you reappear.</p>
<p>“Welcome to the team.” You squat down and hand it off. She examines it, flipping it around in her hand.</p>
<p>“‘M-T-F’?” Her eyebrows furrow.</p>
<p>“Mobile Task Force. That’s us.” You jam a thumb towards yourself.</p>
<p><em>MTF Gamma-86 aka “Losing Dogs”.</em> That’s the name Barry gave it, or, at least it’s the name it had when you joined on. A Mobile Task Force in title alone.</p>
<p>The thing about Mobile Task Forces, first and foremost, is that they’re respected. They’re disposable, yes, the Foundation loses at least five a year, but they’re respected. A group of highly trained elites willing to lay down their lives for the Foundation’s ideals. <em>The best of the best of the best, sir!</em></p>
<p>Of <em>course</em> they’re respected.</p>
<p>You’re no trained elite, you’re not even a soldier. You’re a programmer, who, for as much loyalty as you possess, would not care to die, not even for a supposedly good cause. A quick glance at your last paycheck will show you how much <em>respect</em> someone like you garnered.</p>
<p>You don’t have some big threat to contain. No, the Foundation gave up on <em>containment</em> long before you ever washed up here. Your job was to make sure the Foundation <em>never</em> has to hear from you again. It doesn’t matter who dies, it doesn’t matter what <em>vital</em> teammates you lose. As long as no one knows about the problem and it costs the <em>Foundation</em> nothing, they could care less about you.</p>
<p>They could care less about anyone in this backwater middle of nowhere.</p>
<p><em>A lot of losing dogs indeed.</em></p>
<p>You have no reason to say any of that to her. Pretty soon she’ll come to understand her place in this group, just as you did. You reach into your pocket, running your finger over your own badge. Made of metal, back when the Foundation cared about things like that.</p>
<p>“Kinda funny acronym, though,” you say to no one in particular.</p>
<p>“I- I want to go home.” You can hear the pain in that statement. You swallow down your guilt, letting it settle down in your stomach with the rest of your feelings.</p>
<p>“It’s late out. I’ll walk you home.” She squints. “I mean- We were just attacked. It might not be safe for you to be out alone. Us ladies gotta stick together, you know.” You playfully punch her in the shoulder and immediately regret that action.</p>
<p>“Yeah… Alright.” She brushes the spot you just touched and puts her ring back on. Trailing behind her, you walk down lamp lit streets. A thick fog rolls in, obscuring everything in gray.</p>
<p>Her front door is laying out on her lawn, you can picture Cord doing that. Like she doesn’t even see it, Polly walks right past it into her home and immediately drops to her knees. You pick up the door and slide it back into place.</p>
<p><em>Oh this is definitely not safe.</em></p>
<p>“Hey, uh,” You kneel beside her, tentatively resting a hand on her side. She’s crying, you can’t blame her, you definitely cried on your first day on the job. “You’ve got a nice place here,” you say, glancing around the room. It’s certainly a lot more lived in than any place you’ve ever stayed.</p>
<p>Polly’s eyes slowly gaze around the room, as if seeing it for the very first time. Both of you are on a shaggy blue carpet, in front of you is the kitchen, to your right is the living room, and to your left is a staircase. You’re too focused on the door to see Polly stand up, drag her fingers across the wall, and pick up the two jackets on the floor.</p>
<p>You decide to wander around the living room, taking note of the interesting wooden carvings and weaved fabrics and photos hung up on the wall. A photo of a younger looking Polly next to an older woman with braided hair and an intricate tattoo below her mouth. Before you can examine this too closely, an interesting display of torture devices steals your attention.</p>
<p><em>What else could these be?</em> You pick up a rusty looking tool of some sort and turn it around in your hand. It’s almost like a pair of scissors with curved blades. On the selves you see several oddly shaped utensils, some sort of icepick, and several jagged blades. Why would anyone have these?</p>
<p>“Oh, hey, I thought I lost you,” Polly says, flicking the lightswitch on. With a start, you drop the tool with a heavy clatter. “Do you like my collection?”</p>
<p>“Your uh- what is this?”</p>
<p>“Vintage surgery tools. I used to uh- frequent antique shops and I find them cool.” She picks up a pair of old tweezers and pinches them together. “I even have some old medical journals.” Dropping to the ground, she drags her knuckles across the books on the bottom two shelves.</p>
<p>“Cool,” you say, genuinely, though unsure what else to add. Unwittingly, your gaze keeps turning to the front door. A breeze might knock it open. When you look back at Polly she has tears running down her face. “H-hey! What’s wrong?” People don’t tend to come to you for their personal emotions, hell you barely deal with your own emotions as is. <em>Is it something you’re doing?</em></p>
<p>“It’s just uh-” She chokes, rubbing her palm against the slightly fuzzy velvet cover of the old book. “I think there’s something important about this stuff, but I can’t remember. And think it’s because of- of…”</p>
<p>She drops the book, which hits the ground hard enough to rattle the shelf, her hands remain outstretched, Her fingers open and close, as if attempting to grasp something you just can’t see. Whatever is happening, it makes you deeply uncomfortable.</p>
<p>“I don’t think we should be here!” You announce, snapping Polly out of her trance. “It’s not safe, what with your door broken and the Chaos Insurgency out.”</p>
<p>She blinks away tears. “The who?”</p>
<p>“The uh-” you consider how best to explain this without freaking her out further. “So we work for the SCP Foundation, but then there’s also the Chaos Insurgency. They’re like… Um, terrorists who want to weaponize the anomaly here. They suck like that.”</p>
<p>Polly nods slowly. “They attacked us at the pizza place.”</p>
<p>“They did?” That sounds about right, and yet you can’t quite scratch the itch in your brain.</p>
<p>“I think so,” Polly says, still nodding. “Where are we supposed to go?”</p>
<p>“My house, if you want? Or back to the base. Base would be safer.”</p>
<p>“Your house sounds good. I need to go check on something first.” Before you have much to say, Polly’s already halfway up the stairs. Like the dog you are, you consider standing guard at the door. Instead, you creep into her room behind her.</p>
<p>The room is a mess, papers and clothes and trinkets strewn across the floor. Cord’s work once again. From the doorway you watch her gather up and examine a collection of clown dolls. A few of them have broken or shattered, porcelain pieces littering the ground. With your help, she readjusts the bed and rights a shelf. She starts placing the clowns back on display.</p>
<p>“So… are you like a clown person?” you say, once again failing to make any form of conversation.</p>
<p>“You know, at this point I’m not even sure anymore.” She lets the shards spill out of the palm of her hand and stands up. “I thought I’d find some pictures, maybe a record of some kind, a journal maybe? Something to confirm my own memory.” She’s not looking at you.</p>
<p>Uncomfortable, you fidget with your hands and make a clicking sort of sound with your tongue. “Did you know clowns are real?”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, they’re like a species, not just people in costumes. Well, most are just people in costumes, but there’s also like… like a species.” You freeze, becoming self aware of the nonsensical hand motions you’ve been making.</p>
<p>She blinks very slowly. Suddenly your shoes become very fascinating to you. Once done with the clowns, she crosses the room to her desk. You make yourself useful by picking up all the papers and pens off the ground. When she opens up her laptop you catch a glimpse of the Parawatch logo at the top of her screen.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><span style="color: blue"><strong>SunnyOrchid</strong></span> 2/18/2013 (Monday) 16:01:44 #39348719</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hi! My name is Apollo or Polly, 27, Māori, aspiring artist currently living with my girlfriend, V, in the Midwest. I started this thread to lay down some of the weird things I see in this town, because I need to keep a record of this stuff. I’ll start with something that’s been bothering me for ages: Every single company in this town has <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/pickman-blank-proposal">the same initials</a>.</p>
<p>I get my morning coffee from Sunny’s Creamy Pastries, I work as a waitress for Spicy Crust Pizza, I drop clean my clothes at the Soak Clean Plush and wash them with Sasha’s Cleaning Products, I get my groceries from Super Convenient Produce, which sells Soap Corpse Products, in the summer I take a dip at Super Cool Pools, I fill my gas at a place called Sales on Canadian Petrole, I pass by a neon bar sign reading Sakes Ciders Pallini, even most of the houses here are owned by Safe Community Protection. V tells me it’s all coincidence, but after this many times it goes way past coincidence!</p>
<p>(You could say I’m Suspicious about the Possibility it's all Coincidence. Wait, no that’s not quite right-)</p>
<p>I’ve tried to look into some of these companies and I can barely find records on half of them. A lot of the businesses here don’t last long, it’s pretty common for people to be fooled by the low property values only to realize no one lives here so there’s no one to buy their shit. Anything that survives can be abbreviated as SCP, and I swear up and down there’s one group that owns everything here. My biggest question is, well, why? How much can monopolizing this one backwater nowhere be worth?</p>
<p>I’ll try to update this soon with other weird things, this isn’t even scratching the surface!</p>
</div>
<p>Polly scrolls through the years of forum posts on this thread, expressing a mix of baffled embarrassment, but you can’t help but let our mouth gape in awe. It’s been your job for quite some time now to keep records of strange happenings, to figure out what’s going missing, where, and how to cover it up. And here, right under your nose the entire time, Polly has been doing the exact same thing, where you’d never even think to look.</p>
<p><em>How</em> did you miss this? And moreso, how did <em>I</em> miss this? Have I been too respectful of her privacy? Polly hits the bottom of the thread, pausing to stare at her most recent post from just three months ago.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><span style="color: blue"><strong>SunnyOrchid</strong></span> 6/13/2019 (Thursday) 12:32:18 #39348719</p>
<hr/>
<p>My co-worker is fucking gaslighting me over the stupidist thing. I asked her how her cat was doing, since I’ll pet sit for her occasionally, and she looked at me like I was crazy and said she doesn’t have a cat. I tried to pry for details, pointing out how she’d drop the little guy off at my house sometimes and she agreed that she did stop by my house during those days, but swore up and down that she just didn’t own a cat. When I pointed out that she had cat hair on her pants she seemed surprised. The worst part was when I went to complain about this to my wife and V insisted that my co-worker was right and that I’ve never pet sat for her.</p>
<p>This isn’t even the first time something like this has happened either. I used to go to this art workshop in town, back when I really thought I could make a full time living out of painting, and one day one of my friends called me and asked me for a ride. I told him yes of course, and then I asked what happened to his car, and he told me he doesn’t own a car. Did he sell his car? No, he’s just never owned one. I ask how he’s been getting to work or to the class all this time if he’s never owned a car, and he couldn’t answer me. Later he called me again to tell me he found a record from 2013 that detailed his purchase of a car (from Secure Car Place if you’d believe it). He remembers going to the car dealership, and surely he must’ve been getting places, but he doesn’t have this car. How do you lose a car???</p>
<p>And the weirdest and most confusing time this has happened is my boss’s disappearing husband. I’m not super close to my boss, but I’d talk to her husband when he showed up at our job, until one day his appearances just stopped. I asked the others where they thought he was, and none of them knew who I was talking about. When I asked her directly I got the same response. Okay, I think, maybe they had a messy break up that I didn’t know about and no one wants to talk about it. But his picture is still up on the wall where my boss put it, and she still wears her wedding ring.</p>
<p>How does a person just disappear? And why am I the only one who’s noticed?</p>
</div>
<p>“Oh wow,” Polly says, softly, hand reaching up to rest on her cheek. “it’s been right under my nose the whole time and I… I just couldn’t see it… I think that I’m… ready to leave.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah um, alright.”</p>
<p>You lead her back down the stairs and wait by the door. She pauses at the bottom of the stairs, looking down the hall. “One moment,” she says and steps into the bathroom. She comes out holding a pill bottle. <em>Estradiol</em>. “In case I don’t make it back here for a while.” By the door there’s a table with a drawer, from which Polly produces a keyring. “We should drive to your place.”</p>
<p>“Smart.” On your insistence, you take the driver’s seat. Polly packs in beside you, eyes glued to the window. In your detour the fog has only gotten heavier, even with the headlights on you can barely see a few feet in front of you. Carefully, you creep down the streets, with the hope you aren’t sweating too much.</p>
<p>For a while the only sound is the rumble of tires against the bumpy road. Turning on the radio might make you look weird, but if the silence goes on too long you feel awkward. You should say something, anything to distract from the situation. <em>Come on Ayla, just speak up!</em></p>
<p>Right as you open your mouth, something in the rearview mirror catches your eyes. Just barely visible through the fog is the front of a car. They have their headlights off. A paranoid woman you are, you make a sharp turn away from your house, just in case it's a tail you want to throw off.</p>
<p>The turn is enough to jostle Polly. She looks at you with a frown, and as usual you choke on your words. You don’t want to say anything, she’s already had a hard enough day she doesn’t need more anxieties. But you definitely should say <em>something</em> right now.</p>
<p>You flick on the radio.</p>
<p><em>“-me back to the Superstitious Conspiracy Podcast, late show addition. I am your humble host, Alicja Kondraki, back to you with the truth the Shadow Government doesn’t want you to know! Tonight I’ve got some very interesting reports on hundreds of inmates disappearing from prisons. Where are they going? And more importantly, what does the Shadow Government need all of them for?”</em></p>
<p>The staticy conspiracy podcast fades into background noise. It sounds familiar, like the radio shows the Foundation funds for the spread of misinformation. Polly stares at you for a few seconds before returning to her own head. Situation haphazardly defused.</p>
<p>“So… are you into this sort of thing? Conspiracies?” you ask, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel. The woman on the podcast rambles on about her theories on shadow governments and missing people, all of which aren’t quite as unfounded as they sound. You can no longer see your supposed tail, but you make a few more zig-zags anyway.</p>
<p>“Not really… I- I remember tuning into this show a lot to make fun of it with…” She trails off, eyes glossing over. “It’s hard not to feel really bad for the lady who runs this show, and the sort of people who call in. She talks about how she started this show because she thinks the shadow government killed her brother.” She chokes on air, eyes glistening with tears. “And you know with what’s happened today, I’m not even sure if she’s wrong.”</p>
<p>“Yeah…” If you weren’t driving you’d slam your head into the wheel. Every single time you’ve opened your mouth tonight you’ve just made her more upset. You finally give into your impulses and shut your mouth until you reach your home.</p>
<p>Stepping out of the car, you creep towards the edge of the driveway to glance around. Unsurprisingly, the fog does not yield to your gaze, and you see nothing. You choose to believe that if someone was following you, they aren’t anymore.</p>
<p>“Ayla?” Polly calls out. You speed walk to your front door and unlock it for her, trying to hide your Winry Rockbell keychain in the palm of your hand.</p>
<p>“Sorry I- don’t usually have guests…” Normally you're perfectly fine sleeping on a cot back at headquarters, easier to get work done without a commute. You’re not used to having other people around, let alone a pretty girl in your house.</p>
<p>There’s a pair of plastic katana’s over your doorway, under which are the words <em>Here I Was</em>, written in sharpie. “My bedroom is through here.” You weave through your living room, past the kitchen, and into your bedroom. At least your bedroom has remained somewhat put together, if only because you haven’t been residing in it.</p>
<p>Hanging off your bed’s headboard is a checkerboard hat. Your walls are covered in posters. Misa Amane, Misato Katsuragi, Faye Valentine, and several other women I could not name. Propped up against your closet door is a real katana (<em>which you’ve named Spirit Albarn, even though that guy was a scythe not a sword</em>), or as real as you could get at the local mall. The Foundation doesn’t like the use of non-approved weapons, so it’s remained unused. And of course, you have your glass display case of collectable figures, some still carefully preserved in packaging for no clear reason whatsoever.</p>
<p>“Nice pillow,” Polly says, pinching the corner of a body pillow and lifting it up. Quickly and not suspiciously at all, you snatch the pillow, hugging the other side to your chest.</p>
<p>“Haha, yeah.” You back up into the door to your closet, knocking your katana over. In one fluid motion you open your closet and jam the pillow inside, next to the thousands of other things you’re too embarrassed to let yourself enjoy. “Uh, so here’s my bed. It's all yours.”</p>
<p>Polly sits down, sinking into the mattress. She looks hollow, tired, much like you did on your first day. You pick up your katana and sling it over your shoulder. You’re about to leave her to her thoughts when she calls out.</p>
<p>“Wait!” You freeze in the doorway. “I- I need to know I’m making the right choice here. There’s no way I’m <em>qualified</em> for any of this. I mean- I mean I was an <em>art history</em> major.”</p>
<p>“You’d be surprised what the Foundation can make use of. I mean, there’s a whole group of people who make like-” you make some sort of sparkly hand gesture, “- magic artwork. And even then, the Foundation will pay to train you in anything.”</p>
<p>With some hesitation, Polly nods. “Like the military.”</p>
<p>“Except there’s no honor in this.”</p>
<p>She snorts. “I wouldn’t really say there’s honor in joining the military.”</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t?” A beat passes. “Some people think so, but no one would make that mistake here.”</p>
<p>A moment of silence, the two of you stare into each other's eyes. Polly nods again, expression even harder to gauge than before. “Okay.”</p>
<p>Under the impression that this conversation is over, you close the door. Down the hall you lock yourself in your bathroom. It’s been a while since you’ve used an actual shower, rather than the group showers. It feels nice after the day you’ve had, to pretend like all of your troubles are just washing down the drain. Stepping out, you wriggle back into the clothes you just took off, towel wrapped around your head. You grab a large quilt from the hallway closet and drag it to the couch.</p>
<p>You lay the katana on the ground next to you, where it’s slightly obscured by your coffee table. Engraved on the katana’s leather saya are the words <em>Here I Was</em>. You run your finger over the letters, pressing your thumb into the indent.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>You’re in the woods again, walking the unfamiliar trail. Your feet seem to know where they’re supposed to be before you do. Even as you walk off the beaten path each step feels natural, like you’ve done it before.</p>
<p>Kneeling in the grass and pine needles is a little boy. In his small hand he holds a sharp rock. He hangs his head low, tongue stuck out between his lips in focus. Into the base of the tree he carves: <em>Here I Was</em>. Like a prayer- no, a plea. <em>Here I was, know this is where I used to be, please remember that I Was Here</em>.</p>
<p>He looks up over his shoulder and smiles, showing off the gap between his teeth. You want to reach out to him, tell him to leave this place before he gets hurt. A mouth descends and bisects you.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Something pulls you out of your hazy dreams, though in the darkness of your living room you can’t immediately parse what. The lightswitch is by the front door, you stand up to flip it. A strong gloved hand wraps around your mouth and grips your jaw closed. The sharp edge of a pocket knife is pressed against your throat. Your Adam's apple bobs as your mouth dries out.</p>
<p>“If you make a sound, I’ll gut you and then I’ll gut your little friend in the other room. Is that understood?” A husky voice hisses directly into your ear. A shiver runs down your spine. “Nod if you understand.”</p>
<p>You nod.</p>
<p>“You seem like a simple person, so I’ll make this very simple for you. Put your hands behind your back.” You obey and feel what is distinctly a zip tie tightening around your wrists. “That’s right.” She kicks you in the back of your knees, forcing you to drop to the ground.</p>
<p>With a good shove, she pushes you over and proceeds to zip tie your ankles together. You squirm onto your side, watching your mysterious attacker rise to her feet. She’s wearing a black jacket with the Chaos Insurgency’s logo on the back, a black chauffeur hat, and most notably to you, sunglasses.</p>
<p>She drops to one knee in front of you, her hand on your chin. “Let’s have a chat, why don’t we? A good woman to woman conversation. What’s your name?”</p>
<p>You swallow a lump in your throat, language coming back to you in pieces. “Ayla. L-lancaster.” You at least feel safe giving her that. Eight years ago someone named Allen Lancaster died, and Ayla Lancaster was born only into the Foundation’s database. There’s nothing the Insurgency can find of you.</p>
<p>The agent clicks her tongue and gives a curt nod. “You know, I had the most interesting dinner today. Well, it was hardly a dinner since I didn’t get to eat. I was sitting with my co-workers, all of us looking at the menus, when this other large group steps in and is seated. That was you in case I wasn’t clear. And we, me and my co-workers, got into a bit of an argument over the girl with blue-tips. Now we could all agree that we’ve never seen her before, but none of them would believe me when I swore up and down that you were missing a member.”</p>
<p>In your left pocket you can feel your walkie talkie digging into your thigh. If you’re willing to dislocate your wrist a little you could grab it. Definitely not when she’s looking right at you.</p>
<p>“And you know what, I couldn’t help but notice that it’s <em>her</em> that you’ve got in the other room. So tell me I’m right, that you’re missing someone.”</p>
<p>“She is a replacement,” you concede.</p>
<p>“Yes!” She fist-pumps. “You know I always think that if people would just listen to me they wouldn’t get themselves killed so often. Certainly true for my co-workers.” The agent stiffens, like a deer that’s noticed something. She tilts her head to the side, aiming her ear upwards. “Is there someone else here?”</p>
<p>“No? There’s Nobody else here!”</p>
<p>“Is that the truth?” Not looking at you, the agent stands and begins walking away from you. When she stands you see her pants rise up, revealing an MCD tattoo on her ankle. You don’t have time to consider what this means. Without wasting a second, you squirm and writhe, pushing the walkie out of your pocket. You jam the on button with your pinky finger hard.</p>
<p><em>“Hello?”</em> says Barry.</p>
<p>You roll over and shout into the receiver, “Insurgent at my house now!”</p>
<p>In half a second, the agent flies across the room and stomps your walkie to bits. “You bitch!” She has her hands around your throat and shakes you. Your world spins around you.</p>
<p>The lights blind you for half a second. Like a falcon with a broken wing, Hatsune Miku flies across the air, completely misses the agent, and smashes against the floor. For half a second you’re more worried that it’s one of your expensive ones than you are about the fact you’re being strangled.</p>
<p>“Oh-hoho,” says the agent, loosening her grip on your throat. Polly stands in the hallway, valiantly wielding Chie Satonaka. All of the sudden you wish you forced her to sleep on the couch.</p>
<p>“You let go of her! Or else- or else I’ll hit you!”</p>
<p>The agent laughs and extends her arm, making a firing motion with her finger. A bolt of lightning shoots out of her finger with a defining <em>crack!</em> <em>Damn those Thaumaturges!</em></p>
<p>The lightning strikes Polly squarely in the chest and you <em>know</em> she’s dead and you <em>know</em> it’s your fault you immediately got the newest member killed. Except the lightning immediately dissipates upon making contact with her chest. It fizzles out, doing nothing more than making her hair frizzy.</p>
<p>“Interesting,” is all the agent can say before Polly barrels into her. Rest in pieces Chie Satonaka, I barely knew you.</p>
<p>From your very limited combat training, you recall a way to break a zip tie with a shoelace. You’re not wearing shoes or laces. The plastic is also easy to break with something sharp. You don’t have anything sharp on you except your own wits.</p>
<p>And the katana sitting right within your vision.</p>
<p>While Polly keeps the insurgent busy, you wriggle yourself between the couch and the coffee table. Your fingers wrap around the katana’s handle, pulling it up just enough to cut the zip tie and the palm of your hand. Licking the blood off your hand, you sit up and free up your legs.. The insurgent is backed into a corner, jabbing at Polly with a pocket knife. Polly is holding up a small side table like a shield.</p>
<p>Valiantly you point the katana at the insurgents chest, and it occurs to you that you have no idea how to use this thing. Turns out that encyclopedic knowledge of seasons one through seven of Naruto doesn’t actually translate to a practical skill, nor a willingness to kill.</p>
<p>“Nice sword,” says the insurgent, slowly raising her hands in surrender. “How about-”</p>
<p>The door slams open hard enough to rattle the whole house. In the other room you hear something fall over. Hopefully not more of your limited edition figures. Barry stands tall and imposing in the doorway. She stretches her arm out, pointing at the insurgent.</p>
<p>“Get!” She barks, and in charges Cord, teeth bared. Cord tackles the insurgent to the ground. You scramble out the front door, Polly behind you. “In! In! In!” Barry gestures to the van. The three of you pile in, you in the passenger seat and Polly in the back, leaving Cord to fight your battles. Barry struggles with her seatbelt before slamming on the gas out of your driveway.</p>
<p>“Thank God you’re here,” you say.</p>
<p>“Are we just going to leave her there?” Polly says, palms flat against the glass.</p>
<p>“Cord’s sturdy, she’ll be fine. It’d be better to get to safety when you’re unarmed- er-” she side-eyes the katana in your lap, “mostly unarmed.” Barry’s scowls, knocking herself in the forehead with her palm. “I shouldn’t have let you two go out! Especially after an Insurgency run in like that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”</p>
<p>You open your mouth to give some variation of <em>it’s not your fault</em>, but in this case it definitely is her fault.</p>
<p>“I thought we had it handled…” Polly mutters, arms crossed. “The woman back there… She shot me with something. It looked like it should’ve hurt me, but it didn’t do anything.”</p>
<p>Barry glances over her shoulder for half a second. “You look fine, but I’ll get you to Ruth.”</p>
<p>“She was wearing this uniform I saw before,” Polly continues, “Back at Spicy Crust. What did she want from us?”</p>
<p>“She had an MCD tattoo on her ankle,” you add. “Do we know if MCD knows about the anomaly?”</p>
<p>“MCD?”</p>
<p>“I can’t imagine what they’d want with this place, unless they’re looking to bulldoze this city for real estate.” Barry considers this. “I should get you two back to base before we do anything.”</p>
<p>“Sounds good.” You turn to Polly. “MCD is like… they buy and sell anomalies basically. If they’re here it means they think our, uh… <em>Hole</em> is valuable.” You turn pink at your own poor wording.</p>
<p>Barry lets out a sharp laugh. “If MCD is poking their noses in then the Foundation might send some real back-up.” She leans in and squints at the windshield. “Damn it’s foggy.”</p>
<p>“You should be careful, I thought the fog would throw off a tail but that insurgent still snuck up on us. It would be bad to lead them to our base.”</p>
<p>Polly perks up. “We were being followed earlier?”</p>
<p>Your back goes straight. “I mean- I mean uh- I didn’t want to freak you out!”</p>
<p>“I’ll take the extra long route if necessary,” Barry says, ignoring your floundering. “Though, hopefully if Cord can capture that agent then we can get some much needed information.”</p>
<p><em>Speak of the devil</em>, Barry’s phone rings. She draws it out and answers.</p>
<p><em>“Sir?”</em></p>
<p>“What’s your status?” It’s hard for you not to latch onto the hope in Barry’s voice. This is the most <em>normal</em> you’ve seen Barry in a long time, a far cry from the rock bottom she hit only a few hours ago. It’s been a while since she’s seemed confident in her work.</p>
<p><em>“I’m afraid I’ve lost track of the agent.”</em></p>
<p>Barry’s expression drops and so does your spirit. “Are you sure you can’t track her? Get her scent in the air?”</p>
<p><em>“She’s a dangerous thaumaturge. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring her in.”</em> There’s a crackle of static. <em>“Permission to retreat, sir?”</em></p>
<p>You open your mouth to say something, once again before deciding what it is you want to say. Polly lurches forward from the backseat, grabbing Barry’s shoulders.</p>
<p>“Stop!” She shouts and everyone jumps. Barry hits the brakes hard enough to send everyone forward.</p>
<p><em>“Is everything alright sir!?”</em></p>
<p>Both of you look at Polly.</p>
<p>“There’s one of those <em>Nothings</em> in front of us,” Polly says, voice weak. Now that it’s been pointed out, you notice how the headlights don’t penetrate the fog after a certain point. It isn't like the usual fog, more like a wall your light can’t pass.</p>
<p>“<em>Shit</em>, that’s the worst possible place!” Barry lifts up her phone. “Try to track down the insurgent. If you can’t find her, then try to meet us one your way back to the base. And tread carefully, we ran into a <em>Hole</em> here.”</p>
<p><em>“Understood.”</em> Click!</p>
<p>Barry pockets her phone and puts the car in reverse. “I’m gonna need your eyes here, sweetheart. I’m not keen on driving into sweet nonexistence. If you two could switch seats even…”</p>
<p>You don’t need more prompting to shuffle over the seats into the back. You put your hand on Polly’s shoulder, making her pause.</p>
<p>“I just wanted to thank you for thinking fast back there. Saving my skin and all.”</p>
<p>She smiles and pats your shoulder. “Any time.” Your face grows hot, your heart audible.</p>
<p><em>Careful, Lancaster, that’s a married woman.</em></p>
<p>Polly crawls into the front. You are now, without a single doubt in your mind, utterly sure that you are the most useless person in this car. You can’t even use the katana in your lap, the leather saya now stained with your blood.</p>
<p>Being useless has never particularly bothered you, if anything you considered it a skill. No one relied on you so you could never let anyone down. For the longest time, it was almost a game to you, to see just how little effort you could actually put in before someone called you out. You’ve always been a programmer at heart.</p>
<p>This is most certainly why you ended up here.</p>
<p>With a long hiss, the car stops dead in its tracks. Perking up, you lean over Barry’s shoulder. Brows furrowed, Barry slams her fist into the dashboard repeatedly while stomping on the pedal. The car only offers a few weak sputters in response.</p>
<p>“The fuck…?” Barry mutters.</p>
<p>“Are we out of gas?” Polly says, noticing the gauge before you do. “How the hell are you guys <em>government</em> and out of fucking gas!?”</p>
<p>“I’m <em>sorry</em> that keeping the <em>goddamn emergency backup car</em> in tip top fucking shape wasn’t my first priority! Fuck me!” Barry throws her hands in the air, smacking them against the car roof.</p>
<p>An opportunity presents itself, and uncharacteristically, you take it, craning your head around to look out the windows. While you can’t see any street signs, out of the back window you can see the sign for <em>Sunny’s Creamy Pastries</em> and you know exactly where you are.</p>
<p>“Tone, sir? I know where a gas station is. I could go while you two lay low here.”</p>
<p>“I like where your head's at, I don’t like the idea of splitting up here though, especially with the night we’ve been having. We’ll go as a group.” Barry hops out of the car and you follow suit.</p>
<p>“What, am I coming too?” Polly asks, sticking her head out the door. “Shouldn’t someone stick around and watch the car?”</p>
<p>“Yes, come on. I don’t need any more of my people stumbling head first into Nothing. The car will be fine.” She makes a swiping motion with her hand.</p>
<p>Circling around to the back, Barry opens the truck and pulls out two empty gas canisters. Both of them are promptly shoved into your arms. You struggle for a moment to get the katana around your back without putting anything down.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Barry nudges you. “Don’t be so tense, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” She reaches her arms out, pauses mid motion, and settles on giving you a pat on the back.</p>
<p>The three of you shuffle forward, awkwardly standing shoulder to shoulder. Technically, you are the group leader, as you’re the only one who knows where the gas station is. Polly has to be standing towards the front of the brigade, lest you fall prey to an antimeme. And in her nature as MTF commander, Barry also feels the need to be in the front.</p>
<p>A real blind awkwardly bumping into the blind.</p>
<p>The bright, blindingly so, lights of the gas station cut through the fog. In the haze, the lights give it an oddly halo-like ring.</p>
<p>“Alright.” Barry turns on her heel, settling her hand on your shoulder and Polly’s. “Be quick about it. I’m going to make a scene inside.” She darts inside.</p>
<p>“Wait-” you slap your hand over Polly’s mouth before she can give away your position. With a frown, shove shoves your hand away. “Are we stealing?”</p>
<p>“Haven’t you ever?”</p>
<p>Through the stained windows you can see Barry approach the person inside. While you don’t read lips, you can tell by how she emotes with her hands that she’s really making a show of herself. Perfect for letting you sneak around unnoticed.</p>
<p>“Are you really telling me that you people can’t just afford to pay for gas?” Despite her complaints, Polly obediently jams the nozzle into the canister. You do the same at the pump next to hers.</p>
<p>“You’d be surprised by how often it’s quicker and necessary to resort to… well this.” Your eyes flick between Barry and the slowly filling canister. <em>If only it could go a little faster</em>.</p>
<p>You take out the katana, using it to puncture the gas tank. Gas spills out, quickly overfilling your canister. Picking up what you’re putting down. Polly butts up next to you and fills her canister too.</p>
<p>“Do we wait for her?” Polly asks.</p>
<p>You feel so exposed with your back facing the fog. <em>Fuck</em>, you think, <em>why’s she have to ask me what to do? I’ve never made an important decision in my life</em>.</p>
<p>“We should get back to the car, Tone will catch up.” Slowly, still crouching, you shift backwards, letting the fog obscure your vision. Into the darkness you retreat.</p>
<p>“Do you even know where we left the car? It’s so dark out?”</p>
<p>“Of course, it couldn’t be all that far-” A pair of headlights flick on before your eyes, leaving you momentarily blind. You cry out, dropping the canister of gas to shield your eyes. You hear Polly gasp beside you.</p>
<p>When your vision clears, you see the insurgent sitting on the hood of the Foundation vehicle. A grin splits for face, light shining off her pearly teeth.</p>
<p>“Evening ladies. I’d like to have a nice chat.”</p>
<p><em>Oh Ayla. This never should’ve had to be your responsibility.</em></p>
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<p>"<a href="/ayla-losing-dogs">2 - Ayla - Losing Dogs</a>" by kingofmice, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/ayla-losing-dogs">https://scpwiki.com/ayla-losing-dogs</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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Your name is Ayla Lancaster, or at least that’s what people call you, and you were twelve years old when you watched your sister get snapped in half. Your sister was twice your age at the time, and your sole guardian. In an effort to bring you outside more, she brought you on a hiking trail.
It was a beautiful day, the sun high in the sky, just enough clouds to offer a bit of shade, the sound of the wind blowing through the trees was wonderful. She held your little hand in her own and led you down a rock lined path. You wandered off the beaten trail and, being a good sister, she followed you. You dropped to the ground to watch a beatle crawl over a pinecone; you heard the trees creek and felt a shadow pass overhead.
You turned back around just in time to see a //tree// stand up straight with the top half of your sister in what was unmistakably a mouth. She didn’t even get a chance to scream, and neither did you. The creature’s many eyes passed right over you. It chewed, swallowed, and disappeared among the trees, leaving you alone with a pair of disembodied legs.
For the next fourteen hours you stayed there, frozen to the spot. You didn’t cry, you didn’t sob, you didn’t scream, too afraid even the slightest squeak would attract that monster back to your position. Even when the sun setted and the air grew so cold you could see your breath turn white before your eyes, you remained.
That’s where //they// found you, curled up in a bush, next to a puddle of blood, soaked in every fluid imaginable.
Ten, or maybe twelve people in black armor appeared out of the woodworks. All of them wore heavy black helmets, obscuring any human features. They were halfway through shoveling your sister’s remains into a bag when one of them noticed you. You couldn’t understand their muffled words through their helmets, but you recognized when one of them pointed right at you.
They approached you slowly, hands outstretched, careful not to frighten the scared little animal you are. They formed a wall around you and, once they deemed you were not a threat, one reached out and took your hand. Your tiny pale fingers slotted between the thick padded gloves. Once freed from the forest’s grasp, they wiped the dirt off your cheeks and feed you into the back of a black van.
The seats in the van were stiff, designed for capacity not comfort. The weighted blanket draped over your shoulders does little to help. Forcing the words, you asked if they’re the //Men in Black//. One of them laughed and another humored you by saying yes.
After a bumpy ride sandwiched between two adults, you’re brought inside and put in a room somehow even stuffier than the van. The first face you saw, after seeing your sister lose her’s, is a charming older woman in a lab coat. She slid into the seat across from you, notebook in one hand, pen in the other, and asked you some questions. Once satisfied with your answers, you’re finally offered a glass of fresh water.
You woke up in your bed, feeling like you’ve hardly slept at all. You remember being told your sister died in a car crash. You remember a closed casket funeral. You remember wondering why you didn’t cry, even as the coffin was lowered into the ground, even as you returned to an empty home to pack your stuff, even as you felt the last of her drift from your life. These days you barely remember her at all.
You don’t remember a thing about a hike or strange beast hidden among the trees or men and women in black helmets. But, as your hand yanks down the fire alarm, you turn your head just enough to see Cord bound out of her seat. On instinct, every muscle in your body tenses at once. Anything to keep you still, to keep you quiet, to keep you from being noticed.
For just a second you are a twelve year old kid again, and Cord has the top half of your sister in her mouth.
It’s an effort to shake yourself out of it. You have a job to do, and by God are you going to do it. You’ve been in the care of the //Men in Black// for years now, none of this is new to you. Even if your body feels nothing but terror, //you’re better than this//.
As you stumble out of the //hole in the wall// Cord created, your heart races. You dig your fingers into your chest until it hurts, as if you could grab your heart hard enough to calm it down. Behind you the //Spicy Crust Pizza that never was// disappears and in front of you lays the bestial form of your colleague and you feel nothing but //fear//.
Your sister died in a car crash, you’re sure of that. Even now, with everything you’ve learned since being a scared little kid, you’ve never thought to question that belief.
Through the sound of your blood rushing in your ears you can make out Barry’s shouts. You watch her throw a sobbing Polly onto the ground and your dignity sparks up. Filling your aching lungs with much needed air, you speak up.
“Hey! Lighten up!”
Barry turns her gaze onto you sharp enough to make your knees buckle. That small prey animal feeling consumes you once again. Your gaze falls to the concrete, your body begging you to cower and shrink.
“Lighten up?” Barry asks, the corner of her eye twitching. She takes a heavy step toward you and, involuntarily, you take a step back. “You want me to //lighten up?//”
Any words you could say to defend yourself choke you. You’re out in the open and yet you’re cornered. You back up until the back of your foot hits the sidewalk and you trip. Everything around you turns into one blur of color and motion. Your lungs burn, every breath sharp and painful. Looking into the empty space where you assume there must’ve been a restaurant once, doesn’t make you feel any better.
“And you!” You flinch even though the shout isn’t directed at you. “Turn back to normal! I know I //did not// give you permission to do anything!”
The beast groans, a sharp, pained howl. Ruth stands up straight, taking her weight off of Cord as she begins to compress. The sound of snapping bones and ripping sinew echo around the empty parking lot. She’s back to a form that’s familiar.
A form that’s //safe//.
You do nothing as Barry strikes Cord across the face. What could you do? You were always too much of a coward to speak up. You rub your cheek, imagining a bruise spreading across your fair skin. Ruth is the one to charge valiantly forward, but she’s not exactly in fighting gear. She loses her balance on her heels, giving Barry a chance to shove her aside.
“As for the rest of you!” Barry turns, her eyes scanning across the scene. “I can’t fucking believe you guys! You couldn’t even coordinate for //two fucking seconds//! Do you want to end up like- to end up like…?”
You recognize the sort of fear that spreads across her features. She stumbles back, as if shoved. Sweat runs down her forehead, her eyes dart around, and her cheeks puff like she’s holding back vomit. For a moment her face is pale with pure terror.
From her pockets she produces a device, the //Amnestics Baton//, as you’ve come to know it. An experimental sort of contraption the Foundation would only hand out to people like you. She jams it in her forehead, making an audible pained noise. You suck in a sharp gasp.
You don’t trust those things. They’re too new, too rough, not as clean or as trustworthy as the pills and liquids your employers usually use. Sure, you understand the need for new sources of amnestics, but that doesn’t stop your personal discomfort.
Barry lowers the device, a glassy look in her eyes. A shiver runs down your spine. It is… unfortunately rather common for long time agents to use amnestics for personal use, Barry being no exception.
“Phew, what a night, huh?” She says. “Cord, my keys?” Silently, Cord reaches into her dress pocket, and hands Barry her keys. “Let’s go home, alright? It’s too late for work.” She approaches her car, expecting everyone to follow suit.
You stand and brush the dust off yourself. Every part of you feels weak, rung dry, and you struggle to fill your lungs. You’re hungry, you can’t remember but you doubt you got to eat dinner. There’s nothing to do but get up and get out of this parking lot.
Cord sits between you and Ruth, you’re very careful to make sure Cord isn’t touching you. Ruth wipes blood off her face with a wad of tissues, Cord keeps her eyes forward, expression blank. The seat belt digs into your chest just a little too tightly.
As you pass by residential neighborhoods, you consider asking Barry to drop you off at your house, but the tension is so high the thought of speaking makes you feel ill. Tensions are always high after a run in with those //Chaos Insurgency freaks//, but the air in here is different.
Polly is the most shaken, the sole member of your team that really knows what’s just happened. While everyone else shuffles back into the headquarters, Polly stands frozen in the parking lot. You glance between the abandoned laundromat and Polly’s pale face, noticing the slight tremor in her legs. After a moment of deliberation, you approach, careful not to startle her.
“Hey? Are you okay?”
“Huh? Uh, yes I- I think so…” She won’t look at you.
“You don’t have to be. Okay- I mean. You don’t have to be okay.” You scratch the back of your neck. “No one’s breach past the veil is easy.”
She looks at you and it occurs to you everything you just said sounded dumb. “Veil?”
“You know-” you say, knowing she doesn’t, “the line between the normal and the screwy. I mean, you didn’t believe in memory erasing holes before today, did you” She doesn’t answer, stuck staring at her own shaky hands. You clear your throat. “Anyway, you’re gonna help us make sure no one has to experience what you did.”
A very generous and very false way of putting her job, but it seems to calm her down. You try to offer her a smile, which is not an expression you’re used to. Something important strikes you. You pat your pockets and find them devoid of what you need.
“Shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I had something for you. I left it in my office.” You really hoped that you wouldn’t have to go back to your office tonight, but you think you should. “I’m going to go get it. Don’t- don’t go anywhere.”
Polly looks at you and gazes across the empty parking lot surrounding you. “Alright.”
You turn tail and trek down into headquarters. It’s not uncommon for a Foundation outpost to be hidden under abandoned or otherwise inconspicuous places, but being buried under this place just feels like a slap in the face on top of the other slap that was being assigned here. It wasn’t that the Foundation couldn’t afford to put you up somewhere nicer, it’s that the Foundation doesn’t care to.
The //Foundation//, the mysterious presence that decided it was too unethical to let a town get eaten but it was totally fine if a few hundred people went missing as long as no one remembered them. The //Foundation//, who burst into your college dorm when you were nineteen and offered you a job. The //Foundation//, who once found you crying in the middle of the forest covered in your sister’s blood.
Barry’s office door is cracked open. You sneak a peek inside as you pass. Her chair is swiveled around, you can’t see her face but she isn't moving. It feels like you should say something, ask if she’s okay, but you can’t bring yourself to.
It’s hard to separate //Barry Tone//, the funny, often even charming person who could’ve been your friend in another life, with //Baritone//, the person who is currently your boss. You move on, past her office and the makeshift dorms.
In your office, fresh off your 3D printer, is a little badge. An outlined circle with three arrows crossing its contour and pointing to the center. Below that the letters S-C-P. Secure, Contain, Protect. The Foundation’s supposed motto, a motto that never seems to apply to anything. Usually these would be made of medal, not resin and plastic, but the Foundation isn’t going to keep sending you badges for every sad woman Barry dragged up to fill in.
You flip it over, checking to make sure the engraving on the back printed correctly, taking a moment also to pick off the extra resin. Satisfied, you pocket it, and for good measure you also remember to pocket your walkie talkie. Barry insists that phones are much safer and more efficient, but you try to make use of everything you have.
Polly is sitting on the sidewalk, rolling her faux-silver ring between her fingers. She perks up as you reappear.
“Welcome to the team.” You squat down and hand it off. She examines it, flipping it around in her hand.
“‘M-T-F’?” Her eyebrows furrow.
“Mobile Task Force. That’s us.” You jam a thumb towards yourself.
//MTF Gamma-86 aka “Losing Dogs”.// That’s the name Barry gave it, or, at least it’s the name it had when you joined on. A Mobile Task Force in title alone.
The thing about Mobile Task Forces, first and foremost, is that they’re respected. They’re disposable, yes, the Foundation loses at least five a year, but they’re respected. A group of highly trained elites willing to lay down their lives for the Foundation’s ideals. //The best of the best of the best, sir!//
Of //course// they’re respected.
You’re no trained elite, you’re not even a soldier. You’re a programmer, who, for as much loyalty as you possess, would not care to die, not even for a supposedly good cause. A quick glance at your last paycheck will show you how much //respect// someone like you garnered.
You don’t have some big threat to contain. No, the Foundation gave up on //containment// long before you ever washed up here. Your job was to make sure the Foundation //never// has to hear from you again. It doesn’t matter who dies, it doesn’t matter what //vital// teammates you lose. As long as no one knows about the problem and it costs the //Foundation// nothing, they could care less about you.
They could care less about anyone in this backwater middle of nowhere.
//A lot of losing dogs indeed.//
You have no reason to say any of that to her. Pretty soon she’ll come to understand her place in this group, just as you did. You reach into your pocket, running your finger over your own badge. Made of metal, back when the Foundation cared about things like that.
“Kinda funny acronym, though,” you say to no one in particular.
“I- I want to go home.” You can hear the pain in that statement. You swallow down your guilt, letting it settle down in your stomach with the rest of your feelings.
“It’s late out. I’ll walk you home.” She squints. “I mean- We were just attacked. It might not be safe for you to be out alone. Us ladies gotta stick together, you know.” You playfully punch her in the shoulder and immediately regret that action.
“Yeah… Alright.” She brushes the spot you just touched and puts her ring back on. Trailing behind her, you walk down lamp lit streets. A thick fog rolls in, obscuring everything in gray.
Her front door is laying out on her lawn, you can picture Cord doing that. Like she doesn’t even see it, Polly walks right past it into her home and immediately drops to her knees. You pick up the door and slide it back into place.
//Oh this is definitely not safe.//
“Hey, uh,” You kneel beside her, tentatively resting a hand on her side. She’s crying, you can’t blame her, you definitely cried on your first day on the job. “You’ve got a nice place here,” you say, glancing around the room. It’s certainly a lot more lived in than any place you’ve ever stayed.
Polly’s eyes slowly gaze around the room, as if seeing it for the very first time. Both of you are on a shaggy blue carpet, in front of you is the kitchen, to your right is the living room, and to your left is a staircase. You’re too focused on the door to see Polly stand up, drag her fingers across the wall, and pick up the two jackets on the floor.
You decide to wander around the living room, taking note of the interesting wooden carvings and weaved fabrics and photos hung up on the wall. A photo of a younger looking Polly next to an older woman with braided hair and an intricate tattoo below her mouth. Before you can examine this too closely, an interesting display of torture devices steals your attention.
//What else could these be?// You pick up a rusty looking tool of some sort and turn it around in your hand. It’s almost like a pair of scissors with curved blades. On the selves you see several oddly shaped utensils, some sort of icepick, and several jagged blades. Why would anyone have these?
“Oh, hey, I thought I lost you,” Polly says, flicking the lightswitch on. With a start, you drop the tool with a heavy clatter. “Do you like my collection?”
“Your uh- what is this?”
“Vintage surgery tools. I used to uh- frequent antique shops and I find them cool.” She picks up a pair of old tweezers and pinches them together. “I even have some old medical journals.” Dropping to the ground, she drags her knuckles across the books on the bottom two shelves.
“Cool,” you say, genuinely, though unsure what else to add. Unwittingly, your gaze keeps turning to the front door. A breeze might knock it open. When you look back at Polly she has tears running down her face. “H-hey! What’s wrong?” People don’t tend to come to you for their personal emotions, hell you barely deal with your own emotions as is. //Is it something you’re doing?//
“It’s just uh-” She chokes, rubbing her palm against the slightly fuzzy velvet cover of the old book. “I think there’s something important about this stuff, but I can’t remember. And think it’s because of- of…”
She drops the book, which hits the ground hard enough to rattle the shelf, her hands remain outstretched, Her fingers open and close, as if attempting to grasp something you just can’t see. Whatever is happening, it makes you deeply uncomfortable.
“I don’t think we should be here!” You announce, snapping Polly out of her trance. “It’s not safe, what with your door broken and the Chaos Insurgency out.”
She blinks away tears. “The who?”
“The uh-” you consider how best to explain this without freaking her out further. “So we work for the SCP Foundation, but then there’s also the Chaos Insurgency. They’re like… Um, terrorists who want to weaponize the anomaly here. They suck like that.”
Polly nods slowly. “They attacked us at the pizza place.”
“They did?” That sounds about right, and yet you can’t quite scratch the itch in your brain.
“I think so,” Polly says, still nodding. “Where are we supposed to go?”
“My house, if you want? Or back to the base. Base would be safer.”
“Your house sounds good. I need to go check on something first.” Before you have much to say, Polly’s already halfway up the stairs. Like the dog you are, you consider standing guard at the door. Instead, you creep into her room behind her.
The room is a mess, papers and clothes and trinkets strewn across the floor. Cord’s work once again. From the doorway you watch her gather up and examine a collection of clown dolls. A few of them have broken or shattered, porcelain pieces littering the ground. With your help, she readjusts the bed and rights a shelf. She starts placing the clowns back on display.
“So… are you like a clown person?” you say, once again failing to make any form of conversation.
“You know, at this point I’m not even sure anymore.” She lets the shards spill out of the palm of her hand and stands up. “I thought I’d find some pictures, maybe a record of some kind, a journal maybe? Something to confirm my own memory.” She’s not looking at you.
Uncomfortable, you fidget with your hands and make a clicking sort of sound with your tongue. “Did you know clowns are real?”
“What?”
“Yeah, they’re like a species, not just people in costumes. Well, most are just people in costumes, but there’s also like… like a species.” You freeze, becoming self aware of the nonsensical hand motions you’ve been making.
She blinks very slowly. Suddenly your shoes become very fascinating to you. Once done with the clowns, she crosses the room to her desk. You make yourself useful by picking up all the papers and pens off the ground. When she opens up her laptop you catch a glimpse of the Parawatch logo at the top of her screen.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
##blue|**SunnyOrchid**## 2/18/2013 (Monday) 16:01:44 #39348719
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Hi! My name is Apollo or Polly, 27, Māori, aspiring artist currently living with my girlfriend, V, in the Midwest. I started this thread to lay down some of the weird things I see in this town, because I need to keep a record of this stuff. I’ll start with something that’s been bothering me for ages: Every single company in this town has [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/pickman-blank-proposal the same initials].
I get my morning coffee from Sunny’s Creamy Pastries, I work as a waitress for Spicy Crust Pizza, I drop clean my clothes at the Soak Clean Plush and wash them with Sasha’s Cleaning Products, I get my groceries from Super Convenient Produce, which sells Soap Corpse Products, in the summer I take a dip at Super Cool Pools, I fill my gas at a place called Sales on Canadian Petrole, I pass by a neon bar sign reading Sakes Ciders Pallini, even most of the houses here are owned by Safe Community Protection. V tells me it’s all coincidence, but after this many times it goes way past coincidence!
(You could say I’m Suspicious about the Possibility it's all Coincidence. Wait, no that’s not quite right-)
I’ve tried to look into some of these companies and I can barely find records on half of them. A lot of the businesses here don’t last long, it’s pretty common for people to be fooled by the low property values only to realize no one lives here so there’s no one to buy their shit. Anything that survives can be abbreviated as SCP, and I swear up and down there’s one group that owns everything here. My biggest question is, well, why? How much can monopolizing this one backwater nowhere be worth?
I’ll try to update this soon with other weird things, this isn’t even scratching the surface!
[[/div]]
Polly scrolls through the years of forum posts on this thread, expressing a mix of baffled embarrassment, but you can’t help but let our mouth gape in awe. It’s been your job for quite some time now to keep records of strange happenings, to figure out what’s going missing, where, and how to cover it up. And here, right under your nose the entire time, Polly has been doing the exact same thing, where you’d never even think to look.
//How// did you miss this? And moreso, how did //I// miss this? Have I been too respectful of her privacy? Polly hits the bottom of the thread, pausing to stare at her most recent post from just three months ago.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
##blue|**SunnyOrchid**## 6/13/2019 (Thursday) 12:32:18 #39348719
------
My co-worker is fucking gaslighting me over the stupidist thing. I asked her how her cat was doing, since I’ll pet sit for her occasionally, and she looked at me like I was crazy and said she doesn’t have a cat. I tried to pry for details, pointing out how she’d drop the little guy off at my house sometimes and she agreed that she did stop by my house during those days, but swore up and down that she just didn’t own a cat. When I pointed out that she had cat hair on her pants she seemed surprised. The worst part was when I went to complain about this to my wife and V insisted that my co-worker was right and that I’ve never pet sat for her.
This isn’t even the first time something like this has happened either. I used to go to this art workshop in town, back when I really thought I could make a full time living out of painting, and one day one of my friends called me and asked me for a ride. I told him yes of course, and then I asked what happened to his car, and he told me he doesn’t own a car. Did he sell his car? No, he’s just never owned one. I ask how he’s been getting to work or to the class all this time if he’s never owned a car, and he couldn’t answer me. Later he called me again to tell me he found a record from 2013 that detailed his purchase of a car (from Secure Car Place if you’d believe it). He remembers going to the car dealership, and surely he must’ve been getting places, but he doesn’t have this car. How do you lose a car???
And the weirdest and most confusing time this has happened is my boss’s disappearing husband. I’m not super close to my boss, but I’d talk to her husband when he showed up at our job, until one day his appearances just stopped. I asked the others where they thought he was, and none of them knew who I was talking about. When I asked her directly I got the same response. Okay, I think, maybe they had a messy break up that I didn’t know about and no one wants to talk about it. But his picture is still up on the wall where my boss put it, and she still wears her wedding ring.
How does a person just disappear? And why am I the only one who’s noticed?
[[/div]]
“Oh wow,” Polly says, softly, hand reaching up to rest on her cheek. “it’s been right under my nose the whole time and I… I just couldn’t see it... I think that I’m… ready to leave.”
“Oh, yeah um, alright.”
You lead her back down the stairs and wait by the door. She pauses at the bottom of the stairs, looking down the hall. “One moment,” she says and steps into the bathroom. She comes out holding a pill bottle. //Estradiol//. “In case I don’t make it back here for a while.” By the door there’s a table with a drawer, from which Polly produces a keyring. “We should drive to your place.”
“Smart.” On your insistence, you take the driver’s seat. Polly packs in beside you, eyes glued to the window. In your detour the fog has only gotten heavier, even with the headlights on you can barely see a few feet in front of you. Carefully, you creep down the streets, with the hope you aren’t sweating too much.
For a while the only sound is the rumble of tires against the bumpy road. Turning on the radio might make you look weird, but if the silence goes on too long you feel awkward. You should say something, anything to distract from the situation. //Come on Ayla, just speak up!//
Right as you open your mouth, something in the rearview mirror catches your eyes. Just barely visible through the fog is the front of a car. They have their headlights off. A paranoid woman you are, you make a sharp turn away from your house, just in case it's a tail you want to throw off.
The turn is enough to jostle Polly. She looks at you with a frown, and as usual you choke on your words. You don’t want to say anything, she’s already had a hard enough day she doesn’t need more anxieties. But you definitely should say //something// right now.
You flick on the radio.
//“-me back to the Superstitious Conspiracy Podcast, late show addition. I am your humble host, Alicja Kondraki, back to you with the truth the Shadow Government doesn’t want you to know! Tonight I’ve got some very interesting reports on hundreds of inmates disappearing from prisons. Where are they going? And more importantly, what does the Shadow Government need all of them for?”//
The staticy conspiracy podcast fades into background noise. It sounds familiar, like the radio shows the Foundation funds for the spread of misinformation. Polly stares at you for a few seconds before returning to her own head. Situation haphazardly defused.
“So… are you into this sort of thing? Conspiracies?” you ask, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel. The woman on the podcast rambles on about her theories on shadow governments and missing people, all of which aren’t quite as unfounded as they sound. You can no longer see your supposed tail, but you make a few more zig-zags anyway.
“Not really… I- I remember tuning into this show a lot to make fun of it with…” She trails off, eyes glossing over. “It’s hard not to feel really bad for the lady who runs this show, and the sort of people who call in. She talks about how she started this show because she thinks the shadow government killed her brother.” She chokes on air, eyes glistening with tears. “And you know with what’s happened today, I’m not even sure if she’s wrong.”
“Yeah…” If you weren’t driving you’d slam your head into the wheel. Every single time you’ve opened your mouth tonight you’ve just made her more upset. You finally give into your impulses and shut your mouth until you reach your home.
Stepping out of the car, you creep towards the edge of the driveway to glance around. Unsurprisingly, the fog does not yield to your gaze, and you see nothing. You choose to believe that if someone was following you, they aren’t anymore.
“Ayla?” Polly calls out. You speed walk to your front door and unlock it for her, trying to hide your Winry Rockbell keychain in the palm of your hand.
“Sorry I- don’t usually have guests…” Normally you're perfectly fine sleeping on a cot back at headquarters, easier to get work done without a commute. You’re not used to having other people around, let alone a pretty girl in your house.
There’s a pair of plastic katana’s over your doorway, under which are the words //Here I Was//, written in sharpie. “My bedroom is through here.” You weave through your living room, past the kitchen, and into your bedroom. At least your bedroom has remained somewhat put together, if only because you haven’t been residing in it.
Hanging off your bed’s headboard is a checkerboard hat. Your walls are covered in posters. Misa Amane, Misato Katsuragi, Faye Valentine, and several other women I could not name. Propped up against your closet door is a real katana (//which you’ve named Spirit Albarn, even though that guy was a scythe not a sword//), or as real as you could get at the local mall. The Foundation doesn’t like the use of non-approved weapons, so it’s remained unused. And of course, you have your glass display case of collectable figures, some still carefully preserved in packaging for no clear reason whatsoever.
“Nice pillow,” Polly says, pinching the corner of a body pillow and lifting it up. Quickly and not suspiciously at all, you snatch the pillow, hugging the other side to your chest.
“Haha, yeah.” You back up into the door to your closet, knocking your katana over. In one fluid motion you open your closet and jam the pillow inside, next to the thousands of other things you’re too embarrassed to let yourself enjoy. “Uh, so here’s my bed. It's all yours.”
Polly sits down, sinking into the mattress. She looks hollow, tired, much like you did on your first day. You pick up your katana and sling it over your shoulder. You’re about to leave her to her thoughts when she calls out.
“Wait!” You freeze in the doorway. “I- I need to know I’m making the right choice here. There’s no way I’m //qualified// for any of this. I mean- I mean I was an //art history// major.”
“You’d be surprised what the Foundation can make use of. I mean, there’s a whole group of people who make like-” you make some sort of sparkly hand gesture, “- magic artwork. And even then, the Foundation will pay to train you in anything.”
With some hesitation, Polly nods. “Like the military.”
“Except there’s no honor in this.”
She snorts. “I wouldn’t really say there’s honor in joining the military.”
“You wouldn’t?” A beat passes. “Some people think so, but no one would make that mistake here.”
A moment of silence, the two of you stare into each other's eyes. Polly nods again, expression even harder to gauge than before. “Okay.”
Under the impression that this conversation is over, you close the door. Down the hall you lock yourself in your bathroom. It’s been a while since you’ve used an actual shower, rather than the group showers. It feels nice after the day you’ve had, to pretend like all of your troubles are just washing down the drain. Stepping out, you wriggle back into the clothes you just took off, towel wrapped around your head. You grab a large quilt from the hallway closet and drag it to the couch.
You lay the katana on the ground next to you, where it’s slightly obscured by your coffee table. Engraved on the katana’s leather saya are the words //Here I Was//. You run your finger over the letters, pressing your thumb into the indent.
…
You’re in the woods again, walking the unfamiliar trail. Your feet seem to know where they’re supposed to be before you do. Even as you walk off the beaten path each step feels natural, like you’ve done it before.
Kneeling in the grass and pine needles is a little boy. In his small hand he holds a sharp rock. He hangs his head low, tongue stuck out between his lips in focus. Into the base of the tree he carves: //Here I Was//. Like a prayer- no, a plea. //Here I was, know this is where I used to be, please remember that I Was Here//.
He looks up over his shoulder and smiles, showing off the gap between his teeth. You want to reach out to him, tell him to leave this place before he gets hurt. A mouth descends and bisects you.
…
Something pulls you out of your hazy dreams, though in the darkness of your living room you can’t immediately parse what. The lightswitch is by the front door, you stand up to flip it. A strong gloved hand wraps around your mouth and grips your jaw closed. The sharp edge of a pocket knife is pressed against your throat. Your Adam's apple bobs as your mouth dries out.
“If you make a sound, I’ll gut you and then I’ll gut your little friend in the other room. Is that understood?” A husky voice hisses directly into your ear. A shiver runs down your spine. “Nod if you understand.”
You nod.
“You seem like a simple person, so I’ll make this very simple for you. Put your hands behind your back.” You obey and feel what is distinctly a zip tie tightening around your wrists. “That’s right.” She kicks you in the back of your knees, forcing you to drop to the ground.
With a good shove, she pushes you over and proceeds to zip tie your ankles together. You squirm onto your side, watching your mysterious attacker rise to her feet. She’s wearing a black jacket with the Chaos Insurgency’s logo on the back, a black chauffeur hat, and most notably to you, sunglasses.
She drops to one knee in front of you, her hand on your chin. “Let’s have a chat, why don’t we? A good woman to woman conversation. What’s your name?”
You swallow a lump in your throat, language coming back to you in pieces. “Ayla. L-lancaster.” You at least feel safe giving her that. Eight years ago someone named Allen Lancaster died, and Ayla Lancaster was born only into the Foundation’s database. There’s nothing the Insurgency can find of you.
The agent clicks her tongue and gives a curt nod. “You know, I had the most interesting dinner today. Well, it was hardly a dinner since I didn’t get to eat. I was sitting with my co-workers, all of us looking at the menus, when this other large group steps in and is seated. That was you in case I wasn’t clear. And we, me and my co-workers, got into a bit of an argument over the girl with blue-tips. Now we could all agree that we’ve never seen her before, but none of them would believe me when I swore up and down that you were missing a member.”
In your left pocket you can feel your walkie talkie digging into your thigh. If you’re willing to dislocate your wrist a little you could grab it. Definitely not when she’s looking right at you.
“And you know what, I couldn’t help but notice that it’s //her// that you’ve got in the other room. So tell me I’m right, that you’re missing someone.”
“She is a replacement,” you concede.
“Yes!” She fist-pumps. “You know I always think that if people would just listen to me they wouldn’t get themselves killed so often. Certainly true for my co-workers.” The agent stiffens, like a deer that’s noticed something. She tilts her head to the side, aiming her ear upwards. “Is there someone else here?”
“No? There’s Nobody else here!”
“Is that the truth?” Not looking at you, the agent stands and begins walking away from you. When she stands you see her pants rise up, revealing an MCD tattoo on her ankle. You don’t have time to consider what this means. Without wasting a second, you squirm and writhe, pushing the walkie out of your pocket. You jam the on button with your pinky finger hard.
//“Hello?”// says Barry.
You roll over and shout into the receiver, “Insurgent at my house now!”
In half a second, the agent flies across the room and stomps your walkie to bits. “You bitch!” She has her hands around your throat and shakes you. Your world spins around you.
The lights blind you for half a second. Like a falcon with a broken wing, Hatsune Miku flies across the air, completely misses the agent, and smashes against the floor. For half a second you’re more worried that it’s one of your expensive ones than you are about the fact you’re being strangled.
“Oh-hoho,” says the agent, loosening her grip on your throat. Polly stands in the hallway, valiantly wielding Chie Satonaka. All of the sudden you wish you forced her to sleep on the couch.
“You let go of her! Or else- or else I’ll hit you!”
The agent laughs and extends her arm, making a firing motion with her finger. A bolt of lightning shoots out of her finger with a defining //crack!// //Damn those Thaumaturges!//
The lightning strikes Polly squarely in the chest and you //know// she’s dead and you //know// it’s your fault you immediately got the newest member killed. Except the lightning immediately dissipates upon making contact with her chest. It fizzles out, doing nothing more than making her hair frizzy.
“Interesting,” is all the agent can say before Polly barrels into her. Rest in pieces Chie Satonaka, I barely knew you.
From your very limited combat training, you recall a way to break a zip tie with a shoelace. You’re not wearing shoes or laces. The plastic is also easy to break with something sharp. You don’t have anything sharp on you except your own wits.
And the katana sitting right within your vision.
While Polly keeps the insurgent busy, you wriggle yourself between the couch and the coffee table. Your fingers wrap around the katana’s handle, pulling it up just enough to cut the zip tie and the palm of your hand. Licking the blood off your hand, you sit up and free up your legs.. The insurgent is backed into a corner, jabbing at Polly with a pocket knife. Polly is holding up a small side table like a shield.
Valiantly you point the katana at the insurgents chest, and it occurs to you that you have no idea how to use this thing. Turns out that encyclopedic knowledge of seasons one through seven of Naruto doesn’t actually translate to a practical skill, nor a willingness to kill.
“Nice sword,” says the insurgent, slowly raising her hands in surrender. “How about-”
The door slams open hard enough to rattle the whole house. In the other room you hear something fall over. Hopefully not more of your limited edition figures. Barry stands tall and imposing in the doorway. She stretches her arm out, pointing at the insurgent.
“Get!” She barks, and in charges Cord, teeth bared. Cord tackles the insurgent to the ground. You scramble out the front door, Polly behind you. “In! In! In!” Barry gestures to the van. The three of you pile in, you in the passenger seat and Polly in the back, leaving Cord to fight your battles. Barry struggles with her seatbelt before slamming on the gas out of your driveway.
“Thank God you’re here,” you say.
“Are we just going to leave her there?” Polly says, palms flat against the glass.
“Cord’s sturdy, she’ll be fine. It’d be better to get to safety when you’re unarmed- er-” she side-eyes the katana in your lap, “mostly unarmed.” Barry’s scowls, knocking herself in the forehead with her palm. “I shouldn’t have let you two go out! Especially after an Insurgency run in like that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
You open your mouth to give some variation of //it’s not your fault//, but in this case it definitely is her fault.
“I thought we had it handled…” Polly mutters, arms crossed. “The woman back there… She shot me with something. It looked like it should’ve hurt me, but it didn’t do anything.”
Barry glances over her shoulder for half a second. “You look fine, but I’ll get you to Ruth.”
“She was wearing this uniform I saw before,” Polly continues, “Back at Spicy Crust. What did she want from us?”
“She had an MCD tattoo on her ankle,” you add. “Do we know if MCD knows about the anomaly?”
“MCD?”
“I can’t imagine what they’d want with this place, unless they’re looking to bulldoze this city for real estate.” Barry considers this. “I should get you two back to base before we do anything.”
“Sounds good.” You turn to Polly. “MCD is like… they buy and sell anomalies basically. If they’re here it means they think our, uh… //Hole// is valuable.” You turn pink at your own poor wording.
Barry lets out a sharp laugh. “If MCD is poking their noses in then the Foundation might send some real back-up.” She leans in and squints at the windshield. “Damn it’s foggy.”
“You should be careful, I thought the fog would throw off a tail but that insurgent still snuck up on us. It would be bad to lead them to our base.”
Polly perks up. “We were being followed earlier?”
Your back goes straight. “I mean- I mean uh- I didn’t want to freak you out!”
“I’ll take the extra long route if necessary,” Barry says, ignoring your floundering. “Though, hopefully if Cord can capture that agent then we can get some much needed information.”
//Speak of the devil//, Barry’s phone rings. She draws it out and answers.
//“Sir?”//
“What’s your status?” It’s hard for you not to latch onto the hope in Barry’s voice. This is the most //normal// you’ve seen Barry in a long time, a far cry from the rock bottom she hit only a few hours ago. It’s been a while since she’s seemed confident in her work.
//“I’m afraid I’ve lost track of the agent.”//
Barry’s expression drops and so does your spirit. “Are you sure you can’t track her? Get her scent in the air?”
//“She’s a dangerous thaumaturge. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring her in.”// There’s a crackle of static. //“Permission to retreat, sir?”//
You open your mouth to say something, once again before deciding what it is you want to say. Polly lurches forward from the backseat, grabbing Barry’s shoulders.
“Stop!” She shouts and everyone jumps. Barry hits the brakes hard enough to send everyone forward.
//“Is everything alright sir!?”//
Both of you look at Polly.
“There’s one of those //Nothings// in front of us,” Polly says, voice weak. Now that it’s been pointed out, you notice how the headlights don’t penetrate the fog after a certain point. It isn't like the usual fog, more like a wall your light can’t pass.
“//Shit//, that’s the worst possible place!” Barry lifts up her phone. “Try to track down the insurgent. If you can’t find her, then try to meet us one your way back to the base. And tread carefully, we ran into a //Hole// here.”
//“Understood.”// Click!
Barry pockets her phone and puts the car in reverse. “I’m gonna need your eyes here, sweetheart. I’m not keen on driving into sweet nonexistence. If you two could switch seats even…”
You don’t need more prompting to shuffle over the seats into the back. You put your hand on Polly’s shoulder, making her pause.
“I just wanted to thank you for thinking fast back there. Saving my skin and all.”
She smiles and pats your shoulder. “Any time.” Your face grows hot, your heart audible.
//Careful, Lancaster, that’s a married woman.//
Polly crawls into the front. You are now, without a single doubt in your mind, utterly sure that you are the most useless person in this car. You can’t even use the katana in your lap, the leather saya now stained with your blood.
Being useless has never particularly bothered you, if anything you considered it a skill. No one relied on you so you could never let anyone down. For the longest time, it was almost a game to you, to see just how little effort you could actually put in before someone called you out. You’ve always been a programmer at heart.
This is most certainly why you ended up here.
With a long hiss, the car stops dead in its tracks. Perking up, you lean over Barry’s shoulder. Brows furrowed, Barry slams her fist into the dashboard repeatedly while stomping on the pedal. The car only offers a few weak sputters in response.
“The fuck…?” Barry mutters.
“Are we out of gas?” Polly says, noticing the gauge before you do. “How the hell are you guys //government// and out of fucking gas!?”
“I’m //sorry// that keeping the //goddamn emergency backup car// in tip top fucking shape wasn’t my first priority! Fuck me!” Barry throws her hands in the air, smacking them against the car roof.
An opportunity presents itself, and uncharacteristically, you take it, craning your head around to look out the windows. While you can’t see any street signs, out of the back window you can see the sign for //Sunny’s Creamy Pastries// and you know exactly where you are.
“Tone, sir? I know where a gas station is. I could go while you two lay low here.”
“I like where your head's at, I don’t like the idea of splitting up here though, especially with the night we’ve been having. We’ll go as a group.” Barry hops out of the car and you follow suit.
“What, am I coming too?” Polly asks, sticking her head out the door. “Shouldn’t someone stick around and watch the car?”
“Yes, come on. I don’t need any more of my people stumbling head first into Nothing. The car will be fine.” She makes a swiping motion with her hand.
Circling around to the back, Barry opens the truck and pulls out two empty gas canisters. Both of them are promptly shoved into your arms. You struggle for a moment to get the katana around your back without putting anything down.
“Hey,” Barry nudges you. “Don’t be so tense, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” She reaches her arms out, pauses mid motion, and settles on giving you a pat on the back.
The three of you shuffle forward, awkwardly standing shoulder to shoulder. Technically, you are the group leader, as you’re the only one who knows where the gas station is. Polly has to be standing towards the front of the brigade, lest you fall prey to an antimeme. And in her nature as MTF commander, Barry also feels the need to be in the front.
A real blind awkwardly bumping into the blind.
The bright, blindingly so, lights of the gas station cut through the fog. In the haze, the lights give it an oddly halo-like ring.
“Alright.” Barry turns on her heel, settling her hand on your shoulder and Polly’s. “Be quick about it. I’m going to make a scene inside.” She darts inside.
“Wait-” you slap your hand over Polly’s mouth before she can give away your position. With a frown, shove shoves your hand away. “Are we stealing?”
“Haven’t you ever?”
Through the stained windows you can see Barry approach the person inside. While you don’t read lips, you can tell by how she emotes with her hands that she’s really making a show of herself. Perfect for letting you sneak around unnoticed.
“Are you really telling me that you people can’t just afford to pay for gas?” Despite her complaints, Polly obediently jams the nozzle into the canister. You do the same at the pump next to hers.
“You’d be surprised by how often it’s quicker and necessary to resort to… well this.” Your eyes flick between Barry and the slowly filling canister. //If only it could go a little faster//.
You take out the katana, using it to puncture the gas tank. Gas spills out, quickly overfilling your canister. Picking up what you’re putting down. Polly butts up next to you and fills her canister too.
“Do we wait for her?” Polly asks.
You feel so exposed with your back facing the fog. //Fuck//, you think, //why’s she have to ask me what to do? I’ve never made an important decision in my life//.
“We should get back to the car, Tone will catch up.” Slowly, still crouching, you shift backwards, letting the fog obscure your vision. Into the darkness you retreat.
“Do you even know where we left the car? It’s so dark out?”
“Of course, it couldn’t be all that far-” A pair of headlights flick on before your eyes, leaving you momentarily blind. You cry out, dropping the canister of gas to shield your eyes. You hear Polly gasp beside you.
When your vision clears, you see the insurgent sitting on the hood of the Foundation vehicle. A grin splits for face, light shining off her pearly teeth.
“Evening ladies. I’d like to have a nice chat.”
//Oh Ayla. This never should’ve had to be your responsibility.//
[[div style="height:12px;"]]
[[/div]]
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2 - Ayla - Losing Dogs - SCP Foundation
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<p>Lock the front door.</p>
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<p>I might as well go back to bed<br/>
Too many rainy days still searchin’<br/>
For that glimpse of where happiness lies<br/>
Well, I've seen brighter days<br/>
(Brighter Days - John Snow)</p>
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/trouts-authorpage">Troutmaskreplica's author page</a></p>
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<p>Every night before I head off to sleep, I do the following instructions, simple, and easy;</p>
<p>Take a nice, warm shower.</p>
<p>Lock the front door.</p>
<p>Turn on the washing machine, put in my clothes for the night.</p>
<p>Brush my teeth, staring myself in the mirror. Look her in the eyes but don't say a word.</p>
<p>Enjoy a quick snack before bed.</p>
<p>Lock the windows.</p>
<p>Lock the front door.</p>
<p>Change into something more comfortable, if anything at all.</p>
<p>Set out some food for the cats.</p>
<p>Lock the front door.</p>
<p>Glance down the hallway for the first time in forever.</p>
<p>Turn off the sink again, such a forgetful girl that I am.</p>
<p>Lock the windows.</p>
<p>Head into my room. Ensure the light under the door is off before stepping in.</p>
<p>Stare down the hallway, listening closely for any noises. Any movement.</p>
<p>Lock the bedroom door. Listen for the click.</p>
<p>Listen out for Her voice.</p>
<p>Reach under my pillow for anything necessary. Clutch it tightly. Don't let go.</p>
<p>Turn on the television, wait for more instructions.</p>
<p>Lock the windows.</p>
<p>Hope to god whatever is there can't hear my breathing. Holding my breath until I suffocate.</p>
<p>Lock the front door. Double-check the lock, then triple-check it.</p>
<p>Unlock the windows.</p>
<p>Pray for my rescue.<br/>
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<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/backtobed">Heading Off to Bed</a>" by TroutMaskReplica, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/backtobed">https://scpwiki.com/backtobed</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
Lock the front door.
]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:turbo-vision-dark">:scp-wiki:theme:turbo-vision-dark</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[=]]
I might as well go back to bed
Too many rainy days still searchin’
For that glimpse of where happiness lies
Well, I've seen brighter days
(Brighter Days - John Snow)
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/trouts-authorpage Troutmaskreplica's author page]
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[=]]
Every night before I head off to sleep, I do the following instructions, simple, and easy;
Take a nice, warm shower.
Lock the front door.
Turn on the washing machine, put in my clothes for the night.
Brush my teeth, staring myself in the mirror. Look her in the eyes but don't say a word.
Enjoy a quick snack before bed.
Lock the windows.
Lock the front door.
Change into something more comfortable, if anything at all.
Set out some food for the cats.
Lock the front door.
Glance down the hallway for the first time in forever.
Turn off the sink again, such a forgetful girl that I am.
Lock the windows.
Head into my room. Ensure the light under the door is off before stepping in.
Stare down the hallway, listening closely for any noises. Any movement.
Lock the bedroom door. Listen for the click.
Listen out for Her voice.
Reach under my pillow for anything necessary. Clutch it tightly. Don't let go.
Turn on the television, wait for more instructions.
Lock the windows.
Hope to god whatever is there can't hear my breathing. Holding my breath until I suffocate.
Lock the front door. Double-check the lock, then triple-check it.
Unlock the windows.
Pray for my rescue.
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-07-25T02:58:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"but-a-dream",
"horror",
"no-dialogue",
"psychological-horror",
"tale"
] |
Heading Off to Bed - SCP Foundation
| 37
|
[
"trouts-authorpage",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"but-a-dream"
] |
[] |
1455948044
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/backtobed
|
|
bad-berries
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Acreepypasta/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div class="parapost">
<p><span style="color: gold"><strong>PalaceHolder</strong></span> 06/8/2022 (Wed) 21:44:19 #83016807</p>
<hr/>
<p>In 2000, the summer before my junior year in high school, I spent a lot of time wandering around my town's indoor mall alone. I always was hoping I would run into one of my friends, but I was the only one who lived close enough to walk there, and nobody I knew had a car yet, so the few times I saw them they would usually be shopping with their parents. The mall staff got to recognize me, and I got so bored that I would offer to help do stuff like putting up posters for free.</p>
<p>One day at the mall, I walked past this random guy sitting in one of the booths that usually sold sunglasses or keychains, but there wasn't any sign or merchandise or anything, and he stood up and asked me if I would like to be part of a television focus group. I knew about this sort of thing from that one Simpsons episode with Poochy, but I had never met anyone who had been part of one, so I was pretty excited. He just looked like a regular bald, slightly overweight business guy in a grey suit, but he was really enthusiastic and friendly, and he tried to shake my hand as soon as I approached him. He gave me a flyer with a room number and a time for the group. This was the only time I ever had to find a specific room in the mall by the address, so I had to ask an employee I knew for help, and even then it took like an hour to figure out.</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost">
<p><span style="color: gold"><strong>PalaceHolder</strong></span> 06/8/2022 (Wed) 21:51:04 #96383944</p>
<hr/>
<p>The room was next to the staff offices, which were down a long windowless hallway on the upper floor next to some massive store I never went to, like a Babies R Us, so I had never really even gotten close to it before this. I got there probably half an hour early, and the same guy from the booth was at a desk waiting there. Next to the desk, leaning up against a wall was a massive 9-foot-tall cardboard cutout of a cartoon character I would later learn was Jimmy Neutron (probably, in retrospect, promotional materials for the upcoming film). I got sort of excited, because 3D computer animation was a pretty big deal back then and I thought maybe that was what I'd be watching. The guy running the focus group shook my hand again, and gave me a survey to fill out ahead of time. The rest of the room looked sort of like a classroom, with a bunch of desks facing a projector screen, and there was already about a dozen people at the desks filling out their surveys, so I sat down near the middle.</p>
<p>Most of the survey was just demographic stuff, like how old I was, my religion, and my income (I wrote down "zero"), but it also asked about my viewing habits. For some reason I lied and said that my favourite movie was A Bug's Life, because I guess I thought they'd rank my opinion higher if we were watching computer animation. They also asked how often I watched Nickelodeon, which was not at all (my family didn't have cable) and how many episodes I had seen of The Angry Beavers, and I lied on both of those too. I had never even heard of that show, but I got the point that it was probably a kids show, and at that point I started to realize how weird it was that I was the youngest person in the room. Nobody else in the group even looked like they were under 30.</p>
<p>I finished the survey and handed it to the guy at the desk, and he gave me some blank paper to take notes on. I just waited at my desk for another half hour until everyone else had arrived and finished their surveys, and then the guy stood up in front of the screen and introduced himself as Sammy, then explained how the group would work. He would play two ten-minute episodes of The Angry Beavers, with a time clock running in the corner, and we should write down any impressions with the timestamp to bring up in a discussion afterward. Before beginning, he gave this huge grin, and raised his eyebrows really high, and told us to pretend these were the first episode of The Angry Beavers we had ever seen. Then he turned off the lights, and I immediately realized that it was way too dark in the room to write, even with the projector on, so I just watched the episodes without taking any notes.</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost">
<p><span style="color: darkseagreen"><strong>WallabeeWilly</strong></span> 06/8/2022 (Wed) 21:57:16 #13365467</p>
<hr/>
<p>LMAO I know the simspons ep you're talking about and I always wondered if anyone actually did stuff like that irl</p>
<p>guess now we know</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost">
<p><span style="color: gold"><strong>PalaceHolder</strong></span> 06/8/2022 (Wed) 21:59:33 #73352070</p>
<hr/>
<p>The first episode was called The Declaration of Independ-Ants. The plot was that the two beavers, Daggett and Norbert, didn't want to clean up their own place, so they hire cleaners out of the phone book. The cleaners turn out to be "ants", which were depicted as just little faceless, limbless black apostrophe shapes who communicated by holding up cartoon signs. The ants loved working, and after they cleaned up the place, they demanded more work, and when the two beavers struggled for a few seconds to think of anything, they started trashing the place so that they could clean it up again. Probably half of the episode was taken up by a sequence of one ant smashing an object and then another one sweeping up the pieces, accompanied by a lot of slide whistle noises. To get rid of the ants, the beavers opened the phone book again and hired an anteater, who stuck his huge head through the window and scared the ants all away. The episode ended with the beavers happily relaxing on top of the messy pile in their house.</p>
<p>I was pretty disappointed at the start that this was just regular animation, but as the episode went on I couldn't believe how unfunny it was. The writing and pacing was really awkward, and the two characters didn't have any sign of individual personalities. The only thing that was a little funny was the fact that they flipped furiously through the phonebook to find an exterminator, and somehow landed on the very first page, listing "aardvark", but I honestly couldn't tell if this was a joke with really bad timing, or if it was totally unintentional. It also bothered me a lot a few seconds later when the exterminator turned out to be a giant anteater, not an aardvark, but I was a weird kid who knew a lot about animals. The strangest thing about this episode, though, was that I could tell from the timestamp right on the screen that it wasn't even five minutes long.</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost">
<p><span style="color: gold"><strong>PalaceHolder</strong></span> 06/8/2022 (Wed) 22:06:14 #50003088</p>
<hr/>
<p>The next episode was called Bad Berries, and it began with this sequence of three red berries falling off a branch and floating down a river, floating through all this toxic waste and getting rained on by a weird green cloud, until a puff of smoke comes off of them in the shape of a skull. When they got rained on, there was a thunder sound effect, and I realized that the episode had been silent up to that point, with no music or running water sounds or anything. Eventually, the berries float through a gap in the beaver dam house, and the Dagget (the brown beaver) sees them. This whole part of the episode was so drawn out that it was nearly as long as the entire last episode.</p>
<p>Dagget says "I love free food!" and picks up two of the berries, throwing them into his mouth. I expected him to make some weird face, maybe turn green and cough up smoke, but he just stood there for a second after swallowing them without reacting, and then there was a hard cut to a sort of X-ray view of the inside of his body, with all of his organs having smiling cartoon faces. All at once, they start screaming in these Mickey Mouse voices, their eyes bugging out, and their eyes and mouths sort of flickered and then turned pink. This pink liquid started to fill up Dagget's body from the feet up, and at this point the animation started getting really bad. The "liquid" was basically just a translucent pink filter with a wavy line at the top that slowly rose, and the cartoon organs each seemed to just be switching between two screaming frames per second. This whole sequence went on for a full minute, with the only sound being the squeaky screaming noises.</p>
<p>Once the liquid reached the top of his head, there was another hard cut back to the beavers' room, only now Dagget was swollen and purple, and there were drops of pink liquid running down his face like cartoon tears or drool. He had the same animation style as the organs, just flipping between two poses, but he was also slowly getting bigger. The room was flooded with the pink liquid. This happened for another minute, now in total silence, until Norbert (the yellow beaver) walked in with a door squeaking and slamming sound effect. He just rolled his eyes and said "Not this again". Then he saw the last leftover berry and wordlessly tosses it into his mouth with a loud chomping sound effect, and the same sequence with the X-ray view happened again. It might have been literally the exact same, except the silhouette matched the yellow beaver instead, and when it ended it cut back to both of the beavers swollen up next to each other.</p>
<p>Finally, it showed the outside of the dam, where the girl beaver is looking at the pink liquid spreading through the water, and she says "Well this will take a while to clean up." The camera slowly zooms out, and we see that the liquid is gradually filling the whole river, and in the background the two brothers, still with the same cheap animation, have swollen up to be as big as buildings, and are still growing. Cut to the credits, still with no music, and the video ended at exactly twenty minutes.</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost">
<p><span style="color: cornflowerblue"><strong>BadJames1999</strong></span> 06/8/2022 (Wed) 22:10:36 #72547965</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:300%;">🤨</span></p>
</div>
<div class="parapost">
<p><span style="color: gold"><strong>PalaceHolder</strong></span> 06/8/2022 (Wed) 22:19:20 #20892805</p>
<hr/>
<p>Sammy turned on the lights again, leaving the last frame of credits projected, and just looked at us smiling with his hands clasped together for a couple seconds, then asked us for our thoughts. A couple other people raised their hands, but all of them were talking about parts they thought was funny. They all mentioned it by the specific time stamp instead of describing the moment, so I didn't know what they were actually talking about, but since all the examples were in the first four minutes, I could tell they all were from the ant episode. Sammy didn't really respond to any of it, he just waited and pointed to the next person.</p>
<p>There was eventually a moment where nobody else seemed to have anything to say, and I felt uncomfortable with the silence, so I raised my hand and said that I thought Bad Berries was sort of gross. Sammy got a really serious look on his face, and he said (and I remember the exact sentence) "No, it isn't 'gross', it's 'surprising', and that's where comedy comes from." I was a little shocked that he would just directly contradict someone in the focus group, and sort of embarrassed, and then a few other watchers joined in to say that they thought that one was hilarious (not with any specific times, though). I stayed quiet after that, and pretty soon nobody else was saying anything, so Sammy just clapped his hands together and thanked us for our input, then told us that when we left we could collect a free keychain and a $20 gift certificate to Borders Book Store. I was actually pretty happy about that, but by the time I got there all the gift certificates were gone, so all I got was a keychain shaped like a Rugrats character's face.</p>
<p>That was the last time I ever got a chance to be in a focus group, and probably the last time I would have agreed to, until years later when I did some research and found out how irregular that whole incident was. Around that same time, I finally decided to get some episodes of Angry Beavers on DVD from the library, and I was surprised to find that it was mostly actually funny, well-animated and well-produced. Neither of the two episodes I first saw were on the disks, and apparently neither of them ever aired on TV, so I guess in spite of Sammy's enthusiasm, someone along the line was smart enough not to let them see the light of day.</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost">
<p><span style="color: grey"><strong>MemoryCardEater4</strong></span> 06/8/2022 (Wed) 22:20:03 #69057479</p>
<hr/>
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:250px;"><img alt="what.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/bad-berries/what.jpg"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>what.jpg</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>What<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
</div>
<div class="parapost">
<p><span style="color: coral"><strong>6_Teh_Hero_Of_All_Time_9</strong></span> 06/8/2022 (Wed) 22:20:49 #31479546</p>
<hr/>
<p>its fucked that you didn't get the $20</p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/bad-berries">Bad Berries</a>" by Monkeysky, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/bad-berries">https://scpwiki.com/bad-berries</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> what.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Mauve<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/bad-berries">SCP Foundation Wiki</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:creepypasta">:scp-wiki:theme:creepypasta</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div class="parapost"]]
##gold|**PalaceHolder**## 06/8/2022 (Wed) 21:44:19 #83016807
------
In 2000, the summer before my junior year in high school, I spent a lot of time wandering around my town's indoor mall alone. I always was hoping I would run into one of my friends, but I was the only one who lived close enough to walk there, and nobody I knew had a car yet, so the few times I saw them they would usually be shopping with their parents. The mall staff got to recognize me, and I got so bored that I would offer to help do stuff like putting up posters for free.
One day at the mall, I walked past this random guy sitting in one of the booths that usually sold sunglasses or keychains, but there wasn't any sign or merchandise or anything, and he stood up and asked me if I would like to be part of a television focus group. I knew about this sort of thing from that one Simpsons episode with Poochy, but I had never met anyone who had been part of one, so I was pretty excited. He just looked like a regular bald, slightly overweight business guy in a grey suit, but he was really enthusiastic and friendly, and he tried to shake my hand as soon as I approached him. He gave me a flyer with a room number and a time for the group. This was the only time I ever had to find a specific room in the mall by the address, so I had to ask an employee I knew for help, and even then it took like an hour to figure out.
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost"]]
##gold|**PalaceHolder**## 06/8/2022 (Wed) 21:51:04 #96383944
------
The room was next to the staff offices, which were down a long windowless hallway on the upper floor next to some massive store I never went to, like a Babies R Us, so I had never really even gotten close to it before this. I got there probably half an hour early, and the same guy from the booth was at a desk waiting there. Next to the desk, leaning up against a wall was a massive 9-foot-tall cardboard cutout of a cartoon character I would later learn was Jimmy Neutron (probably, in retrospect, promotional materials for the upcoming film). I got sort of excited, because 3D computer animation was a pretty big deal back then and I thought maybe that was what I'd be watching. The guy running the focus group shook my hand again, and gave me a survey to fill out ahead of time. The rest of the room looked sort of like a classroom, with a bunch of desks facing a projector screen, and there was already about a dozen people at the desks filling out their surveys, so I sat down near the middle.
Most of the survey was just demographic stuff, like how old I was, my religion, and my income (I wrote down "zero"), but it also asked about my viewing habits. For some reason I lied and said that my favourite movie was A Bug's Life, because I guess I thought they'd rank my opinion higher if we were watching computer animation. They also asked how often I watched Nickelodeon, which was not at all (my family didn't have cable) and how many episodes I had seen of The Angry Beavers, and I lied on both of those too. I had never even heard of that show, but I got the point that it was probably a kids show, and at that point I started to realize how weird it was that I was the youngest person in the room. Nobody else in the group even looked like they were under 30.
I finished the survey and handed it to the guy at the desk, and he gave me some blank paper to take notes on. I just waited at my desk for another half hour until everyone else had arrived and finished their surveys, and then the guy stood up in front of the screen and introduced himself as Sammy, then explained how the group would work. He would play two ten-minute episodes of The Angry Beavers, with a time clock running in the corner, and we should write down any impressions with the timestamp to bring up in a discussion afterward. Before beginning, he gave this huge grin, and raised his eyebrows really high, and told us to pretend these were the first episode of The Angry Beavers we had ever seen. Then he turned off the lights, and I immediately realized that it was way too dark in the room to write, even with the projector on, so I just watched the episodes without taking any notes.
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost"]]
##DarkSeaGreen|**WallabeeWilly**## 06/8/2022 (Wed) 21:57:16 #13365467
------
LMAO I know the simspons ep you're talking about and I always wondered if anyone actually did stuff like that irl
guess now we know
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost"]]
##gold|**PalaceHolder**## 06/8/2022 (Wed) 21:59:33 #73352070
------
The first episode was called The Declaration of Independ-Ants. The plot was that the two beavers, Daggett and Norbert, didn't want to clean up their own place, so they hire cleaners out of the phone book. The cleaners turn out to be "ants", which were depicted as just little faceless, limbless black apostrophe shapes who communicated by holding up cartoon signs. The ants loved working, and after they cleaned up the place, they demanded more work, and when the two beavers struggled for a few seconds to think of anything, they started trashing the place so that they could clean it up again. Probably half of the episode was taken up by a sequence of one ant smashing an object and then another one sweeping up the pieces, accompanied by a lot of slide whistle noises. To get rid of the ants, the beavers opened the phone book again and hired an anteater, who stuck his huge head through the window and scared the ants all away. The episode ended with the beavers happily relaxing on top of the messy pile in their house.
I was pretty disappointed at the start that this was just regular animation, but as the episode went on I couldn't believe how unfunny it was. The writing and pacing was really awkward, and the two characters didn't have any sign of individual personalities. The only thing that was a little funny was the fact that they flipped furiously through the phonebook to find an exterminator, and somehow landed on the very first page, listing "aardvark", but I honestly couldn't tell if this was a joke with really bad timing, or if it was totally unintentional. It also bothered me a lot a few seconds later when the exterminator turned out to be a giant anteater, not an aardvark, but I was a weird kid who knew a lot about animals. The strangest thing about this episode, though, was that I could tell from the timestamp right on the screen that it wasn't even five minutes long.
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost"]]
##gold|**PalaceHolder**## 06/8/2022 (Wed) 22:06:14 #50003088
------
The next episode was called Bad Berries, and it began with this sequence of three red berries falling off a branch and floating down a river, floating through all this toxic waste and getting rained on by a weird green cloud, until a puff of smoke comes off of them in the shape of a skull. When they got rained on, there was a thunder sound effect, and I realized that the episode had been silent up to that point, with no music or running water sounds or anything. Eventually, the berries float through a gap in the beaver dam house, and the Dagget (the brown beaver) sees them. This whole part of the episode was so drawn out that it was nearly as long as the entire last episode.
Dagget says "I love free food!" and picks up two of the berries, throwing them into his mouth. I expected him to make some weird face, maybe turn green and cough up smoke, but he just stood there for a second after swallowing them without reacting, and then there was a hard cut to a sort of X-ray view of the inside of his body, with all of his organs having smiling cartoon faces. All at once, they start screaming in these Mickey Mouse voices, their eyes bugging out, and their eyes and mouths sort of flickered and then turned pink. This pink liquid started to fill up Dagget's body from the feet up, and at this point the animation started getting really bad. The "liquid" was basically just a translucent pink filter with a wavy line at the top that slowly rose, and the cartoon organs each seemed to just be switching between two screaming frames per second. This whole sequence went on for a full minute, with the only sound being the squeaky screaming noises.
Once the liquid reached the top of his head, there was another hard cut back to the beavers' room, only now Dagget was swollen and purple, and there were drops of pink liquid running down his face like cartoon tears or drool. He had the same animation style as the organs, just flipping between two poses, but he was also slowly getting bigger. The room was flooded with the pink liquid. This happened for another minute, now in total silence, until Norbert (the yellow beaver) walked in with a door squeaking and slamming sound effect. He just rolled his eyes and said "Not this again". Then he saw the last leftover berry and wordlessly tosses it into his mouth with a loud chomping sound effect, and the same sequence with the X-ray view happened again. It might have been literally the exact same, except the silhouette matched the yellow beaver instead, and when it ended it cut back to both of the beavers swollen up next to each other.
Finally, it showed the outside of the dam, where the girl beaver is looking at the pink liquid spreading through the water, and she says "Well this will take a while to clean up." The camera slowly zooms out, and we see that the liquid is gradually filling the whole river, and in the background the two brothers, still with the same cheap animation, have swollen up to be as big as buildings, and are still growing. Cut to the credits, still with no music, and the video ended at exactly twenty minutes.
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost"]]
##cornflowerblue|**BadJames1999**## 06/8/2022 (Wed) 22:10:36 #72547965
------
[[size 300%]]🤨[[/size]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost"]]
##gold|**PalaceHolder**## 06/8/2022 (Wed) 22:19:20 #20892805
------
Sammy turned on the lights again, leaving the last frame of credits projected, and just looked at us smiling with his hands clasped together for a couple seconds, then asked us for our thoughts. A couple other people raised their hands, but all of them were talking about parts they thought was funny. They all mentioned it by the specific time stamp instead of describing the moment, so I didn't know what they were actually talking about, but since all the examples were in the first four minutes, I could tell they all were from the ant episode. Sammy didn't really respond to any of it, he just waited and pointed to the next person.
There was eventually a moment where nobody else seemed to have anything to say, and I felt uncomfortable with the silence, so I raised my hand and said that I thought Bad Berries was sort of gross. Sammy got a really serious look on his face, and he said (and I remember the exact sentence) "No, it isn't 'gross', it's 'surprising', and that's where comedy comes from." I was a little shocked that he would just directly contradict someone in the focus group, and sort of embarrassed, and then a few other watchers joined in to say that they thought that one was hilarious (not with any specific times, though). I stayed quiet after that, and pretty soon nobody else was saying anything, so Sammy just clapped his hands together and thanked us for our input, then told us that when we left we could collect a free keychain and a $20 gift certificate to Borders Book Store. I was actually pretty happy about that, but by the time I got there all the gift certificates were gone, so all I got was a keychain shaped like a Rugrats character's face.
That was the last time I ever got a chance to be in a focus group, and probably the last time I would have agreed to, until years later when I did some research and found out how irregular that whole incident was. Around that same time, I finally decided to get some episodes of Angry Beavers on DVD from the library, and I was surprised to find that it was mostly actually funny, well-animated and well-produced. Neither of the two episodes I first saw were on the disks, and apparently neither of them ever aired on TV, so I guess in spite of Sammy's enthusiasm, someone along the line was smart enough not to let them see the light of day.
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost"]]
##grey|**MemoryCardEater4**## 06/8/2022 (Wed) 22:20:03 #69057479
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##coral|**6_Teh_Hero_Of_All_Time_9**## 06/8/2022 (Wed) 22:20:49 #31479546
------
its fucked that you didn't get the $20
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Filename:** what.jpg
> **Author:** Mauve
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/bad-berries SCP Foundation Wiki]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-05-15T19:09:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"but-a-dream",
"correspondence",
"creepypasta",
"horror",
"mystery",
"parawatch",
"reviewers-spotlight",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
Bad Berries - SCP Foundation
| 66
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"reviewers-spotlight-archive-ii",
"parawatch-hub",
"creepy-pasta",
"but-a-dream"
] |
[
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/bad-berries/what.jpg"
] |
1453663047
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/bad-berries
|
|
bananazilla-coming-to-a-store-near-you
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=4&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/component%3Abhl-dark-sidebar/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>Bananazilla,<br/>
Coming to a Store<br/>
Near YOU!</strong></p>
</div>
<p>The unofficial continuation of the Bananazilla tales based around <a href="/scp-2761">SCP-2761</a> by OZ Ouroboros. PART ONE!</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Doctor Scrappy</p>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>…</em></p>
<p><em>…</em></p>
<p><em>…</em></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><em>It was dark, damp, her vision just barely reaching a meter around her. Yet somehow she found herself blinded by the single lightbulb casting its dim illumination straight into her eyes. She realized she was lying on an operating table.</em></p>
<p><em>The sensation was cold, and every time she tried to move, even just</em> thought <em>about it, her body quaked under the pressure, aching all throughout. She winced, but all that came out was a quiet whisper.</em></p>
<p><em>A door opened, she could tell by the noise. Then came the footsteps, dozens of them. With each movement, the sound of plastic bending and crinkling rang through the room, as a gloved hand loomed briefly in the corner of her vision. She only just now noticed the constant beeping of a heart-rate monitor.</em></p>
<p><em>The face of a man entered her view, finally blocking out that blinding light. His features were being obscured by thick shadows, becoming a mere silhouette in the process.</em></p>
<p>”Can you hear me?” <em>the man said, calm, quiet.</em></p>
<p><em>She tried to move her lips, but they became as dry and heavy as concrete. A painful sensation, punctuated by the man faltering in his stance slightly, the light above peeking out from the edge of his head.</em></p>
<p>”Can you hear me?”</p>
<p><em>After another silence, the man averted his gaze at something beyond her vision, as hushed whispers were exchanged. Her ears strained to even get in a single word. The man looked onto her again, obscuring the light once more. In the darkness, she saw his lips move:</em></p>
<p>”Ms. Watkins,” <em>he began, calmly and softly,</em> ”what is the earliest thing you can remember?”</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>Site-71</strong><br/>
<strong><a href="/bananazilla-begins-part-ii">2005</a></strong><br/>
*</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<blockquote>
<p><em>The doors whooshed open. The whole room was filled with the smell of bananas.</em></p>
<p><em>And Liu, Morgan, Watkins, and Nakamura all walked in.</em></p>
<p><em>”What… the hell.”</em></p>
<p><em>”That is</em> not <em>a fish.”</em></p>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<p>Pearl Watkins’ mouth was agape at the sight of the monstrosity lying before her eyes. Its peely yellow skin so unlike anything she could’ve ever imagined. It stretched and bent like regular skin would, though — something that shouldn’t be. She could see the contours and crevices, as the creature’s chest moved up and down, air flowing through its nostrils in volume. Watkins felt her own breath falter within the suit.</p>
<p>The creature’s skin was covered with patches of brown, its limbs grossly out of place, being mere stumps to the rest of its body, twitching sporadically in all directions. She looked further along its body, seeing metal restraints tightly pressed up against it, like a dog pen for a whale, as the creature’s breathing made the restraints give off a whining sound, its body squeezing slightly beyond the cage’s limits. Watkins couldn’t see its face, but imagined it to bear a teeth-ridden, snarling expression.</p>
<p>Marcus Nakamura was equally as frozen in place, as well as awe-struck, eyes wide. He moved toward the creature and pressed his suited hand against it, feeling the rough texture of the beast even against the layers of protective equipment. Security officer Morgan finally sprung into action, extending his hand at Nakamura’s — he was surprised to see Watkins grabbing Nakamura’s arm before him.</p>
<p>”Are you insane?!” she brought out with a forceful quietness, her hand digging deep into Nakamura’s wrist. Her voice sounded muffled, like speaking from the bottom of a lake. He winced a little. ”That <em>thing</em> is <em>NOT</em> a pet!”</p>
<p>That seemed to snap Marcus out of his thoughts, as he quickly retracted his hand from the creature, as the circumstances began to dawn on him again. ”Yes… of course,” he answered, rubbing his wrist with his hand. Sweat rolled down Watkins’ face, as she turned back to the creature, never leaving Marcus out of her sight.</p>
<p>Researcher Matthew Liu, who was battling the urge to order the two to be brought into a room, amnesticized, and thrown back out, cleared his throat, causing all to turn toward him. He gestured to one of the guards in the chamber, also clad in centimeters of protective gear, as they nodded and gestured something else to the other guards.</p>
<p>Watkins and Nakamura watched in horror, as Morgan moved toward the front of their bananafish, stopped half-way through, and turned toward them.</p>
<p>”Didn’t you want to see your fish?” he asked in a manner that meant ’no’ wasn’t an answer. Without even waiting for a response, Morgan turned back around and continued walking.</p>
<p>Seconds passed for Watkins, until something tapped her on the shoulder, causing her to flinch and scream all at the same time. Her gloved hands hit the visor of the suit, as she saw Liu looking at her with wide eyes, his hand just somewhat away from her shoulder. When she realized what had went down everyone had already turned their head toward her. She felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her, completely subsiding her fear.</p>
<p>”Well,” Liu began, stumbling for words, ”I can assure you there is nothing to fear. It’s under heavy sedation right now, so anything it might try to do, it couldn’t do, even if it wanted to.”</p>
<p>Watkins gulped, her mind speechless.</p>
<p>As the silence just permeated on, Liu averted his gaze again, giving Watkins a half-hearted pat on the shoulder, before walking to Morgan with a certain spring in his steps.</p>
<p>Looking at the guard, who was looking back at her, before averting their gaze, and with no other option in sight, she waltzed on. Every step she took was quaking. Nakamura followed in her steps, just as squeezy as his colleague.</p>
<p>When Liu caught up to Morgan, he leaned in to his ear, saying: ”You should’ve left them at home.”</p>
<p>”Yeah,” was all Liu could reply with.</p>
<p>When they all arrived to the head of the creature, it was nothing short of breathtaking; its beady eyes were tightly shut, as its lower jaw laid on the floor, revealing row after row of razor sharp teeth, drooling. Its breath reeked of bananas, rotten, yet oddly fruity all at the same time.</p>
<p>Pearl gulped some more, her head dizzy, stemming her hands on her knees. Nakamura felt his senses go numb from the smell, as his mind couldn’t even tell what it was looking at.</p>
<p>Liu glanced at the two; the one about to faint and the other one about to vomit, both of which would be a lot of paperwork to sort through. Before any of these scenarios could come to pass, Researcher Liu faced them, a stern expression on his face.</p>
<p>”Would you be able to identify your fish?” he asked, just to get those two into the proper mindset — work needed to be done.</p>
<p>A spark flamed up in Watkins’ eyes, a brief retrieve from the new world she was in. ”We’d need s—some tests done on its genes… but with this… <em>thing</em>…” She looked at its stubby limbs, <em>human</em> limbs.</p>
<p>Liu nodded. ”Understood. Mr. Nakamura?”</p>
<p>Nakamura snapped out of his headspace, sweat rolling down his face as he faced Liu. ”Y—yeah?”</p>
<p>”Are you okay?”</p>
<p>He just nodded.</p>
<p>Liu turned to the beast again, holding a swab between his glove-clad fingers, as he made sure to make as little noise as possible. Watkins tensed up, the swab seeping into the creature’s viscous spit, with a tint of yellow.</p>
<p>He heaved the sample into a plastic bag, catching himself glancing at the creature beside him, his breath heavy, as he slowly steadied himself straight again.</p>
<p>It felt like a weight was being lifted from his heart, only now taking in the beating in his ears. Turning to look at Morgan, rifle firmly gripped in his hands, he turned back to the two people quaking in their boots.</p>
<p>A guard held their rifle trained between the beast’s eyes.</p>
<p>”Easy there, Cray. Don’t wanna be too hasty,” Morgan said. The guard didn’t falter in his stance even for a bit.</p>
<p>”We will go straight to analysis. You two can—”</p>
<p>A low growl made Liu’s heart skip a beat. Everyone’s hearts. His hands became sweaty, his legs mere sticks that were about to break away under him, his muscles turning into jelly.</p>
<p>Another growl, this one even deeper and more prolonged than before, sent shivers down his spine. He felt a hand touching his shoulder, Morgan’s hand, his head spinning to him.</p>
<p>Liu could see his colleague mouthing the words,<em>”Go,”</em> time trickling away, as he realized what he meant. Watkins and Nakamura didn’t look as shocked as he pictured them to be, but when <a href="/scp-2761">SCP-2761</a> gave off a howl of pure agony, they quickly realized the situation they found themselves in.</p>
<p>Dozens of tranquilizer darts were fired into the hide of the creature, with the guard from before unloading twice as many as the others. It growled and roared, Morgan and his squad backing away, never taking their aim off of it.</p>
<p>”Move!” Liu yelled, taking both Watkins’ and Nakamura’s hands, whose yells and cries were at least dampened by their protective suits.</p>
<p>Nakamura breathed heavily under his suit. ”We’re all going to die!” he cried out, the tears coming out as fast as he could run.</p>
<p>”Shut up, you’re not going to die—”</p>
<p>In an instant, the leg of 2761 that had been a little stump only moments prior erupted into a giant appendage, its yellow rubbery skin extending and contorting in all the wrong angles, as it grew into a full, three-clawed foot, like seeing a timelapse of a baby growing up.</p>
<p>Its claws scratched the floor, as it suddenly heaved itself up to the ceiling, the dangling strobe lights shattering into thousands of fragments that rained onto those below. Everyone stemmed their heads into their hands, as the one guard’s suit got pierced by the fragments, being sent tumbling to the floor.</p>
<p>The creature stood taller than anything else in the room on its two new legs, as it roared wrinkles through the air — Liu thought it to sound like a T-Rex, a <em><a href="https://youtu.be/2eqJYtFO3SI?si=QBC-QatULU6YfeJA">real</a></em> T-Rex. The metal cage smashed violently against the ceiling, heaves of concrete, rebar and metal chains falling along the creature’s sides and back, dust leveling eyesight.</p>
<p>Watkins pulled the too-stunned Nakamura, who was praying his final prayers already, out of the debris’ way, as they both fell to the floor and retreated into a foetal position.</p>
<p>Liu, like others, was almost crushed under a piece of debris, but Morgan dived through the clouds of dust to save his colleague from a long busted metal chain, each piece as big as his head. 2761 roared some more.</p>
<p>The gates suddenly opened, as various more personnel, each equipped with a tranquilizer gun, rushed into the room, and quickly surrounded the entity. More guards rushed in, now equipped with something stronger than just tranquilizers.</p>
<p>The entity ripped apart the last chain, its metal prison in shambles before it, as it felt its eyelids slowly becoming heavier. The dark pupils told nothing to the many soldiers firing away at the creature. It could feel itself tumbling over its own feet, before it fell against the cold concrete floor, the smell of bananas even more pronounced than ever.</p>
<p>Eventually, its eyes shut tight again, and it felt the pain slowly dissipate, as it slipped back into the sweet oblivion.</p>
<p>It took some time for Liu to be finally on his legs again. Morgan dusted himself off, while the soldiers established a perimeter around 2761. The medics came soon after, hauling those injured out of the chamber, some unconscious and others with holes in their heads.</p>
<p>Watkins and Nakamura were like statues, but the guards were able to haul their asses out of the chamber, too — <em>like they even wanted to be in here anymore.</em></p>
<p>The entire world around him was like a blur, until Morgan’s voice rang in his ears again, and his look wasn’t so distant anymore.</p>
<p>”You okay, Matt?”</p>
<p>”Y—yes… Yes, I am. You?”</p>
<p>”Don’t worry about me,” he pointed at Watkins and Nakamura.</p>
<p>After a few seconds: ”Yes… yes, of course.” He moved out of the chamber, after the two, unresponsive to the world around them as ever.</p>
<p>As he ran out, he could swear the creature’s beady black eyes were staring back at him.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p><em>The pain that reached deep down into her bones persisted, her lips still unmoving. Her eyes, though; they told the man everything that he needed to know.</em></p>
<p><em>The man turned to look at another person just out of Pearl’s view, a feeling of dread building up within her, more unintelligible words in her ears.</em></p>
<p><em>She felt a searing burn deep in her chest, her heart, as the man left her vision; moments later, he returned and that burning sensation was gone.</em></p>
<p>”Dammit, we’re supposed to keep her alive, not kill her!”</p>
<p>”I—I’m sorry, doctor,” <em>was all she could hear, as the blackness she awoke from slowly crept back up again.</em></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>Morgan passed around the debris, his thick boots crushing the concrete bits under him into smaller fragments. The dust hurtled just above his feet. He hadn’t taken his headgear off. Although 2761 had been moved, he couldn’t stand the smell of bananas — it made him dizzy.</p>
<p>On one of the larger concrete-rebar pieces sat Cray, a bandage around his left hand. The medics took a sample of his spit, the imposing stature of the man shifting awkwardly in the gear. Then the medic packed their things and waltzed passed Morgan, their eyes definitely watery.</p>
<p>”Everything all right over there?” Morgan asked.</p>
<p>Cray rubbed his hand.</p>
<p>”That… <em>thing</em>… what is it?” he asked.</p>
<p>”The lab experiment of a few scientists flushed down the gutter.”</p>
<p>”But that thing was massive! Why would anyone ever create something like that?”</p>
<p>”Profit, brother. It’s all about profit.”</p>
<p>Cray looked down at the floor.</p>
<p>”Come on,” Morgan spoke up, ”take the rest of the day off.” Morgan gave him a pat on the back.</p>
<p>Cray, who stood a few inches taller than Morgan, rubbed his hand. Morgan pat him on the back, and Cray made his way out of there.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>The cigarette smoke blew high into the cloudy sky, his long exhale the loudest noise anywhere nearby. Carlston Cray let the fire eat away at his cig, while thoughts rushed to the forefront of his mind ever-so slowly.</p>
<p>It had been difficult during his times. Always at the brink of starvation, balancing on the thin thread between existence and annihilation. His mother tried to do the best for him, but even he knew that it wasn’t enough, even so young. Crime was the daily, with a corrupted system tying everything together into a neat little bow.</p>
<p>But one day, there stepped in an organization, which offered his mother and him salvation, refuge from the shithole that had been their life — no fear of starvation, of being robbed of the littlest of things they possessed, of not making it to tomorrow, of seperation.</p>
<p>His phone vibrated in his pocket. A quick glance at the disabled security camera, he pulled it out, his movements calm, but slow, apathetic, pressing it tightly against his ear. He balanced what little remained of his cig in his other hand.</p>
<p>”Ready?” a distorted voice spoke.</p>
<p>Cray exhaled. ”Send some additional forces at 71. There is an asset that’d be of great interest to our customers.”</p>
<p>There was a pause. ”Which one?” the distorted voice asked, curiously.</p>
<p>Cray let his cigarette fall to the ground and stomped the stump under his thick leather boot. ”A newcomer, freshly recovered; could be worth a few billion.”</p>
<p>There was another long pause; despite this, Cray could feel the person on the other side clenching together their fists. ”<a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/marshall-carter-and-dark-hub">Marshall, Carter & Dark</a> only prides itself—”</p>
<p>”Spare me the lecture,” Cray said, now in a more stern voice, ”bring another squad in and a cage big enough to fit a T-Rex.”</p>
<p>Beford the voice on the other side could protest any further, he hung up, basking in the sudden silence. He wasn’t about to let a file clerk with a voice changer jeopardize the entire operation, let alone question <em>his</em> authority.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>Pearl and Marcus sat in the sterile infirmary, their hands tightly interlocked with each other’s. Neither of them gave out so much as a squeak. Their stares were absent, trained to the linoleum floor, monitors and IV-drips going off in the background. Everything was seperated by pastel green curtains.</p>
<p>As the seconds turned into minutes on the wall-mounted clock, Marcus looked over at Pearl. Her eyes were trained on the floor, like a mannequin for display, <em>unmoving</em>, not even flinching. Marcus tapped her lightly on the shoulder, which appeared to shock her somewhat. He gave her a soft smile when she looked over at him — the best smile he could give in such a situation. She tried to smile back.</p>
<p>”Hey,” was the only thing Marcus could say.</p>
<p>”Hey,” Pearl replied back. Her eyes averted back to the floor.</p>
<p>”Everything all right?”</p>
<p>It took her some time to answer. ”Yes… yes.” She didn’t look him in the eyes.</p>
<p>Marcus just nodded. ”That’s good… that’s good.”</p>
<p>The seconds trickled away on the clock. <em>Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock…</em></p>
<p>Marcus opened his mouth again, careful for his choice of words, and said: ”I want to see our bananafish again.”</p>
<p>Pearl instantly shot up from her stance of lethargy, and retreated her hand out of his. ”Are you <em>nuts</em>?!”</p>
<p>He tried to calm her down, but found himself lost for words; he hadn’t seen her so energetic before. ”Pearl, please… let me explain—”</p>
<p>She stomped her heel against the floor. ”That thing should be pumped up with toxins and be disposed of immediately!” she almost yelled. Her breathing was heavy, her hands clenched into fists.</p>
<p>At the mere mention of those words, Nakamura clenched his teeth; his own heart was beating rapidly now. Watkins saw this, and her anger and frustration grew into concern. ”Dispose of it? What, like what Higgins did?”</p>
<p>Pearl remained silent. <em>She</em> had never seen <em>him</em> so energetic before. ”Do you know why I joined <em>Aquagene</em>, Pearl?” He waited for her to answer, but nothing came. ”It was to <em>create</em> life, not to dispose of it the moment it displayed deviant behavior. That <em>’thing’</em> is a breathing, <strong><em>living</em></strong> creature, and you just want to <em>dispose</em> of it, like it were some broken toy or faulty product?”</p>
<p>Pearl, letting the initial wave of concern and fear wear off, spoke: ”But it <em>is</em> a faulty product. A product that could’ve killed us all, if we wouldn’t have been lucky!”</p>
<p>That shut both of them right up. Pearl stared into Marcus’ eyes for a little longer than was comfortable, which she took notice of, and sat down again. Marcus simply remained where he was, but he shifted a little less comfortably in his seat. Both remained silent for the remainder.</p>
<p>Memories of his childhood crept into his mind, but he shook them off for just a moment longer.</p>
<p>The minutes ticked by on the clock.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>”Amnesticize them,” Site-Director Amariam Gurrira said, with no room for interpretation. Researcher Liu just looked perplexed.</p>
<p>Director Gurrira was in her mid-fifties, short, black hair with streakes of grey already creeping in, wrinkles adorning the edges of her face and her hands. She had been here longer than anyone else at Site-71 — Liu still remembered their first meeting at the conference hall two decades ago.</p>
<p>”Director, with all due respect, Drs. Watkins and Nakamura are valuable assets for the further study and understanding of SCP-2761—”</p>
<p>”Valuable assets that almost got killed! They can’t provide us with any more information that we wouldn’t be able to figure out ourselves. They are at active risk, and I don’t want them wandering around 71.”</p>
<p>Liu moved his lips to speak, but Director Gurrira held up her hand to stop him right then and there. ”No further inquiries are to be made on this subject. You are dismissed, Researcher Liu.”</p>
<p>Before he could think any further thought, the lights went out.</p>
<p>When they turned back on, the emergency lights plunged everything into a deep red, as the klaxons started to sound, reverberating within his ears, as the yells of guards and dozens of footsteps echoed through the narrow corridors outside. His heart was beating seventy miles per hour.</p>
<p>Director Gurrira tried to contact the appropriate channels, but they had all inexplicably been down, so she opted to retrieve her pistol from underneath her desk. Liu recoiled out of habit; he never was a guns person.</p>
<p>As she was checking how much ammunition was left in the cartridge, the door slid open, and a young guard, no older than twenty-one, stepped in.</p>
<p>”Director,” the guard began, breathing and sweating heavily under his gear all the same, ”we’ve got a situation.”</p>
<p>”No shit,” Gurrira replied, sliding the cartidge into her pistol. ”What kind of situation?”</p>
<p>The guard stammered something incomprehensible, as the world around Liu suddenly turned into a cacophony of sights, sounds, and, weirdly enough, <em>smells</em>.</p>
<p>The guard and director were looking at him, him struggling to stay on his two feet, holding onto his seat, as the smell invaded his nostrils, his brain.</p>
<p>Eventually, though, he regained his senses. His body adapted to that sickly smell.</p>
<p>”Liu, what’s going on?” she asked.</p>
<p>He didn’t even answer. The aftertaste of the smell lingered in his brain. The corridors reeked of <em>bananas</em>.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>The lights turned out. There was a split second, in which Marcus could feel all of his body’s systems screeching to a halt, petrified to his soul. When the red emergency lights and the klaxons turned on in their place, he still felt as stiff as a statue, but at least he could feel the warmth in his fingertips again.</p>
<p>A medical doctor, short, brown hair, brown eyes, face-mask obscuring their face, unknown name, rushed to the door, yelling something against the deafening klaxons. They tried their best to seem calming. They pulled out a handgun, holding their access card up against the scanner. Marcus wanted to chase after him, get a sense of what it was he had said, but the moment that door slid open, an ear-piercing rang reverberated throughout the hallway, as the sensation of wetness, warmth, and coldness hit his face and his clothes.</p>
<p>It took a moment for him to realize fully what was going on, as Pearl screamed and cowered between the chairs, as the rest of the infirmary erupted into a blind, loud panic.</p>
<p>He looked down at his clothes, felt his cheek with his hand, and saw red stains upon him, soaking into his clothes’ fabric. The squishy texture of brain matter squeezed and oozed underneath the tips of his fingers, as his arms fell limp, his legs turning into goo, and stumbled into a corner.</p>
<p>The corpse of the doctor laid there in the hallway, a hole where their left eye once was. Blood was seeping out of it, pooling around them in an iron-smelling, wet, warm puddle. Their hand was still clasping that handgun, their fingers tightly pressed around its hilt.</p>
<p>Footsteps approached, but grew into a distant blur, almost dream-like, as Marcus breaths grew heavier and heavier. The moment he perceived the world around him normally again, was when the footsteps came to a halt, and another man’s hand wrapped around his. The man threw him up to his feet, and knocked him straight into the opposite wall. The blunt sensation rippled through his spine, he thought one of his ribs might’ve cracked. He hit the floor just as unmajestically.</p>
<p>The next thing he saw was the man, clad in heavy, face-obscuring gear and a rifle, pulling Pearl to her feet. She trembled in fear, while the other people in the room — simple medics, injured soldiers and patients — could only hold their hands up. Marcus looked up to see the nuzzle of the rifle being pointed straight at his forehead. The ringing dissipated, but he could still hardly understand the man at all.</p>
<p>As he rose to his feet, he got pushed into Pearl, the nuzzle buried in his back. The soldier shouted more indistinct phrases, and guided them into the hallway.</p>
<p>Before they knew it, a bullet flew through the air and pierced directly into the soldier’s neck, blood squirming everywhere. He tried to put pressure on it, but as his surroundings faded, so too did he, until the only thing left of him was a sack of meat, skin and bone.</p>
<p>The next few minutes passed in a hurry, Marcus and Pearl stuck in their little headspaces. Those headspaces were quickly burst, when Morgan turned both of them around, and that not lightly, to face him. For the first time in those last couple of moments, he understood what another person was saying.</p>
<p><strong><em>”Move!”</em></strong></p>
<p>Their legs grew into a full sprint, as they realized more people were sprinting alongside them; the simple medics and doctors, injured soldiers and patients, some holding onto each other, all heading to the nearest shelter, as Morgan’s shouting became quieter by the seconds.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p><em>Sprint, duck, cover, peek, shoot, peek, sprint again. Sprint, duck, cover, peek, shoot, peek, sprint again. Sprint, duck, cover, peek, shoot, peek, sprint again. Sprint, duck, cover, peek, shoot, peek, sprint again…</em></p>
<p>It was nearly routine for Cray. His rifle was firmly in his hands, the bullets flying down the corridors with deadly precision, the blood of his colleagues spilled onto the floor and walls. He thought about what they were thinking in their last moments, when they saw their colleague, a <em>friend</em> turn around a corner and, before they had any time to react, him sending a shot through their skull or chest.</p>
<p>He shook away that thought and kept on shooting.</p>
<p><em>Sprint, duck, cover, peek, shoot, peek, sprint again. Sprint, duck, cover, peek, shoot, peek, sprint again. Sprint, duck, cover, peek, shoot, peek, sprint again…</em></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>A <em>whoosh</em> zipped past him, followed by a thud of concrete being burst. Marcus looked behind him, but he was pulled behind a corner too quickly for him to see the hole the bullet left.</p>
<p>The thumping of his heart drowned out the gunfire that soon followed, as Morgan took several shots, before just as quickly taking cover again. Crumbs of concrete shattered into hundreds of fragments, littering the entire floor.</p>
<p>The doctors, the medics, the injured — they all huddled in a foetal position, some holding each other, like it was the last day on earth. He didn’t blame them, not at all, as Pearl and him were doing the same. They were trying to shut out the mayhem erupting all around them.</p>
<p>Their hands interlocked with each other’s, eyes shut tight, a hand raised to their ear, the arrythmic thumping of their hearts sounding like it was about to explode out of their chests. This primal fear of whether or not one’d make it to the following morning was boiling within them.</p>
<p>A guttural howl, followed by a stifled gasp, all capped off with a wet, hard thud. Marcus didn’t even know what was going on, as footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor, and Pearl suddenly sprang into motion.</p>
<p>In an act he never would’ve thought she was capable of, Pearl made a dash for Morgan’s rifle, laying next to his motionless body, the footsteps inching closer with every passing second. Her hands were on the trigger, as haphazard and uncoordinated her movements and posture were, and pulled the trigger…</p>
<p>… but the shot never came. A different shot, now coming from behind them, hit Pearl in the neck, causing her to wrench up in pain. It was a needle, a needle filled with god-knows-what, as she stumbled to the floor and the world around her became one giant, fuzzy image.</p>
<p>Marcus wasn’t as lucky. A right hook to his face with the end of the soldier’s rifle knocked him to the floor, then he got injected with presumably the same stuff Pearl had been hit with. And that was that.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>”Load him up,” Cray spoke to his masked colleague. They simply nodded in return, threw Nakamura over their shoulders, their stance shifting slightly, and hurried down the corridor the fastest they could.</p>
<p>Cray himself made his way to Dr. Watkins — past all the eyes adjusting to his tall figure in the darkness of the corridors. As he leaned down to pick her up, breaths, so hushed, yet so poignant, bored their way into his ears. He turned to look, the scientist, blood pooling out of an opening of their arm where there shouldn’t have been one, pressed themselves further up against the wall. Their eyes didn’t leave him out of their sight.</p>
<p>The sound of tearing and ripping cloth momentarily halted the scientist’s breaths, if only for a little while. Cray held out his hand, his black-gloved hand looking like claws in the dim red lights. He peered at the researcher through those red lights, however, and the scientist couldn’t help themselves, but take the hand.</p>
<p>Their fingers touched fabric, soft and rough.</p>
<p>”Wrap that around your arm,” Cray said, with a demanding undertone. He pointed at the wound at their arm.</p>
<p>The scientist took the cloth, so light in their hand, before looking back at the soldier. Cray, however, was already throwing Watkins over his shoulder, and burst into a dash, his figure becoming a mere silhouette at the end of the corridor.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<blockquote>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>INCIDENT REPORT ECHO-ROMEO-ALPHA</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>On ██/██/2005, several raids at fifteen (15) seperate Foundation facilities were carried out by members of Group of Interest 014 (<em>”Marshall, Carter & Dark Ltd.”</em>).</p>
<p>Investigations are still ongoing, but it is presumed that this massive breach of internal security was accomplished by various double agents of GoI-014, posted at these facilities.</p>
<p>The amount of anomalous objects acquired during these events is vast, and will be expanded, until operations are able to resume.</p>
<p>Current SCP objects unaccounted for are:<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<ul>
<li>| <a href="/scp-005">SCP-005</a> (<strong>Priority: <span style="color: green">LOW</span></strong>) |</li>
<li>| <a href="/scp-008">SCP-008</a> (<strong>Priority: <span style="color: red">HIGH</span></strong>) |</li>
<li>| <a href="/scp-011">SCP-011</a> (<strong>Priority: <span style="color: green">LOW</span></strong>) |</li>
<li>| <a href="/scp-039">SCP-039</a> (<strong>Priority: <span style="color: orange">MEDIUM</span></strong>) |</li>
<li><span style="opacity: .5;">| <a href="/scp-1810">SCP-1810</a> (<strong>Priority: <span style="color: green">LOW</span></strong>) |</span></li>
<li><span style="opacity: .3;">| SCP-2761 (<strong>Priority: <span style="color: red">HIGH</span></strong>) |</span></li>
</ul>
</div>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p><em>Another jolt. A searing pain deep in her head. Dr. Watkins awoke from her slumber by a stab in the head, or at least it very much felt like it. Her eyes glazed around the room, the doctors in their white coats standing at the screens and monitors. Slowly beeping away…</em></p>
<p><em>There was a sound, so distinct, her eyes shot open for just a moment, before they closed again. Her mind was fully awake, though, taking in every single sound from every single corner of the room. People spoke.</em></p>
<p>”Is she all right?” <em>a man with a deep voice said, raspy sounding, most likely from years of smoking.</em></p>
<p>”Her vitals are within acceptable limits.”</p>
<p>”And the man?” <em>the man asked.</em></p>
<p>”Same for him.”</p>
<p>”Good.”</p>
<p><em>There was this grain of familiarity in the man’s voice, but she couldn’t place it. Not fully. Her head hurt, spinning around in endless spirals.</em></p>
<p>”Load them up with tranqs,” <em>the man said, puffing out a cloud of cigarette smoke from his mouth,</em> ”the auction will begin in five minutes.”</p>
<p>”Understood, Agent Cray.”</p>
<p><em>She tried to fight against her restraints, yell out, but before she could do anything about it, the world around her turned into an indescribable mess of sounds and colors.</em></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><strong>« <a href="/bananazilla-begins-part-ii">Previous</a></strong></p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><strong><a class="newpage" href="/to-be-continued">To Be Continued...</a> »</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/bananazilla-coming-to-a-store-near-you">Bananazilla, Coming to a Store Near YOU!</a>" by Doctor Scrappy , from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/bananazilla-coming-to-a-store-near-you">https://scpwiki.com/bananazilla-coming-to-a-store-near-you</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
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**Bananazilla,
Coming to a Store
Near YOU!**
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The unofficial continuation of the Bananazilla tales based around [[[SCP-2761]]] by OZ Ouroboros. PART ONE!
**Author:** Doctor Scrappy
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//It was dark, damp, her vision just barely reaching a meter around her. Yet somehow she found herself blinded by the single lightbulb casting its dim illumination straight into her eyes. She realized she was lying on an operating table.//
//The sensation was cold, and every time she tried to move, even just// thought //about it, her body quaked under the pressure, aching all throughout. She winced, but all that came out was a quiet whisper.//
//A door opened, she could tell by the noise. Then came the footsteps, dozens of them. With each movement, the sound of plastic bending and crinkling rang through the room, as a gloved hand loomed briefly in the corner of her vision. She only just now noticed the constant beeping of a heart-rate monitor.//
//The face of a man entered her view, finally blocking out that blinding light. His features were being obscured by thick shadows, becoming a mere silhouette in the process.//
”Can you hear me?” //the man said, calm, quiet.//
//She tried to move her lips, but they became as dry and heavy as concrete. A painful sensation, punctuated by the man faltering in his stance slightly, the light above peeking out from the edge of his head.//
”Can you hear me?”
//After another silence, the man averted his gaze at something beyond her vision, as hushed whispers were exchanged. Her ears strained to even get in a single word. The man looked onto her again, obscuring the light once more. In the darkness, she saw his lips move://
”Ms. Watkins,” //he began, calmly and softly,// ”what is the earliest thing you can remember?”
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**Site-71**
**[[[Bananazilla Begins, Part II|2005]]]**
*
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*
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> //The doors whooshed open. The whole room was filled with the smell of bananas.//
>
> //And Liu, Morgan, Watkins, and Nakamura all walked in.//
>
> //”What… the hell.”//
>
> //”That is// not //a fish.”//
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
Pearl Watkins’ mouth was agape at the sight of the monstrosity lying before her eyes. Its peely yellow skin so unlike anything she could’ve ever imagined. It stretched and bent like regular skin would, though -- something that shouldn’t be. She could see the contours and crevices, as the creature’s chest moved up and down, air flowing through its nostrils in volume. Watkins felt her own breath falter within the suit.
The creature’s skin was covered with patches of brown, its limbs grossly out of place, being mere stumps to the rest of its body, twitching sporadically in all directions. She looked further along its body, seeing metal restraints tightly pressed up against it, like a dog pen for a whale, as the creature’s breathing made the restraints give off a whining sound, its body squeezing slightly beyond the cage’s limits. Watkins couldn’t see its face, but imagined it to bear a teeth-ridden, snarling expression.
Marcus Nakamura was equally as frozen in place, as well as awe-struck, eyes wide. He moved toward the creature and pressed his suited hand against it, feeling the rough texture of the beast even against the layers of protective equipment. Security officer Morgan finally sprung into action, extending his hand at Nakamura’s -- he was surprised to see Watkins grabbing Nakamura’s arm before him.
”Are you insane?!” she brought out with a forceful quietness, her hand digging deep into Nakamura’s wrist. Her voice sounded muffled, like speaking from the bottom of a lake. He winced a little. ”That //thing// is //NOT// a pet!”
That seemed to snap Marcus out of his thoughts, as he quickly retracted his hand from the creature, as the circumstances began to dawn on him again. ”Yes... of course,” he answered, rubbing his wrist with his hand. Sweat rolled down Watkins’ face, as she turned back to the creature, never leaving Marcus out of her sight.
Researcher Matthew Liu, who was battling the urge to order the two to be brought into a room, amnesticized, and thrown back out, cleared his throat, causing all to turn toward him. He gestured to one of the guards in the chamber, also clad in centimeters of protective gear, as they nodded and gestured something else to the other guards.
Watkins and Nakamura watched in horror, as Morgan moved toward the front of their bananafish, stopped half-way through, and turned toward them.
”Didn’t you want to see your fish?” he asked in a manner that meant ’no’ wasn’t an answer. Without even waiting for a response, Morgan turned back around and continued walking.
Seconds passed for Watkins, until something tapped her on the shoulder, causing her to flinch and scream all at the same time. Her gloved hands hit the visor of the suit, as she saw Liu looking at her with wide eyes, his hand just somewhat away from her shoulder. When she realized what had went down everyone had already turned their head toward her. She felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her, completely subsiding her fear.
”Well,” Liu began, stumbling for words, ”I can assure you there is nothing to fear. It’s under heavy sedation right now, so anything it might try to do, it couldn’t do, even if it wanted to.”
Watkins gulped, her mind speechless.
As the silence just permeated on, Liu averted his gaze again, giving Watkins a half-hearted pat on the shoulder, before walking to Morgan with a certain spring in his steps.
Looking at the guard, who was looking back at her, before averting their gaze, and with no other option in sight, she waltzed on. Every step she took was quaking. Nakamura followed in her steps, just as squeezy as his colleague.
When Liu caught up to Morgan, he leaned in to his ear, saying: ”You should’ve left them at home.”
”Yeah,” was all Liu could reply with.
When they all arrived to the head of the creature, it was nothing short of breathtaking; its beady eyes were tightly shut, as its lower jaw laid on the floor, revealing row after row of razor sharp teeth, drooling. Its breath reeked of bananas, rotten, yet oddly fruity all at the same time.
Pearl gulped some more, her head dizzy, stemming her hands on her knees. Nakamura felt his senses go numb from the smell, as his mind couldn’t even tell what it was looking at.
Liu glanced at the two; the one about to faint and the other one about to vomit, both of which would be a lot of paperwork to sort through. Before any of these scenarios could come to pass, Researcher Liu faced them, a stern expression on his face.
”Would you be able to identify your fish?” he asked, just to get those two into the proper mindset -- work needed to be done.
A spark flamed up in Watkins’ eyes, a brief retrieve from the new world she was in. ”We’d need s--some tests done on its genes... but with this... //thing//...” She looked at its stubby limbs, //human// limbs.
Liu nodded. ”Understood. Mr. Nakamura?”
Nakamura snapped out of his headspace, sweat rolling down his face as he faced Liu. ”Y--yeah?”
”Are you okay?”
He just nodded.
Liu turned to the beast again, holding a swab between his glove-clad fingers, as he made sure to make as little noise as possible. Watkins tensed up, the swab seeping into the creature’s viscous spit, with a tint of yellow.
He heaved the sample into a plastic bag, catching himself glancing at the creature beside him, his breath heavy, as he slowly steadied himself straight again.
It felt like a weight was being lifted from his heart, only now taking in the beating in his ears. Turning to look at Morgan, rifle firmly gripped in his hands, he turned back to the two people quaking in their boots.
A guard held their rifle trained between the beast’s eyes.
”Easy there, Cray. Don’t wanna be too hasty,” Morgan said. The guard didn’t falter in his stance even for a bit.
”We will go straight to analysis. You two can--”
A low growl made Liu’s heart skip a beat. Everyone’s hearts. His hands became sweaty, his legs mere sticks that were about to break away under him, his muscles turning into jelly.
Another growl, this one even deeper and more prolonged than before, sent shivers down his spine. He felt a hand touching his shoulder, Morgan’s hand, his head spinning to him.
Liu could see his colleague mouthing the words,//”Go,”// time trickling away, as he realized what he meant. Watkins and Nakamura didn’t look as shocked as he pictured them to be, but when [[[SCP-2761]]] gave off a howl of pure agony, they quickly realized the situation they found themselves in.
Dozens of tranquilizer darts were fired into the hide of the creature, with the guard from before unloading twice as many as the others. It growled and roared, Morgan and his squad backing away, never taking their aim off of it.
”Move!” Liu yelled, taking both Watkins’ and Nakamura’s hands, whose yells and cries were at least dampened by their protective suits.
Nakamura breathed heavily under his suit. ”We’re all going to die!” he cried out, the tears coming out as fast as he could run.
”Shut up, you’re not going to die--”
In an instant, the leg of 2761 that had been a little stump only moments prior erupted into a giant appendage, its yellow rubbery skin extending and contorting in all the wrong angles, as it grew into a full, three-clawed foot, like seeing a timelapse of a baby growing up.
Its claws scratched the floor, as it suddenly heaved itself up to the ceiling, the dangling strobe lights shattering into thousands of fragments that rained onto those below. Everyone stemmed their heads into their hands, as the one guard’s suit got pierced by the fragments, being sent tumbling to the floor.
The creature stood taller than anything else in the room on its two new legs, as it roared wrinkles through the air -- Liu thought it to sound like a T-Rex, a //[[[https://youtu.be/2eqJYtFO3SI?si=QBC-QatULU6YfeJA|real]]]// T-Rex. The metal cage smashed violently against the ceiling, heaves of concrete, rebar and metal chains falling along the creature’s sides and back, dust leveling eyesight.
Watkins pulled the too-stunned Nakamura, who was praying his final prayers already, out of the debris’ way, as they both fell to the floor and retreated into a foetal position.
Liu, like others, was almost crushed under a piece of debris, but Morgan dived through the clouds of dust to save his colleague from a long busted metal chain, each piece as big as his head. 2761 roared some more.
The gates suddenly opened, as various more personnel, each equipped with a tranquilizer gun, rushed into the room, and quickly surrounded the entity. More guards rushed in, now equipped with something stronger than just tranquilizers.
The entity ripped apart the last chain, its metal prison in shambles before it, as it felt its eyelids slowly becoming heavier. The dark pupils told nothing to the many soldiers firing away at the creature. It could feel itself tumbling over its own feet, before it fell against the cold concrete floor, the smell of bananas even more pronounced than ever.
Eventually, its eyes shut tight again, and it felt the pain slowly dissipate, as it slipped back into the sweet oblivion.
It took some time for Liu to be finally on his legs again. Morgan dusted himself off, while the soldiers established a perimeter around 2761. The medics came soon after, hauling those injured out of the chamber, some unconscious and others with holes in their heads.
Watkins and Nakamura were like statues, but the guards were able to haul their asses out of the chamber, too -- //like they even wanted to be in here anymore.//
The entire world around him was like a blur, until Morgan’s voice rang in his ears again, and his look wasn’t so distant anymore.
”You okay, Matt?”
”Y--yes... Yes, I am. You?”
”Don’t worry about me,” he pointed at Watkins and Nakamura.
After a few seconds: ”Yes... yes, of course.” He moved out of the chamber, after the two, unresponsive to the world around them as ever.
As he ran out, he could swear the creature’s beady black eyes were staring back at him.
@@ @@
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[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
//The pain that reached deep down into her bones persisted, her lips still unmoving. Her eyes, though; they told the man everything that he needed to know.//
//The man turned to look at another person just out of Pearl’s view, a feeling of dread building up within her, more unintelligible words in her ears.//
//She felt a searing burn deep in her chest, her heart, as the man left her vision; moments later, he returned and that burning sensation was gone.//
”Dammit, we’re supposed to keep her alive, not kill her!”
”I--I’m sorry, doctor,” //was all she could hear, as the blackness she awoke from slowly crept back up again.//
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
Morgan passed around the debris, his thick boots crushing the concrete bits under him into smaller fragments. The dust hurtled just above his feet. He hadn’t taken his headgear off. Although 2761 had been moved, he couldn’t stand the smell of bananas -- it made him dizzy.
On one of the larger concrete-rebar pieces sat Cray, a bandage around his left hand. The medics took a sample of his spit, the imposing stature of the man shifting awkwardly in the gear. Then the medic packed their things and waltzed passed Morgan, their eyes definitely watery.
”Everything all right over there?” Morgan asked.
Cray rubbed his hand.
”That... //thing//... what is it?” he asked.
”The lab experiment of a few scientists flushed down the gutter.”
”But that thing was massive! Why would anyone ever create something like that?”
”Profit, brother. It’s all about profit.”
Cray looked down at the floor.
”Come on,” Morgan spoke up, ”take the rest of the day off.” Morgan gave him a pat on the back.
Cray, who stood a few inches taller than Morgan, rubbed his hand. Morgan pat him on the back, and Cray made his way out of there.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
The cigarette smoke blew high into the cloudy sky, his long exhale the loudest noise anywhere nearby. Carlston Cray let the fire eat away at his cig, while thoughts rushed to the forefront of his mind ever-so slowly.
It had been difficult during his times. Always at the brink of starvation, balancing on the thin thread between existence and annihilation. His mother tried to do the best for him, but even he knew that it wasn’t enough, even so young. Crime was the daily, with a corrupted system tying everything together into a neat little bow.
But one day, there stepped in an organization, which offered his mother and him salvation, refuge from the shithole that had been their life -- no fear of starvation, of being robbed of the littlest of things they possessed, of not making it to tomorrow, of seperation.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. A quick glance at the disabled security camera, he pulled it out, his movements calm, but slow, apathetic, pressing it tightly against his ear. He balanced what little remained of his cig in his other hand.
”Ready?” a distorted voice spoke.
Cray exhaled. ”Send some additional forces at 71. There is an asset that’d be of great interest to our customers.”
There was a pause. ”Which one?” the distorted voice asked, curiously.
Cray let his cigarette fall to the ground and stomped the stump under his thick leather boot. ”A newcomer, freshly recovered; could be worth a few billion.”
There was another long pause; despite this, Cray could feel the person on the other side clenching together their fists. ”[[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/marshall-carter-and-dark-hub|Marshall, Carter & Dark]]] only prides itself--”
”Spare me the lecture,” Cray said, now in a more stern voice, ”bring another squad in and a cage big enough to fit a T-Rex.”
Beford the voice on the other side could protest any further, he hung up, basking in the sudden silence. He wasn’t about to let a file clerk with a voice changer jeopardize the entire operation, let alone question //his// authority.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
Pearl and Marcus sat in the sterile infirmary, their hands tightly interlocked with each other’s. Neither of them gave out so much as a squeak. Their stares were absent, trained to the linoleum floor, monitors and IV-drips going off in the background. Everything was seperated by pastel green curtains.
As the seconds turned into minutes on the wall-mounted clock, Marcus looked over at Pearl. Her eyes were trained on the floor, like a mannequin for display, //unmoving//, not even flinching. Marcus tapped her lightly on the shoulder, which appeared to shock her somewhat. He gave her a soft smile when she looked over at him -- the best smile he could give in such a situation. She tried to smile back.
”Hey,” was the only thing Marcus could say.
”Hey,” Pearl replied back. Her eyes averted back to the floor.
”Everything all right?”
It took her some time to answer. ”Yes... yes.” She didn’t look him in the eyes.
Marcus just nodded. ”That’s good... that’s good.”
The seconds trickled away on the clock. //Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock...//
Marcus opened his mouth again, careful for his choice of words, and said: ”I want to see our bananafish again.”
Pearl instantly shot up from her stance of lethargy, and retreated her hand out of his. ”Are you //nuts//?!”
He tried to calm her down, but found himself lost for words; he hadn’t seen her so energetic before. ”Pearl, please... let me explain--”
She stomped her heel against the floor. ”That thing should be pumped up with toxins and be disposed of immediately!” she almost yelled. Her breathing was heavy, her hands clenched into fists.
At the mere mention of those words, Nakamura clenched his teeth; his own heart was beating rapidly now. Watkins saw this, and her anger and frustration grew into concern. ”Dispose of it? What, like what Higgins did?”
Pearl remained silent. //She// had never seen //him// so energetic before. ”Do you know why I joined //Aquagene//, Pearl?” He waited for her to answer, but nothing came. ”It was to //create// life, not to dispose of it the moment it displayed deviant behavior. That //’thing’// is a breathing, **//living//** creature, and you just want to //dispose// of it, like it were some broken toy or faulty product?”
Pearl, letting the initial wave of concern and fear wear off, spoke: ”But it //is// a faulty product. A product that could’ve killed us all, if we wouldn’t have been lucky!”
That shut both of them right up. Pearl stared into Marcus’ eyes for a little longer than was comfortable, which she took notice of, and sat down again. Marcus simply remained where he was, but he shifted a little less comfortably in his seat. Both remained silent for the remainder.
Memories of his childhood crept into his mind, but he shook them off for just a moment longer.
The minutes ticked by on the clock.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
”Amnesticize them,” Site-Director Amariam Gurrira said, with no room for interpretation. Researcher Liu just looked perplexed.
Director Gurrira was in her mid-fifties, short, black hair with streakes of grey already creeping in, wrinkles adorning the edges of her face and her hands. She had been here longer than anyone else at Site-71 -- Liu still remembered their first meeting at the conference hall two decades ago.
”Director, with all due respect, Drs. Watkins and Nakamura are valuable assets for the further study and understanding of SCP-2761--”
”Valuable assets that almost got killed! They can’t provide us with any more information that we wouldn’t be able to figure out ourselves. They are at active risk, and I don’t want them wandering around 71.”
Liu moved his lips to speak, but Director Gurrira held up her hand to stop him right then and there. ”No further inquiries are to be made on this subject. You are dismissed, Researcher Liu.”
Before he could think any further thought, the lights went out.
When they turned back on, the emergency lights plunged everything into a deep red, as the klaxons started to sound, reverberating within his ears, as the yells of guards and dozens of footsteps echoed through the narrow corridors outside. His heart was beating seventy miles per hour.
Director Gurrira tried to contact the appropriate channels, but they had all inexplicably been down, so she opted to retrieve her pistol from underneath her desk. Liu recoiled out of habit; he never was a guns person.
As she was checking how much ammunition was left in the cartridge, the door slid open, and a young guard, no older than twenty-one, stepped in.
”Director,” the guard began, breathing and sweating heavily under his gear all the same, ”we’ve got a situation.”
”No shit,” Gurrira replied, sliding the cartidge into her pistol. ”What kind of situation?”
The guard stammered something incomprehensible, as the world around Liu suddenly turned into a cacophony of sights, sounds, and, weirdly enough, //smells//.
The guard and director were looking at him, him struggling to stay on his two feet, holding onto his seat, as the smell invaded his nostrils, his brain.
Eventually, though, he regained his senses. His body adapted to that sickly smell.
”Liu, what’s going on?” she asked.
He didn’t even answer. The aftertaste of the smell lingered in his brain. The corridors reeked of //bananas//.
@@ @@
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[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
The lights turned out. There was a split second, in which Marcus could feel all of his body’s systems screeching to a halt, petrified to his soul. When the red emergency lights and the klaxons turned on in their place, he still felt as stiff as a statue, but at least he could feel the warmth in his fingertips again.
A medical doctor, short, brown hair, brown eyes, face-mask obscuring their face, unknown name, rushed to the door, yelling something against the deafening klaxons. They tried their best to seem calming. They pulled out a handgun, holding their access card up against the scanner. Marcus wanted to chase after him, get a sense of what it was he had said, but the moment that door slid open, an ear-piercing rang reverberated throughout the hallway, as the sensation of wetness, warmth, and coldness hit his face and his clothes.
It took a moment for him to realize fully what was going on, as Pearl screamed and cowered between the chairs, as the rest of the infirmary erupted into a blind, loud panic.
He looked down at his clothes, felt his cheek with his hand, and saw red stains upon him, soaking into his clothes’ fabric. The squishy texture of brain matter squeezed and oozed underneath the tips of his fingers, as his arms fell limp, his legs turning into goo, and stumbled into a corner.
The corpse of the doctor laid there in the hallway, a hole where their left eye once was. Blood was seeping out of it, pooling around them in an iron-smelling, wet, warm puddle. Their hand was still clasping that handgun, their fingers tightly pressed around its hilt.
Footsteps approached, but grew into a distant blur, almost dream-like, as Marcus breaths grew heavier and heavier. The moment he perceived the world around him normally again, was when the footsteps came to a halt, and another man’s hand wrapped around his. The man threw him up to his feet, and knocked him straight into the opposite wall. The blunt sensation rippled through his spine, he thought one of his ribs might’ve cracked. He hit the floor just as unmajestically.
The next thing he saw was the man, clad in heavy, face-obscuring gear and a rifle, pulling Pearl to her feet. She trembled in fear, while the other people in the room -- simple medics, injured soldiers and patients -- could only hold their hands up. Marcus looked up to see the nuzzle of the rifle being pointed straight at his forehead. The ringing dissipated, but he could still hardly understand the man at all.
As he rose to his feet, he got pushed into Pearl, the nuzzle buried in his back. The soldier shouted more indistinct phrases, and guided them into the hallway.
Before they knew it, a bullet flew through the air and pierced directly into the soldier’s neck, blood squirming everywhere. He tried to put pressure on it, but as his surroundings faded, so too did he, until the only thing left of him was a sack of meat, skin and bone.
The next few minutes passed in a hurry, Marcus and Pearl stuck in their little headspaces. Those headspaces were quickly burst, when Morgan turned both of them around, and that not lightly, to face him. For the first time in those last couple of moments, he understood what another person was saying.
**//”Move!”//**
Their legs grew into a full sprint, as they realized more people were sprinting alongside them; the simple medics and doctors, injured soldiers and patients, some holding onto each other, all heading to the nearest shelter, as Morgan’s shouting became quieter by the seconds.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
//Sprint, duck, cover, peek, shoot, peek, sprint again. Sprint, duck, cover, peek, shoot, peek, sprint again. Sprint, duck, cover, peek, shoot, peek, sprint again. Sprint, duck, cover, peek, shoot, peek, sprint again...//
It was nearly routine for Cray. His rifle was firmly in his hands, the bullets flying down the corridors with deadly precision, the blood of his colleagues spilled onto the floor and walls. He thought about what they were thinking in their last moments, when they saw their colleague, a //friend// turn around a corner and, before they had any time to react, him sending a shot through their skull or chest.
He shook away that thought and kept on shooting.
//Sprint, duck, cover, peek, shoot, peek, sprint again. Sprint, duck, cover, peek, shoot, peek, sprint again. Sprint, duck, cover, peek, shoot, peek, sprint again...//
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
A //whoosh// zipped past him, followed by a thud of concrete being burst. Marcus looked behind him, but he was pulled behind a corner too quickly for him to see the hole the bullet left.
The thumping of his heart drowned out the gunfire that soon followed, as Morgan took several shots, before just as quickly taking cover again. Crumbs of concrete shattered into hundreds of fragments, littering the entire floor.
The doctors, the medics, the injured -- they all huddled in a foetal position, some holding each other, like it was the last day on earth. He didn’t blame them, not at all, as Pearl and him were doing the same. They were trying to shut out the mayhem erupting all around them.
Their hands interlocked with each other’s, eyes shut tight, a hand raised to their ear, the arrythmic thumping of their hearts sounding like it was about to explode out of their chests. This primal fear of whether or not one’d make it to the following morning was boiling within them.
A guttural howl, followed by a stifled gasp, all capped off with a wet, hard thud. Marcus didn’t even know what was going on, as footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor, and Pearl suddenly sprang into motion.
In an act he never would’ve thought she was capable of, Pearl made a dash for Morgan’s rifle, laying next to his motionless body, the footsteps inching closer with every passing second. Her hands were on the trigger, as haphazard and uncoordinated her movements and posture were, and pulled the trigger...
... but the shot never came. A different shot, now coming from behind them, hit Pearl in the neck, causing her to wrench up in pain. It was a needle, a needle filled with god-knows-what, as she stumbled to the floor and the world around her became one giant, fuzzy image.
Marcus wasn’t as lucky. A right hook to his face with the end of the soldier’s rifle knocked him to the floor, then he got injected with presumably the same stuff Pearl had been hit with. And that was that.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
”Load him up,” Cray spoke to his masked colleague. They simply nodded in return, threw Nakamura over their shoulders, their stance shifting slightly, and hurried down the corridor the fastest they could.
Cray himself made his way to Dr. Watkins -- past all the eyes adjusting to his tall figure in the darkness of the corridors. As he leaned down to pick her up, breaths, so hushed, yet so poignant, bored their way into his ears. He turned to look, the scientist, blood pooling out of an opening of their arm where there shouldn’t have been one, pressed themselves further up against the wall. Their eyes didn’t leave him out of their sight.
The sound of tearing and ripping cloth momentarily halted the scientist’s breaths, if only for a little while. Cray held out his hand, his black-gloved hand looking like claws in the dim red lights. He peered at the researcher through those red lights, however, and the scientist couldn’t help themselves, but take the hand.
Their fingers touched fabric, soft and rough.
”Wrap that around your arm,” Cray said, with a demanding undertone. He pointed at the wound at their arm.
The scientist took the cloth, so light in their hand, before looking back at the soldier. Cray, however, was already throwing Watkins over his shoulder, and burst into a dash, his figure becoming a mere silhouette at the end of the corridor.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
> ------
> [[=]]
> **INCIDENT REPORT ECHO-ROMEO-ALPHA**
> [[/=]]
> ------
> On ██/██/2005, several raids at fifteen (15) seperate Foundation facilities were carried out by members of Group of Interest 014 (//”Marshall, Carter & Dark Ltd.”//).
>
> Investigations are still ongoing, but it is presumed that this massive breach of internal security was accomplished by various double agents of GoI-014, posted at these facilities.
>
> The amount of anomalous objects acquired during these events is vast, and will be expanded, until operations are able to resume.
>
> Current SCP objects unaccounted for are:
> @@ @@
> [[=]]
> * | [[[SCP-005]]] (**Priority: ##green|LOW##**) |
> * | [[[SCP-008]]] (**Priority: ##red|HIGH##**) |
> * | [[[SCP-011]]] (**Priority: ##green|LOW##**) |
> * | [[[SCP-039]]] (**Priority: ##orange|MEDIUM##**) |
> * [[span style="opacity: .5;"]] | [[[SCP-1810]]] (**Priority: ##green|LOW##**) | [[/span]]
> * [[span style="opacity: .3;"]] | SCP-2761 (**Priority: ##red|HIGH##**) | [[/span]]
> [[/=]]
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
//Another jolt. A searing pain deep in her head. Dr. Watkins awoke from her slumber by a stab in the head, or at least it very much felt like it. Her eyes glazed around the room, the doctors in their white coats standing at the screens and monitors. Slowly beeping away...//
//There was a sound, so distinct, her eyes shot open for just a moment, before they closed again. Her mind was fully awake, though, taking in every single sound from every single corner of the room. People spoke.//
”Is she all right?” //a man with a deep voice said, raspy sounding, most likely from years of smoking.//
”Her vitals are within acceptable limits.”
”And the man?” //the man asked.//
”Same for him.”
”Good.”
//There was this grain of familiarity in the man’s voice, but she couldn’t place it. Not fully. Her head hurt, spinning around in endless spirals.//
”Load them up with tranqs,” //the man said, puffing out a cloud of cigarette smoke from his mouth,// ”the auction will begin in five minutes.”
”Understood, Agent Cray.”
//She tried to fight against her restraints, yell out, but before she could do anything about it, the world around her turned into an indescribable mess of sounds and colors.//
@@ @@
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[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
------
[[<]]
**« [[[Bananazilla Begins, Part II|Previous]]]**
[[/<]]
[[>]]
**[[[To Be Continued...]]] »**
[[/>]]
------
@@ @@
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-09-27T15:56:00
|
[
"absurdism",
"action",
"tale"
] |
Bananazilla, Coming to a Store Near YOU! - SCP Foundation
| 7
|
[
"scp-2761",
"bananazilla-begins-part-ii",
"marshall-carter-and-dark-hub",
"scp-005",
"scp-008",
"scp-011",
"scp-039",
"scp-1810",
"to-be-continued",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"scp-series-3-tales-edition"
] |
[] |
1456943083
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/bananazilla-coming-to-a-store-near-you
|
|
baroque-unreality
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aminimalist-bhl/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>Incident 01/04/2024:</strong> Excerpt of the Department of Unreality Orientation led by Researcher Alex Thorely.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>INTERNAL VIDEO LOG</strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-size:95%;">INT. — CONFERENCE ROOM 1-A, SITE-19</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><tt>[ BEGIN LOG ]</tt></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Um, hi everyone. Welcome to the Department of Unreality orientation. Help yourselves to the bagels, am I right?</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Silence.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Fine, more for me! Ha ha.</p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Audience Member:</strong> Was that a joke?</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> So, I was asked to give you all a brief introduction to our department. Mine. Ours in the future. If we pick you to join, I mean. I pick you, sorry. I run things. If you don't count the cat that outranks me. I don't. I'm not sure he actually outranks me.</p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Audience Member:</strong> Would a cat outrank us?</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Oh, no! You're all probably fine. I was told this was all Level 4 researchers? I've had a bit of an issue with the clearance system, so I am technically a Level 1 Adjunct Junior Researcher. But IT is looking into it!</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Um, so. Here at the Department of Unreality, we deal with some anomalies that are pretty scary stuff. Some of you may be familiar with that one where the world spun around a lot for a while in my office, of course. And that one where I saved Site-15 from like, ten things.</p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Audience Member:</strong> I'm from Site-15, we haven't had any containment breaches in years.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> huh</p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Audience Member:</strong> What would our directives be?</p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Audience Member:</strong> What kind of equipment are you working on? I heard Unreality had promising new tech ready to go!</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> We do?</p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Audience Member:</strong> Is it true you killed a guy?</p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Audience Member:</strong> Didn't Jennifer Williams live with you?</p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Audience Member:</strong> How did you manage to speak in lowercase with no punctuation?</p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Audience Member:</strong> Is it true you once spilled narrative acid on SCP-3812?</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> What?</p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Audience Member:</strong> Didn't you once meet a clone of youself and then have sex with-</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> <strong>OK!</strong></p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> OK.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Ok.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> I'm gonna be honest, everyone, I don't really know much about this department, I'm new-ish,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup> so I need you all to bear with me. What are you all talking about?</p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Audience Members:</strong> See, as far as we've heard-</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>[SEVERAL MINUTES OF FOOTAGE OMITTED.]</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> I'm pretty sure that didn't happen. I've never seen anyone even enter my off-</p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Audience Members:</strong> No dude it totally did!</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> <em>(Under THEIR breath)</em> …dude?</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Ok, but the director doesn't exist anywhere in the system, I checked.</p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Audience Member:</strong> Exaaaaactly what they want you to think.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Who's "they"?</p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Audience Members:</strong> Exaaaactlyyyyy.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Woah.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>[SEVERAL HOURS OF FOOTAGE OF EXPLANATIONS OF POWERSCALING IN SCP OMITTED.]</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> WHATEVER! LEAVE! SEE IF I CARE FUCKASS! YOU DON'T WANT TO BE PART OF THE GREATEST DEPARTMENT IN THE FOUNDATION, I'M SURE WE'LL MOURN YOUR LOSS. AND IF ANYONE ELSE WANTS TO LEAVE, DO IT! I DON'T GIVE A SHIT!</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> I cannot believe I didn't know this stuff! All this time I thought I was probably hallucinating most of these! There's so much stuff I don't even remember doing or hearing about or seeing!</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Fine, whatever, it's time.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> We're storming the capitol.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> What? No, yeah, it was like- No I know it's kinda crude but it was a joke. Fine. Whatever. Not the capitol, a legally distinct administrative building.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><tt>[ END LOG ]</tt></strong></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>Incident 01/04/2024:</strong> O5 Council Meeting Log.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>INTERNAL VIDEO LOG</strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-size:95%;">INT. — SCP CAPITOL (HOME OF THE O5)</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><tt>[ BEGIN LOG ]</tt></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a"><strong>[FOOTAGE OMITTED FOR SECURITY REASONS.]</strong></span></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>O5-2:</strong> Next item on the agenda is ruling on a request by IT to stop using video and audio logs instead of the actual video and/or audio. Any thoughts?</p>
<p><strong>O5-2:</strong> Computers are a passing fad, we'll be back to paper and they'll look stupid. Nay.</p>
<p><strong>O5-3:</strong> <tt>Big talk, little man. I'll kick your old ass dumb ass shit ass.</tt></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>A chair is thrown at a window from outside the room. It fails to break the window, bouncing back wth a faint 'thump'.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>O5-9:</strong> The nearest chair is miles away from here.</p>
<p><strong>O5-5:</strong> At least a good hundred miles. Mm-hm.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>A second chair is thrown at the same window from outside the room. It fails to break the window again, bouncing back wth a faint 'thump'.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>O5-13:</strong> Where's the second-nearest chair, am I right?</p>
<p><strong>O5-12:</strong> We all wish you'd kill yourself, thirteen.</p>
<p><strong>O5-6:</strong> It's true.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>A third chair is thrown at a window from outside the room. It fails to break the window, bouncing back wth a faint 'thump'. The window, however, explodes due to an unrelated manufacturing error caused by the momentary distraction of a worker at the reinforced windows plant, which was prompted by a particularly heated Twitter exchange between the worker and another user, who, unbeknownst to him, was a former lover he had taken while on a trip to the Seychelles years prior.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Alex Thorely enters the room through the window.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>O5-1:</strong> The door was open.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> It was?</p>
<p><strong>O5-8:</strong> Most certainly.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Why?</p>
<p><strong>O5-11:</strong> 'd reck'n it'd be pretty darn' foolish ta' try t crash this 'ere part'y, don't ya missy?</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> <em>(Under THEIR breath)</em> …missy?</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Those aren't even real contractions! And I am here for answers!</p>
<p><strong>O5-7:</strong> <span style="color: #ff0000">But do you know the question?</span></p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> I don't know, was your attempt at casting what I assume is 'explode this person's heart' successful?</p>
<p><strong>O5-7:</strong> No… I'm sorry…</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Good, now keep your words normal color.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> If you couldn't tell by my new swag, I am now the big boss.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Give me the keys to the SCPs.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Silence.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>O5-1:</strong> No.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Please?</p>
<p><strong>O5-1:</strong> No.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> DRATS! Fine! Have it your way!</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Thorely starts concentrating. They point at O5-1, holding the pose for several minutes. Beads of sweat form on their forehead.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>O5-3:</strong> <tt>They aren't doing anything.</tt></p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Am too.</p>
<p><strong>O5-3:</strong> <tt>Am not.</tt></p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> I'm using my powers.</p>
<p><strong>O5-5:</strong> You haven't even told us who you are.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> What! I'm Alex Thorely! Your most powerful employee!</p>
<p><strong>O5-6:</strong> No you aren't.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Yeah!</p>
<p><strong>O5-6:</strong> I know every personnel file the Foundation has. You are Alex Thor<em>ley</em>, a junior researcher in… AcroAbate?</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Ohhh I am so exploding you with my mind for that!</p>
<p><strong>O5-6:</strong> No abilities or powers of note.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Oh yeah? What about my <strong>Nonexistent Physiology</strong>? Huh? I can do <em>this!</em></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Nothing happens.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Scared?</p>
<p><strong>O5-1:</strong> No.</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> You all just don't understand the Department of Unreality like my new friends do! I am Tier 0 which is the coolest one! I can make things exist, and teleport, which, by the way, reaches all the way to Poland! and I can make dissociative episodes happen on other people, AND I can manipulate memories, AND, I can put people into comas and erase their existence and hack into the Foundation's database AND I can manipulate the narrative! Watch THIS!</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Nothing happens, but on the other side of the world, the Scarlet King's lesser known brother, The Devil from The Bible, appears, immediately killing one man living in San Diego. Said man was clutching a gun in his sleep.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Had enough yet?</p>
<p><strong>O5-1:</strong> No.</p>
<p><strong>O5-11:</strong> See 'ere pard'ner, the pr'blem, 's I sees 't, 's that you really can't do a darn thing!</p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Oh yeah well did you know I'm non-binary?</p>
<p><strong>O5-11:</strong> W'll I ne'er…</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>O5-11 dies of dysentery. Game Over, Pard'ner!</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>Rsr. Thorely:</strong> Anyone else need to be convinced I mean business?</p>
<p><strong>O5-1:</strong> No. We were just running out the clock.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>O5-4, who had not had a speaking role so far because he was too busy charging a Revolutionary War-era musket, puts a whole bunch of grapeshot through Thorely's skull. Their head is instantly reduced to mincemeat.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>O5-1:</strong> Weren't-</p>
<p><strong>O5-5:</strong> Yep. They were rubber bullets.</p>
<p><strong>O5-1:</strong> God damn, man.</p>
<p><strong>O5-6:</strong> What I really want to know is what the fuck Tier 0 means.</p>
<p><strong>O5-3:</strong> <tt>Oh that is when you have characters who can affect objects which completely exceed the logical foundations of High 1-A, much like it exceeds the ones defining 1-A and below, meaning that all possible levels of High 1-A are exceeded, even an infinite or uncountably amount of such levels. This tier has no endpoint, and can be extended to any higher level just like the ones above.</tt></p>
<p><strong>O5-6:</strong> Again, what I really want to know is what the fuck Tier 0 means.</p>
<p><strong>Every O5 except 6, in unison:</strong> Oh, six…</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Freeze frame.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Laugh track.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><tt>[ END LOG ]</tt></strong></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><strong>O5 Council Resolution AFD-000:</strong> Never tell Researcher Alex Thorley about their lamer 26th clone or this dossier. Also a ten trillion dollar raise for every O5.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th>FOR</th>
<th>AGAINST</th>
<th>ABSTAIN</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-1</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-2</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-3</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-4</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-5</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-6</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-7</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-8</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-9</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-10</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-11</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-12</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-13</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. Rsr. Thorely has been employed by the Foundation for several years.</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/baroque-unreality">BAROQUE</a>" by Fishish, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/baroque-unreality">https://scpwiki.com/baroque-unreality</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>This article contains an excerpt from <em><a href="https://vsbattles.fandom.com/wiki/Category:Tier_0" target="_blank">category:Tier 0</a></em> by Dino Ranger Black and Antvasima (CC-BY-SA).</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>This article contains an excerpt from <em><a href="https://vsbattles.fandom.com/wiki/Department_of_Unreality" target="_blank">Department of Unreality</a></em> by Tllmbrg (CC-BY-SA).</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:minimalist-bhl">:scp-wiki:theme:minimalist-bhl</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
:root {
--header-title: "Department of Unreality";
--header-subtitle: "Tier 0 baby what the fuck does that meanㅤㅤㅤㅤ";
--lgurl: url('http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/unreality-hub/Unreality%20Header%20Logo.svg');
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[=]]
**Incident 01/04/2024:** Excerpt of the Department of Unreality Orientation led by Researcher Alex Thorely.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[=]]
[[size 130%]]**INTERNAL VIDEO LOG**[[/size]]
[[size 95%]]INT. -- CONFERENCE ROOM 1-A, SITE-19[[/size]]
[[/=]]
@@ @@
= **{{[ BEGIN LOG ]}}**
@@ @@
**Rsr. Thorely:** Um, hi everyone. Welcome to the Department of Unreality orientation. Help yourselves to the bagels, am I right?
@@ @@
-----
//Silence.//
-----
@@ @@
**Rsr. Thorely:** Fine, more for me! Ha ha.
**Unidentified Audience Member:** Was that a joke?
**Rsr. Thorely:** So, I was asked to give you all a brief introduction to our department. Mine. Ours in the future. If we pick you to join, I mean. I pick you, sorry. I run things. If you don't count the cat that outranks me. I don't. I'm not sure he actually outranks me.
**Unidentified Audience Member:** Would a cat outrank us?
**Rsr. Thorely:** Oh, no! You're all probably fine. I was told this was all Level 4 researchers? I've had a bit of an issue with the clearance system, so I am technically a Level 1 Adjunct Junior Researcher. But IT is looking into it!
**Rsr. Thorely:** Um, so. Here at the Department of Unreality, we deal with some anomalies that are pretty scary stuff. Some of you may be familiar with that one where the world spun around a lot for a while in my office, of course. And that one where I saved Site-15 from like, ten things.
**Unidentified Audience Member:** I'm from Site-15, we haven't had any containment breaches in years.
**Rsr. Thorely:** huh
**Unidentified Audience Member:** What would our directives be?
**Unidentified Audience Member:** What kind of equipment are you working on? I heard Unreality had promising new tech ready to go!
**Rsr. Thorely:** We do?
**Unidentified Audience Member:** Is it true you killed a guy?
**Unidentified Audience Member:** Didn't Jennifer Williams live with you?
**Unidentified Audience Member:** How did you manage to speak in lowercase with no punctuation?
**Unidentified Audience Member:** Is it true you once spilled narrative acid on SCP-3812?
**Rsr. Thorely:** What?
**Unidentified Audience Member:** Didn't you once meet a clone of youself and then have sex with-
**Rsr. Thorely:** **OK!**
**Rsr. Thorely:** OK.
**Rsr. Thorely:** Ok.
**Rsr. Thorely:** I'm gonna be honest, everyone, I don't really know much about this department, I'm new-ish, [[footnote]] Rsr. Thorely has been employed by the Foundation for several years. [[/footnote]] so I need you all to bear with me. What are you all talking about?
**Unidentified Audience Members:** See, as far as we've heard-
@@ @@
-----
**[SEVERAL MINUTES OF FOOTAGE OMITTED.]**
-----
@@ @@
**Rsr. Thorely:** I'm pretty sure that didn't happen. I've never seen anyone even enter my off-
**Unidentified Audience Members:** No dude it totally did!
**Rsr. Thorely:** //(Under THEIR breath)// ...dude?
**Rsr. Thorely:** Ok, but the director doesn't exist anywhere in the system, I checked.
**Unidentified Audience Member:** Exaaaaactly what they want you to think.
**Rsr. Thorely:** Who's "they"?
**Unidentified Audience Members:** Exaaaactlyyyyy.
**Rsr. Thorely:** Woah.
@@ @@
-----
**[SEVERAL HOURS OF FOOTAGE OF EXPLANATIONS OF POWERSCALING IN SCP OMITTED.]**
-----
@@ @@
**Rsr. Thorely:** WHATEVER! LEAVE! SEE IF I CARE FUCKASS! YOU DON'T WANT TO BE PART OF THE GREATEST DEPARTMENT IN THE FOUNDATION, I'M SURE WE'LL MOURN YOUR LOSS. AND IF ANYONE ELSE WANTS TO LEAVE, DO IT! I DON'T GIVE A SHIT!
**Rsr. Thorely:** I cannot believe I didn't know this stuff! All this time I thought I was probably hallucinating most of these! There's so much stuff I don't even remember doing or hearing about or seeing!
**Rsr. Thorely:** Fine, whatever, it's time.
**Rsr. Thorely:** We're storming the capitol.
**Rsr. Thorely:** What? No, yeah, it was like- No I know it's kinda crude but it was a joke. Fine. Whatever. Not the capitol, a legally distinct administrative building.
@@ @@
= **{{[ END LOG ]}}**
[[/div]]
@@ @@
**Incident 01/04/2024:** O5 Council Meeting Log.
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[=]]
[[size 130%]]**INTERNAL VIDEO LOG**[[/size]]
[[size 95%]]INT. -- SCP CAPITOL (HOME OF THE O5)[[/size]]
[[/=]]
@@ @@
= **{{[ BEGIN LOG ]}}**
@@ @@
-----
= ##5a5a5a|**[FOOTAGE OMITTED FOR SECURITY REASONS.]**##
-----
**O5-2:** Next item on the agenda is ruling on a request by IT to stop using video and audio logs instead of the actual video and/or audio. Any thoughts?
**O5-2:** Computers are a passing fad, we'll be back to paper and they'll look stupid. Nay.
**O5-3:** {{Big talk, little man. I'll kick your old ass dumb ass shit ass.}}
@@ @@
-----
//A chair is thrown at a window from outside the room. It fails to break the window, bouncing back wth a faint 'thump'.//
-----
@@ @@
**O5-9:** The nearest chair is miles away from here.
**O5-5:** At least a good hundred miles. Mm-hm.
@@ @@
-----
//A second chair is thrown at the same window from outside the room. It fails to break the window again, bouncing back wth a faint 'thump'.//
-----
@@ @@
**O5-13:** Where's the second-nearest chair, am I right?
**O5-12:** We all wish you'd kill yourself, thirteen.
**O5-6:** It's true.
@@ @@
-----
//A third chair is thrown at a window from outside the room. It fails to break the window, bouncing back wth a faint 'thump'. The window, however, explodes due to an unrelated manufacturing error caused by the momentary distraction of a worker at the reinforced windows plant, which was prompted by a particularly heated Twitter exchange between the worker and another user, who, unbeknownst to him, was a former lover he had taken while on a trip to the Seychelles years prior.//
-----
@@ @@
@@ @@
-----
//Alex Thorely enters the room through the window.//
-----
@@ @@
**O5-1:** The door was open.
**Rsr. Thorely:** It was?
**O5-8:** Most certainly.
**Rsr. Thorely:** Why?
**O5-11:** 'd reck'n it'd be pretty darn' foolish ta' try t crash this 'ere part'y, don't ya missy?
**Rsr. Thorely:** //(Under THEIR breath)// ...missy?
**Rsr. Thorely:** Those aren't even real contractions! And I am here for answers!
**O5-7:** ##FF0000 | But do you know the question?##
**Rsr. Thorely:** I don't know, was your attempt at casting what I assume is 'explode this person's heart' successful?
**O5-7:** No... I'm sorry...
**Rsr. Thorely:** Good, now keep your words normal color.
**Rsr. Thorely:** If you couldn't tell by my new swag, I am now the big boss.
**Rsr. Thorely:** Give me the keys to the SCPs.
@@ @@
-----
//Silence.//
-----
@@ @@
**O5-1:** No.
**Rsr. Thorely:** Please?
**O5-1:** No.
**Rsr. Thorely:** DRATS! Fine! Have it your way!
@@ @@
-----
//Thorely starts concentrating. They point at O5-1, holding the pose for several minutes. Beads of sweat form on their forehead.//
-----
@@ @@
**O5-3:** {{They aren't doing anything.}}
**Rsr. Thorely:** Am too.
**O5-3:** {{Am not.}}
**Rsr. Thorely:** I'm using my powers.
**O5-5:** You haven't even told us who you are.
**Rsr. Thorely:** What! I'm Alex Thorely! Your most powerful employee!
**O5-6:** No you aren't.
**Rsr. Thorely:** Yeah!
**O5-6:** I know every personnel file the Foundation has. You are Alex Thor//ley//, a junior researcher in... AcroAbate?
**Rsr. Thorely:** Ohhh I am so exploding you with my mind for that!
**O5-6:** No abilities or powers of note.
**Rsr. Thorely:** Oh yeah? What about my **Nonexistent Physiology**? Huh? I can do //this!//
@@ @@
-----
//Nothing happens.//
-----
@@ @@
**Rsr. Thorely:** Scared?
**O5-1:** No.
**Rsr. Thorely:** You all just don't understand the Department of Unreality like my new friends do! I am Tier 0 which is the coolest one! I can make things exist, and teleport, which, by the way, reaches all the way to Poland! and I can make dissociative episodes happen on other people, AND I can manipulate memories, AND, I can put people into comas and erase their existence and hack into the Foundation's database AND I can manipulate the narrative! Watch THIS!
@@ @@
-----
//Nothing happens, but on the other side of the world, the Scarlet King's lesser known brother, The Devil from The Bible, appears, immediately killing one man living in San Diego. Said man was clutching a gun in his sleep.//
-----
@@ @@
**Rsr. Thorely:** Had enough yet?
**O5-1:** No.
**O5-11:** See 'ere pard'ner, the pr'blem, 's I sees 't, 's that you really can't do a darn thing!
**Rsr. Thorely:** Oh yeah well did you know I'm non-binary?
**O5-11:** W'll I ne'er...
@@ @@
-----
//O5-11 dies of dysentery. Game Over, Pard'ner!//
-----
@@ @@
**Rsr. Thorely:** Anyone else need to be convinced I mean business?
**O5-1:** No. We were just running out the clock.
@@ @@
-----
//O5-4, who had not had a speaking role so far because he was too busy charging a Revolutionary War-era musket, puts a whole bunch of grapeshot through Thorely's skull. Their head is instantly reduced to mincemeat.//
-----
@@ @@
**O5-1:** Weren't-
**O5-5:** Yep. They were rubber bullets.
**O5-1:** God damn, man.
**O5-6:** What I really want to know is what the fuck Tier 0 means.
**O5-3:** {{Oh that is when you have characters who can affect objects which completely exceed the logical foundations of High 1-A, much like it exceeds the ones defining 1-A and below, meaning that all possible levels of High 1-A are exceeded, even an infinite or uncountably amount of such levels. This tier has no endpoint, and can be extended to any higher level just like the ones above.}}
**O5-6:** Again, what I really want to know is what the fuck Tier 0 means.
**Every O5 except 6, in unison:** Oh, six...
@@ @@
-----
//Freeze frame.//
-----
@@ @@
@@ @@
-----
//Laugh track.//
-----
@@ @@
= **{{[ END LOG ]}}**
[[/div]]
@@ @@
**O5 Council Resolution AFD-000:** Never tell Researcher Alex Thorley about their lamer 26th clone or this dossier. Also a ten trillion dollar raise for every O5.
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
||~ FOR ||~ AGAINST ||~ ABSTAIN ||
|| O5-1 || || ||
|| O5-2 || || ||
|| O5-3 || || ||
|| O5-4 || || ||
|| O5-5 || || ||
|| O5-6 || || ||
|| O5-7 || || ||
|| O5-8 || || ||
|| O5-9 || || ||
|| O5-10 || || ||
|| O5-11 || || ||
|| O5-12 || || ||
|| O5-13 || || ||
[[/div]]
[[footnoteblock]]
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> This article contains an excerpt from //[*https://vsbattles.fandom.com/wiki/Category:Tier_0 category:Tier 0]// by Dino Ranger Black and Antvasima (CC-BY-SA).
> This article contains an excerpt from //[*https://vsbattles.fandom.com/wiki/Department_of_Unreality Department of Unreality]// by Tllmbrg (CC-BY-SA).
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-04-02T05:24:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"alex-thorley",
"comedy",
"surrealism",
"tale",
"unreality-dept",
"untitled-series"
] |
BAROQUE - SCP Foundation
| 88
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"unreality-hub",
"april-fools-hub"
] |
[] |
1453169506
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/baroque-unreality
|
|
beauty-and-the-beast
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>Once upon a time, there was a monster that lived in a castle.</p>
</div>
<div class="storybook-hca">
<p>Once upon a time, there was a monster that lived in a castle.</p>
<p>She was an ugly, twisted thing. Pale skin stretched taut across disfigured bones, talon-like fingers extending from warped arms. Her mouth could open wider than a snake's, and her eyes were as white as summer clouds. The townsfolk simply called her the Beast.</p>
<p>Once, perhaps, the Beast had another name, but neither she nor any of the townsfolk could remember what it was. The oldest of them spun tales of the terrors she had wrought, back when she still stalked the wilderness. It was said that she always screamed louder than her victims.</p>
<p>At the edge of the town was the castle, towering, eternal, alive. Its spires of sun-bleached bone blazed with light during the day, transforming to dark obelisks with the coming of night. Its walls and buttresses were little more than blocks of pink flesh, giant fangs protruding at irregular intervals. And there was a gate, a quivering web of muscle strands, red as blood.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Description:</strong> SCP-2075 is Karcist Varis, a Sarkic practitioner and skilled carnomancer. Though she has displayed the ability to alter her physical appearance at will, SCP-2075 has consistently taken the form of a middle-aged Caucasian woman while in containment.</p>
<p>SCP-2075 adheres to a seemingly unique sect of proto-Sarkicism, tentatively designated SCP-2075-A. SCP-2075 does not boast abilities beyond those typically observed in 'Karcists', hence her classification as Euclid.</p>
</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
“Twenty-three years of complete cooperation with the Foundation. An additional sixteen years of cooperation with GRU Division “P”. Few requests for expanded amenities during containment approved without issue. Positive relationship with Dr. Albert Cronenberg, on friendly terms with multiple members of staff.”
<p>Karcist Varis laid back in her chair, though she took care to maintain a professional expression. There was a shuffling of papers as the man in front of her paused, then put the file back down on the desk.</p>
<p>“I know you mean well, Varis, but I can't just let you access another anomaly like this.“</p>
<p>She studied Maurice for a moment, but the Director's tone was honest, his breathing regular and his blood pressure stable.</p>
<p>“Why not? What harm could come of this?”</p>
<p>“Command doesn't like it when you mix up anomalies, doesn't matter what they are. There's no way I can justify this, especially considering there's nothing wrong or unsustainable with how it's currently contained. I'm sorry.”</p>
<p>No change in tone, no spike in heart rate. He really did want to help, she realized. A rare virtue for Foundation employees, especially senior ones. She knew what button to press.</p>
<p>“The O5s aren't the ones signing on this, though. You are. They like results more than anything. Give me access once a week, recorded and secured, and they won't have to fear this particular Broken Masquerade scenario anymore.”</p>
<p>Silence followed. Varis wished she could see his expression. He was obviously contemplating how long it would take for his shadowy superiors to notice, and whether or not she'd succeed in time. She waited calmly. Patience was a quality she had in no short supply.</p>
<p>“You really think you can do this? Talking to it?” He said eventually.</p>
<p>“I think my proposal was quite clear, Director.”</p>
<p>“And you're sure that you'll be–”</p>
<p>“With all due respect sir, I am blind. I highly doubt I will see its face.”<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="storybook-hca">
<p>And so the Beast lived within the castle while the townsfolk below went on with their lives. She paced the empty halls, adorned as they were with tapestries of skin and thick carpets of tightly woven hair. She sat at the decrepit library, staring at the volumes rotting on the shelves. She climbed to the tops of the tallest towers and descended them again without sparing a glance for the world outside.</p>
<p>The Beast was lonely in the castle, but the solitude brought with it a cold comfort. No one could see her while she was inside. No judgemental eyes followed her movements, no disgusted stares or unsettled glances. She was alone.</p>
<p>Until one summer morning, a stranger arrived at the crimson gate.</p>
<p>There was something odd about this stranger, though she couldn’t quite place it as she ran up the stairs. It was only when she carefully peeked out of a window on the third floor that she realized what it was. They were blindfolded, and could not see.</p>
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<div class="blockquote">
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:larger;"><strong>Interview 096-2</strong></span></p>
<p><strong>Interviewer:</strong> SCP-2075</p>
<p><strong>Interviewee:</strong> SCP-096</p>
<p><strong>Date:</strong> 1/1/2014</p>
<p><strong>Overseeing Researcher:</strong> Dr. Albert Cronenberg.</p>
<p><strong>Foreword:</strong> Upon request, SCP-2075 was granted access to SCP-096’s containment chamber, on the condition that she be escorted by two blindfolded Foundation agents (Jonathan Li and Jacob D. Moore). Audio recording is as follows.</p>
<p><em><Begin log.></em></p>
<p><em><The door to SCP-096’s containment chamber grinds open. Two pairs of heavy footsteps are heard, accompanied by another, softer set.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Hello, SCP-096. Or perhaps you would prefer to be called a different name?</p>
<p><em><Sounds of steady breathing.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> My name is Varis.</p>
<p><em><Soft sounds of shuffling feet.></em></p>
<p><em><A low growl, accompanied by sounds of scratching against the floor. Pressure sensors beep as something large shifts its weight. The lighter set of footsteps stop.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> I'm not here to hurt you.</p>
<p><em><SCP-096 growls again, softer this time. SCP-2075 takes a step in its direction, then another. The sounds of heavy breathing grow stronger, but the sensors on the floor remain silent.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Permission to touch the anomaly, Dr. Cronenberg?</p>
<p><em><Silence, apart from SCP-096's breaths. The Karcist remains deathly still.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cronenberg (via intercom):</strong> Do not make any alterations.</p>
<p><em><SCP-2075 exhales.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Of course not. I do not practice my art on the unwilling.</p>
<p><em><Another pause, as if the doctor is waiting for something. Steady breaths are all that is heard on the recording. A minute passes.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cronenberg (via intercom):</strong> Permission granted.</p>
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<div class="storybook-hca">
<p>The Beast stared at her mysterious visitor. Her first and only visitor. The gates were open, and they began to walk towards the main doors. She left the window, moving quickly down the stairs towards the main hall, where she found the stranger waiting for her.</p>
<p>She was a woman with salt and pepper hair, neatly cut to shoulder length. She wore a simple brown traveling cloak, and held a small object in her left hand. She told the Beast that her name was Varis. The monster wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. It had been so long since she’d last spoken…</p>
<p>The Beast blinked, realizing that Varis was now standing barely a meter away from her. “Well,” said the woman, “Do you have a name?” Her voice was light, musical. Everything the Beast wasn’t.</p>
<p><em>What should I say?</em> She did not remember her name. <em>Nothing, then?</em> But Varis had asked a question. If she wouldn’t answer, she would leave, and she would be alone again.</p>
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<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> I…</p>
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<div class="storybook-hca">
<p>She immediately regretted opening her mouth. Varis couldn’t see, but she could definitely hear that she was a monster now. People don’t growl like that when they talk. People don’t–</p>
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<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Yes? What is it?</p>
<p><em><Heavy breathing, presumably from SCP-096, accompanied by quick, excited breaths.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> I don’t know.</p>
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<div class="storybook-hca">
<p>“I have to leave now, I’m afraid. But I’ll be back in a week. Maybe you’ll remember something by then.”</p>
<p>And just like that, she was gone. The Beast stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where a woman used to be. Perhaps it was a dream. Her own fantasies coalescing for just a moment. But nothing like that had ever happened before, never in all those long years of solitude. So the Beast got to work.</p>
</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Closing Statement:</strong> SCP-096 is capable of speech, and is likely sapient. Containment Procedures for SCP-096 are scheduled for review by the Containment Committee and the Ethics Committee. Interview deemed successful. Next interview scheduled for 8/1/2014.</p>
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<div class="storybook-hca">
<p>She’d never tried to clean the castle. She never saw a reason to. But now she was expecting a guest, and she felt that it was only appropriate. The fortress was vast and the work was tiring, but by the end of the week she had managed to dust off most of the great hall and begin scrubbing the library.</p>
<p>The townsfolk had taken notice of this, of course. The sounds of her work echoed throughout the castle and down to the village, rumors sprouting in their wake. None of them dared to approach her lair, however. Only one woman was courageous enough to try.</p>
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<div class="blockquote">
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:larger;"><strong>Interview 096-3</strong></span></p>
<p><strong>Interviewer:</strong> SCP-2075</p>
<p><strong>Interviewee:</strong> SCP-096</p>
<p><strong>Date:</strong> 8/1/2014</p>
<p><strong>Overseeing Researcher:</strong> Dr. Albert Cronenberg.</p>
<p><strong>Foreword:</strong> During the week before the interview, pressure sensors within SCP-096’s cell indicated that the anomaly had become more active, moving all around the chamber and running its hands against the walls. Additionally, SCP-096 was recorded vocalizing numerous times a day, seemingly in an attempt to form human speech. Despite this, it did not express any hostility, and the interview was carried out as normal; SCP-2075 performed the interview with an escort of two blindfolded agents, Jonathan Li and Jacob D. Moore.</p>
<p><em><Begin log></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Hello, I am Karcist Varis. Do you remember me?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Yes… Hello.</p>
<p><em><SCP-096’s voice is low and cracked. It speaks slowly, as if every syllable takes great effort.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> That word… ‘Karcist’. A name?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> I'm afraid not. It’s a title. It means ‘leader’, in more ways than one.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cronenberg (via intercom):</strong> Please stay on topic. Ask it about its origins.</p>
</div>
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<div class="storybook-hca">
<p>They were standing across from each other in the great hall. It was a large, empty space, large pillars of bone twisting upwards to hold up the ceiling. Stained keratin windows lined the walls. She was fairly certain she should bring out a chair for her visitor, but she didn’t remember if she had any.</p>
<p>“Leader? Who do you lead?” Her speech came out rough and unnatural. Varis didn’t seem to mind.</p>
<p>“Currently, no-one. Once I led a great flock. I hope to do so again, sometime.” A pause. “Have you thought about your name?”</p>
<p>“I am the Beast. It is my name. Always… it is the only one I've had.” She wasn’t sure if this was true. Her speech was improving, though. “Monsters don’t choose their names.” That part was definitely true.</p>
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<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> That’s… an interesting choice of phrasing.</p>
<p><em><Tapping on recording device.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Why do you think you’re a monster?</p>
<p><em><Shuffling, scraping against walls.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Isn’t it obvious? Have you seen me?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> I have not.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Oh. Right.</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> If you took off your blindfold, you would understand. Please don’t do that, though.</p>
</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="storybook-hca">
<p>Varis looked confused. Did she scare her? Did she screw it up? Did she–</p>
<p>“I don’t think you’re a monster.” Said Varis.</p>
<p>The Beast didn't respond for a long time. Finally she said, “What do you think I am?”</p>
<p>“I think you are a prisoner, in more senses than one.”</p>
<p>A torch of neurons, mounted on one of the pillars, crackled suddenly with electricity. “You used that phrase before. When you explained the word ‘Karcist’, you said you lead people. What did you mean?”</p>
<p>Varis seemed lost in thought for a moment, though it was difficult to tell with the blindfold around her eyes. “A Karcist leads her community in spirit and in faith, but also in the more practical matters of day-to-day life.”</p>
<p>“You’re religious?” A shiver went down the Beast’s warped spine. She wasn’t sure why.</p>
<p>“I am Nälkä. It is a faith that, regrettably, has all but vanished from this world. I can tell you about it, if you’d like.”</p>
<p>The Beast calmed. “Yes, I’d like that.”</p>
</div>
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<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> In the beginning, there was only Yaldabaoth, the Devourer. It is a force of primordial hunger and purest chaos. It does not think, it does not plan. It only moves to satiate its most base desire, to feed. And it is the source of all life in the universe.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> What does it eat?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Its own creations. Like I said, it does not plan. It seeds the universe with life, which grows and prospers until it is devoured by Yaldabaoth. It is a vicious cycle of cosmic proportions. Are you following?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> I think so. Though this doesn’t sound… pleasant.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cronenberg:</strong> Va– SCP-2075, I am reminding you that the purpose of these interviews are to learn more about SCP-096, not to preach gospel.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Ha! I’m getting there. No, it’s not pleasant, but so is reality: cruel, corrupt, uncaring. We are all children of the Devourer, created as less than an afterthought, doomed to be sacrificed and snuffed out without so much as a whimper. It is against this world that the Nälkä rebel.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> That’s… interesting. I always thought that religion was a sort of escapism. The thought that everything is going according to God’s plan, even when it all feels so hopeless. Reassurance.</p>
<p><em><Tapping on recording device.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> To others, perhaps it is. I have met many who wait for salvation from a higher power. Nälkä believe that we must be our own saviors. To quote Grand Karcist Ion:</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">“Know that our paradise draws near.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">And with our own flesh shall we birth it.”</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<strong>Closing Statement:</strong> SCP-096 displays human level intelligence and familiarity with baseline religious concepts. Interestingly, SCP-2075 herself was not wearing a blindfold, unlike her escorts. It is unknown why SCP-096 believed this to be the case. Interview deemed successful. Next interview scheduled for 15/1/2014.</p>
</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
“Explain yourself.” Said Dr. Albert Cronenberg’s familiar voice as Varis entered the office. To his right spoke another, “Hello Varis, it’s Maurice.”
<p>The Karcist felt around for her chair and sat before the doctor and Director. “Explain what, if I may ask?”</p>
<p>Albert groaned. “Why did you deviate from the approved line of questioning?”</p>
<p>“Because I believed it would be more beneficial to our cause, and I’ve been proven right.” She kept her tone as neutral as possible.</p>
<p>“Please explain why you believe teaching the doctrines of an anomalous religion to an active anomaly furthered the Foundation’s mission statement.” His heart was beating angrily, she could feel it tapping at the edges of her Halkost.</p>
<p>“Oh-ninety-six has not spoken once in more than two decades of containment. You think they would just start giving you their full biography on the second interview?”</p>
<p>The head researcher raised an eyebrow. “They?”</p>
<p>“I do not think it right to refer to a person with object pronouns. Few are comfortable with it.” Varis said simply.</p>
<p>“You think ninety-six is a person?” His anger was subsiding, heart rate steadying. Curiosity peered between the cracks of protocol.</p>
<p>“I tried to signal that to you but– nevermind. 096 says they don’t remember their name, and have avoided talking about themselves. So I didn’t push, and just a few seconds later they told me their thoughts on faith. They sound like someone who grew up in a religious household, not like the murder monster your file describes.”</p>
<p>“We’re trying to help you here, Varis.” Said Maurice. “But you must understand that ignoring procedure like that has consequences. This is hard enough to pass off as is.”</p>
<p>“I have shown you results. But if that’s not enough, let me in on the research team and I won’t need to disobey your protocols anymore. I’ll help write them.”</p>
<p>There was a moment of silence. Varis assumed the two men were sharing knowing looks or angry glares or whatever information they could convey without speaking. Eventually, it was Albert who answered. “I can… bring you on as a consultant. Maybe.” He said hesitantly.</p>
<p>“Excellent!” She clapped her hands. “Are we done here, then?”<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:larger;"><strong>Interview 096-4</strong></span></p>
<p><strong>Interviewer:</strong> SCP-2075</p>
<p><strong>Interviewee:</strong> SCP-096</p>
<p><strong>Date:</strong> 15/1/2014</p>
<p><strong>Overseeing Researcher:</strong> Dr. Albert Cronenberg.</p>
<p><strong>Foreword:</strong> SCP-096 has remained in a heightened sense of activity. Per request, SCP-2075 has been given consultant status to the SCP-096 research team. Per standard protocol, SCP-2075 was escorted by Foundation Agents Jonathan Li and Jacob D. Moore, both of which wore blindfolds.</p>
<p><em><Begin log></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> What is your earliest memory?</p>
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<div class="storybook-hca">
<p>The two sat in the darkened library of the castle. The Beast had spent the previous week cleaning and organizing it, but it still looked like a mess. Withered volumes lay piled in a corner, leaving the bookshelves skeletal and empty. She did, however, manage to sculpt a table and two chairs out of the fleshy floor, so at least they wouldn’t have to stand awkwardly anymore.</p>
<p>“I’m… not sure.” She replied, staring at the salvaged books on the table before them. She opened one of the five, flipping through the pages. “I remember being hunted and afraid. I killed them.”</p>
<p>“Who’s them?” Varis asked.</p>
<p>“Knights, in black armor.” She found the image she was looking for, of the soldiers surrounding her with their weapons drawn. Their forms were blurry. “I don’t know who they were. But they saw me, so I killed them.”</p>
<p>“Do you know how you got here?” This took the Beast by surprise.</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” She realized. The castle had always been there. But she hadn’t always been in it. Why didn’t she remember that? “But it’s my home now.” She thought for a moment. “I think it… took me in?”</p>
</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><em><Tapping on recording device.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Took you in?</p>
<p><em><Quickened breaths.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Last time, you said you thought I was a prisoner.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cronenberg (via intercom):</strong> Remember what we talked about.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Yes.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Do you think it traps me?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cronenberg (via intercom):</strong> <em>Varis.</em></p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Physically, no, I doubt these walls can hold you. I meant it in a more… metaphorical, or mental sense. You say this place is your home, how do you feel about that?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> It’s alright. Quiet. But it’s also lonely. I’m glad you come by. Thank you.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> It’s no problem at all, you’re an interesting person to talk to.</p>
</div>
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<div class="storybook-hca">
<p>She felt a strange pang of euphoria. Varis <em>meant</em> what she said. She thought the Beast was not a beast at all. She hadn’t seen her, no, but she had listened to her growl and rumble, heard her disgusting body drag itself across the floor. And yet she persisted. The woman was wrong, obviously, but she was still clearly convinced of that fact.</p>
<p>“Can you tell me about Grand Karcist Ion?” She asked.</p>
</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> You have a very good memory.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> I have a lot of time to think about our conversations.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> True enough. Well, I could speak for years about the Ozi̮rmok, but I suppose I should start at the beginning.</p>
<p><strong>SCP:-096:</strong> Hold on, 'the Ozi̮rmok'?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> A title reserved for Ion and Ion alone, meaning something akin to 'Shepherd of Shepherds'.</p>
<p><strong>SCP:-096:</strong> But it's alright to just say their name, without the title?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Of course. Once you hear the story, I believe you will understand. Ion was born a slave to the ancient Daevite Empire, which dominated the world at the time. Their matriarchal priestesses were cruel and ruthless rulers, and it is said that for every Daevite there were a thousand slaves chained in service.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> That sounds like an exaggeration.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Perhaps. It was a long time ago and I was not alive then. Regardless, there are many stories about Ion’s ascension. Most agree that they devoured a god, and in so doing learned the secrets of flesh. How to mold their form to any image they desired, from the smallest insect to colossal behemoths that have no equal in nature. They taught this art to others, and so began a revolt that ultimately annihilated the Daevites and established Kalmaktama, the Deathless Empire in its place.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> This might be a lot to take in.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Yes. Wait, does this– does this mean you can do it too? Change your form?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Indeed.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Can you show me?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cronenberg (via intercom):</strong> Make minor alterations only. An extra hand or something.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Well I’m no master of the craft, but sure.</p>
</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="storybook-hca">
<p>Varis stood up, taking off her cloak and hanging it on the chair carefully. A pair of white bones sprouted from her sides, lengthening and splitting to form palms and fingers. She watched as red muscles followed, weaving together like an elaborate tapestry before being covered by a sheet of skin. It was beautiful.</p>
<p>“Wow.”</p>
<p>She felt a rush she couldn’t explain. A million questions burned in her mind. What else could Varis do? Could it be taught? Could she learn how to change herself? Could Varis change <em>her</em>?</p>
<p>Of course not. That was impossible. The Beast remembered the battle, how the soldiers tore her flesh with fire and lead. So much lead. But it didn’t matter, they couldn’t even scratch the unyielding skeleton beneath. No, it would always be there, just like she would always be a rancid, repulsive creature that people looked upon with disgust and hate and fear–</p>
<p>The Grand Karcist had changed themself, had they not? Was Ion not loved and admired? But Ion had been born human and she was born– she was…</p>
<p>The floor quivered.</p>
</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:larger;"><strong>Excerpts from Interviews 096-5 to 096-8</strong></span></p>
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<div id="u-Griffinblue" style="color: black; background: #c6eeff; padding: 15px; border: 2px solid #5d0f87;">
<p><strong>SCP-096</strong> So, if you can change and heal yourself, why don’t you cure your blindness?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> I’ve been asked that question more times than I can count.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Oh, I’m sorry if I–</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> No, it’s fine. I can understand it. Unlike most, my blindness isn’t caused by something being wrong with the eyes themselves, rather it’s my brain that can’t process the information it receives.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> And messing with the brain is dangerous.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Extremely. One wrong move and suddenly you can’t think or feel properly, and all the body’s systems come crashing down one after another.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> But even if I could do it safely, I don’t think I would. Most people lose their vision gradually, and then they need to learn to live without it. But I’ve been blind since birth, I’ve never felt a need to see, never needed to adjust. I’m curious, certainly, but no more than I am about how it feels to sense the electromagnetic field or hear other people’s thoughts.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Why do you wear a blindfold then?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> I’m–I’m not sure what you mean. I don’t have a blindfold.</p>
<p><em><SCP-096 is silent for several seconds. Its breathing grows irregular.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Perhaps you’d like to talk about something else?</p>
</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div id="u-Griffinred" style="color: black; background: #ffc6c6; padding: 15px; border: 2px solid #5d0f87;">
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Well?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> I remember… I was at a party, a big one with lots of people, and I was running away.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Running from whom?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> I’m not sure, but they were <em>staring</em> at me and I couldn’t take it anymore, so I ran.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> You don’t like being looked at.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> I <em>hate</em> it. I can always tell when - there’s this sickening feeling that creeps down my spine, into my stomach and through my blood and it’s <em>awful</em>. But they just would. Not. Stop. So I…</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> I hurt them. I killed them.</p>
<p><em><Scratching against metal wall.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Worse. I crushed them into paste and I drank them, and it felt <em>good</em> because I’m a monster and I hate it so much–</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> It’s alright.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> No, it's not alright! They didn’t deserve what I did to them. None of them did. They screamed and bled and choked and died but I didn’t feel anything. Just relief when they didn’t have eyes anymore.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> But you are–</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> If this really is a prison, I deserve it.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> – feeling remorse right now. Would a monster feel guilt?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Huh?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> I think a <em>real</em> monster would have kept hunting and terrorizing, it wouldn’t isolate itself. When you said you felt “drawn in”, maybe it was not just to get away from the stares, but so that you wouldn’t have to hurt someone again?</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> You feel guilty for doing something terrible. That makes you more human than most, I think.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> You don’t mean that. You don’t understand.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> What’s done is done.</p>
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<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> What did the people think of Ion? Weren't they afraid when the Ozi̮rmok transformed into giant behemoths and crushed fortresses into dust?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Perhaps it is time I told you about the Klavigars.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> The Klavigars?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> There are four, Nadox, Lovataar, Orok and Saarn. They were the Grand Karcist’s closest friends and strongest allies. Some say they functioned as a family of a sort. Much of our scripture describes the relationship between the five.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> So… a found-family sort of thing?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> I’m not sure what you mean, but maybe. Much nuance has been lost in the conversion of speech and live events to text. Words like “love” can mean a great many things…But I will tell you my interpretation.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Nadox is a pariah. He was branded by the Daeva as a “sufferer” for preaching equality to the slaves and the poor. Instead of killing him, they marked his forehead and doomed him to an eternity of pain and hate from those he wanted to help. Then he found Ion.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> “And Ion held six fingers aloft and upon their spears did the soldiers impale themselves. "For you!" they cried before the blood drowned their tongues. And Ion said, "Now do you see?" And Nadox wept, as more did skewer themselves in Ion's name, for he had seen and now knew the truth of his words.”</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Oh God, that’s– ugh. I thought Ion was… Is this– I don’t get it.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Indeed. This is very unlike our Ozi̮rmok. Why would they demand the suicide of their followers? Perhaps you can tell me.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Maybe… It's like a sort of trust-fall? The soldiers trust them so much that they know Ion’s spears won’t kill them.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Close. Not only would they not kill them, but Ion would never hurt them at all. This implies that ‘the blood’ that drowns them isn’t theirs, but the Ozi̮rmok’s. To quote <em>Sone Tal</em>, “All that comes from your flesh is sacred, for it contains the knowledge of my words and deeds. The blood cannot forget; it can only learn."</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> The blood contains Ion's knowledge…? So by ‘drowning’ them, Ion’s… teaching them something? Giving them a part of that knowledge?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Exactly. At least, that’s my interpretation. Later, Nadox would become the greatest scholar of the Nälkä, and I believe he’s still out there somewhere continuing the work. At that moment, not only does he see the trust the people put in the Grand Karcist, but he witnesses their teachings firsthand.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Ion despised death, believing that to spill our blood is to feed the Archons of Yaldabaoth. It is no coincidence they named their empire Kalmaktama, the Deathless. They would never ask their followers to sacrifice their lives just to prove a point.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Why is it worded so… ominously then? If I didn't have you here, I'd assume this passage implies we should give up everything for Ion’s glory because they know best.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> I do not know. The texts are incredibly old, what once might have been clear is now more difficult to parse.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> What if it's a sort of code? In order to properly harness the power, you have to understand what Ion really meant. And to do that you need to read the scripture as a whole.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Ah, a test? A way to separate the true believers from the appropriators. Interesting. I've never thought about it that way.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Really? I thought it was kind of obvious.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Many things are obvious in hindsight, my friend.</p>
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<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Easy for you to say. You’ve never done what I did.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> What makes you think I haven’t killed before?</p>
<p><em><Silence on recording.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> You’re not– you don’t–</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> What, I don’t look like a murderer? Because I dress nice and speak politely? The skin rarely betrays the blood.</p>
<p><em><A sharp breath.></em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Who did you kill?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Years ago, when I still led a flock, we came under attack. My people have always been easy scapegoats, and sometimes the general harassment would grow far more violent. Windows broken by heavy rocks, people beaten in the streets.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Sounds a lot like the Jewish pogroms.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Yes. We were both religious minorities, and people confused one for the other on more than one occasion. But that’s a different story. I told my flock to barricade themselves in their homes and wait for the winds to calm. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, and I didn’t want to escalate the situation further. Then they put our houses to the torch.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> I knew I could keep myself alive, but most of my people weren’t as skilled as I was. So I reached out with my Halkost, feeling around for the rioters in the streets. I sensed their hearts, beating with the ecstatic rush of violence. They were almost in sync with my own. Then I made them stop, one by one.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> You didn’t have a choice.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Did I not? I could have put them to sleep, or at least killed the worst of them to scare the others. But I was so <em>angry</em>, being forced to endure blow after blow again and again, that I broke. I didn’t feel anything that day. Just relief that they were gone.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Hey, that’s my– why are you smiling?!</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> I am wondering if you understand.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> I… I think I do.</p>
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<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Tell me about Lovataar. You mentioned she was Ion’s lover?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Indeed, though as I’ve mentioned the exact relations between the Klavigars and the Ozi̮rmok are difficult to pinpoint. What’s particularly interesting about Lovataar is that she is the only Klavigar who wasn’t a victim of the Daevites in one way or another. Quite the opposite, she was born into the nobility.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Enemies to lovers?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Precisely. You’re becoming quite the pupil.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> It’s a pretty common trope. I’m assuming Lovataar wasn’t a fan of Ion at the beginning, considering they were attempting to destroy her empire.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Oh she <em>despised</em> them. She would send the finest slave catchers after the Grand Karcist day and night, the bounties doubling every day. When that didn’t work, she began to send whole legions to snuff them out. Eventually, Ion’s curiosity got the better of them, and they snuck into her palace and entered her quarters alone.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Truly a knight in shining armor. Let me guess, she fell in love at first sight?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> We don’t know. It is said the Ozi̮rmok stayed there with her for twelve days, before leaving with Lovataar by their side. She would never return to the Daeva.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> So they <em>did</em> enamor her! Called it.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Am I boring you?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> No, no, I was just… hm. I suppose I was expecting more depth? Nadox and Orok were both way more interesting.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Love can be a very private thing. There is a reason we were not told what transpired on those twelve days and nights. What do you think happened?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> They must have talked a lot, there’s not much else to do alone in a room for so long. Other than, well, you know. But somehow she went from pure hatred to unbreakable love, strong enough to make her give up everything she had.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> And?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> There are plenty of stories about love turning to hate and vice-versa, but… Did Ion love her back the same way?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> “And Ion looked upon the gift and their heart was moved again, for they knew what great cost Lovataar had borne in the crafting of such a gift. And they bade the celebrants of the great feast to be still, and they spoke to them of her love. It was then that they decreed that the seat would travel with them, wherever they should go, to always remind themself that they led only by the love of those they would lead.”</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Awww. They’re cute.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> That is certainly one way to interpret the text.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> So Lovataar represents a willing sacrifice, what we’re willing to do for love. Not the blood rituals of the Daevites, but something honest and beautiful.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> That, and a great deal more. But yes, you are correct.</p>
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<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> But… It's still so hard. They would never forgive me. I can’t forgive myself. It’s too horrible.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> It will take time. But you’ve already taken the first step, and perhaps even the second. For me, it was only a century later, long after my flock was dispersed, that I allowed myself to feel guilt. But remember, guilt is not the same as shame.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> I– Okay. I need time to think.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Then I shall take my leave.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Wait a minute, did you say a <em>century</em>?</p>
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<div class="from-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
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<div class="subject-text-box">Unauthorized Breach of Protocol in Site-66</div>
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<p>Director Maurice,<br/>
Regional Command has been notified of unauthorized cross-testing between the following anomalies:</p>
<p>SCP-096 (Object Class: Euclid)<br/>
SCP-2075 (Object Class: Euclid)</p>
<p>You are to cease this testing, revoke SCP-2075’s privileges, and submit yourself for assessment by the Disciplinary Committee, effective immediately. Failure to comply will be met with further disciplinary action.</p>
Note that as per Ethics Committee recommendation, SCP-096 will continue to undergo weekly interview sessions. As the head researcher, Dr. Albert Cronenberg has been selected for this task.</div>
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<div class="name-box">Gabrielle Everhart</div>
<div class="title-box">Western Regional Command</div>
<div class="sign-off-box">Secure, Contain, Protect</div>
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<p><strong>Dr. Albert Cronenberg:</strong> Hello, SCP-096.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Who are you? Where’s Varis?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Albert Cronenberg:</strong> My name is Albert. Varis is entering a very busy period right now so I’m afraid she won’t be available for the foreseeable future. She sent me in her stead.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Are you also Nälkä?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Albert Cronenberg:</strong> No.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Oh.</p>
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<p>The Beast watched the man carefully. He was tall and bald, clothed in some strange white fabric. He was blindfolded, but she could tell that his eyes were squeezed shut beneath as well. He was deathly afraid of her, his heart pounding like a giant drum. She shuddered.</p>
<p>“What would you like to talk about?” Albert asked.</p>
<p>“Where’s Varis? Is something wrong? Is she sick?”</p>
<p>“No, nothing like that. She’s just… working on something for us.” He lied. Why was he lying? <em>Because he’s scared of me. He thinks that if I knew the truth, I’d hurt him. He thinks I’m dangerous, like a sphinx or a dragon. Is Varis in trouble?</em></p>
<p>“Who’s ‘us’?”</p>
<p>“Didn’t she tell you? We’re the SCP Foundation. We study anomalous and occult phenomena. Magical artifacts and creatures.” There it was. She was a <em>creature.</em> She shut her eyes and grabbed her head with her hands, her claws digging into the skin. Her breaths came quick and short, her heart aching in her chest. Something crawled over her spine. She tried to push it all away, to <em>focus</em>–</p>
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<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> A few weeks ago, you asked why people didn’t fear Grand Karcist Ion. Now you know. When Nadox looked at them, he saw a savior and a mentor. To Lovataar, Ion was love and beauty. Orok saw them as strength, as courage, and to Saarn they were hope and liberation.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-2075:</strong> Only to the Daevites was the Ozi̮rmok a beast of terror. Something to be feared, something to be destroyed at any cost. Never some<em>one</em>. Remember this, and remember why.</p>
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<p>Memories came rushing back. Old memories, from before the castle, before everything. Running from a store, shaving and crying in the bathroom, sitting uncomfortably in a classroom. She opened her eyes and looked upon the great hall. The man before her was so small compared to the castle, but they were both jailers. Only one of them was of any significance.</p>
<p>She began to walk, right past the man and towards the pair of giant doors leading outside. The floor writhed beneath her feet, the tiles morphing into a hundred tendrils that lurched at her from all directions. She leaped, claws and teeth sharpening to gleaming blades, and crashed into them in a hurricane of blood and bone. She tore them apart, slicing them to pieces before uprooting them from the floor and tossing them aside. And then she was at the doors.</p>
<p>The flesh pulsed and split as a colossal eye pushed its way forward, its gaze ripping her defenses to crimson shreds until all that remained was a skeleton. A freakishly tall, horrible skeleton, with snake-like arms and heavy shoulders. <strong>You will never be more than this.</strong> The eye screeched in her mind. <strong>Cover yourself in skin and cloth, paint your face and shear your fur, it will not change a thing. You have always been this way. You will always be this way.</strong></p>
<p>“I don't care.” She said, before plunging herself into the pupil.</p>
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Varis lay on the bed in her cell and reached out to her Halkost. It was vast but thin, pieces of herself scattered across the four corners of the world. She had never been contained, not by the GRU and not by the Foundation. It was time to show them that.
<p>She reached out to the two nearest pieces, listening through their ears. The two agents were flanking Albert in the containment chamber, as was their duty. She could practically taste his terror at the Halkost's edge. But she wasn't there for him.<br/>
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<p>Everything went black. The Beast crawled through a miasma of warm nothingness, the old comfort of anonymity caressing her. Then the void opened its eyes. Hundreds of them, glaring red spotlights that shone through the darkness, focusing on her and her alone.</p>
<p>Some were familiar, the mocking eyes of her classmates at prom, the judgemental ones from the store and from her former friends. And of course, the bulging, terrified eyes of the Foundation agents she had slaughtered. Still many more were foreign, curious and methodical ones, though still laced with fear.</p>
<p>And it hurt, it hurt so much. <strong>They all saw you.</strong> The eyes roiled, their gaze like freezing winds against her bare bones. <strong>They know what you are.</strong> Frost spread across her skeleton, icicles growing like thorns. <strong>But it is not too late. Turn back, and they will stay here. Continue, and they will multiply a thousand thousandfold, until even your wretched bones will shatter like glass in a storm.</strong></p>
<p>It would have been so easy to give in. To turn back crying and hide within her own mind again. But if Ion could defy Yaldabaoth, she could defy herself.</p>
<p><strong>You are not Ion. You are no hero. You are but a child terrified of itself. You are powerless.</strong></p>
<p>No. She <em>had</em> the power. Because there was one pair of eyes that was absent in the maelstrom. And she could hear her voice.</p>
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<p><strong>Dr. Albert Cronenberg:</strong> Oh-ninety-six, is everything alright?</p>
<p><em><Sounds of shifting meat. Something big slams against the wall.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Albert Cronenberg:</strong> Ninety-six, can you hear me?</p>
<p><em><Quickened, heavy breaths. SCP-096 growls loudly before stepping in the direction of the recorder.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Albert Cronenberg:</strong> Command, I’m ending this interview.</p>
<p><em><One pair of footsteps.></em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Albert Cronenberg:</strong> Agents? Did you hear me? Come on–</p>
<p><strong>Jacob D. Moore:</strong> And to his flock, Ion thus spoke: "I have stepped beyond the Sea of Dreams; stood before the Old Ones within their own desolate domain.</p>
<p><strong>Jonathan Li:</strong> I have endured their intolerable gaze across countless eons.<br/>
I have seen the infinite dead worlds, murdered death herself. I have read the entrails of our Creator, beheld eternity unfurled.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Albert Cronenberg:</strong> Oh God– Security! We have a breach!</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Know that our paradise draws near, and with our own flesh shall we birth it.</p>
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<p>The eyes melted to tears at her feet. The doors opened, and she stepped outside, walking past the garden and to the gate. Varis was waiting for her. Two Varises, she realized. The gate opened for her as she approached, the muscles unwinding themselves and falling to the ground.</p>
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<p><strong>Jonathan Li:</strong> Are you ready?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-096:</strong> Yes.</p>
<p><strong>Jacob D. Moore:</strong> Then let us step beyond the Sea of Dreams.</p>
<p><em><Wet sounds of meat against concrete. Crackling of electricity, grinding of metal. Static.></em></p>
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<p><strong>Incident Log 096-2075-A</strong></p>
<p><strong>Summary:</strong> On the 26th of February 2014, during a routine interview of SCP-096 by Dr. Albert Cronenberg, escorting Agents Jonathan Li and Jacob D. Moore began to show signs of hostile cognitive takeover. Immediately afterward, an amorphous mass of flesh and bone, genetically sourced from the two agents, ruptured the containment cell and carried SCP-096 in the direction of SCP-2075, who was in her own cell at the time. Both anomalies proceeded to breach containment, the mass breaking through Site-66’s eastern external wall before finally coming to a halt. External camera footage revealed SCP-096 to be carrying SCP-2075, moving at a speed of ~300 km/h.</p>
<p>Agents Li and Moore were discovered unconscious but otherwise unharmed within SCP-096’s containment chamber. They were subsequently quarantined and interrogated, though they appeared to possess no memory of the incident. It is theorized that the two were remotely controlled by SCP-2075 during this time via a hitherto unknown ability.</p>
<p>The whereabouts of SCP-096 and SCP-2075 are unknown, the latter discarding her tracking chip 40 kilometers east of Site-66. They have not been sighted since. Recovery of SCP-096 has been designated Alpha priority, and efforts to do so will be led by Dr. Dan ███████.</p>
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They sat on a grassy hill, leaning against a great pine tree. Ordinarily, they would be shivering in the cold, but Varis knew a thing or two about raising body temperatures and it was quite comfortable.
<p>“Where will we go?” She asked Varis.</p>
<p>“There are places for people like you and me, within this world and outside it. I will show you, if you want.” The woman replied.</p>
<p>“People like us? You mean Nälkä?”</p>
<p>“I mean magic.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” She watched the sun sink slowly below the horizon, painting the treetops in brilliant gold.</p>
<p>“I’d love that,” she said.</p>
<p>“You are likely to fit in better than I ever will. Even in these circles, being eight hundred years old can be… isolating.”</p>
<p>“We’ll go together,” She promised the Karcist. “Plus, I’m sure there’s an immortal-people lady’s club there somewhere.”</p>
<p>“Ha! You are right. It’s simply been very long since I’ve walked freely like this.”</p>
<p>“What about your Halkost? Your extensions?”</p>
<p>“Exactly as you say. They’re extensions, nothing more. Are you free if your finger is outside the cage?”</p>
<p>“Point taken.”</p>
<p>An owl hooted somewhere. The wind blew pleasantly across their faces, carrying with it the smell of dirt and leaves. “You have been an excellent student, and a good friend,” Varis said, “Infinitely better than the dry lab coats.”</p>
<p>“Come on, Albert wasn’t <em>that</em> bad.”</p>
<p>She chuckled. “No, he’s just a bit of a radish.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“It’s an old expression.”</p>
<p>“I’m pretty sure it isn’t.”</p>
<p>“Regardless, I’ve been meaning to ask, have you remembered your name?”</p>
<p>The other woman stayed quiet for a moment. “No. But… I think I’ll go with Isabelle.”</p>
<p>“A beautiful name.” Varis said, lying down on the ground.</p>
<p>Isabelle smiled. “Thanks. Chose it myself.”</p>
<p>The sky darkened. Varis drifted off to sleep. Isabelle stayed awake for just a little while, watching the stars flickering into existence. Tomorrow, she will see the world.</p>
<p>For the first time, she wasn’t afraid that it would see her back.</p>
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<p>"<a href="/beauty-and-the-beast">Of Beauty and Beasts</a>" by UNCGriffin, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/beauty-and-the-beast">https://scpwiki.com/beauty-and-the-beast</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Gabe_Cropped2.jpeg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Daniela_oliiver-637925<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Creative Commons Zero, Public Domain Dedication<br/>
<strong>Additional notes:</strong> Sourced from Wikipedia Commons. Link: <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Black_woman_with_women%27s_suit_2.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Black_woman_with_women%27s_suit_2.jpg</a></p>
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Once upon a time, there was a monster that lived in a castle.
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[[div class="storybook-hca"]]
Once upon a time, there was a monster that lived in a castle.
She was an ugly, twisted thing. Pale skin stretched taut across disfigured bones, talon-like fingers extending from warped arms. Her mouth could open wider than a snake's, and her eyes were as white as summer clouds. The townsfolk simply called her the Beast.
Once, perhaps, the Beast had another name, but neither she nor any of the townsfolk could remember what it was. The oldest of them spun tales of the terrors she had wrought, back when she still stalked the wilderness. It was said that she always screamed louder than her victims.
At the edge of the town was the castle, towering, eternal, alive. Its spires of sun-bleached bone blazed with light during the day, transforming to dark obelisks with the coming of night. Its walls and buttresses were little more than blocks of pink flesh, giant fangs protruding at irregular intervals. And there was a gate, a quivering web of muscle strands, red as blood.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Description:** SCP-2075 is Karcist Varis, a Sarkic practitioner and skilled carnomancer. Though she has displayed the ability to alter her physical appearance at will, SCP-2075 has consistently taken the form of a middle-aged Caucasian woman while in containment.
SCP-2075 adheres to a seemingly unique sect of proto-Sarkicism, tentatively designated SCP-2075-A. SCP-2075 does not boast abilities beyond those typically observed in 'Karcists', hence her classification as Euclid.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
“Twenty-three years of complete cooperation with the Foundation. An additional sixteen years of cooperation with GRU Division “P”. Few requests for expanded amenities during containment approved without issue. Positive relationship with Dr. Albert Cronenberg, on friendly terms with multiple members of staff.”
Karcist Varis laid back in her chair, though she took care to maintain a professional expression. There was a shuffling of papers as the man in front of her paused, then put the file back down on the desk.
“I know you mean well, Varis, but I can't just let you access another anomaly like this.“
She studied Maurice for a moment, but the Director's tone was honest, his breathing regular and his blood pressure stable.
“Why not? What harm could come of this?”
“Command doesn't like it when you mix up anomalies, doesn't matter what they are. There's no way I can justify this, especially considering there's nothing wrong or unsustainable with how it's currently contained. I'm sorry.”
No change in tone, no spike in heart rate. He really did want to help, she realized. A rare virtue for Foundation employees, especially senior ones. She knew what button to press.
“The O5s aren't the ones signing on this, though. You are. They like results more than anything. Give me access once a week, recorded and secured, and they won't have to fear this particular Broken Masquerade scenario anymore.”
Silence followed. Varis wished she could see his expression. He was obviously contemplating how long it would take for his shadowy superiors to notice, and whether or not she'd succeed in time. She waited calmly. Patience was a quality she had in no short supply.
“You really think you can do this? Talking to it?” He said eventually.
“I think my proposal was quite clear, Director.”
“And you're sure that you'll be–”
“With all due respect sir, I am blind. I highly doubt I will see its face.”
@@ @@
[[div class="storybook-hca"]]
And so the Beast lived within the castle while the townsfolk below went on with their lives. She paced the empty halls, adorned as they were with tapestries of skin and thick carpets of tightly woven hair. She sat at the decrepit library, staring at the volumes rotting on the shelves. She climbed to the tops of the tallest towers and descended them again without sparing a glance for the world outside.
The Beast was lonely in the castle, but the solitude brought with it a cold comfort. No one could see her while she was inside. No judgemental eyes followed her movements, no disgusted stares or unsettled glances. She was alone.
Until one summer morning, a stranger arrived at the crimson gate.
There was something odd about this stranger, though she couldn’t quite place it as she ran up the stairs. It was only when she carefully peeked out of a window on the third floor that she realized what it was. They were blindfolded, and could not see.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
= [[size larger]]**Interview 096-2**[[/size]]
**Interviewer:** SCP-2075
**Interviewee:** SCP-096
**Date:** 1/1/2014
**Overseeing Researcher:** Dr. Albert Cronenberg.
**Foreword:** Upon request, SCP-2075 was granted access to SCP-096’s containment chamber, on the condition that she be escorted by two blindfolded Foundation agents (Jonathan Li and Jacob D. Moore). Audio recording is as follows.
//<Begin log.>//
//<The door to SCP-096’s containment chamber grinds open. Two pairs of heavy footsteps are heard, accompanied by another, softer set.>//
**SCP-2075:** Hello, SCP-096. Or perhaps you would prefer to be called a different name?
//<Sounds of steady breathing.>//
**SCP-2075:** My name is Varis.
//<Soft sounds of shuffling feet.>//
//<A low growl, accompanied by sounds of scratching against the floor. Pressure sensors beep as something large shifts its weight. The lighter set of footsteps stop.>//
**SCP-2075:** I'm not here to hurt you.
//<SCP-096 growls again, softer this time. SCP-2075 takes a step in its direction, then another. The sounds of heavy breathing grow stronger, but the sensors on the floor remain silent.>//
**SCP-2075:** Permission to touch the anomaly, Dr. Cronenberg?
//<Silence, apart from SCP-096's breaths. The Karcist remains deathly still.>//
**Dr. Cronenberg (via intercom):** Do not make any alterations.
//<SCP-2075 exhales.>//
**SCP-2075:** Of course not. I do not practice my art on the unwilling.
//<Another pause, as if the doctor is waiting for something. Steady breaths are all that is heard on the recording. A minute passes.>//
**Dr. Cronenberg (via intercom):** Permission granted.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="storybook-hca"]]
The Beast stared at her mysterious visitor. Her first and only visitor. The gates were open, and they began to walk towards the main doors. She left the window, moving quickly down the stairs towards the main hall, where she found the stranger waiting for her.
She was a woman with salt and pepper hair, neatly cut to shoulder length. She wore a simple brown traveling cloak, and held a small object in her left hand. She told the Beast that her name was Varis. The monster wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. It had been so long since she’d last spoken…
The Beast blinked, realizing that Varis was now standing barely a meter away from her. “Well,” said the woman, “Do you have a name?” Her voice was light, musical. Everything the Beast wasn’t.
//What should I say?// She did not remember her name. //Nothing, then?// But Varis had asked a question. If she wouldn’t answer, she would leave, and she would be alone again.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**SCP-096:** I…
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="storybook-hca"]]
She immediately regretted opening her mouth. Varis couldn’t see, but she could definitely hear that she was a monster now. People don’t growl like that when they talk. People don’t–
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**SCP-2075:** Yes? What is it?
//<Heavy breathing, presumably from SCP-096, accompanied by quick, excited breaths.>//
**SCP-096:** I don’t know.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="storybook-hca"]]
“I have to leave now, I’m afraid. But I’ll be back in a week. Maybe you’ll remember something by then.”
And just like that, she was gone. The Beast stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where a woman used to be. Perhaps it was a dream. Her own fantasies coalescing for just a moment. But nothing like that had ever happened before, never in all those long years of solitude. So the Beast got to work.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Closing Statement:** SCP-096 is capable of speech, and is likely sapient. Containment Procedures for SCP-096 are scheduled for review by the Containment Committee and the Ethics Committee. Interview deemed successful. Next interview scheduled for 8/1/2014.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="storybook-hca"]]
She’d never tried to clean the castle. She never saw a reason to. But now she was expecting a guest, and she felt that it was only appropriate. The fortress was vast and the work was tiring, but by the end of the week she had managed to dust off most of the great hall and begin scrubbing the library.
The townsfolk had taken notice of this, of course. The sounds of her work echoed throughout the castle and down to the village, rumors sprouting in their wake. None of them dared to approach her lair, however. Only one woman was courageous enough to try.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
= [[size larger]]**Interview 096-3**[[/size]]
**Interviewer:** SCP-2075
**Interviewee:** SCP-096
**Date:** 8/1/2014
**Overseeing Researcher:** Dr. Albert Cronenberg.
**Foreword:** During the week before the interview, pressure sensors within SCP-096’s cell indicated that the anomaly had become more active, moving all around the chamber and running its hands against the walls. Additionally, SCP-096 was recorded vocalizing numerous times a day, seemingly in an attempt to form human speech. Despite this, it did not express any hostility, and the interview was carried out as normal; SCP-2075 performed the interview with an escort of two blindfolded agents, Jonathan Li and Jacob D. Moore.
//<Begin log>//
**SCP-2075:** Hello, I am Karcist Varis. Do you remember me?
**SCP-096:** Yes... Hello.
//<SCP-096’s voice is low and cracked. It speaks slowly, as if every syllable takes great effort.>//
**SCP-096:** That word... ‘Karcist’. A name?
**SCP-2075:** I'm afraid not. It’s a title. It means ‘leader’, in more ways than one.
**Dr. Cronenberg (via intercom):** Please stay on topic. Ask it about its origins.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="storybook-hca"]]
They were standing across from each other in the great hall. It was a large, empty space, large pillars of bone twisting upwards to hold up the ceiling. Stained keratin windows lined the walls. She was fairly certain she should bring out a chair for her visitor, but she didn’t remember if she had any.
“Leader? Who do you lead?” Her speech came out rough and unnatural. Varis didn’t seem to mind.
“Currently, no-one. Once I led a great flock. I hope to do so again, sometime.” A pause. “Have you thought about your name?”
“I am the Beast. It is my name. Always... it is the only one I've had.” She wasn’t sure if this was true. Her speech was improving, though. “Monsters don’t choose their names.” That part was definitely true.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**SCP-2075:** That’s… an interesting choice of phrasing.
//<Tapping on recording device.>//
**SCP-2075:** Why do you think you’re a monster?
//<Shuffling, scraping against walls.>//
**SCP-096:** Isn’t it obvious? Have you seen me?
**SCP-2075:** I have not.
**SCP-096:** Oh. Right.
//<Silence on recording.>//
**SCP-096:** If you took off your blindfold, you would understand. Please don’t do that, though.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="storybook-hca"]]
Varis looked confused. Did she scare her? Did she screw it up? Did she–
“I don’t think you’re a monster.” Said Varis.
The Beast didn't respond for a long time. Finally she said, “What do you think I am?”
“I think you are a prisoner, in more senses than one.”
A torch of neurons, mounted on one of the pillars, crackled suddenly with electricity. “You used that phrase before. When you explained the word ‘Karcist’, you said you lead people. What did you mean?”
Varis seemed lost in thought for a moment, though it was difficult to tell with the blindfold around her eyes. “A Karcist leads her community in spirit and in faith, but also in the more practical matters of day-to-day life.”
“You’re religious?” A shiver went down the Beast’s warped spine. She wasn’t sure why.
“I am Nälkä. It is a faith that, regrettably, has all but vanished from this world. I can tell you about it, if you’d like.”
The Beast calmed. “Yes, I’d like that.”
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**SCP-2075:** In the beginning, there was only Yaldabaoth, the Devourer. It is a force of primordial hunger and purest chaos. It does not think, it does not plan. It only moves to satiate its most base desire, to feed. And it is the source of all life in the universe.
**SCP-096:** What does it eat?
**SCP-2075:** Its own creations. Like I said, it does not plan. It seeds the universe with life, which grows and prospers until it is devoured by Yaldabaoth. It is a vicious cycle of cosmic proportions. Are you following?
**SCP-096:** I think so. Though this doesn’t sound... pleasant.
**Dr. Cronenberg:** Va– SCP-2075, I am reminding you that the purpose of these interviews are to learn more about SCP-096, not to preach gospel.
**SCP-2075:** Ha! I’m getting there. No, it’s not pleasant, but so is reality: cruel, corrupt, uncaring. We are all children of the Devourer, created as less than an afterthought, doomed to be sacrificed and snuffed out without so much as a whimper. It is against this world that the Nälkä rebel.
**SCP-096:** That’s… interesting. I always thought that religion was a sort of escapism. The thought that everything is going according to God’s plan, even when it all feels so hopeless. Reassurance.
//<Tapping on recording device.>//
**SCP-2075:** To others, perhaps it is. I have met many who wait for salvation from a higher power. Nälkä believe that we must be our own saviors. To quote Grand Karcist Ion:
= “Know that our paradise draws near.
= And with our own flesh shall we birth it.”
@@ @@
**Closing Statement:** SCP-096 displays human level intelligence and familiarity with baseline religious concepts. Interestingly, SCP-2075 herself was not wearing a blindfold, unlike her escorts. It is unknown why SCP-096 believed this to be the case. Interview deemed successful. Next interview scheduled for 15/1/2014.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
“Explain yourself.” Said Dr. Albert Cronenberg’s familiar voice as Varis entered the office. To his right spoke another, “Hello Varis, it’s Maurice.”
The Karcist felt around for her chair and sat before the doctor and Director. “Explain what, if I may ask?”
Albert groaned. “Why did you deviate from the approved line of questioning?”
“Because I believed it would be more beneficial to our cause, and I’ve been proven right.” She kept her tone as neutral as possible.
“Please explain why you believe teaching the doctrines of an anomalous religion to an active anomaly furthered the Foundation’s mission statement.” His heart was beating angrily, she could feel it tapping at the edges of her Halkost.
“Oh-ninety-six has not spoken once in more than two decades of containment. You think they would just start giving you their full biography on the second interview?”
The head researcher raised an eyebrow. “They?”
“I do not think it right to refer to a person with object pronouns. Few are comfortable with it.” Varis said simply.
“You think ninety-six is a person?” His anger was subsiding, heart rate steadying. Curiosity peered between the cracks of protocol.
“I tried to signal that to you but– nevermind. 096 says they don’t remember their name, and have avoided talking about themselves. So I didn’t push, and just a few seconds later they told me their thoughts on faith. They sound like someone who grew up in a religious household, not like the murder monster your file describes.”
“We’re trying to help you here, Varis.” Said Maurice. “But you must understand that ignoring procedure like that has consequences. This is hard enough to pass off as is.”
“I have shown you results. But if that’s not enough, let me in on the research team and I won’t need to disobey your protocols anymore. I’ll help write them.”
There was a moment of silence. Varis assumed the two men were sharing knowing looks or angry glares or whatever information they could convey without speaking. Eventually, it was Albert who answered. “I can… bring you on as a consultant. Maybe.” He said hesitantly.
“Excellent!” She clapped her hands. “Are we done here, then?”
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
= [[size larger]]**Interview 096-4**[[/size]]
**Interviewer:** SCP-2075
**Interviewee:** SCP-096
**Date:** 15/1/2014
**Overseeing Researcher:** Dr. Albert Cronenberg.
**Foreword:** SCP-096 has remained in a heightened sense of activity. Per request, SCP-2075 has been given consultant status to the SCP-096 research team. Per standard protocol, SCP-2075 was escorted by Foundation Agents Jonathan Li and Jacob D. Moore, both of which wore blindfolds.
//<Begin log>//
**SCP-2075:** What is your earliest memory?
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="storybook-hca"]]
The two sat in the darkened library of the castle. The Beast had spent the previous week cleaning and organizing it, but it still looked like a mess. Withered volumes lay piled in a corner, leaving the bookshelves skeletal and empty. She did, however, manage to sculpt a table and two chairs out of the fleshy floor, so at least they wouldn’t have to stand awkwardly anymore.
“I’m… not sure.” She replied, staring at the salvaged books on the table before them. She opened one of the five, flipping through the pages. “I remember being hunted and afraid. I killed them.”
“Who’s them?” Varis asked.
“Knights, in black armor.” She found the image she was looking for, of the soldiers surrounding her with their weapons drawn. Their forms were blurry. “I don’t know who they were. But they saw me, so I killed them.”
“Do you know how you got here?” This took the Beast by surprise.
“I don’t know.” She realized. The castle had always been there. But she hadn’t always been in it. Why didn’t she remember that? “But it’s my home now.” She thought for a moment. “I think it… took me in?”
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
//<Tapping on recording device.>//
**SCP-2075:** Took you in?
//<Quickened breaths.>//
**SCP-2075:** You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.
//<Silence on recording.>//
**SCP-096:** Last time, you said you thought I was a prisoner.
**Dr. Cronenberg (via intercom):** Remember what we talked about.
**SCP-2075:** Yes.
**SCP-096:** Do you think it traps me?
**Dr. Cronenberg (via intercom):** //Varis.//
//<Silence on recording.>//
**SCP-2075:** Physically, no, I doubt these walls can hold you. I meant it in a more… metaphorical, or mental sense. You say this place is your home, how do you feel about that?
**SCP-096:** It’s alright. Quiet. But it’s also lonely. I’m glad you come by. Thank you.
**SCP-2075:** It’s no problem at all, you’re an interesting person to talk to.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="storybook-hca"]]
She felt a strange pang of euphoria. Varis //meant// what she said. She thought the Beast was not a beast at all. She hadn’t seen her, no, but she had listened to her growl and rumble, heard her disgusting body drag itself across the floor. And yet she persisted. The woman was wrong, obviously, but she was still clearly convinced of that fact.
“Can you tell me about Grand Karcist Ion?” She asked.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**SCP-2075:** You have a very good memory.
**SCP-096:** I have a lot of time to think about our conversations.
**SCP-2075:** True enough. Well, I could speak for years about the Ozi̮rmok, but I suppose I should start at the beginning.
**SCP:-096:** Hold on, 'the Ozi̮rmok'?
**SCP-2075:** A title reserved for Ion and Ion alone, meaning something akin to 'Shepherd of Shepherds'.
**SCP:-096:** But it's alright to just say their name, without the title?
**SCP-2075:** Of course. Once you hear the story, I believe you will understand. Ion was born a slave to the ancient Daevite Empire, which dominated the world at the time. Their matriarchal priestesses were cruel and ruthless rulers, and it is said that for every Daevite there were a thousand slaves chained in service.
**SCP-096:** That sounds like an exaggeration.
**SCP-2075:** Perhaps. It was a long time ago and I was not alive then. Regardless, there are many stories about Ion’s ascension. Most agree that they devoured a god, and in so doing learned the secrets of flesh. How to mold their form to any image they desired, from the smallest insect to colossal behemoths that have no equal in nature. They taught this art to others, and so began a revolt that ultimately annihilated the Daevites and established Kalmaktama, the Deathless Empire in its place.
**SCP-2075:** This might be a lot to take in.
**SCP-096:** Yes. Wait, does this– does this mean you can do it too? Change your form?
**SCP-2075:** Indeed.
**SCP-096:** Can you show me?
**Dr. Cronenberg (via intercom):** Make minor alterations only. An extra hand or something.
**SCP-2075:** Well I’m no master of the craft, but sure.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="storybook-hca"]]
Varis stood up, taking off her cloak and hanging it on the chair carefully. A pair of white bones sprouted from her sides, lengthening and splitting to form palms and fingers. She watched as red muscles followed, weaving together like an elaborate tapestry before being covered by a sheet of skin. It was beautiful.
“Wow.”
She felt a rush she couldn’t explain. A million questions burned in her mind. What else could Varis do? Could it be taught? Could she learn how to change herself? Could Varis change //her//?
Of course not. That was impossible. The Beast remembered the battle, how the soldiers tore her flesh with fire and lead. So much lead. But it didn’t matter, they couldn’t even scratch the unyielding skeleton beneath. No, it would always be there, just like she would always be a rancid, repulsive creature that people looked upon with disgust and hate and fear–
The Grand Karcist had changed themself, had they not? Was Ion not loved and admired? But Ion had been born human and she was born– she was…
The floor quivered.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
= [[size larger]]**Excerpts from Interviews 096-5 to 096-8**[[/size]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div id="Griffinblue" style="color: black; background: #c6eeff; padding: 15px; border: 2px solid #5d0f87;"]]
**SCP-096** So, if you can change and heal yourself, why don’t you cure your blindness?
**SCP-2075:** I’ve been asked that question more times than I can count.
**SCP-096:** Oh, I’m sorry if I–
**SCP-2075:** No, it’s fine. I can understand it. Unlike most, my blindness isn’t caused by something being wrong with the eyes themselves, rather it’s my brain that can’t process the information it receives.
**SCP-096:** And messing with the brain is dangerous.
**SCP-2075:** Extremely. One wrong move and suddenly you can’t think or feel properly, and all the body’s systems come crashing down one after another.
**SCP-2075:** But even if I could do it safely, I don’t think I would. Most people lose their vision gradually, and then they need to learn to live without it. But I’ve been blind since birth, I’ve never felt a need to see, never needed to adjust. I’m curious, certainly, but no more than I am about how it feels to sense the electromagnetic field or hear other people’s thoughts.
**SCP-096:** Why do you wear a blindfold then?
**SCP-2075:** I’m–I’m not sure what you mean. I don’t have a blindfold.
//<SCP-096 is silent for several seconds. Its breathing grows irregular.>//
**SCP-2075:** Perhaps you’d like to talk about something else?
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div id="Griffinred" style="color: black; background: #ffc6c6; padding: 15px; border: 2px solid #5d0f87;"]]
**SCP-2075:** Well?
**SCP-096:** I remember… I was at a party, a big one with lots of people, and I was running away.
**SCP-2075:** Running from whom?
**SCP-096:** I’m not sure, but they were //staring// at me and I couldn’t take it anymore, so I ran.
**SCP-2075:** You don’t like being looked at.
**SCP-096:** I //hate// it. I can always tell when - there’s this sickening feeling that creeps down my spine, into my stomach and through my blood and it’s //awful//. But they just would. Not. Stop. So I…
**SCP-096:** I hurt them. I killed them.
//<Scratching against metal wall.>//
**SCP-096:** Worse. I crushed them into paste and I drank them, and it felt //good// because I’m a monster and I hate it so much–
**SCP-2075:** It’s alright.
**SCP-096:** No, it's not alright! They didn’t deserve what I did to them. None of them did. They screamed and bled and choked and died but I didn’t feel anything. Just relief when they didn’t have eyes anymore.
**SCP-2075:** But you are–
**SCP-096:** If this really is a prison, I deserve it.
**SCP-2075:** – feeling remorse right now. Would a monster feel guilt?
**SCP-096:** Huh?
**SCP-2075:** I think a //real// monster would have kept hunting and terrorizing, it wouldn’t isolate itself. When you said you felt “drawn in”, maybe it was not just to get away from the stares, but so that you wouldn’t have to hurt someone again?
//<Silence on recording.>//
**SCP-2075:** You feel guilty for doing something terrible. That makes you more human than most, I think.
**SCP-096:** You don’t mean that. You don’t understand.
**SCP-2075:** What’s done is done.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div id="Griffinblue" style="color: black; background: #c6eeff; padding: 15px; border: 2px solid #5d0f87;"]]
**SCP-096:** What did the people think of Ion? Weren't they afraid when the Ozi̮rmok transformed into giant behemoths and crushed fortresses into dust?
**SCP-2075:** Perhaps it is time I told you about the Klavigars.
**SCP-096:** The Klavigars?
**SCP-2075:** There are four, Nadox, Lovataar, Orok and Saarn. They were the Grand Karcist’s closest friends and strongest allies. Some say they functioned as a family of a sort. Much of our scripture describes the relationship between the five.
**SCP-096:** So… a found-family sort of thing?
**SCP-2075:** I’m not sure what you mean, but maybe. Much nuance has been lost in the conversion of speech and live events to text. Words like “love” can mean a great many things…But I will tell you my interpretation.
**SCP-2075:** Nadox is a pariah. He was branded by the Daeva as a “sufferer” for preaching equality to the slaves and the poor. Instead of killing him, they marked his forehead and doomed him to an eternity of pain and hate from those he wanted to help. Then he found Ion.
**SCP-2075:** “And Ion held six fingers aloft and upon their spears did the soldiers impale themselves. "For you!" they cried before the blood drowned their tongues. And Ion said, "Now do you see?" And Nadox wept, as more did skewer themselves in Ion's name, for he had seen and now knew the truth of his words.”
**SCP-096:** Oh God, that’s– ugh. I thought Ion was… Is this– I don’t get it.
**SCP-2075:** Indeed. This is very unlike our Ozi̮rmok. Why would they demand the suicide of their followers? Perhaps you can tell me.
**SCP-096:** Maybe… It's like a sort of trust-fall? The soldiers trust them so much that they know Ion’s spears won’t kill them.
**SCP-2075:** Close. Not only would they not kill them, but Ion would never hurt them at all. This implies that ‘the blood’ that drowns them isn’t theirs, but the Ozi̮rmok’s. To quote //Sone Tal//, “All that comes from your flesh is sacred, for it contains the knowledge of my words and deeds. The blood cannot forget; it can only learn."
**SCP-096:** The blood contains Ion's knowledge...? So by ‘drowning’ them, Ion’s… teaching them something? Giving them a part of that knowledge?
**SCP-2075:** Exactly. At least, that’s my interpretation. Later, Nadox would become the greatest scholar of the Nälkä, and I believe he’s still out there somewhere continuing the work. At that moment, not only does he see the trust the people put in the Grand Karcist, but he witnesses their teachings firsthand.
**SCP-2075:** Ion despised death, believing that to spill our blood is to feed the Archons of Yaldabaoth. It is no coincidence they named their empire Kalmaktama, the Deathless. They would never ask their followers to sacrifice their lives just to prove a point.
**SCP-096:** Why is it worded so… ominously then? If I didn't have you here, I'd assume this passage implies we should give up everything for Ion’s glory because they know best.
**SCP-2075:** I do not know. The texts are incredibly old, what once might have been clear is now more difficult to parse.
**SCP-096:** What if it's a sort of code? In order to properly harness the power, you have to understand what Ion really meant. And to do that you need to read the scripture as a whole.
**SCP-2075:** Ah, a test? A way to separate the true believers from the appropriators. Interesting. I've never thought about it that way.
**SCP-096:** Really? I thought it was kind of obvious.
**SCP-2075:** Many things are obvious in hindsight, my friend.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div id="Griffinred" style="color: black; background: #ffc6c6; padding: 15px; border: 2px solid #5d0f87;"]]
**SCP-096:** Easy for you to say. You’ve never done what I did.
**SCP-2075:** What makes you think I haven’t killed before?
//<Silence on recording.>//
**SCP-096:** You’re not– you don’t–
**SCP-2075:** What, I don’t look like a murderer? Because I dress nice and speak politely? The skin rarely betrays the blood.
//<A sharp breath.>//
**SCP-096:** Who did you kill?
**SCP-2075:** Years ago, when I still led a flock, we came under attack. My people have always been easy scapegoats, and sometimes the general harassment would grow far more violent. Windows broken by heavy rocks, people beaten in the streets.
**SCP-096:** Sounds a lot like the Jewish pogroms.
**SCP-2075:** Yes. We were both religious minorities, and people confused one for the other on more than one occasion. But that’s a different story. I told my flock to barricade themselves in their homes and wait for the winds to calm. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, and I didn’t want to escalate the situation further. Then they put our houses to the torch.
**SCP-2075:** I knew I could keep myself alive, but most of my people weren’t as skilled as I was. So I reached out with my Halkost, feeling around for the rioters in the streets. I sensed their hearts, beating with the ecstatic rush of violence. They were almost in sync with my own. Then I made them stop, one by one.
**SCP-096:** You didn’t have a choice.
**SCP-2075:** Did I not? I could have put them to sleep, or at least killed the worst of them to scare the others. But I was so //angry//, being forced to endure blow after blow again and again, that I broke. I didn’t feel anything that day. Just relief that they were gone.
**SCP-096:** Hey, that’s my– why are you smiling?!
**SCP-2075:** I am wondering if you understand.
**SCP-096:** I… I think I do.
[[/div]]
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[[div id="Griffinviolet" style="color: black; background: #e9c6ff; padding: 15px; border: 2px solid #5d0f87;"]]
**SCP-096:** Tell me about Lovataar. You mentioned she was Ion’s lover?
**SCP-2075:** Indeed, though as I’ve mentioned the exact relations between the Klavigars and the Ozi̮rmok are difficult to pinpoint. What’s particularly interesting about Lovataar is that she is the only Klavigar who wasn’t a victim of the Daevites in one way or another. Quite the opposite, she was born into the nobility.
**SCP-096:** Enemies to lovers?
**SCP-2075:** Precisely. You’re becoming quite the pupil.
**SCP-096:** It’s a pretty common trope. I’m assuming Lovataar wasn’t a fan of Ion at the beginning, considering they were attempting to destroy her empire.
**SCP-2075:** Oh she //despised// them. She would send the finest slave catchers after the Grand Karcist day and night, the bounties doubling every day. When that didn’t work, she began to send whole legions to snuff them out. Eventually, Ion’s curiosity got the better of them, and they snuck into her palace and entered her quarters alone.
**SCP-096:** Truly a knight in shining armor. Let me guess, she fell in love at first sight?
**SCP-2075:** We don’t know. It is said the Ozi̮rmok stayed there with her for twelve days, before leaving with Lovataar by their side. She would never return to the Daeva.
**SCP-096:** So they //did// enamor her! Called it.
**SCP-2075:** Am I boring you?
**SCP-096:** No, no, I was just… hm. I suppose I was expecting more depth? Nadox and Orok were both way more interesting.
**SCP-2075:** Love can be a very private thing. There is a reason we were not told what transpired on those twelve days and nights. What do you think happened?
**SCP-096:** They must have talked a lot, there’s not much else to do alone in a room for so long. Other than, well, you know. But somehow she went from pure hatred to unbreakable love, strong enough to make her give up everything she had.
**SCP-2075:** And?
**SCP-096:** There are plenty of stories about love turning to hate and vice-versa, but… Did Ion love her back the same way?
**SCP-2075:** “And Ion looked upon the gift and their heart was moved again, for they knew what great cost Lovataar had borne in the crafting of such a gift. And they bade the celebrants of the great feast to be still, and they spoke to them of her love. It was then that they decreed that the seat would travel with them, wherever they should go, to always remind themself that they led only by the love of those they would lead.”
**SCP-096:** Awww. They’re cute.
**SCP-2075:** That is certainly one way to interpret the text.
**SCP-096:** So Lovataar represents a willing sacrifice, what we’re willing to do for love. Not the blood rituals of the Daevites, but something honest and beautiful.
**SCP-2075:** That, and a great deal more. But yes, you are correct.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div id="Griffinred" style="color: black; background: #ffc6c6; padding: 15px; border: 2px solid #5d0f87;"]]
**SCP-096:** But… It's still so hard. They would never forgive me. I can’t forgive myself. It’s too horrible.
**SCP-2075:** It will take time. But you’ve already taken the first step, and perhaps even the second. For me, it was only a century later, long after my flock was dispersed, that I allowed myself to feel guilt. But remember, guilt is not the same as shame.
**SCP-096:** I– Okay. I need time to think.
**SCP-2075:** Then I shall take my leave.
**SCP-096:** Wait a minute, did you say a //century//?
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> start=--
|from= [email protected]
|to= [email protected]
|cc=none
|subject= Unauthorized Breach of Protocol in Site-66
]]
Director Maurice,
Regional Command has been notified of unauthorized cross-testing between the following anomalies:
SCP-096 (Object Class: Euclid)
SCP-2075 (Object Class: Euclid)
You are to cease this testing, revoke SCP-2075’s privileges, and submit yourself for assessment by the Disciplinary Committee, effective immediately. Failure to comply will be met with further disciplinary action.
Note that as per Ethics Committee recommendation, SCP-096 will continue to undergo weekly interview sessions. As the head researcher, Dr. Albert Cronenberg has been selected for this task.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> end=--
|name= Gabrielle Everhart
|title= Western Regional Command
|signoff= Secure, Contain, Protect
|signoff-icon= Gabe_Cropped2.jpg
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Dr. Albert Cronenberg:** Hello, SCP-096.
**SCP-096:** Who are you? Where’s Varis?
**Dr. Albert Cronenberg:** My name is Albert. Varis is entering a very busy period right now so I’m afraid she won’t be available for the foreseeable future. She sent me in her stead.
**SCP-096:** Are you also Nälkä?
**Dr. Albert Cronenberg:** No.
**SCP-096:** Oh.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="storybook-hca"]]
The Beast watched the man carefully. He was tall and bald, clothed in some strange white fabric. He was blindfolded, but she could tell that his eyes were squeezed shut beneath as well. He was deathly afraid of her, his heart pounding like a giant drum. She shuddered.
“What would you like to talk about?” Albert asked.
“Where’s Varis? Is something wrong? Is she sick?”
“No, nothing like that. She’s just… working on something for us.” He lied. Why was he lying? //Because he’s scared of me. He thinks that if I knew the truth, I’d hurt him. He thinks I’m dangerous, like a sphinx or a dragon. Is Varis in trouble?//
“Who’s ‘us’?”
“Didn’t she tell you? We’re the SCP Foundation. We study anomalous and occult phenomena. Magical artifacts and creatures.” There it was. She was a //creature.// She shut her eyes and grabbed her head with her hands, her claws digging into the skin. Her breaths came quick and short, her heart aching in her chest. Something crawled over her spine. She tried to push it all away, to //focus//–
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div id="Griffingold" style="color: black; background: #fff2c6; padding: 15px; border: 2px solid #5d0f87;"]]
**SCP-2075:** A few weeks ago, you asked why people didn’t fear Grand Karcist Ion. Now you know. When Nadox looked at them, he saw a savior and a mentor. To Lovataar, Ion was love and beauty. Orok saw them as strength, as courage, and to Saarn they were hope and liberation.
**SCP-2075:** Only to the Daevites was the Ozi̮rmok a beast of terror. Something to be feared, something to be destroyed at any cost. Never some//one//. Remember this, and remember why.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="storybook-hca"]]
Memories came rushing back. Old memories, from before the castle, before everything. Running from a store, shaving and crying in the bathroom, sitting uncomfortably in a classroom. She opened her eyes and looked upon the great hall. The man before her was so small compared to the castle, but they were both jailers. Only one of them was of any significance.
She began to walk, right past the man and towards the pair of giant doors leading outside. The floor writhed beneath her feet, the tiles morphing into a hundred tendrils that lurched at her from all directions. She leaped, claws and teeth sharpening to gleaming blades, and crashed into them in a hurricane of blood and bone. She tore them apart, slicing them to pieces before uprooting them from the floor and tossing them aside. And then she was at the doors.
The flesh pulsed and split as a colossal eye pushed its way forward, its gaze ripping her defenses to crimson shreds until all that remained was a skeleton. A freakishly tall, horrible skeleton, with snake-like arms and heavy shoulders. **You will never be more than this.** The eye screeched in her mind. **Cover yourself in skin and cloth, paint your face and shear your fur, it will not change a thing. You have always been this way. You will always be this way.**
“I don't care.” She said, before plunging herself into the pupil.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
Varis lay on the bed in her cell and reached out to her Halkost. It was vast but thin, pieces of herself scattered across the four corners of the world. She had never been contained, not by the GRU and not by the Foundation. It was time to show them that.
She reached out to the two nearest pieces, listening through their ears. The two agents were flanking Albert in the containment chamber, as was their duty. She could practically taste his terror at the Halkost's edge. But she wasn't there for him.
@@ @@
[[div class="storybook-hca"]]
Everything went black. The Beast crawled through a miasma of warm nothingness, the old comfort of anonymity caressing her. Then the void opened its eyes. Hundreds of them, glaring red spotlights that shone through the darkness, focusing on her and her alone.
Some were familiar, the mocking eyes of her classmates at prom, the judgemental ones from the store and from her former friends. And of course, the bulging, terrified eyes of the Foundation agents she had slaughtered. Still many more were foreign, curious and methodical ones, though still laced with fear.
And it hurt, it hurt so much. **They all saw you.** The eyes roiled, their gaze like freezing winds against her bare bones. **They know what you are.** Frost spread across her skeleton, icicles growing like thorns. **But it is not too late. Turn back, and they will stay here. Continue, and they will multiply a thousand thousandfold, until even your wretched bones will shatter like glass in a storm.**
It would have been so easy to give in. To turn back crying and hide within her own mind again. But if Ion could defy Yaldabaoth, she could defy herself.
**You are not Ion. You are no hero. You are but a child terrified of itself. You are powerless.**
No. She //had// the power. Because there was one pair of eyes that was absent in the maelstrom. And she could hear her voice.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Dr. Albert Cronenberg:** Oh-ninety-six, is everything alright?
//<Sounds of shifting meat. Something big slams against the wall.>//
**Dr. Albert Cronenberg:** Ninety-six, can you hear me?
//<Quickened, heavy breaths. SCP-096 growls loudly before stepping in the direction of the recorder.>//
**Dr. Albert Cronenberg:** Command, I’m ending this interview.
//<One pair of footsteps.>//
**Dr. Albert Cronenberg:** Agents? Did you hear me? Come on–
**Jacob D. Moore:** And to his flock, Ion thus spoke: "I have stepped beyond the Sea of Dreams; stood before the Old Ones within their own desolate domain.
**Jonathan Li:** I have endured their intolerable gaze across countless eons.
I have seen the infinite dead worlds, murdered death herself. I have read the entrails of our Creator, beheld eternity unfurled.
**Dr. Albert Cronenberg:** Oh God– Security! We have a breach!
**SCP-096:** Know that our paradise draws near, and with our own flesh shall we birth it.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="storybook-hca"]]
The eyes melted to tears at her feet. The doors opened, and she stepped outside, walking past the garden and to the gate. Varis was waiting for her. Two Varises, she realized. The gate opened for her as she approached, the muscles unwinding themselves and falling to the ground.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Jonathan Li:** Are you ready?
**SCP-096:** Yes.
**Jacob D. Moore:** Then let us step beyond the Sea of Dreams.
//<Wet sounds of meat against concrete. Crackling of electricity, grinding of metal. Static.>//
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Incident Log 096-2075-A**
**Summary:** On the 26th of February 2014, during a routine interview of SCP-096 by Dr. Albert Cronenberg, escorting Agents Jonathan Li and Jacob D. Moore began to show signs of hostile cognitive takeover. Immediately afterward, an amorphous mass of flesh and bone, genetically sourced from the two agents, ruptured the containment cell and carried SCP-096 in the direction of SCP-2075, who was in her own cell at the time. Both anomalies proceeded to breach containment, the mass breaking through Site-66’s eastern external wall before finally coming to a halt. External camera footage revealed SCP-096 to be carrying SCP-2075, moving at a speed of ~300 km/h.
Agents Li and Moore were discovered unconscious but otherwise unharmed within SCP-096’s containment chamber. They were subsequently quarantined and interrogated, though they appeared to possess no memory of the incident. It is theorized that the two were remotely controlled by SCP-2075 during this time via a hitherto unknown ability.
The whereabouts of SCP-096 and SCP-2075 are unknown, the latter discarding her tracking chip 40 kilometers east of Site-66. They have not been sighted since. Recovery of SCP-096 has been designated Alpha priority, and efforts to do so will be led by Dr. Dan ███████.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
They sat on a grassy hill, leaning against a great pine tree. Ordinarily, they would be shivering in the cold, but Varis knew a thing or two about raising body temperatures and it was quite comfortable.
“Where will we go?” She asked Varis.
“There are places for people like you and me, within this world and outside it. I will show you, if you want.” The woman replied.
“People like us? You mean Nälkä?”
“I mean magic.”
“Oh.” She watched the sun sink slowly below the horizon, painting the treetops in brilliant gold.
“I’d love that,” she said.
“You are likely to fit in better than I ever will. Even in these circles, being eight hundred years old can be… isolating.”
“We’ll go together,” She promised the Karcist. “Plus, I’m sure there’s an immortal-people lady’s club there somewhere.”
“Ha! You are right. It’s simply been very long since I’ve walked freely like this.”
“What about your Halkost? Your extensions?”
“Exactly as you say. They’re extensions, nothing more. Are you free if your finger is outside the cage?”
“Point taken.”
An owl hooted somewhere. The wind blew pleasantly across their faces, carrying with it the smell of dirt and leaves. “You have been an excellent student, and a good friend,” Varis said, “Infinitely better than the dry lab coats.”
“Come on, Albert wasn’t //that// bad.”
She chuckled. “No, he’s just a bit of a radish.”
“What?”
“It’s an old expression.”
“I’m pretty sure it isn’t.”
“Regardless, I’ve been meaning to ask, have you remembered your name?”
The other woman stayed quiet for a moment. “No. But… I think I’ll go with Isabelle.”
“A beautiful name.” Varis said, lying down on the ground.
Isabelle smiled. “Thanks. Chose it myself.”
The sky darkened. Varis drifted off to sleep. Isabelle stayed awake for just a little while, watching the stars flickering into existence. Tomorrow, she will see the world.
For the first time, she wasn’t afraid that it would see her back.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=UNCGriffin]]
=====
> **Filename:** Gabe_Cropped2.jpeg
> **Author:** Daniela_oliiver-637925
> **License:** Creative Commons Zero, Public Domain Dedication
> **Additional notes:** Sourced from Wikipedia Commons. Link: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Black_woman_with_women%27s_suit_2.jpg
=====
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-10-13T17:47:00
|
[
"bittersweet",
"breakout",
"eventyr",
"heartwarming",
"lgbtq",
"religious-fiction",
"sarkic",
"shy-guy",
"tale"
] |
Of Beauty and Beasts - SCP Foundation
| 28
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"sarkicism-hub"
] |
[] |
1457092775
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/beauty-and-the-beast
|
|
because-of-the-shame
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
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<p>She took a sip of the coffee. "Her name was Katie. And I'm going to make sure she gets buried correctly."</p>
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<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
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<p><strong>Because of the Shame</strong><br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/queerious" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7453143); return false;"><img alt="Queerious" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=7453143&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735053060" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=7453143)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/queerious" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7453143); return false;">Queerious</a></span> & <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/uncle-nicolini" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(3487700); return false;"><img alt="Uncle Nicolini" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=3487700&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735053060" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=3487700)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/uncle-nicolini" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(3487700); return false;">Uncle Nicolini</a></span><br/>
CW: Implied Suicide, Transphobia, Deadnaming</p>
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<div class="content-warning creditRate">⚠️ content warning <span class="content-warning-arrow"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Faeowynn stared at the email that had just arrived at her personal address.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Dear Miss Wilson,</p>
<p>I regret to inform you of the sudden and tragic passing of my son, your friend, Eric. He always spoke highly of you, and it would mean a lot for us to you be present for the funeral this Wednesday. Please RSVP by responding to this email.</p>
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<blockquote>
<p>A CELEBRATION OF LIFE AND FAITH<br/>
ERIC K. CALHOUN<br/>
1984-2024<br/>
❀✿❁<br/>
June 19th, 2024<br/>
The Funeral Chapel<br/>
1076 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10028</p>
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<p>Yours truly,</p>
<p>Danica Calhoun</p>
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She didn't know an "Eric K. Calhoun", at least none that she could remember. The last name struck her as familiar, though. Faeowynn got out her phone and typed out the familiar surname into her contacts. Sure enough, one such name came up, though it wasn't Eric. It was Katie.
<p>Suddenly, she was overcome with memories.</p>
<p>Katie, or Eric as she had first known her, was a friend from college. The two had met at NYU's LGBT club, where Katie had originally been there as an ally. Faeowynn, not knowing anyone in New York and finding it hard to make friends as an open trans woman, had decided to join the club in the hopes of not feeling so alone. They hit it off spectacularly, with Katie and Fae spending hours on end in local cafés and parks just talking.</p>
<p>Eventually, Katie came to discover herself, but she would have to stay in the closet, something which always upset Faeowynn. The two continued to talk for years after they graduated from university, but their conversations had stopped being as frequent as of late.</p>
<p>Fae swiped out of her contacts and onto her text messages. She scrolled down for some time, going two years back to find the last conversation with Katie.</p>
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<h3 id="toc0"><span>☕Katie Calhoun☕</span></h3>
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<p><span class="text">Hey Katie, it's been a while, how are you?</span></p>
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<p><span class="text">omg</span><br/>
<span class="text">hiiiii<br/>
ive been better but who am i to complain</span></p>
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<p><span class="text">🫂</span><br/>
<span class="text">We should do something some day.</span><br/>
<span class="text">But I'm so busy here it's hard to get a day off.</span></p>
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<p><span class="text">its okay, fae! really im fine. 😃</span><br/>
<span class="text">hows alex?<br/>
you two married yet?</span></p>
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<p><span class="text">😅</span><br/>
<span class="text">ANYWAY</span><br/>
<span class="text">What have you been up to?</span><br/>
<span class="text">Still crashing at your bitch of a mom's place?</span></p>
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<p><span class="text">😅</span></p>
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<p><span class="text">Sorry. You know, you're always welcome up here. Alex and I have a spare room you can sleep in until you get your bearings.</span><br/>
<span class="text">And we could get coffee like we always used to!</span></p>
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<p><span class="text">maybe</span></p>
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<p><span class="text">Offer is always open for you, Katie.</span></p>
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<p>That was the last time they had spoken. A little over two years ago. Faeowynn sighed and put her phone down. She covered her eyes with her hands and rested her elbows against her desk, remaining in this position until long after the chatter outside her office had died down and most of the volunteers had gone home.</p>
<p>"Hey, Fae?" Alex's voice came in through the other side of the door.</p>
<p>"Hay is for horses." Fae replied, a wry smile on her reddened face. She had been fighting back tears for the past hour.</p>
<p>Alex opened the door and walked in, holding a cup of coffee. He held it out to his girlfriend with a big goofy smile before noticing she wasn't doing well.</p>
<p>"What's wrong?"</p>
<p>"I… One of my friends is dead." She sighed.</p>
<p>"Oh my god. Who? Are you okay?"</p>
<p>"You never met her. And yeah, I'm fine, I just… feel like maybe I could have done more?" Faeowynn took the cup of coffee, pondering upon her reflection on the dark brown liquid.</p>
<p>"What was her name?"</p>
<p>"What does it matter to you?"</p>
<p>"Fae…"</p>
<p>"Sorry. I know I can get difficult, I don't mean to be rude to you."</p>
<p>"It's okay. I know your idiosyncrasies," Alex grinned wryly.</p>
<p>She took a sip of the coffee. "Her name was Katie. And I'm going to make sure she gets buried correctly."</p>
<p>Alex merely nodded in immediate understanding, then smiled again. "That's my girl."</p>
<hr/>
<p>New York's JFK airport was a strange kind of comfort; the grime, noise and smell brought her back to when she first met Katie. She was overwhelmed by the emotions, but didn't have time to stop.</p>
<p>She had to catch a cab over to the funeral home, and fast. The flight was delayed but — she checked her watch, glow-in-the-dark with a frog in the background. A gift, she remembered, from Katie. The panic cut back into her mind; she had only an hour to get halfway across town to the funeral home.</p>
<p>Thank God for New York cabbies, huh? She quickly made her way to the taxi stand, hopping in the first free car she saw. As the engine purred to life and traffic came, as always, to a screeching halt, she pulled out her phone and scrolled further, back to the conversation she and Katie had those Christmases ago.</p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<h3 id="toc1"><span>☕Katie Calhoun☕</span></h3>
<div class="text-container">
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">hey</span><br/>
<span class="text">fae</span><br/>
<span class="text">check ur dorm</span><br/>
<span class="text">👻</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">What? You got me a gift? But I didn't get you…</span><br/>
<span class="text">SIKE! Check in your bag, I got you something too.</span><br/>
<span class="text">Just… don't open it around your family, okay?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">you got me something</span><br/>
<span class="text">ill miss you</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">I'll miss you too Katie</span><br/>
<span class="text">Soooooo, can I open your gift now?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">what</span><br/>
<span class="text">no<br/>
you have to wait until christmas</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">I mean… you're not here to stop me 👿</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">fae</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">Fiiiiiiine</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>A few days later, Fae got a single text at 11:53pm on Christmas eve.</p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<h3 id="toc2"><span>☕Katie Calhoun☕</span></h3>
<div class="text-container">
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">hey<br/>
thnx for the gift<br/>
you made my holiday<br/>
merry christmas fae</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>"I'm sorry, but I don't think you should stay here any longer."</p>
<p>Who did this asshole think she was? Kicking Fae out of her friend's funeral?</p>
<p>"What are you talking about? They were my— <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Katie</span> was my friend!"</p>
<p>How the hell had this escalated so quickly? Fae had arrived just a few minutes ago, right before the service was to begin, and as she rushed up the steps she paused, hesitating. Was this the right thing to do? How was she going to be able to change anything, to make sure that Katie was buried as… well, you know, Katie?</p>
<p>The hesitation was clearly visible on her face, however, as a slender woman had quickly approached her, and in a horrifically dull voice asked: "You seem lost. Can I help you?"</p>
<p>"I'm here for the funeral of my friend Katie?"</p>
<p>"Katie? I think you have the wrong day sweetie, nobody named Katie is being buried today."</p>
<p>"What? But the invite said the funeral for Katie was today!"</p>
<p>The woman looked at Faeowynn with a sad, pitying expression. "I'm sorry honey, but the only funeral being held today is for my son, Eric Colhoun."</p>
<p>"Eric Calhoun?" Fae said, the pieces falling into place in her mind. "Oh, do you mean Katie? Eric was her deadna—"</p>
<p>Oh. Shit. Faeowynn just realized her mistake, moments after it had tumbled out of her mouth. Katie never came out. Nobody knows who she really was. Nobody is going to mourn her, not unless she could change something. She hoped, no, needed this to be the first chance she had to tell somebody the truth.</p>
<p>"Are you making some sick joke about my son? Who the hell do you think you are?"</p>
<p>Of course it had to be Katie's mom. Things had quickly escalated from there, resulting in the screaming match that Faeowynn now found herself in, unsure of what to do next.</p>
<p>"<em>Eric</em> was sick. He needed help. It's people like you that kille—"</p>
<p>"People like me? Are you fucking kidding me right now? Do you know how much hearing your toxic shit killed her? Don't you get it? You're the problem!"</p>
<p>"How dare you speak to me that way, I lost my son!"</p>
<p>"She wasn't your son anymore! That's what I've been trying to fucking say!"</p>
<p>"Ahem."</p>
<p>Fae looked in the direction of the firm cough, and saw a priest standing in the doorway. He was glaring at her.</p>
<p>"I think you should leave." He said in a tone that welcomed no discussion. Weighing her options, Fae did the only thing she could think of: she left, and took out her phone.</p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<h3 id="toc3"><span>🥦 Jude 🥦</span></h3>
<div class="text-container">
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">Jude, I need your help.</span><br/>
<span class="text">Do you remember Katie?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">Katie? Was she your friend from NYU?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">Yeah.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">Sure. Where and when?</span><br/>
<span class="text">What's going on Fae?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">Can you meet me in New York? Wherever works, just as soon as possible.</span><br/>
<span class="text">Please.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">Wait, New York? What are you doing in New York?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">Katie's dead.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">On my way, be there in a few hours.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>The beautiful thing about being in New York City was that, no matter the hour, day, or weather, you could always find a café or diner serving a hot cup of coffee and mediocre food. It was one of the things that Fae missed the most since leaving. There's just no comparison to leaving your apartment at four in the morning and stumbling around until you found a warm cup of two dollar sludge and a fat stack of pancakes.</p>
<p>And it was in a random, nondescript diner that the two friends had met in. Fae had arrived first, but barely had the time to order a cup of coffee before a familiar, casually dressed face appeared, crashing down into the booth across from her.</p>
<p>"What's the plan, Fae?" Jude said, diving right in.</p>
<p>"Oh hi, Jude! It's been so long, it's good to see you, how are you? How was the flight? No? No small talk? Just jumping right into things?" It had been too long since Fae had seen her friend in person; who could blame her for teasing him a little bit?</p>
<p>Unfortunately for her, it didn't seem to land as Jude's attention was focused on the menu in front of him; the familiar dull redness told Fae why.</p>
<p>"Jude, how the hell are you high already? Did you smoke on the plane?"</p>
<p>"Plane?" Jude asked, snorting. "Nah, I just stopped to light up once I got into town."</p>
<p>"Really?"</p>
<p>"Hey! It helps me think better. Probably."</p>
<p>"Sure. What are you thinking then, oh expert?"</p>
<p>Jude looked up and shot her a grin. "I'm thinking that pancakes would kill right now."</p>
<p>He was right, pancakes <em>would</em> kill right now.</p>
<p>The two friends laughed, setting the menus to the side and enjoying their first time together in a while. After the waitress came back and took their order, and Jude had drank more than a few sips of his coffee, they continued meaningfully.</p>
<p>"So," Jude started, "what's going on Fae? You said Katie was…"</p>
<p>"Yeah." Faeowynn replied, frowning. "She died and her fucking mom is burying her under her deadname. I… when I left, I told Alex that I was going to make sure that she got buried correctly. But now that I'm here, fuck, I don't know what to do! They wouldn't even let me into the service, so how the hell am I going to do anything?"</p>
<p>"Hey." Jude had reached his hand out across the table and placed it on Fae's arm — the tension that she hadn't realized she had been carrying dissolved under the familiar feeling. Jude was here, and he was going to help.</p>
<p>"What do you want to happen, Fae?"</p>
<p>"I just want Katie to be recognized for who she was."</p>
<p>"Okay. We can do that."</p>
<p>Jude always said things like they were simple. No matter how complex the problem, or how big the knot, Jude would just cut through it all. He was a leader, even if he didn't want to be.</p>
<p>"We can? How?" Fae asked, her anxieties slowly being replaced with hope.</p>
<p>Jude… well, she loved Jude. But at the end of the day, he was still the same stoner shithead with a traumatic past that he always had been.</p>
<p>He shrugged.</p>
<p>"Look, I doubt we can convince her parents to do anything, especially after today. So, that's fine, we don't worry about that. We'll just have to change the headstone instead. But first, I think we should both eat something."</p>
<p>Faeowynn shook her head, but couldn't help but smile. Katie was going to be remembered properly, one way or another.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"This was your plan?"</p>
<p>Faeowynn looked over at Jude, who like her, was now dressed in a black hoodie, hood pulled up, and jeans. In one hand, he held a chisel; Jude grinned, and gave her a thumbs up.</p>
<p>"Yeah, why? Is something wrong?"</p>
<p>"Well," Fae said, staring in confusion at her friend. "I just… you didn't have to come all the way out here to help me break into a cemetery in the middle of the night, just so that we could use a chisel to change a headstone. I could have done this own my own."</p>
<p>Jude shook his head. "Sure. But you wouldn't have."</p>
<p>He was right. Faeowynn wouldn't be here, trespassing and breaking who knows how many laws, just to help Katie. Jude had a knack for seeing the problem, and walking right around it.</p>
<p>"What's the plan?"</p>
<p>"I looked online." Jude pulled out his phone, and began flipping through his screenshots until he arrived on the cemetery map. "We're here, and all the headstones are kept in this building, under digital lock. We get in, I use my Stand to get us into the room, and then we make things right for Katie."</p>
<p>"But won't her mom notice that? Won't she see that the name was changed and refuse to use it?"</p>
<p>"Yeah." Jude said, a glint in his eye. "That's why I got Esther to help out. She made us this."</p>
<p>Jude pulled a small sticker out of his pocket - it was a vinyl ⚧, printed in the colors of the trans flag. "This will make her parents, plus any other transphobic fuckheads think nothing is wrong. Anybody who is queer, well, they'll see the truth, <em>and</em> this badass sticker."</p>
<p>"Thank her for me." Fae said, grateful for her friends.</p>
<p>"No need," Jude replied, "she just wished she could have helped more."</p>
<p>"No, this is perfect. So now we just need to break in, right?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, simple enough!"</p>
<p>Faeowynn nodded, and began to slink through the shadows to the cemetery gates, locked shut with a single padlock. It looked weak enough, but she hadn't brought any bolt cutters; and unless Jude was hiding them somewhere in his sweater, she didn't think he had any either.</p>
<p>"What do we do now?" Fae whispered.</p>
<p>"Right. Shit. Padlocks."</p>
<p>Fae loved him, but Jude forgot the details. A lot. Knowing that she was up, she looked around the ground, finding a suitably large rock.</p>
<p>"You're going to hit it?" Jude asked, stifling a laugh.</p>
<p>"Do you have any better ideas?"</p>
<p>"…on second thought, nice choice on the rock Fae."</p>
<p>She laughed, shaking her head. Okay, simple enough, yeah? Just hit the padlock with it enough times and it would break open. Right?</p>
<p>The first hit was louder than either of the two wanted, and it bounced off the lock like a rubber ball against a wall. Fae almost lost her grip of the stone, but managed to keep it under control. The second hit was quieter, but no more successful than the first.</p>
<p>"Have you tried hitting it harder?" Jude asked, sarcasm dripping.</p>
<p>"Hey, Jude? Let me practice on you first, maybe that will help."</p>
<p>He held his hands up in protest. "Sorry, sorry, you're the expert here, animal girl."</p>
<p>"Damn right I am." The third hit was careful, but with a burning rage behind it. Anger at the way Katie was being treated by her family, rage at not knowing what happened to her, the frustration that Fae would never be able to see or speak to her again, and the pain she felt; all coalescing into one, single, reverberating strike.</p>
<p>The lock cracked, popping open, a triumphant 'thung' echoing through the night sky as the metal gave in to her will. It fell to the floor, clattering as it did. Fae dropped the rock, thudding beside it plainly. Jude began to give a mocking clap when—</p>
<p><em>"Hey! What are you two doing over there?"</em></p>
<p>Shit. Shit, shit shi—</p>
<hr/>
<p>There were an infinite number of firsts that a person could potentially experience in their lives. Faeowynn had thought she was done with firsts, having been through the ringer in her life and making it out to the other side. Unfortunately for her, tonight was a night of firsts; for instance, she was now dealing with her first time being arrested by the police.</p>
<p>As she sat in the holding cell, she questioned if she was even doing the right thing. Katie's mom and family clearly didn't care; they weren't even mourning her. They were mourning their idea of who she used to be, stuck obsessing over what Katie had done her best to leave behind. They were so distracted trying to make Katie fit into a box that they didn't realize that the box was a coffin.</p>
<p>They killed Katie because they couldn't move on.</p>
<p>Fae didn't want to think about that anymore. She looked around the cell, trying to distract herself; Jude had somehow managed to escape without being caught, she didn't know how, but she was glad at least one of them made it out alright. Fae didn't know how much longer she would be kept here, especially since her one phone call to Alex didn't go through — so she sat on the bench, and began to wait.</p>
<p>"Miss Wilson?" a vaguely familiar voice called. Faeowynn turned and saw a newcomer, not one of the officers that she had been dealing with so far. In fact, he wasn't wearing a uniform at all.</p>
<p>"Yes?" Fae said, unsure of what was happening, but anything was better than just sitting around. "Who are you?"</p>
<p>"I'm sorry, Miss Wilson, I don't know if you remember me, but my name is Roger Tarpan from the Special Counsel of Personnel; I've come to get you out of here." The man in plain clothes gave her a friendly smile and a knowing look.</p>
<p>Of course the Foundation had sent somebody to bail her out.</p>
<p>"I don't need <em>your</em> help." Fae said, scowling. How long had they been watching her?</p>
<p>Roger shrugged, ignoring her protests and unlocking the cell door. "Oh, I'm sure you'd much rather just sit around in a jail cell all day, but the Supervisors think you can be more effective not behind bars. Personally, I don't care either way, so it really is up to you."</p>
<p>Faeowynn learned a long time ago that you should take the gift horse first, and then worry about what it has in the mouth. Her dad used to say that, about any animal they met. Seizing the gift, Fae exited her cell, pausing in front of Petra.</p>
<p>"Thank you. What do I owe the Supervisors now?"</p>
<p>Roger laughed, and passed her a sealed envelope. "Hell if I know, I'm just the messenger. This is all they told me to give you."</p>
<p>The envelope was plain, with no writing on the front. Opening the letter, Fae was greeted by a short, typed note:</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Faeowynn,</p>
<p>Our deepest condolences on the passing of your close friend Katie Calhoun. We have sent the standard Foundation mourning basket to your home, and have made a customary donation in her name. Let us know if there is anything else we can do to assist you during this time.<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>- The Supervisors</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<h3 id="toc4"><span>🥦 Jude 🥦</span></h3>
<div class="text-container">
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">Fae, tell me you're okay?</span><br/>
<span class="text">I'm so fucking sorry, I panicked.</span><br/>
<span class="text">I never meant to abandon you. What happened?</span><br/>
<span class="text">Fae?</span><br/>
<span class="text">Faeowynn, what's going on? You won't pick up, I've called 5 times now. I'm getting worried. Please call me back.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">Hey. Sorry. I was in jail.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">Fuck, you got arrested? I'm so sorry Fae, I never meant for this to spiral out of control. I just wanted to help you fix things for Katie.</span><br/>
<span class="text">Did they let you go?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">You'll never guess who bailed me out.</span><br/>
<span class="text">The Foundation.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">They bailed you out? What do they want now?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">Shockingly? Nothing.</span><br/>
<span class="text">They sent their condolences for Katie too.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">Huh. Speaking of which, what's the next plan?</span><br/>
<span class="text">How are we going to help Katie now?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">I don't know. Why am I trying to much to change how people who didn't even love Katie remember her? They're never going to change, they'll never know Katie the way I did. They'll never know Katie, they'll only know… their dead son. But he died years ago.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">Okay.</span><br/>
<span class="text">So what's your plan, then?</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Faeowynn and Alex smiled, holding hands as they walked down the back hallways of the Center, having just finished a meeting about their new initiative. It had taken a few months of planning, coordination and hard work, but they were finally ready to announce the new initiative Fae had been working on since she got back from New York.</p>
<p>They had called it 'Katie's Gift'; it was a new program that sponsored queer and transgender youths, getting them a place to live and a job for the summer. It wouldn't be easy work, what, with some of the critters that they took care of here, but for a lot of the initial applicants, it was the only option they had.</p>
<p>She squeezed Alex's hand tighter as she thought about Katie's smile, beaming bright and shining down onto her, like the sun overhead. Katie's Gift was… well, it was Katie's way of living on in the world. It was the one place that remembered who she was, what she wanted, why she cared so much and… it was the only place that remembered her name.</p>
<p>"Do you think anyone will apply?" Fae looked over to Alex as they headed towards the parking lot.</p>
<p>"I definitely think so."</p>
<p>"What makes you say that?"</p>
<p>"Not only is it a great opportunity, but its also an escape. An escape to somewhere they won't be treated like freaks of nature, but like regular people."</p>
<p>Faeowynn pulled out her phone, one last time, and reread the text that she had been drafting for days now. She hesitated, then looked to Alex, who nodded. She closed her eyes and pressed send.</p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<h3 id="toc5"><span>☕Katie Calhoun☕</span></h3>
<div class="text-container">
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">Wherever you are, Katie, know that I will never forget you. I'm sorry you couldn't be here to see your gift shared with the world. I miss you.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
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<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/because-of-the-shame">Because of The Shame</a>" by Queerious & Uncle Nicolini, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/because-of-the-shame">https://scpwiki.com/because-of-the-shame</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
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text=She took a sip of the coffee. "Her name was Katie. And I'm going to make sure she gets buried correctly."]]
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:text-style">:scp-wiki:component:text-style</a>]]
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
**Because of the Shame**
**Author:** [[*user Queerious]] & [[*user Uncle Nicolini]]
CW: Implied Suicide, Transphobia, Deadnaming
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
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@@ @@
Faeowynn stared at the email that had just arrived at her personal address.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Dear Miss Wilson,
I regret to inform you of the sudden and tragic passing of my son, your friend, Eric. He always spoke highly of you, and it would mean a lot for us to you be present for the funeral this Wednesday. Please RSVP by responding to this email.
[[=]]
> A CELEBRATION OF LIFE AND FAITH
> ERIC K. CALHOUN
> 1984-2024
> ❀✿❁
> June 19th, 2024
> The Funeral Chapel
> 1076 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10028
[[/=]]
Yours truly,
Danica Calhoun
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
She didn't know an "Eric K. Calhoun", at least none that she could remember. The last name struck her as familiar, though. Faeowynn got out her phone and typed out the familiar surname into her contacts. Sure enough, one such name came up, though it wasn't Eric. It was Katie.
Suddenly, she was overcome with memories.
Katie, or Eric as she had first known her, was a friend from college. The two had met at NYU's LGBT club, where Katie had originally been there as an ally. Faeowynn, not knowing anyone in New York and finding it hard to make friends as an open trans woman, had decided to join the club in the hopes of not feeling so alone. They hit it off spectacularly, with Katie and Fae spending hours on end in local cafés and parks just talking.
Eventually, Katie came to discover herself, but she would have to stay in the closet, something which always upset Faeowynn. The two continued to talk for years after they graduated from university, but their conversations had stopped being as frequent as of late.
Fae swiped out of her contacts and onto her text messages. She scrolled down for some time, going two years back to find the last conversation with Katie.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
+++ ☕Katie Calhoun☕
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Hey Katie, it's been a while, how are you?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]omg[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]hiiiii _
ive been better but who am i to complain[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]🫂[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]We should do something some day.[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]But I'm so busy here it's hard to get a day off.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]its okay, fae! really im fine. 😃[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]hows alex? _
you two married yet? [[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]😅[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]ANYWAY[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]What have you been up to?[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Still crashing at your bitch of a mom's place?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]😅[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Sorry. You know, you're always welcome up here. Alex and I have a spare room you can sleep in until you get your bearings.[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]And we could get coffee like we always used to![[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]maybe[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Offer is always open for you, Katie.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
That was the last time they had spoken. A little over two years ago. Faeowynn sighed and put her phone down. She covered her eyes with her hands and rested her elbows against her desk, remaining in this position until long after the chatter outside her office had died down and most of the volunteers had gone home.
"Hey, Fae?" Alex's voice came in through the other side of the door.
"Hay is for horses." Fae replied, a wry smile on her reddened face. She had been fighting back tears for the past hour.
Alex opened the door and walked in, holding a cup of coffee. He held it out to his girlfriend with a big goofy smile before noticing she wasn't doing well.
"What's wrong?"
"I... One of my friends is dead." She sighed.
"Oh my god. Who? Are you okay?"
"You never met her. And yeah, I'm fine, I just... feel like maybe I could have done more?" Faeowynn took the cup of coffee, pondering upon her reflection on the dark brown liquid.
"What was her name?"
"What does it matter to you?"
"Fae..."
"Sorry. I know I can get difficult, I don't mean to be rude to you."
"It's okay. I know your idiosyncrasies," Alex grinned wryly.
She took a sip of the coffee. "Her name was Katie. And I'm going to make sure she gets buried correctly."
Alex merely nodded in immediate understanding, then smiled again. "That's my girl."
-----
New York's JFK airport was a strange kind of comfort; the grime, noise and smell brought her back to when she first met Katie. She was overwhelmed by the emotions, but didn't have time to stop.
She had to catch a cab over to the funeral home, and fast. The flight was delayed but -- she checked her watch, glow-in-the-dark with a frog in the background. A gift, she remembered, from Katie. The panic cut back into her mind; she had only an hour to get halfway across town to the funeral home.
Thank God for New York cabbies, huh? She quickly made her way to the taxi stand, hopping in the first free car she saw. As the engine purred to life and traffic came, as always, to a screeching halt, she pulled out her phone and scrolled further, back to the conversation she and Katie had those Christmases ago.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
+++ ☕Katie Calhoun☕
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]hey[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]fae[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]check ur dorm[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]👻[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]What? You got me a gift? But I didn't get you...[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]SIKE! Check in your bag, I got you something too.[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Just... don't open it around your family, okay?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]you got me something[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]ill miss you[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]I'll miss you too Katie[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Soooooo, can I open your gift now?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]what[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]no _
you have to wait until christmas[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]I mean... you're not here to stop me 👿[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]fae[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Fiiiiiiine[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
A few days later, Fae got a single text at 11:53pm on Christmas eve.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
+++ ☕Katie Calhoun☕
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]hey _
thnx for the gift _
you made my holiday _
merry christmas fae[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
------
"I'm sorry, but I don't think you should stay here any longer."
Who did this asshole think she was? Kicking Fae out of her friend's funeral?
"What are you talking about? They were my-- __Katie__ was my friend!"
How the hell had this escalated so quickly? Fae had arrived just a few minutes ago, right before the service was to begin, and as she rushed up the steps she paused, hesitating. Was this the right thing to do? How was she going to be able to change anything, to make sure that Katie was buried as... well, you know, Katie?
The hesitation was clearly visible on her face, however, as a slender woman had quickly approached her, and in a horrifically dull voice asked: "You seem lost. Can I help you?"
"I'm here for the funeral of my friend Katie?"
"Katie? I think you have the wrong day sweetie, nobody named Katie is being buried today."
"What? But the invite said the funeral for Katie was today!"
The woman looked at Faeowynn with a sad, pitying expression. "I'm sorry honey, but the only funeral being held today is for my son, Eric Colhoun."
"Eric Calhoun?" Fae said, the pieces falling into place in her mind. "Oh, do you mean Katie? Eric was her deadna--"
Oh. Shit. Faeowynn just realized her mistake, moments after it had tumbled out of her mouth. Katie never came out. Nobody knows who she really was. Nobody is going to mourn her, not unless she could change something. She hoped, no, needed this to be the first chance she had to tell somebody the truth.
"Are you making some sick joke about my son? Who the hell do you think you are?"
Of course it had to be Katie's mom. Things had quickly escalated from there, resulting in the screaming match that Faeowynn now found herself in, unsure of what to do next.
"//Eric// was sick. He needed help. It's people like you that kille--"
"People like me? Are you fucking kidding me right now? Do you know how much hearing your toxic shit killed her? Don't you get it? You're the problem!"
"How dare you speak to me that way, I lost my son!"
"She wasn't your son anymore! That's what I've been trying to fucking say!"
"Ahem."
Fae looked in the direction of the firm cough, and saw a priest standing in the doorway. He was glaring at her.
"I think you should leave." He said in a tone that welcomed no discussion. Weighing her options, Fae did the only thing she could think of: she left, and took out her phone.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
+++ 🥦 Jude 🥦
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Jude, I need your help.[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Do you remember Katie?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Katie? Was she your friend from NYU?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Yeah.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Sure. Where and when?[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]What's going on Fae?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Can you meet me in New York? Wherever works, just as soon as possible.[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Please.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Wait, New York? What are you doing in New York?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Katie's dead.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]On my way, be there in a few hours.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
------
The beautiful thing about being in New York City was that, no matter the hour, day, or weather, you could always find a café or diner serving a hot cup of coffee and mediocre food. It was one of the things that Fae missed the most since leaving. There's just no comparison to leaving your apartment at four in the morning and stumbling around until you found a warm cup of two dollar sludge and a fat stack of pancakes.
And it was in a random, nondescript diner that the two friends had met in. Fae had arrived first, but barely had the time to order a cup of coffee before a familiar, casually dressed face appeared, crashing down into the booth across from her.
"What's the plan, Fae?" Jude said, diving right in.
"Oh hi, Jude! It's been so long, it's good to see you, how are you? How was the flight? No? No small talk? Just jumping right into things?" It had been too long since Fae had seen her friend in person; who could blame her for teasing him a little bit?
Unfortunately for her, it didn't seem to land as Jude's attention was focused on the menu in front of him; the familiar dull redness told Fae why.
"Jude, how the hell are you high already? Did you smoke on the plane?"
"Plane?" Jude asked, snorting. "Nah, I just stopped to light up once I got into town."
"Really?"
"Hey! It helps me think better. Probably."
"Sure. What are you thinking then, oh expert?"
Jude looked up and shot her a grin. "I'm thinking that pancakes would kill right now."
He was right, pancakes //would// kill right now.
The two friends laughed, setting the menus to the side and enjoying their first time together in a while. After the waitress came back and took their order, and Jude had drank more than a few sips of his coffee, they continued meaningfully.
"So," Jude started, "what's going on Fae? You said Katie was..."
"Yeah." Faeowynn replied, frowning. "She died and her fucking mom is burying her under her deadname. I... when I left, I told Alex that I was going to make sure that she got buried correctly. But now that I'm here, fuck, I don't know what to do! They wouldn't even let me into the service, so how the hell am I going to do anything?"
"Hey." Jude had reached his hand out across the table and placed it on Fae's arm -- the tension that she hadn't realized she had been carrying dissolved under the familiar feeling. Jude was here, and he was going to help.
"What do you want to happen, Fae?"
"I just want Katie to be recognized for who she was."
"Okay. We can do that."
Jude always said things like they were simple. No matter how complex the problem, or how big the knot, Jude would just cut through it all. He was a leader, even if he didn't want to be.
"We can? How?" Fae asked, her anxieties slowly being replaced with hope.
Jude... well, she loved Jude. But at the end of the day, he was still the same stoner shithead with a traumatic past that he always had been.
He shrugged.
"Look, I doubt we can convince her parents to do anything, especially after today. So, that's fine, we don't worry about that. We'll just have to change the headstone instead. But first, I think we should both eat something."
Faeowynn shook her head, but couldn't help but smile. Katie was going to be remembered properly, one way or another.
------
"This was your plan?"
Faeowynn looked over at Jude, who like her, was now dressed in a black hoodie, hood pulled up, and jeans. In one hand, he held a chisel; Jude grinned, and gave her a thumbs up.
"Yeah, why? Is something wrong?"
"Well," Fae said, staring in confusion at her friend. "I just... you didn't have to come all the way out here to help me break into a cemetery in the middle of the night, just so that we could use a chisel to change a headstone. I could have done this own my own."
Jude shook his head. "Sure. But you wouldn't have."
He was right. Faeowynn wouldn't be here, trespassing and breaking who knows how many laws, just to help Katie. Jude had a knack for seeing the problem, and walking right around it.
"What's the plan?"
"I looked online." Jude pulled out his phone, and began flipping through his screenshots until he arrived on the cemetery map. "We're here, and all the headstones are kept in this building, under digital lock. We get in, I use my Stand to get us into the room, and then we make things right for Katie."
"But won't her mom notice that? Won't she see that the name was changed and refuse to use it?"
"Yeah." Jude said, a glint in his eye. "That's why I got Esther to help out. She made us this."
Jude pulled a small sticker out of his pocket - it was a vinyl ⚧, printed in the colors of the trans flag. "This will make her parents, plus any other transphobic fuckheads think nothing is wrong. Anybody who is queer, well, they'll see the truth, //and// this badass sticker."
"Thank her for me." Fae said, grateful for her friends.
"No need," Jude replied, "she just wished she could have helped more."
"No, this is perfect. So now we just need to break in, right?"
"Yeah, simple enough!"
Faeowynn nodded, and began to slink through the shadows to the cemetery gates, locked shut with a single padlock. It looked weak enough, but she hadn't brought any bolt cutters; and unless Jude was hiding them somewhere in his sweater, she didn't think he had any either.
"What do we do now?" Fae whispered.
"Right. Shit. Padlocks."
Fae loved him, but Jude forgot the details. A lot. Knowing that she was up, she looked around the ground, finding a suitably large rock.
"You're going to hit it?" Jude asked, stifling a laugh.
"Do you have any better ideas?"
"...on second thought, nice choice on the rock Fae."
She laughed, shaking her head. Okay, simple enough, yeah? Just hit the padlock with it enough times and it would break open. Right?
The first hit was louder than either of the two wanted, and it bounced off the lock like a rubber ball against a wall. Fae almost lost her grip of the stone, but managed to keep it under control. The second hit was quieter, but no more successful than the first.
"Have you tried hitting it harder?" Jude asked, sarcasm dripping.
"Hey, Jude? Let me practice on you first, maybe that will help."
He held his hands up in protest. "Sorry, sorry, you're the expert here, animal girl."
"Damn right I am." The third hit was careful, but with a burning rage behind it. Anger at the way Katie was being treated by her family, rage at not knowing what happened to her, the frustration that Fae would never be able to see or speak to her again, and the pain she felt; all coalescing into one, single, reverberating strike.
The lock cracked, popping open, a triumphant 'thung' echoing through the night sky as the metal gave in to her will. It fell to the floor, clattering as it did. Fae dropped the rock, thudding beside it plainly. Jude began to give a mocking clap when--
//"Hey! What are you two doing over there?"//
Shit. Shit, shit shi--
------
There were an infinite number of firsts that a person could potentially experience in their lives. Faeowynn had thought she was done with firsts, having been through the ringer in her life and making it out to the other side. Unfortunately for her, tonight was a night of firsts; for instance, she was now dealing with her first time being arrested by the police.
As she sat in the holding cell, she questioned if she was even doing the right thing. Katie's mom and family clearly didn't care; they weren't even mourning her. They were mourning their idea of who she used to be, stuck obsessing over what Katie had done her best to leave behind. They were so distracted trying to make Katie fit into a box that they didn't realize that the box was a coffin.
They killed Katie because they couldn't move on.
Fae didn't want to think about that anymore. She looked around the cell, trying to distract herself; Jude had somehow managed to escape without being caught, she didn't know how, but she was glad at least one of them made it out alright. Fae didn't know how much longer she would be kept here, especially since her one phone call to Alex didn't go through -- so she sat on the bench, and began to wait.
"Miss Wilson?" a vaguely familiar voice called. Faeowynn turned and saw a newcomer, not one of the officers that she had been dealing with so far. In fact, he wasn't wearing a uniform at all.
"Yes?" Fae said, unsure of what was happening, but anything was better than just sitting around. "Who are you?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Wilson, I don't know if you remember me, but my name is Roger Tarpan from the Special Counsel of Personnel; I've come to get you out of here." The man in plain clothes gave her a friendly smile and a knowing look.
Of course the Foundation had sent somebody to bail her out.
"I don't need //your// help." Fae said, scowling. How long had they been watching her?
Roger shrugged, ignoring her protests and unlocking the cell door. "Oh, I'm sure you'd much rather just sit around in a jail cell all day, but the Supervisors think you can be more effective not behind bars. Personally, I don't care either way, so it really is up to you."
Faeowynn learned a long time ago that you should take the gift horse first, and then worry about what it has in the mouth. Her dad used to say that, about any animal they met. Seizing the gift, Fae exited her cell, pausing in front of Petra.
"Thank you. What do I owe the Supervisors now?"
Roger laughed, and passed her a sealed envelope. "Hell if I know, I'm just the messenger. This is all they told me to give you."
The envelope was plain, with no writing on the front. Opening the letter, Fae was greeted by a short, typed note:
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Faeowynn,
Our deepest condolences on the passing of your close friend Katie Calhoun. We have sent the standard Foundation mourning basket to your home, and have made a customary donation in her name. Let us know if there is anything else we can do to assist you during this time.
[[>]]
- The Supervisors
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
------
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
+++ 🥦 Jude 🥦
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Fae, tell me you're okay?[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]I'm so fucking sorry, I panicked.[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]I never meant to abandon you. What happened?[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Fae?[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Faeowynn, what's going on? You won't pick up, I've called 5 times now. I'm getting worried. Please call me back.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Hey. Sorry. I was in jail.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Fuck, you got arrested? I'm so sorry Fae, I never meant for this to spiral out of control. I just wanted to help you fix things for Katie.[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Did they let you go?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]You'll never guess who bailed me out.[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]The Foundation.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]They bailed you out? What do they want now?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Shockingly? Nothing.[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]They sent their condolences for Katie too.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Huh. Speaking of which, what's the next plan?[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]How are we going to help Katie now?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]I don't know. Why am I trying to much to change how people who didn't even love Katie remember her? They're never going to change, they'll never know Katie the way I did. They'll never know Katie, they'll only know... their dead son. But he died years ago.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Okay.[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]So what's your plan, then?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
------
Faeowynn and Alex smiled, holding hands as they walked down the back hallways of the Center, having just finished a meeting about their new initiative. It had taken a few months of planning, coordination and hard work, but they were finally ready to announce the new initiative Fae had been working on since she got back from New York.
They had called it 'Katie's Gift'; it was a new program that sponsored queer and transgender youths, getting them a place to live and a job for the summer. It wouldn't be easy work, what, with some of the critters that they took care of here, but for a lot of the initial applicants, it was the only option they had.
She squeezed Alex's hand tighter as she thought about Katie's smile, beaming bright and shining down onto her, like the sun overhead. Katie's Gift was... well, it was Katie's way of living on in the world. It was the one place that remembered who she was, what she wanted, why she cared so much and... it was the only place that remembered her name.
"Do you think anyone will apply?" Fae looked over to Alex as they headed towards the parking lot.
"I definitely think so."
"What makes you say that?"
"Not only is it a great opportunity, but its also an escape. An escape to somewhere they won't be treated like freaks of nature, but like regular people."
Faeowynn pulled out her phone, one last time, and reread the text that she had been drafting for days now. She hesitated, then looked to Alex, who nodded. She closed her eyes and pressed send.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
+++ ☕Katie Calhoun☕
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Wherever you are, Katie, know that I will never forget you. I'm sorry you couldn't be here to see your gift shared with the world. I miss you.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
-----
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=Queerious & Uncle Nicolini]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-06-28T17:40:00
|
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"eventyr",
"faeowynn-wilson",
"jude-kriyot",
"lgbtq",
"pridefest2024",
"slice-of-life",
"tale",
"wilsons-wildlife"
] |
Because of The Shame - SCP Foundation
| 41
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"wilson-s-wildlife-solutions-hub",
"unconditional-love-hub",
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1454334865
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/because-of-the-shame
|
|
being-known
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>Tasked with infiltrating Gamers Against Weed, employees at Foundation Site-76 are forced to bring their whole selves to work… including the embarrassing parts.</p>
</div>
<p>Penelope Gore was a creature of habit. Every weekday, she would wake up around the same time, eat the same breakfast, then pack lunches for herself and her sisters. She'd wait until Angela and Margaret were up and about, give them a little encouragement where necessary, then vanish into the rearmost seats of the school bus, where no one would bother her. Most days, Penelope brought a book, or listened to music, or (if she was particularly tired) she would close her eyes and steal a few extra minutes of sleep.</p>
<p>Today, she felt a tug on her sleeve. "Hey," a little voice whispered. "Do you want to be friends?"</p>
<p>When she turned, Penelope was half-expecting to see a ghost. The shadow of somebody she used to know. Instead, the aisle was empty. The entire bus was empty. Suddenly, she was traveling down a long, dark tunnel, and she was not alone.</p>
<p>Iron fingers wrapped around her ankle and tugged. She lurched forward, rolled onto her back, and stared into a pair of noxious yellow eyes.</p>
<p>"Feed me," the creature hissed. "Feed me <em>now."</em></p>
<p>That's when —</p>
<hr/>
<p>— air brakes screamed, the vehicle lurched, and Researcher Penelope Gore jerked awake, heart hammering in her chest. Distorted memories faded away. Reality reasserted itself: today was Tuesday, June 19th, 2018, and she was riding an employee shuttle up into the hills of South Dakota, to start another day's work at Site-76.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup></p>
<p>She wiped the sleep from her eyes and gazed out the window. Pine trees and chain-link. They had already passed through the first perimeter fence, but this was still the outer layer of security, so all the signs read, "US GOVERNMENT PROPERTY". This was a lie; the Foundation was no more beholden to the United States of America than it was to any other sovereign power. Normalcy protection agencies served a common purpose. Maybe even a higher purpose.</p>
<p>The bus shuddered to a halt and disgorged a few dozen passengers. Gore didn't know any of them. Not by name. There were at least three hundred people working at Site-76, and she would have been perfectly content to vanish into the crowd. One lab coat among many. Comfortably anonymous. Sadly, that was not to be.</p>
<p>Penelope walked into Building B, the Research Complex. Not much of a lineup at the security station today. She fished out her Foundation ID, waited for an appropriate gap in the conversation, then held up the card at eye level. "Hi, Tom. Could you buzz me through?"</p>
<p>On the opposite side of the glass, Security Officer Thomas Kearns shifted his attention from one employee to the next. "Tipper!" he exclaimed, voice booming like a foghorn. "Playing with anything exciting today?"</p>
<p>Gore grimaced. "Not really. I'm going to flip a coin a few hundred times, to see if it's actually anomalous." She dropped her wallet and phone into a marked basket, then pushed it along the conveyor belt into the security scanner.</p>
<p>Kearns guffawed. "Still benched, huh? Well, you just let me know if that gets out of hand. Hate to see another accident on your watch."</p>
<p>She did not reply. There was no point. Instead, she passed through the checkpoint, picked up her standard-issue employee smartphone, and plodded deeper into the facility, lost in thought.</p>
<p>It had been more than a year since the debacle with <strong><a href="/scp-4581">SCP-4581</a></strong>. The "provisional item" she tested had turned out to be a spectacular infohazard, capable of leaping from system to system and overwriting valuable data. She had contained the threat, but that didn't matter — everyone was still treating her like a Junior Researcher, fresh out of orientation. Her supervisor didn't trust her. Her peers didn't respect her. And then there was the nickname, the goddamned nickname. For a while, she had hoped that the joke would fade away, become boring, but then: disaster. It entered the official record. "They call you 'Tipper Gore'? Like the censor?" Now it might as well be etched in stone. <em>Fucking… PoI-6966.</em></p>
<p>Very few people in the Research Complex had offices of their own. Instead, the rank-and-file used flexible workspaces. Just a desk and a computer. First come, first served. Gore wound her way through the maze of cubicles until she found a vacant seat. She tied her brown hair back in a bun, took her glasses off, put her contacts in, then glared at her reflection in the monitor until those bright gray eyes turned cold.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-2" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-2')">2</a></sup></p>
<p>"You've got this," Penelope told herself, and tried to believe it.</p>
<p>With Monday's unit meeting behind her, she anticipated another long day in the bowels of the facility, testing and retesting object candidates. As such, she was more than a little surprised to see an unfamiliar appointment on her calendar, scheduled from 11 AM to 1 PM. "<strong><a href="/start-the-music">CLOWNFISH</a></strong>". She didn't recognize that classification. Puzzled, Gore double-clicked it and skimmed the description.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Project Lead:</strong> [REDACTED]</p>
<p><strong>Overseer-in-Charge:</strong> [REDACTED]</p>
<p><strong>Date Authorized:</strong> 2018/05/28</p>
<p><strong>Involved Facilities:</strong> [REDACTED]</p>
<p><strong>Involved Task Forces:</strong> MTF Epsilon-72 ("Bachman's Boys"), MTF Omicron-12 ("Nine-Tailed Dox")</p>
<p><strong>Executive Summary:</strong> Despite the Foundation's continued success in attaining signals intelligence regarding GoI-5869 ("Gamers Against Weed"), members thereof have proven capable of preempting raids, evading surveillance teams, and breaching secure infrastructure. Questioning SCP objects has produced limited results, and interactions with key Persons of Interest (PoIs) have been adversarial. By comparison, members of GoI-5869 are known to speak candidly within their circle of trust.</p>
<p>Project CLOWNFISH is a two-tiered interdepartmental working group comprised of staff demographically and/or culturally adjacent to GoI-5869. Assigned personnel (designated Level 3/CLOWNFISH) will assemble in site-based working groups, construct new online personas and leverage their combined expertise to ingratiate themselves with the targets, reporting all progress to remote project supervisors (Level 4/CLOWNFISH).</p>
<p><strong>Project Mandate:</strong> To establish reliable sources of human intelligence within GoI-5869, in the interests of:</p>
<ul>
<li>Tracking high-level Persons of Interest;</li>
<li>Supplementing casefiles with biographical information and anomalous capabilities;</li>
<li>Investigating linkages with other Groups of Interest;</li>
<li>Identifying anomalous events, locations, objects and entities currently unknown to the Foundation;</li>
<li>Discouraging further violations of Veil Protocol.</li>
</ul>
<p><strong>Key Assumptions:</strong></p>
<ul>
<li>Foundation personnel familiar with Internet subcultures are more likely to understand, imitate, and influence the social dynamics of GoI-5869.</li>
<li>Strict compartmentalization of each working group will mitigate the risk of unintentionally compromising other CLOWNFISH assets.</li>
<li>Viable intelligence attained by CLOWNFISH operatives must be anonymized via parallel construction to conceal its origins.</li>
<li>Barring exceptional circumstances, CLOWNFISH will not participate directly in field operations, which will be delegated to qualified proxies.</li>
</ul>
<p><strong>Actions Taken:</strong> Level 3/CLOWNFISH assets have been selected using a weighted survey. These operatives have been:</p>
<ul>
<li>Assigned portable terminals and VPN keys (hardware requisition attached);</li>
<li>Provided with a memetic inoculation package, to counteract cognitohazards created by GoI-5869 (attached);</li>
<li>Scheduled for a digital security seminar;</li>
<li>Granted Level 3 access to GoI-5869 casefiles;</li>
<li>Authorized to pursue strategic objectives at all times, to a minimum of five hours per week;</li>
<li>Designated codenames for use in official documentation.</li>
</ul>
<p>Your Level 3 codename is: <strong>NEMO</strong>.</p>
</div>
<p>Penelope Gore put both elbows on the desk, planted her face in her hands and groaned.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Four people sat around a table with space for twenty. They lingered there in the deafening silence for almost ten minutes, after which it became abundantly clear that nobody else was coming. Someone would have to take the lead. It wasn't going to be Penelope, though. Not a chance in hell. She focused all her attention on her third cup of coffee and waited.</p>
<p>The first to speak was a middle-aged white man with thinning hair. He clapped unenthusiastically and declared, "Well, I suppose we ought to get started! How about we go around the table and introduce ourselves? I can go first! I'm Dr. Walter Dietz, Assistant Project Manager with the Department of Analytics. My unit trains surveillance platforms on large volumes of data. That includes the ATLS, GRGN and I/O-series AIs. In fact, I helped program I/O-GASNIER!" He paused for a second, expectant, then explained, "That's the bot tracking GoI-5869. I named it after the director of <em>'Reefer Madness'</em>. Giving each program a fitting moniker is one of the small joys of my job."</p>
<p>Gore frowned. "Is that a common thing? Ironic codenames? I wondered why this project was called 'CLOWNFISH'."</p>
<p>"Well, we're fishing for clowns, right? It makes a certain amount of sense." Dietz looked up and down the table. "Who's next?"</p>
<p>Sitting to his left was a Black man with a crew cut and a neatly-pressed uniform. He sat up a little straighter and said, "Sergeant Dashawn Cooper, Tactical Response Office. Nice to meet you all."</p>
<p>"Likewise, Sergeant! Now, the TRO — is that like a Mobile Task Force?"</p>
<p>"No, sir. We handle containment and site defense in the event of a breach or external attack. Different responsibilities, different culture."</p>
<p>"Different budget?"</p>
<p>Cooper chuckled politely. "Yes, sir. We don't waste money on fancy unit patches." He lifted one arm, calling attention to the winged caduceus on his shoulder. "I was recruited out of the US Marines. Former hospital corpsman. That's basically a combat medic."</p>
<p>"Fascinating!" For a second, Dr. Dietz looked like he was going to attempt a salute. Then he thought better of it and nodded at the next in line.</p>
<p>She was a Hispanic woman wearing lightweight coveralls, with sleeves rolled up to the elbow and grease under her fingernails. "My name is Justine Mendez. I went to MIT, I'm a Containment Technician, and I mostly work on FLATs." Mendez leaned back in her chair, satisfied, then saw Dietz's baffled expression and hastened to clarify. "That's '<a href="/reach-s-blueprint-folder">File-Lineup Automated Taskrooms</a>'. For safety, most inventory here at Site-76 is handled by robots. My team handles the robots."</p>
<p>"Oh! Oh, I see. Yes, that makes sense. Interacting with anomalies can be dangerous. And you?"</p>
<p>Last but not least: "Researcher Penelope Gore, Department of Sociology." She saw recognition light up their faces, one at a time, and did her best not to react. "I'm on the Intake Assessment Working Group, which conducts preliminary testing on anomalous objects arriving at Site-76. I've held a Subject Interview Certification since 2013, so I'm occasionally called upon to speak with D-Classes, Persons of Interest and sapient SCPs."</p>
<p>"Are there many opportunities for that in a reliquary site?"</p>
<p>"More than you'd think." As a matter of fact, Gore was scheduled to provide therapy to a Thaumiel-class anomaly on Thursday. <em>Not that I can talk about that.</em></p>
<p>"So, out of all of us," Mendez said slowly, "you probably have the most experience working directly with SCPs."</p>
<p>"I'm sure Sergeant Cooper has had his share of encounters…"</p>
<p>"Not really, ma'am. TRO helped fight off an assault a couple years ago, but aside from that, the only containment breach I can remember is…" He trailed off.</p>
<p>Dietz chortled. "SCP-4581. Right, Tipper?"</p>
<p>Heat stung Penelope's cheeks. The yawning pit in her stomach opened a little farther. "That's correct," she said tonelessly. "I have some history with GoI-5869."</p>
<p>"Likewise!" Dr. Dietz puffed out his chest. "I'm proud to say that I helped contain <a href="/scp-2293">SCP-2293</a>. That joke is in <em>extremely</em> poor taste! Stephen King is a literary icon and he deserves our respect."</p>
<p>Mendez cocked her head to one side. "Are you from Maine?"</p>
<p>"Why, yes, actually. How did you know?"</p>
<p>"Wild guess. Anyway, I post a lot, that's probably why I'm here."</p>
<p>"Speaking of which: what is everybody's online background? I'm very active on Facebook, myself."</p>
<p>The engineer snorted dismissively, then disguised it with a hurried cough. "Oh, yeah. Same. Just for family stuff, though. I'm mostly talking about, like, imageboards. Twitter. I troll Parawatch sometimes."</p>
<p>"I'm on a few gaming forums, plus Twitch and YouTube." Cooper sighed wistfully. "I still miss Vine. Most of those guys have moved on, but Vine comedy was peak."</p>
<p>All eyes turned back to Gore, who shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I'm, uh, not very online these days. I mean, I lurk a few subreddits, and I follow the news on Twitter, but I don't post. I've mostly given up on social media."</p>
<p>"Why is that?"</p>
<p>Gore was momentarily tempted to launch into a diatribe about the vicious cycle of online discourse. Instead, she shrugged. "I don't have anything to contribute. What am I going to post about? Politics? That won't change anything. Besides, I'm busy on this side of the Veil."</p>
<p>Dr. Dietz nodded sagely. "A very responsible attitude! Unfortunately, it seems GoI-5869 doesn't agree." He opened a manila folder and leafed through its contents. "Based on the <a href="/gamers-against-weed-dossier">official dossier</a>, I think it's fair to describe them as left-wing satirists. Politically-motivated, critical of mundane government, openly resentful of normalcy. Sort of like Are We Cool Yet?, but younger and less avant-garde."</p>
<p>"Sounds more like the Serpent's Hand to me," the sergeant said. "Just with fewer raids, and less drugs."</p>
<p>"There's some crossover with the Hand, yes, but it appears that the name is a joke. Many of them do, in fact, smoke marijuana."</p>
<p>"Then why call themselves 'Gamers Against Weed'?"</p>
<p>Dr. Dietz shrugged. "Apparently it's supposed to be ironic? I don't really understand millennial humor."</p>
<p>Gore cleared her throat. "From what I understand, millennial members of GoI-5869 are actually in the minority. Most of them are part of a younger cohort, Gen Z. Teens and early twenties."</p>
<p>"What's the difference?"</p>
<p>"That's… hard to say. A lot of 'generational' character traits are exaggerated. It's more useful as a frame of reference for what each cohort has experienced in their lifetimes. In this case, we're talking about different stages of social and technological change."</p>
<p>"You mean the Internet."</p>
<p>"Among other things. Growing up, most millennials got the same advice: follow your parents' lead, pursue higher education, build a career, and don't trust strangers online. We were taught to defend our privacy. Younger people weren't. Most zoomers grew up in the digital panopticon, where every move is scrutinized and sold. It's all hustle culture and personal brands. They've never had privacy in their entire lives."</p>
<p>"You might say that millennials adopted the Internet," Mendez mused, "but Gen Z was born in it. Molded by it."</p>
<p>Gore shot her a quizzical glance. <em>Is she really cracking jokes in the middle of a meeting?</em> "Regardless… both generations have witnessed a lot. Living through this era engenders a certain kind of cynicism, and that's before we factor in the anomalous members of the group who feel threatened by Veil Protocol."</p>
<p>"I don't want to contradict you, ma'am," Sergeant Cooper interjected, "but some of these PoIs have two, three nicknames. That sounds like personal security to me."</p>
<p>"Not necessarily. You're a veteran, right? And you play video games. Would you want the TRO to address you by your gamertag?"</p>
<p>He frowned. "No, of course not. That wouldn't be appropriate."</p>
<p>"Right. People wear different masks for different social circumstances, and those circumstances inevitably change. Sometimes, it just makes sense to discard an old identity and start fresh."</p>
<p>"It does seem like identity is important to these people. According to these casefiles, many members of GoI-5869 are gay." Dr. Dietz looked up from the dossier and scanned the room. "Are any of you gay?"</p>
<p>"Excuse me?" Mendez snapped. For the first time, Gore saw a flash of genuine irritation in her eyes. "You can't just ask people that!"</p>
<p>"What? Why not? I'm just wondering how we can appeal to that demographic."</p>
<p>"But-"</p>
<p>"Can we take a break?" Gore stood up without waiting for a response. "It's almost lunch hour, and I really need another cup of coffee."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Penelope rinsed her mug, wiped it out with a dry cloth, and refilled it. Sugar, cream. Then stir. Stare into the clouds. Consider how things went so wrong. For a moment, she braced herself against the counter, hands grasping either side of the sink. <em>What the fuck am I going to do?</em> Then she heard the rustle of movement and turned to face Dr. Robert Saunders, who stomped into the employee lounge wearing a deep frown and an ugly tie.</p>
<p>"Hi, Doctor. How're you doing?"</p>
<p>"Awful," he snapped. "How about you, Tipper?"</p>
<p>She forced a smile. "Oh, you know. Having a normal one."</p>
<p>If Saunders recognized the sarcasm in her voice, he didn't acknowledge it. He just grunted and started pawing through the refrigerator. "You'll never believe the shit I'm dealing with this morning. We're tracking those accelerationist wackos, but one of my managers got reassigned right out from under me, and I still need him to explain half the jargon he plugged into I/O-POSSUM."</p>
<p>"You mean Dr. Dietz?"</p>
<p>"Wh- Yes! You know William?"</p>
<p>"Walter. And no, not really, we just met today."</p>
<p>"Right, right. Walter." Saunders' brow furrowed even further. "Wait. Don't tell me you're in the same meeting."</p>
<p>Gore sighed. "I'm sorry. It's classified, I can't talk about it unless you have clearance."</p>
<p>The doctor's expression darkened. All the air drained out of the room, leaving it stale and cold. It took a moment for Penelope to truly realize that she had just said "no" to the Assistant Director of Research and Containment for Site-76. She racked her brain for something appropriately contrite, but Saunders had already turned away, so she mumbled, "Excuse me," and bid a hasty retreat.</p>
<p>Walking away didn't help. The anxiety followed her, step by agonizing step. The world got louder: distant shouting, fluorescents buzzing, fabric scraping against her skin. Penelope fought to regulate her breathing. <em>Inhale, hold. Exhale, hold. Repeat.</em> She considered stepping into a private space, venting her frustrations in a soundproof room, but decided against it. There was a better way. The Exhibition Hall was right around the corner, so she settled on the second-floor balcony and surveyed the orreries.</p>
<p>They were such gorgeous anachronisms. <a href="/scp-341">SCP-341</a> was almost two hundred years old, yet five of these intricate clockworks corresponded with real extrasolar systems, unknown to science until the twentieth century. The materials were mundane brass and iron, but the information must have been acquired by anomalous means, making the sixth model — a shattered Earth, the "wheel of doom" — all the more disconcerting. Above the Veil, these orreries would be cause for intrigue, even alarm, but among Foundation staff? SCP-341 was a rare topic for idle conversation. The collection had become part of the background. Hardly recognized at all. She envied that. The quiet dignity of it.</p>
<p>"Thought you might be here."</p>
<p>"Christ!" Gore jumped out of her seat, spun around and locked eyes with Justine Mendez, who offered up an apologetic wave. "Did — did you follow me?"</p>
<p>"Nah. I've just seen you hanging out here a couple times." Mendez leaned over the railing and gestured at the nearest model. "You like the displays, right?"</p>
<p>"I… yeah."</p>
<p>"Me too! Engineering lubes and spins 'em every month, to keep the gears moving smoothly. Really cool stuff. I always volunteer. They're the only anomalies I've ever touched." She looked back up at Gore and grinned. "Got any theories? My money's on dimensional shift. Parallel universe. You?"</p>
<p>Penelope chewed her lip and stared down at the brass wheels. "I think it doesn't really matter. SCP-341 is stable. We don't need to explain it. The important thing is that one of our astronomers found the anomaly, we took custody of it, and then everyone moved on. That's why the discoverer was left anonymous in the SCiPNet file. It's not about notoriety; it's about the work. Secure, contain, protect. That's all."</p>
<p>"Huh. That's… deep." The technician cast her an appraising glance. "Sounds like you've got something else on your mind."</p>
<p>"Mm."</p>
<p>"Penny for your thoughts?"</p>
<p>She snorted involuntarily. "That's awful."</p>
<p>"But it's better than 'Tipper', right?"</p>
<p>"God, yes. That playground shit drives me crazy. But I can't complain about it, because if I do, then <em>I'm</em> the bitch who can't take a joke! And now this CLOWNFISH thing… ugh." Gore shook her head. "It's a dead end. Non-starter. They handed us a data dump and expect us to work miracles. I'm sorry they're wasting your time with this garbage."</p>
<p>"Are you kidding? O5s just gave me permission to post bullshit on company time. This is like, dream job territory." Her grin faded quickly. "Seriously, though. What if you're wrong?"</p>
<p>"About what?"</p>
<p>"The work." Mendez pointed down at the orreries. "SCiPNet says the astronomer found these things on their personal time. They went out to Oxford because they were interested. If they hadn't, we wouldn't have learned about 341 until it was out in the world, and then it'd be too late. We are what we do, right? Your expertise, personal and professional, that's what they're banking on."</p>
<p>"I guess that's true, but… I don't want this to be part of my job. I spend <em>so much</em> time and energy performing to professional standards. I just want to leave my hobbies at home. A little work-life balance. Is that so wrong?"</p>
<p>"I wouldn't know," Mendez said blandly. "I live here on-site."</p>
<p>Gore winced. "Oh. Sorry."</p>
<p>"For what? The dormitories here are pretty nice."</p>
<p>"I tried the dorm life at Site-17. Didn't work out. I need space of my own."</p>
<p>"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You worked at Site-17? The humanoid containment site?"</p>
<p>"For three years, yeah. It was my first posting."</p>
<p>"That's so cool! Why'd you leave?"</p>
<p>For a moment, Penelope felt hot breath on her back. Cold fingers around her ankle. She squared her shoulders and declared, "I needed a change, so I filed for a transfer."</p>
<p>"Jealous! I don't have that kind of flexibility. There's… sort of an upper limit on what I can do with my career."</p>
<p>"You mean being a woman in a male-dominated field?"</p>
<p>"No. Well, yes, that's a factor, but I'm talking about a medical condition." Justine let out a deep sigh. "I have, uh, a 'negative reaction' to amnestics."</p>
<p>"Oh wow. You're allergic? That's super rare, isn't it?"</p>
<p>"Something like one in three hundred thousand. Genetic lottery says I'm never gonna work with anomalous electronics. Cognitohazard risk."</p>
<p>Gore frowned. "Hate to break it to you, but GoI-5869 makes a lot of cognitohazards."</p>
<p>"Yeah, but I've got a really high CRV,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-3" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-3')">3</a></sup> so all those stoner memes ping right off me. This is like… the lone exception. My one big chance to do something meaningful. I love my robots, I really do, but most of my work is maintenance. Bean counting. Feels like I have more to give, y'know?"</p>
<p>Penelope knew that feeling, all right. This was the driving force that had haunted her for almost twenty years, the overriding principle by which she lived her life: when someone needs help, and you have the means, never hesitate. That's why she chose to pursue social work, which had led her to the SCP Foundation, which had led her here, to this very moment. The trouble is, when you give more and more of yourself for years on end… what's left?</p>
<p>Justine must have seen the consternation written across Penelope's face, because she cleared her throat and said, "You're not going to like this, but… I think you should take charge of the group."</p>
<p>"Oh no. God, no. Why me? What about you? You've obviously got a taste for it."</p>
<p>"Nah. I've got the meme rot, but you've got the background. You've got the social skills. Personal experience. You're, like, the whole package. Besides: you really think Doctor Facebook can lead us through it? C'mon. He doesn't know jack about shit."</p>
<p>Gore laughed, started to say something, then paused. This was true. By all appearances, Dr. Dietz wasn't "demographically and/or culturally adjacent" to GoI-5869, so what was he doing in their working group? Her mental operating system<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-4" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-4')">4</a></sup> started running calculations. <em>Small joys. Accelerationist wackos. Dangerous interactions.</em> Variables cycled through her mind, rearranged themselves, then clicked into place. <em>Epiphany.</em></p>
<p>"Alright," she said. Her anxieties were ebbing out, replaced by the seething flow of righteous anger. "I think I know what's going on here."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Researcher Gore marched back into the meeting with purpose in her step. She slammed her empty mug on the table, looked Walter Dietz right in the eye and said, "Do you think this is a game?"</p>
<p>Dr. Dietz blinked at her, perplexed. "Come again?"</p>
<p>"Stop playing dumb. This 'clueless boomer' routine is fake. It's gotta be. You're from Analytics. You should know this stuff. Studying the Internet is literally your job!"</p>
<p>He bristled. "That's — well, I — I don't appreciate the way you're talking to me right now."</p>
<p>"No? Why not? Too close for comfort?" She turned to Mendez, then to Cooper, who was finishing the last bites of a bran muffin. "Think about it. He's been steering our conversation the whole time. Poking and prodding, giving nothing in return. It's bullshit. This is an <em>act."</em></p>
<p>"That's absurd! Why would I do that?"</p>
<p>"Hiding your power level," the sergeant murmured. "Trying to appear weaker than you actually are."</p>
<p>Gore snapped her fingers. "Yes. Exactly. You're here for a reason, Walter, just like rest of us, but you're trying to keep it a secret. That means it's either important, or it's <em>embarrassing</em>. So… are you our Level 4 supervisor, trying to be slick? Or are you a furry?"</p>
<p>Long silence. Dr. Dietz laughed unconvincingly. "What? Why, uh, why would you ask me that?"</p>
<p>Penelope planted her hands on her hips and stood firm. "You entered some subcultural jargon into I/O-POSSUM recently. That's the bot tracking <a href="/scp-3312">Accelerate the Future</a>. Right?"</p>
<p>His blushing face turned deathly pale. "How…?"</p>
<p>"Answer the question, Doctor."</p>
<p>Walter opened his mouth — closed it again — and eventually, he said, "Yes."</p>
<p>"'Yes' what?"</p>
<p>"Yes, I'm a furry."</p>
<p>Cooper stifled a chuckle. Mendez laughed out loud. Gore ignored them. "What's your fursona?"</p>
<p>"It's, uh, a fox." He smiled crookedly. "Watched Disney's <em>'Robin Hood'</em> at a formative age, I guess."</p>
<p>"Same, actually. My sona is a cat."</p>
<p>Justine nearly choked. "You're a furry too?!"</p>
<p>"Technically. Sure. I'm not really part of the fandom, but one of my friends drew me a character, way back when."<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-5" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-5')">5</a></sup></p>
<p>"B-but," Walter sputtered, "if you understand, then why would you put me on the spot like this?"</p>
<p>"Because we're going about this project the wrong way." <em>And I don't appreciate being fucked with.</em> "Right now, we're all, 'how do you do, fellow kids?' That's not going to work. We need to think about this emotionally, not intellectually. How many of us watch anime?" She raised her hand.</p>
<p>"Oh, yeah!" Dashawn exclaimed. "Kame House represent."</p>
<p>Penelope pointed at him. "Cringe."</p>
<p>"What?! Man, I don't want to hear that from a furry."</p>
<p>"That's more like it. See, the fact of the matter is, if we get anywhere near GoI-5869, teenagers are going to laugh at us. We need to learn to laugh at ourselves, and at each other, because that's what friend groups do. Remember what I said about social masks? We all present ourselves a certain way here at work, but we act differently online. Maybe it brings us joy, maybe it makes us angry, but it's real, so that's where we'll start." She turned on her heel. "Justine! What do you like to do in your spare time?"</p>
<p>"I build robots. And models. Robot models."</p>
<p>Cooper raised an eyebrow. "You play with toys?"</p>
<p>"They're not <em>'toys'</em>. I'm not mashing action figures together. They're scale models. The more detailed, the better."</p>
<p>"That's good. Now, flip side: what do you hate?"</p>
<p>She scowled. "Rabbits."</p>
<p>"…pardon?"</p>
<p>"I hate rabbits. Everyone thinks they're cute, but those fuzzy little bastards just eat and screw and scream. Hate 'em."</p>
<p>Penelope scratched her head. "Alright. That's… valid, I guess, but I should've specified, 'what do you hate enough to argue about online?'"</p>
<p>"Oh. In that case, cryptocurrency fucking sucks! Proof-of-work calculation is a pointless waste of energy."</p>
<p>"That'll do. How about you, Sergeant Cooper?"</p>
<p>"Just Dashawn is fine. I'm big into fighting games. Spent a lot of time at the arcade, back when arcades were still a thing, and I played 'em on console while on leave. Whupped my whole squad."</p>
<p>"You play those online?"</p>
<p>"Hell no! Fighting games run at sixty FPS. Every frame counts! Server lag is a combo killer. Local is king." He paused. "Is that my turn?"</p>
<p>"Do you want it to be?"</p>
<p>"Nah, I got another: cape comics are dumb!" Dashawn jabbed at the table with one finger to emphasize his point. "I'm not gonna hunt through three series' worth of backstory to understand the basics when I could just read some manga. C'mon."</p>
<p>"I don't think that's fair," Walter protested. He had visibly relaxed, as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "Superhero comics have been running for a long time. Yes, there are lots of stories to explore, but that's a good thing! There's variety. Something for everybody."</p>
<p>"Yeah, so long as you love reading the same shit by different authors. How many Spider-People are there, again?"</p>
<p>"Let's stay focused." Penelope turned back to Dr. Dietz. "We know a couple of things you like. What do you dislike?"</p>
<p>Walter pursed his lips. "It's unprofessional, but… I don't care for my boss."</p>
<p>"Nobody likes their boss."</p>
<p>"Sure, but I <em>really</em> hate Dr. Saunders."</p>
<p>Everyone groaned, including Penelope. "He's… a lot. Yeah."</p>
<p>"He's an asshole," Dashawn countered. "Guy's got no people skills."</p>
<p>"Seriously! He's constantly on my back. 'William, explain these search parameters.' 'William, decompile this rogue AI.' 'William, tell my team to work overtime.' That's not even my name!"</p>
<p>"Imagine," Justine deadpanned. "Addressing someone the wrong way. Over and over again. For ages." She turned around in her chair and looked pointedly at Penelope.</p>
<p>Dr. Dietz winced. "You're right. I'm sorry, Researcher. That was thoughtless of me."</p>
<p>"It's fine. I'm mostly used to it," she lied. "Thank you."</p>
<p>"How about you, then? What's your unprofessional passion?"</p>
<p>Once again, all eyes were on Penelope Gore. This time, though, they weren't looking at her with judgment or scorn. Just curiosity. She raised her head high and lowered her guard. "I've been watching anime since, like, junior high. The English run of Sailor Moon only lasted a couple of seasons, but I had a friend with fansubs on VHS, and we branched out from there. Ranma, Utena, Dragon Ball, One Piece, Evangelion. The works."</p>
<p>"So you're an old-school 'subs over dubs'-type weeb."</p>
<p>"Actually, no! I like both. The original voice actors are closer to the director's vision, but localizations are their own thing. They're not mutually exclusive. Just different." She could have left it there and moved on, but now that she was sharing, it was hard to stop. "Looking back on it, that stuff wasn't exactly unpopular. They started running a full-scale anime convention in my area around '98. Even so, it was easier to find other nerds online. I was on Livejournal, DeviantArt, the Something Awful Forums…"</p>
<p>"'You have stairs in your house?'" Justine chirped.</p>
<p>She responded automatically, as if by reflex: "'I am protected.'"</p>
<p>Cooper glanced around, confused. "What am I missing here?"</p>
<p>"It's just an in-joke. Cultural shibboleth. Like a call-response code for forum users, to distinguish themselves from the 4chan crowd."</p>
<p>"Like there's any real difference," Walter retorted. "Plenty of edgy bullshit on both sides."</p>
<p>"You're absolutely right. Lots of 'trolling' is actually harassment. Lashing out at people who are trying to do good. No matter where you look, it's holier-than-thou, smarter-than-you bullshit and it's exhausting, I can't stand it. I hate it. I hate-"</p>
<p>Penelope stopped short. She caught the words "I hate Wren Masterson" on the tip of her tongue, then swallowed that anger and buried it next to her heart. That feeling was real too, and it was a powerful motivator, but this was not the time. She still wanted to maintain a veneer of professionalism. "Walter, can I take another look at that dossier?"</p>
<p>"Huh? Oh, yeah, of course. Here, I've got extras." Dietz pulled three copies out of his folder and handed them around the table.</p>
<p>Gore skimmed the document up and down, refreshing her memory, then went to the whiteboard at the front of the room and started scribbling. "My point is, keeping up with everything at once is basically impossible. Subcultures evolve too fast. Instead, we ought to focus on shared history and interests. On a generational level, we probably have more in common with older members of the group. That includes the leadership: PoI-6870, 6877 and 6878."</p>
<p>"We should probably get in the habit of using their names and handles, instead of PoI numbers."</p>
<p>"Right, good point. That's bluntfiend, jockjams and lesbian_gengar — Jude Kriyot, JJ, and Esther." She circled those names on the dry-erase board, then rapped it with her marker. "We can't go straight at them. That'd be too obvious. We need to start at the bottom. Build our online footprint, earn someone's trust, work our way up."</p>
<p>"Well, kkrule is into esports," Cooper observed, "and hetcop streams games. I could probably work with that."</p>
<p>"Plus, FuddruckeR is a gun guy. You know firearms, right?"</p>
<p>The sergeant made a face. "Yeah, but I've treated one too many gunshot wounds to be talking shop."</p>
<p>"Fair enough. Speaking of 'talking shop'-"</p>
<p>"Holy shit, ToasterDoot is an android?" Mendez looked up from the dossier with excitement written all over her face. "That's awesome! Must have missed that, first time around. I wonder where she gets maintenance done."</p>
<p>"I guess this is your chance to find out."</p>
<p>"Sick."</p>
<p>Dr. Dietz cleared his throat. "Hate to call attention to the elephant in the room, but… none of us are anomalous! How are we supposed to fool a bunch of weird stoners into thinking we're like them?"</p>
<p>"No need. There are non-anomalous people in Gamers Against Weed. All we need is a plausible explanation for how we know about the Veil." Gore tapped her chin thoughtfully. "In fact… we could make that a part of our shared backstory. Maybe we all work in paratech."</p>
<p>"Isn't that a little on-the-nose?"</p>
<p>"Simpler is better. Easier to remember. Besides, we're sitting on top of the biggest reliquary site in the United States. If all else fails, we can pull something out of Building C and say it's ours."</p>
<p>"I suppose that could work. But… who are you going to focus on?"</p>
<p>"That's easy. I'm into old VHS fansubs, I know the convention circuit, and I've talked to them once before." Penelope squared her jaw, determined. "I'm going after steakshift."</p>
<hr/>
<p>The rest of the day passed at lightning speed. Even the long process of testing Anomalous Item #1384 seemed light and breezy. By 4:30 PM, Researcher Gore had flipped that coin more than a thousand times, but it didn't bore her for a second. She had a plan, a goal, and for the first time in forever, she was on the upswing. Penelope left Building B with a spring in her step and music in her ears. Hall & Oates, specifically. <em>Maneater</em>. Tonight, she felt like the lean and hungry type. Ready to rip GAW's world apart.</p>
<p>The employee shuttle ground to a sudden halt inside the perimeter fence. Puzzled, Gore glanced out the window and spotted Sergeant Cooper, all kitted out in tactical gear. What a coincidence! She raised a hand and waved. He looked at her… then glanced away. Scanning the bus windows. Searching for movement. Penelope's heart leapt into her throat. <em>What's happening?</em> She pulled her earbuds out and was met with hushed voices. There was a palpable sense of dread in the air.</p>
<p>Folding doors swung open. Three more TRO officers stepped aboard. All of them were armed. The biggest, nastiest-looking guy looked down the aisle and said, "Researcher?"</p>
<p>Terror. Panic. <em>What did I do?</em> Surely, there had been some mistake. Gore opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, the man spoke again: "Researcher Troy?"</p>
<p>"Yes?" The officer wasn't addressing her. All of the guards were focused on a wiry guy, seated two rows ahead. The two of them must have crossed paths hundreds of times, but they had never spoken.</p>
<p>"<a href="/scp-4061">SCP-4061</a> has been breached. All research staff must stay behind for debriefing."</p>
<p>"What? How could it… you must be joking. I'm not-"</p>
<p>"Doctor." The officer's hand drifted to his belt, readying to pull handcuffs. Or maybe draw his sidearm. "I'm not asking."</p>
<p>Dr. Troy looked around the bus. Incredulous. Desperate for someone to defend his character. When no one leapt to his rescue, the doctor rose to his feet. "Is… is everyone okay?"</p>
<p>"That's what we're trying to find out, sir. Please, come with us."</p>
<p>Everyone watched as Dr. Troy walked back into the facility, flanked on all sides by security guards. For a long time, the bus was silent. Then someone coughed, and the spell was broken. The engine fired up. Small talk resumed.</p>
<p>Penelope Gore turned the music back on, opened an app, and started paging through her favorite webcomics, desperate to think of anything but real life.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"Hey. Do you want to be friends?"</p>
<p>Twelve-year-old Penelope Gore looked up from her book, confused. "What?"</p>
<p>"Do you want to be friends?" the girl repeated. She was a mousy little thing, and her whisper was barely audible over the dull roar of the school bus. She pointed at the top flap of Penelope's canvas bag, which bore a yellow crescent drawn in puffy paint. "You like Sailor Moon! I love that show. Usagi is my favorite. Who's yours?"</p>
<p>Penny furrowed her brow, uncertain whether she was being teased. "Who's 'Usagi'?"</p>
<p>"Sailor Moon! Her name is Usagi."</p>
<p>"No, it's Serena. Duh."</p>
<p>"You're wrong," the girl said matter-of-factly. She sat down in the empty seat without waiting for an invitation and started gushing. "That's not the <em>real</em> Sailor Moon. They changed lots of stuff for TV here. The real show is way different! It's darker and scarier and the music is better and it's not just for kids, it's for <em>teenagers</em>." She paused for a split second to catch her breath. "Also! Also: Zoisite is actually a boy."</p>
<p>"That's… gay?" It was meant to sound dismissive, but halfway through, it turned into a question.</p>
<p>The mousy girl giggled. "Yeah, Zoisite and Kunzite are gay. Do you want to be friends? I have tapes at home. You can come over and watch, so long as we're friends."</p>
<p>Penelope stared at the stranger for a time, overwhelmed by the sheer force of her enthusiasm. Eventually, she closed her book and said, "Okay."</p>
<p>"Really?!"</p>
<p>"Yeah, sure. I'm Penny. What's your name?"</p>
<p>The little girl beamed with joy. "I'm Rebecca."</p>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. Strictly speaking, it's the "SCP Foundation Mid-Western Research, Reliquary, and Containment Facility Site-76", but nobody uses the full name in casual conversation.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-2"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-2')">2</a>. But not cruel!</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-3"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-3')">3</a>. "Cognitive Resistance Value" doesn't really flow off the tongue in casual conversation, either.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-4"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-4')">4</a>. If the human brain can be likened to a computer, then she was running <strong>pgOS 2.0</strong>, patched for work behind the Veil.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-5"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-5')">5</a>. "Technically", in that this was enough to disqualify Junior Researcher Gore from interacting with <a href="/scp-953">SCP-953</a> during her tenure at Site-17.</div>
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<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<p>Cite this page as:</p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/being-known">Being Known, and Other Mortifying Ordeals</a>" by Tsercele, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/being-known">https://scpwiki.com/being-known</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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Tasked with infiltrating Gamers Against Weed, employees at Foundation Site-76 are forced to bring their whole selves to work... including the embarrassing parts.
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Penelope Gore was a creature of habit. Every weekday, she would wake up around the same time, eat the same breakfast, then pack lunches for herself and her sisters. She'd wait until Angela and Margaret were up and about, give them a little encouragement where necessary, then vanish into the rearmost seats of the school bus, where no one would bother her. Most days, Penelope brought a book, or listened to music, or (if she was particularly tired) she would close her eyes and steal a few extra minutes of sleep.
Today, she felt a tug on her sleeve. "Hey," a little voice whispered. "Do you want to be friends?"
When she turned, Penelope was half-expecting to see a ghost. The shadow of somebody she used to know. Instead, the aisle was empty. The entire bus was empty. Suddenly, she was traveling down a long, dark tunnel, and she was not alone.
Iron fingers wrapped around her ankle and tugged. She lurched forward, rolled onto her back, and stared into a pair of noxious yellow eyes.
"Feed me," the creature hissed. "Feed me //now."//
That's when --
------
-- air brakes screamed, the vehicle lurched, and Researcher Penelope Gore jerked awake, heart hammering in her chest. Distorted memories faded away. Reality reasserted itself: today was Tuesday, June 19th, 2018, and she was riding an employee shuttle up into the hills of South Dakota, to start another day's work at Site-76.[[footnote]] Strictly speaking, it's the "SCP Foundation Mid-Western Research, Reliquary, and Containment Facility Site-76", but nobody uses the full name in casual conversation. [[/footnote]]
She wiped the sleep from her eyes and gazed out the window. Pine trees and chain-link. They had already passed through the first perimeter fence, but this was still the outer layer of security, so all the signs read, "US GOVERNMENT PROPERTY". This was a lie; the Foundation was no more beholden to the United States of America than it was to any other sovereign power. Normalcy protection agencies served a common purpose. Maybe even a higher purpose.
The bus shuddered to a halt and disgorged a few dozen passengers. Gore didn't know any of them. Not by name. There were at least three hundred people working at Site-76, and she would have been perfectly content to vanish into the crowd. One lab coat among many. Comfortably anonymous. Sadly, that was not to be.
Penelope walked into Building B, the Research Complex. Not much of a lineup at the security station today. She fished out her Foundation ID, waited for an appropriate gap in the conversation, then held up the card at eye level. "Hi, Tom. Could you buzz me through?"
On the opposite side of the glass, Security Officer Thomas Kearns shifted his attention from one employee to the next. "Tipper!" he exclaimed, voice booming like a foghorn. "Playing with anything exciting today?"
Gore grimaced. "Not really. I'm going to flip a coin a few hundred times, to see if it's actually anomalous." She dropped her wallet and phone into a marked basket, then pushed it along the conveyor belt into the security scanner.
Kearns guffawed. "Still benched, huh? Well, you just let me know if that gets out of hand. Hate to see another accident on your watch."
She did not reply. There was no point. Instead, she passed through the checkpoint, picked up her standard-issue employee smartphone, and plodded deeper into the facility, lost in thought.
It had been more than a year since the debacle with **[[[SCP-4581]]]**. The "provisional item" she tested had turned out to be a spectacular infohazard, capable of leaping from system to system and overwriting valuable data. She had contained the threat, but that didn't matter -- everyone was still treating her like a Junior Researcher, fresh out of orientation. Her supervisor didn't trust her. Her peers didn't respect her. And then there was the nickname, the goddamned nickname. For a while, she had hoped that the joke would fade away, become boring, but then: disaster. It entered the official record. "They call you 'Tipper Gore'? Like the censor?" Now it might as well be etched in stone. //Fucking... PoI-6966.//
Very few people in the Research Complex had offices of their own. Instead, the rank-and-file used flexible workspaces. Just a desk and a computer. First come, first served. Gore wound her way through the maze of cubicles until she found a vacant seat. She tied her brown hair back in a bun, took her glasses off, put her contacts in, then glared at her reflection in the monitor until those bright gray eyes turned cold.[[footnote]] But not cruel! [[/footnote]]
"You've got this," Penelope told herself, and tried to believe it.
With Monday's unit meeting behind her, she anticipated another long day in the bowels of the facility, testing and retesting object candidates. As such, she was more than a little surprised to see an unfamiliar appointment on her calendar, scheduled from 11 AM to 1 PM. "**[[[start-the-music|CLOWNFISH]]]**". She didn't recognize that classification. Puzzled, Gore double-clicked it and skimmed the description.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Project Lead:** [REDACTED]
**Overseer-in-Charge:** [REDACTED]
**Date Authorized:** 2018/05/28
**Involved Facilities:** [REDACTED]
**Involved Task Forces:** MTF Epsilon-72 ("Bachman's Boys"), MTF Omicron-12 ("Nine-Tailed Dox")
**Executive Summary:** Despite the Foundation's continued success in attaining signals intelligence regarding GoI-5869 ("Gamers Against Weed"), members thereof have proven capable of preempting raids, evading surveillance teams, and breaching secure infrastructure. Questioning SCP objects has produced limited results, and interactions with key Persons of Interest (PoIs) have been adversarial. By comparison, members of GoI-5869 are known to speak candidly within their circle of trust.
Project CLOWNFISH is a two-tiered interdepartmental working group comprised of staff demographically and/or culturally adjacent to GoI-5869. Assigned personnel (designated Level 3/CLOWNFISH) will assemble in site-based working groups, construct new online personas and leverage their combined expertise to ingratiate themselves with the targets, reporting all progress to remote project supervisors (Level 4/CLOWNFISH).
**Project Mandate:** To establish reliable sources of human intelligence within GoI-5869, in the interests of:
* Tracking high-level Persons of Interest;
* Supplementing casefiles with biographical information and anomalous capabilities;
* Investigating linkages with other Groups of Interest;
* Identifying anomalous events, locations, objects and entities currently unknown to the Foundation;
* Discouraging further violations of Veil Protocol.
**Key Assumptions:**
* Foundation personnel familiar with Internet subcultures are more likely to understand, imitate, and influence the social dynamics of GoI-5869.
* Strict compartmentalization of each working group will mitigate the risk of unintentionally compromising other CLOWNFISH assets.
* Viable intelligence attained by CLOWNFISH operatives must be anonymized via parallel construction to conceal its origins.
* Barring exceptional circumstances, CLOWNFISH will not participate directly in field operations, which will be delegated to qualified proxies.
**Actions Taken:** Level 3/CLOWNFISH assets have been selected using a weighted survey. These operatives have been:
* Assigned portable terminals and VPN keys (hardware requisition attached);
* Provided with a memetic inoculation package, to counteract cognitohazards created by GoI-5869 (attached);
* Scheduled for a digital security seminar;
* Granted Level 3 access to GoI-5869 casefiles;
* Authorized to pursue strategic objectives at all times, to a minimum of five hours per week;
* Designated codenames for use in official documentation.
Your Level 3 codename is: **NEMO**.
[[/div]]
Penelope Gore put both elbows on the desk, planted her face in her hands and groaned.
-----
Four people sat around a table with space for twenty. They lingered there in the deafening silence for almost ten minutes, after which it became abundantly clear that nobody else was coming. Someone would have to take the lead. It wasn't going to be Penelope, though. Not a chance in hell. She focused all her attention on her third cup of coffee and waited.
The first to speak was a middle-aged white man with thinning hair. He clapped unenthusiastically and declared, "Well, I suppose we ought to get started! How about we go around the table and introduce ourselves? I can go first! I'm Dr. Walter Dietz, Assistant Project Manager with the Department of Analytics. My unit trains surveillance platforms on large volumes of data. That includes the ATLS, GRGN and I/O-series AIs. In fact, I helped program I/O-GASNIER!" He paused for a second, expectant, then explained, "That's the bot tracking GoI-5869. I named it after the director of //'Reefer Madness'//. Giving each program a fitting moniker is one of the small joys of my job."
Gore frowned. "Is that a common thing? Ironic codenames? I wondered why this project was called 'CLOWNFISH'."
"Well, we're fishing for clowns, right? It makes a certain amount of sense." Dietz looked up and down the table. "Who's next?"
Sitting to his left was a Black man with a crew cut and a neatly-pressed uniform. He sat up a little straighter and said, "Sergeant Dashawn Cooper, Tactical Response Office. Nice to meet you all."
"Likewise, Sergeant! Now, the TRO -- is that like a Mobile Task Force?"
"No, sir. We handle containment and site defense in the event of a breach or external attack. Different responsibilities, different culture."
"Different budget?"
Cooper chuckled politely. "Yes, sir. We don't waste money on fancy unit patches." He lifted one arm, calling attention to the winged caduceus on his shoulder. "I was recruited out of the US Marines. Former hospital corpsman. That's basically a combat medic."
"Fascinating!" For a second, Dr. Dietz looked like he was going to attempt a salute. Then he thought better of it and nodded at the next in line.
She was a Hispanic woman wearing lightweight coveralls, with sleeves rolled up to the elbow and grease under her fingernails. "My name is Justine Mendez. I went to MIT, I'm a Containment Technician, and I mostly work on FLATs." Mendez leaned back in her chair, satisfied, then saw Dietz's baffled expression and hastened to clarify. "That's '[[[reach-s-blueprint-folder|File-Lineup Automated Taskrooms]]]'. For safety, most inventory here at Site-76 is handled by robots. My team handles the robots."
"Oh! Oh, I see. Yes, that makes sense. Interacting with anomalies can be dangerous. And you?"
Last but not least: "Researcher Penelope Gore, Department of Sociology." She saw recognition light up their faces, one at a time, and did her best not to react. "I'm on the Intake Assessment Working Group, which conducts preliminary testing on anomalous objects arriving at Site-76. I've held a Subject Interview Certification since 2013, so I'm occasionally called upon to speak with D-Classes, Persons of Interest and sapient SCPs."
"Are there many opportunities for that in a reliquary site?"
"More than you'd think." As a matter of fact, Gore was scheduled to provide therapy to a Thaumiel-class anomaly on Thursday. //Not that I can talk about that.//
"So, out of all of us," Mendez said slowly, "you probably have the most experience working directly with SCPs."
"I'm sure Sergeant Cooper has had his share of encounters..."
"Not really, ma'am. TRO helped fight off an assault a couple years ago, but aside from that, the only containment breach I can remember is..." He trailed off.
Dietz chortled. "SCP-4581. Right, Tipper?"
Heat stung Penelope's cheeks. The yawning pit in her stomach opened a little farther. "That's correct," she said tonelessly. "I have some history with GoI-5869."
"Likewise!" Dr. Dietz puffed out his chest. "I'm proud to say that I helped contain [[[SCP-2293]]]. That joke is in //extremely// poor taste! Stephen King is a literary icon and he deserves our respect."
Mendez cocked her head to one side. "Are you from Maine?"
"Why, yes, actually. How did you know?"
"Wild guess. Anyway, I post a lot, that's probably why I'm here."
"Speaking of which: what is everybody's online background? I'm very active on Facebook, myself."
The engineer snorted dismissively, then disguised it with a hurried cough. "Oh, yeah. Same. Just for family stuff, though. I'm mostly talking about, like, imageboards. Twitter. I troll Parawatch sometimes."
"I'm on a few gaming forums, plus Twitch and YouTube." Cooper sighed wistfully. "I still miss Vine. Most of those guys have moved on, but Vine comedy was peak."
All eyes turned back to Gore, who shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I'm, uh, not very online these days. I mean, I lurk a few subreddits, and I follow the news on Twitter, but I don't post. I've mostly given up on social media."
"Why is that?"
Gore was momentarily tempted to launch into a diatribe about the vicious cycle of online discourse. Instead, she shrugged. "I don't have anything to contribute. What am I going to post about? Politics? That won't change anything. Besides, I'm busy on this side of the Veil."
Dr. Dietz nodded sagely. "A very responsible attitude! Unfortunately, it seems GoI-5869 doesn't agree." He opened a manila folder and leafed through its contents. "Based on the [[[gamers-against-weed-dossier|official dossier]]], I think it's fair to describe them as left-wing satirists. Politically-motivated, critical of mundane government, openly resentful of normalcy. Sort of like Are We Cool Yet?, but younger and less avant-garde."
"Sounds more like the Serpent's Hand to me," the sergeant said. "Just with fewer raids, and less drugs."
"There's some crossover with the Hand, yes, but it appears that the name is a joke. Many of them do, in fact, smoke marijuana."
"Then why call themselves 'Gamers Against Weed'?"
Dr. Dietz shrugged. "Apparently it's supposed to be ironic? I don't really understand millennial humor."
Gore cleared her throat. "From what I understand, millennial members of GoI-5869 are actually in the minority. Most of them are part of a younger cohort, Gen Z. Teens and early twenties."
"What's the difference?"
"That's... hard to say. A lot of 'generational' character traits are exaggerated. It's more useful as a frame of reference for what each cohort has experienced in their lifetimes. In this case, we're talking about different stages of social and technological change."
"You mean the Internet."
"Among other things. Growing up, most millennials got the same advice: follow your parents' lead, pursue higher education, build a career, and don't trust strangers online. We were taught to defend our privacy. Younger people weren't. Most zoomers grew up in the digital panopticon, where every move is scrutinized and sold. It's all hustle culture and personal brands. They've never had privacy in their entire lives."
"You might say that millennials adopted the Internet," Mendez mused, "but Gen Z was born in it. Molded by it."
Gore shot her a quizzical glance. //Is she really cracking jokes in the middle of a meeting?// "Regardless... both generations have witnessed a lot. Living through this era engenders a certain kind of cynicism, and that's before we factor in the anomalous members of the group who feel threatened by Veil Protocol."
"I don't want to contradict you, ma'am," Sergeant Cooper interjected, "but some of these PoIs have two, three nicknames. That sounds like personal security to me."
"Not necessarily. You're a veteran, right? And you play video games. Would you want the TRO to address you by your gamertag?"
He frowned. "No, of course not. That wouldn't be appropriate."
"Right. People wear different masks for different social circumstances, and those circumstances inevitably change. Sometimes, it just makes sense to discard an old identity and start fresh."
"It does seem like identity is important to these people. According to these casefiles, many members of GoI-5869 are gay." Dr. Dietz looked up from the dossier and scanned the room. "Are any of you gay?"
"Excuse me?" Mendez snapped. For the first time, Gore saw a flash of genuine irritation in her eyes. "You can't just ask people that!"
"What? Why not? I'm just wondering how we can appeal to that demographic."
"But-"
"Can we take a break?" Gore stood up without waiting for a response. "It's almost lunch hour, and I really need another cup of coffee."
------
Penelope rinsed her mug, wiped it out with a dry cloth, and refilled it. Sugar, cream. Then stir. Stare into the clouds. Consider how things went so wrong. For a moment, she braced herself against the counter, hands grasping either side of the sink. //What the fuck am I going to do?// Then she heard the rustle of movement and turned to face Dr. Robert Saunders, who stomped into the employee lounge wearing a deep frown and an ugly tie.
"Hi, Doctor. How're you doing?"
"Awful," he snapped. "How about you, Tipper?"
She forced a smile. "Oh, you know. Having a normal one."
If Saunders recognized the sarcasm in her voice, he didn't acknowledge it. He just grunted and started pawing through the refrigerator. "You'll never believe the shit I'm dealing with this morning. We're tracking those accelerationist wackos, but one of my managers got reassigned right out from under me, and I still need him to explain half the jargon he plugged into I/O-POSSUM."
"You mean Dr. Dietz?"
"Wh- Yes! You know William?"
"Walter. And no, not really, we just met today."
"Right, right. Walter." Saunders' brow furrowed even further. "Wait. Don't tell me you're in the same meeting."
Gore sighed. "I'm sorry. It's classified, I can't talk about it unless you have clearance."
The doctor's expression darkened. All the air drained out of the room, leaving it stale and cold. It took a moment for Penelope to truly realize that she had just said "no" to the Assistant Director of Research and Containment for Site-76. She racked her brain for something appropriately contrite, but Saunders had already turned away, so she mumbled, "Excuse me," and bid a hasty retreat.
Walking away didn't help. The anxiety followed her, step by agonizing step. The world got louder: distant shouting, fluorescents buzzing, fabric scraping against her skin. Penelope fought to regulate her breathing. //Inhale, hold. Exhale, hold. Repeat.// She considered stepping into a private space, venting her frustrations in a soundproof room, but decided against it. There was a better way. The Exhibition Hall was right around the corner, so she settled on the second-floor balcony and surveyed the orreries.
They were such gorgeous anachronisms. [[[SCP-341]]] was almost two hundred years old, yet five of these intricate clockworks corresponded with real extrasolar systems, unknown to science until the twentieth century. The materials were mundane brass and iron, but the information must have been acquired by anomalous means, making the sixth model -- a shattered Earth, the "wheel of doom" -- all the more disconcerting. Above the Veil, these orreries would be cause for intrigue, even alarm, but among Foundation staff? SCP-341 was a rare topic for idle conversation. The collection had become part of the background. Hardly recognized at all. She envied that. The quiet dignity of it.
"Thought you might be here."
"Christ!" Gore jumped out of her seat, spun around and locked eyes with Justine Mendez, who offered up an apologetic wave. "Did -- did you follow me?"
"Nah. I've just seen you hanging out here a couple times." Mendez leaned over the railing and gestured at the nearest model. "You like the displays, right?"
"I... yeah."
"Me too! Engineering lubes and spins 'em every month, to keep the gears moving smoothly. Really cool stuff. I always volunteer. They're the only anomalies I've ever touched." She looked back up at Gore and grinned. "Got any theories? My money's on dimensional shift. Parallel universe. You?"
Penelope chewed her lip and stared down at the brass wheels. "I think it doesn't really matter. SCP-341 is stable. We don't need to explain it. The important thing is that one of our astronomers found the anomaly, we took custody of it, and then everyone moved on. That's why the discoverer was left anonymous in the SCiPNet file. It's not about notoriety; it's about the work. Secure, contain, protect. That's all."
"Huh. That's... deep." The technician cast her an appraising glance. "Sounds like you've got something else on your mind."
"Mm."
"Penny for your thoughts?"
She snorted involuntarily. "That's awful."
"But it's better than 'Tipper', right?"
"God, yes. That playground shit drives me crazy. But I can't complain about it, because if I do, then //I'm// the bitch who can't take a joke! And now this CLOWNFISH thing... ugh." Gore shook her head. "It's a dead end. Non-starter. They handed us a data dump and expect us to work miracles. I'm sorry they're wasting your time with this garbage."
"Are you kidding? O5s just gave me permission to post bullshit on company time. This is like, dream job territory." Her grin faded quickly. "Seriously, though. What if you're wrong?"
"About what?"
"The work." Mendez pointed down at the orreries. "SCiPNet says the astronomer found these things on their personal time. They went out to Oxford because they were interested. If they hadn't, we wouldn't have learned about 341 until it was out in the world, and then it'd be too late. We are what we do, right? Your expertise, personal and professional, that's what they're banking on."
"I guess that's true, but... I don't want this to be part of my job. I spend //so much// time and energy performing to professional standards. I just want to leave my hobbies at home. A little work-life balance. Is that so wrong?"
"I wouldn't know," Mendez said blandly. "I live here on-site."
Gore winced. "Oh. Sorry."
"For what? The dormitories here are pretty nice."
"I tried the dorm life at Site-17. Didn't work out. I need space of my own."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You worked at Site-17? The humanoid containment site?"
"For three years, yeah. It was my first posting."
"That's so cool! Why'd you leave?"
For a moment, Penelope felt hot breath on her back. Cold fingers around her ankle. She squared her shoulders and declared, "I needed a change, so I filed for a transfer."
"Jealous! I don't have that kind of flexibility. There's... sort of an upper limit on what I can do with my career."
"You mean being a woman in a male-dominated field?"
"No. Well, yes, that's a factor, but I'm talking about a medical condition." Justine let out a deep sigh. "I have, uh, a 'negative reaction' to amnestics."
"Oh wow. You're allergic? That's super rare, isn't it?"
"Something like one in three hundred thousand. Genetic lottery says I'm never gonna work with anomalous electronics. Cognitohazard risk."
Gore frowned. "Hate to break it to you, but GoI-5869 makes a lot of cognitohazards."
"Yeah, but I've got a really high CRV,[[footnote]] "Cognitive Resistance Value" doesn't really flow off the tongue in casual conversation, either. [[/footnote]] so all those stoner memes ping right off me. This is like... the lone exception. My one big chance to do something meaningful. I love my robots, I really do, but most of my work is maintenance. Bean counting. Feels like I have more to give, y'know?"
Penelope knew that feeling, all right. This was the driving force that had haunted her for almost twenty years, the overriding principle by which she lived her life: when someone needs help, and you have the means, never hesitate. That's why she chose to pursue social work, which had led her to the SCP Foundation, which had led her here, to this very moment. The trouble is, when you give more and more of yourself for years on end... what's left?
Justine must have seen the consternation written across Penelope's face, because she cleared her throat and said, "You're not going to like this, but... I think you should take charge of the group."
"Oh no. God, no. Why me? What about you? You've obviously got a taste for it."
"Nah. I've got the meme rot, but you've got the background. You've got the social skills. Personal experience. You're, like, the whole package. Besides: you really think Doctor Facebook can lead us through it? C'mon. He doesn't know jack about shit."
Gore laughed, started to say something, then paused. This was true. By all appearances, Dr. Dietz wasn't "demographically and/or culturally adjacent" to GoI-5869, so what was he doing in their working group? Her mental operating system[[footnote]] If the human brain can be likened to a computer, then she was running **pgOS 2.0**, patched for work behind the Veil. [[/footnote]] started running calculations. //Small joys. Accelerationist wackos. Dangerous interactions.// Variables cycled through her mind, rearranged themselves, then clicked into place. //Epiphany.//
"Alright," she said. Her anxieties were ebbing out, replaced by the seething flow of righteous anger. "I think I know what's going on here."
------
Researcher Gore marched back into the meeting with purpose in her step. She slammed her empty mug on the table, looked Walter Dietz right in the eye and said, "Do you think this is a game?"
Dr. Dietz blinked at her, perplexed. "Come again?"
"Stop playing dumb. This 'clueless boomer' routine is fake. It's gotta be. You're from Analytics. You should know this stuff. Studying the Internet is literally your job!"
He bristled. "That's -- well, I -- I don't appreciate the way you're talking to me right now."
"No? Why not? Too close for comfort?" She turned to Mendez, then to Cooper, who was finishing the last bites of a bran muffin. "Think about it. He's been steering our conversation the whole time. Poking and prodding, giving nothing in return. It's bullshit. This is an //act."//
"That's absurd! Why would I do that?"
"Hiding your power level," the sergeant murmured. "Trying to appear weaker than you actually are."
Gore snapped her fingers. "Yes. Exactly. You're here for a reason, Walter, just like rest of us, but you're trying to keep it a secret. That means it's either important, or it's //embarrassing//. So... are you our Level 4 supervisor, trying to be slick? Or are you a furry?"
Long silence. Dr. Dietz laughed unconvincingly. "What? Why, uh, why would you ask me that?"
Penelope planted her hands on her hips and stood firm. "You entered some subcultural jargon into I/O-POSSUM recently. That's the bot tracking [[[scp-3312|Accelerate the Future]]]. Right?"
His blushing face turned deathly pale. "How...?"
"Answer the question, Doctor."
Walter opened his mouth -- closed it again -- and eventually, he said, "Yes."
"'Yes' what?"
"Yes, I'm a furry."
Cooper stifled a chuckle. Mendez laughed out loud. Gore ignored them. "What's your fursona?"
"It's, uh, a fox." He smiled crookedly. "Watched Disney's //'Robin Hood'// at a formative age, I guess."
"Same, actually. My sona is a cat."
Justine nearly choked. "You're a furry too?!"
"Technically. Sure. I'm not really part of the fandom, but one of my friends drew me a character, way back when."[[footnote]] "Technically", in that this was enough to disqualify Junior Researcher Gore from interacting with [[[SCP-953]]] during her tenure at Site-17. [[/footnote]]
"B-but," Walter sputtered, "if you understand, then why would you put me on the spot like this?"
"Because we're going about this project the wrong way." //And I don't appreciate being fucked with.// "Right now, we're all, 'how do you do, fellow kids?' That's not going to work. We need to think about this emotionally, not intellectually. How many of us watch anime?" She raised her hand.
"Oh, yeah!" Dashawn exclaimed. "Kame House represent."
Penelope pointed at him. "Cringe."
"What?! Man, I don't want to hear that from a furry."
"That's more like it. See, the fact of the matter is, if we get anywhere near GoI-5869, teenagers are going to laugh at us. We need to learn to laugh at ourselves, and at each other, because that's what friend groups do. Remember what I said about social masks? We all present ourselves a certain way here at work, but we act differently online. Maybe it brings us joy, maybe it makes us angry, but it's real, so that's where we'll start." She turned on her heel. "Justine! What do you like to do in your spare time?"
"I build robots. And models. Robot models."
Cooper raised an eyebrow. "You play with toys?"
"They're not //'toys'//. I'm not mashing action figures together. They're scale models. The more detailed, the better."
"That's good. Now, flip side: what do you hate?"
She scowled. "Rabbits."
"...pardon?"
"I hate rabbits. Everyone thinks they're cute, but those fuzzy little bastards just eat and screw and scream. Hate 'em."
Penelope scratched her head. "Alright. That's... valid, I guess, but I should've specified, 'what do you hate enough to argue about online?'"
"Oh. In that case, cryptocurrency fucking sucks! Proof-of-work calculation is a pointless waste of energy."
"That'll do. How about you, Sergeant Cooper?"
"Just Dashawn is fine. I'm big into fighting games. Spent a lot of time at the arcade, back when arcades were still a thing, and I played 'em on console while on leave. Whupped my whole squad."
"You play those online?"
"Hell no! Fighting games run at sixty FPS. Every frame counts! Server lag is a combo killer. Local is king." He paused. "Is that my turn?"
"Do you want it to be?"
"Nah, I got another: cape comics are dumb!" Dashawn jabbed at the table with one finger to emphasize his point. "I'm not gonna hunt through three series' worth of backstory to understand the basics when I could just read some manga. C'mon."
"I don't think that's fair," Walter protested. He had visibly relaxed, as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "Superhero comics have been running for a long time. Yes, there are lots of stories to explore, but that's a good thing! There's variety. Something for everybody."
"Yeah, so long as you love reading the same shit by different authors. How many Spider-People are there, again?"
"Let's stay focused." Penelope turned back to Dr. Dietz. "We know a couple of things you like. What do you dislike?"
Walter pursed his lips. "It's unprofessional, but... I don't care for my boss."
"Nobody likes their boss."
"Sure, but I //really// hate Dr. Saunders."
Everyone groaned, including Penelope. "He's... a lot. Yeah."
"He's an asshole," Dashawn countered. "Guy's got no people skills."
"Seriously! He's constantly on my back. 'William, explain these search parameters.' 'William, decompile this rogue AI.' 'William, tell my team to work overtime.' That's not even my name!"
"Imagine," Justine deadpanned. "Addressing someone the wrong way. Over and over again. For ages." She turned around in her chair and looked pointedly at Penelope.
Dr. Dietz winced. "You're right. I'm sorry, Researcher. That was thoughtless of me."
"It's fine. I'm mostly used to it," she lied. "Thank you."
"How about you, then? What's your unprofessional passion?"
Once again, all eyes were on Penelope Gore. This time, though, they weren't looking at her with judgment or scorn. Just curiosity. She raised her head high and lowered her guard. "I've been watching anime since, like, junior high. The English run of Sailor Moon only lasted a couple of seasons, but I had a friend with fansubs on VHS, and we branched out from there. Ranma, Utena, Dragon Ball, One Piece, Evangelion. The works."
"So you're an old-school 'subs over dubs'-type weeb."
"Actually, no! I like both. The original voice actors are closer to the director's vision, but localizations are their own thing. They're not mutually exclusive. Just different." She could have left it there and moved on, but now that she was sharing, it was hard to stop. "Looking back on it, that stuff wasn't exactly unpopular. They started running a full-scale anime convention in my area around '98. Even so, it was easier to find other nerds online. I was on Livejournal, DeviantArt, the Something Awful Forums..."
"'You have stairs in your house?'" Justine chirped.
She responded automatically, as if by reflex: "'I am protected.'"
Cooper glanced around, confused. "What am I missing here?"
"It's just an in-joke. Cultural shibboleth. Like a call-response code for forum users, to distinguish themselves from the 4chan crowd."
"Like there's any real difference," Walter retorted. "Plenty of edgy bullshit on both sides."
"You're absolutely right. Lots of 'trolling' is actually harassment. Lashing out at people who are trying to do good. No matter where you look, it's holier-than-thou, smarter-than-you bullshit and it's exhausting, I can't stand it. I hate it. I hate-"
Penelope stopped short. She caught the words "I hate Wren Masterson" on the tip of her tongue, then swallowed that anger and buried it next to her heart. That feeling was real too, and it was a powerful motivator, but this was not the time. She still wanted to maintain a veneer of professionalism. "Walter, can I take another look at that dossier?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, of course. Here, I've got extras." Dietz pulled three copies out of his folder and handed them around the table.
Gore skimmed the document up and down, refreshing her memory, then went to the whiteboard at the front of the room and started scribbling. "My point is, keeping up with everything at once is basically impossible. Subcultures evolve too fast. Instead, we ought to focus on shared history and interests. On a generational level, we probably have more in common with older members of the group. That includes the leadership: PoI-6870, 6877 and 6878."
"We should probably get in the habit of using their names and handles, instead of PoI numbers."
"Right, good point. That's bluntfiend, jockjams and lesbian_gengar -- Jude Kriyot, JJ, and Esther." She circled those names on the dry-erase board, then rapped it with her marker. "We can't go straight at them. That'd be too obvious. We need to start at the bottom. Build our online footprint, earn someone's trust, work our way up."
"Well, kkrule is into esports," Cooper observed, "and hetcop streams games. I could probably work with that."
"Plus, FuddruckeR is a gun guy. You know firearms, right?"
The sergeant made a face. "Yeah, but I've treated one too many gunshot wounds to be talking shop."
"Fair enough. Speaking of 'talking shop'-"
"Holy shit, ToasterDoot is an android?" Mendez looked up from the dossier with excitement written all over her face. "That's awesome! Must have missed that, first time around. I wonder where she gets maintenance done."
"I guess this is your chance to find out."
"Sick."
Dr. Dietz cleared his throat. "Hate to call attention to the elephant in the room, but... none of us are anomalous! How are we supposed to fool a bunch of weird stoners into thinking we're like them?"
"No need. There are non-anomalous people in Gamers Against Weed. All we need is a plausible explanation for how we know about the Veil." Gore tapped her chin thoughtfully. "In fact... we could make that a part of our shared backstory. Maybe we all work in paratech."
"Isn't that a little on-the-nose?"
"Simpler is better. Easier to remember. Besides, we're sitting on top of the biggest reliquary site in the United States. If all else fails, we can pull something out of Building C and say it's ours."
"I suppose that could work. But... who are you going to focus on?"
"That's easy. I'm into old VHS fansubs, I know the convention circuit, and I've talked to them once before." Penelope squared her jaw, determined. "I'm going after steakshift."
------
The rest of the day passed at lightning speed. Even the long process of testing Anomalous Item #1384 seemed light and breezy. By 4:30 PM, Researcher Gore had flipped that coin more than a thousand times, but it didn't bore her for a second. She had a plan, a goal, and for the first time in forever, she was on the upswing. Penelope left Building B with a spring in her step and music in her ears. Hall & Oates, specifically. //Maneater//. Tonight, she felt like the lean and hungry type. Ready to rip GAW's world apart.
The employee shuttle ground to a sudden halt inside the perimeter fence. Puzzled, Gore glanced out the window and spotted Sergeant Cooper, all kitted out in tactical gear. What a coincidence! She raised a hand and waved. He looked at her... then glanced away. Scanning the bus windows. Searching for movement. Penelope's heart leapt into her throat. //What's happening?// She pulled her earbuds out and was met with hushed voices. There was a palpable sense of dread in the air.
Folding doors swung open. Three more TRO officers stepped aboard. All of them were armed. The biggest, nastiest-looking guy looked down the aisle and said, "Researcher?"
Terror. Panic. //What did I do?// Surely, there had been some mistake. Gore opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, the man spoke again: "Researcher Troy?"
"Yes?" The officer wasn't addressing her. All of the guards were focused on a wiry guy, seated two rows ahead. The two of them must have crossed paths hundreds of times, but they had never spoken.
"[[[SCP-4061]]] has been breached. All research staff must stay behind for debriefing."
"What? How could it... you must be joking. I'm not-"
"Doctor." The officer's hand drifted to his belt, readying to pull handcuffs. Or maybe draw his sidearm. "I'm not asking."
Dr. Troy looked around the bus. Incredulous. Desperate for someone to defend his character. When no one leapt to his rescue, the doctor rose to his feet. "Is... is everyone okay?"
"That's what we're trying to find out, sir. Please, come with us."
Everyone watched as Dr. Troy walked back into the facility, flanked on all sides by security guards. For a long time, the bus was silent. Then someone coughed, and the spell was broken. The engine fired up. Small talk resumed.
Penelope Gore turned the music back on, opened an app, and started paging through her favorite webcomics, desperate to think of anything but real life.
------
"Hey. Do you want to be friends?"
Twelve-year-old Penelope Gore looked up from her book, confused. "What?"
"Do you want to be friends?" the girl repeated. She was a mousy little thing, and her whisper was barely audible over the dull roar of the school bus. She pointed at the top flap of Penelope's canvas bag, which bore a yellow crescent drawn in puffy paint. "You like Sailor Moon! I love that show. Usagi is my favorite. Who's yours?"
Penny furrowed her brow, uncertain whether she was being teased. "Who's 'Usagi'?"
"Sailor Moon! Her name is Usagi."
"No, it's Serena. Duh."
"You're wrong," the girl said matter-of-factly. She sat down in the empty seat without waiting for an invitation and started gushing. "That's not the //real// Sailor Moon. They changed lots of stuff for TV here. The real show is way different! It's darker and scarier and the music is better and it's not just for kids, it's for //teenagers//." She paused for a split second to catch her breath. "Also! Also: Zoisite is actually a boy."
"That's... gay?" It was meant to sound dismissive, but halfway through, it turned into a question.
The mousy girl giggled. "Yeah, Zoisite and Kunzite are gay. Do you want to be friends? I have tapes at home. You can come over and watch, so long as we're friends."
Penelope stared at the stranger for a time, overwhelmed by the sheer force of her enthusiasm. Eventually, she closed her book and said, "Okay."
"Really?!"
"Yeah, sure. I'm Penny. What's your name?"
The little girl beamed with joy. "I'm Rebecca."
[[footnoteblock]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-04-20T20:20:00
|
[
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"black-comedy",
"comedy",
"eternal-mxtape",
"gamers-against-weed",
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Being Known, and Other Mortifying Ordeals - SCP Foundation
| 24
|
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"reach-s-blueprint-folder",
"scp-2293",
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[
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[] |
1453401521
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/being-known
|
|
below-the-lions-den
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<p>⚠️ <strong>Content warning:</strong> This article contains themes of child abuse, religious abuse, mutilation, torture, child death, and gore. Reader discretion is advised.</p>
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<p><sup>by <a href="/strange-matter-writes">Strange Matter</a></sup></p>
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<p>When I was five, my father was in a car accident and I thought that he was going to die. Weeks later, he was discharged. He could finally come back home, but he was in a wheelchair. My brother, mother, and I were happy he survived. He wasn't as happy as we were.</p>
<p>One day he came back home, he was smiling again. No wheelchair. <em>Walking.</em> He told us he'd been “touched by the Ancient Sky God” and that she restored the strength of his legs. He would tell the story of his meeting over and over again.</p>
<p>After my family's first inauguration, it was only me and my brother who didn’t pass. We needed what looked like a twelve-pointed star with a hole in the middle, with seven points upwards and five downwards, then a circle that enclosed it, and paint the ground in blood, large enough to fit a few people inside the circle. Then the stars would be marked on our backs and we would enter. The stars would glow red, and pain would flood in our bodies.</p>
<p>The trial of strength and willpower to see if we were worthy of the Old Sky God's graces.</p>
<p>Dad would have us go to worship and sermons for Važjuma, in a language I never understood. But I sang her songs, repeated her mantras, and returned to the trial. We still failed. I didn’t know why that always happened.</p>
<p>“We’re leaving for America,” he said when I was seven. None of us argued about it. We packed our bags and we flew to our new home. It was fun to be someplace new. To be in our American house, to make American friends, and to eat American food.</p>
<p>It was supposed to be fun.</p>
<p>I was eight when he had me do many trials. My skin, muscles, and bones all burned and knawed at each other. Each time felt worse than the last. I thought that by moving here, we wouldn’t have to go through trials. But my dad insisted that we must officially be Nälkä if Važjuma is to ever set her gaze on us. Levushka finally passed, and I failed.</p>
<p>He had me take another one.</p>
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7867">“Disappointing,”</a> dad said to me while he wiped the blade he used to carve the trial seal on my back. After he used my blood to make another seal on my chest. After he shot my nerves into something that the word “burn” can never equate to what I felt. After all my begging and screaming. After my nails were peeled off by clawing on the wooden floors.</p>
<p><em>And I was disappointing?</em></p>
<p>Father turned off his camera, took it, and left me to bleed in the basement. I couldn't move. I didn’t want to anymore. I laid there while my back itched and stung as it pumped more blood out of the crude lines. I knew my parents told Levushka that his older twin needed to catch up one way or another all while giving him the comfort and praise that he deserved.</p>
<p>His words rang through my ears.</p>
<p>“What is the matter with you? Stop fucking crying. No one is going to help you. No one but yourself. It’s time you stop leeching off of others and start being a man for once.”</p>
<p>I didn't understand what I was doing wrong. I <em>was</em> trying. I never understood why I couldn't.</p>
<p>I waited for him to come back. Or my mom. My brother.</p>
<p>Nothing.</p>
<p>I heard no footsteps. No voices. No rattling of the door. I thought that I would die down there. It was cold, and the only thing that kept me warm was my throbbing back which flowed red. My eyelids were heavy. At least, this will be my last trial for Važjuma.</p>
<p><em>Get up.</em></p>
<p>A voice rang out to me. A voice I’ve never heard before. It repeated the phrase, over and over again. It wasn't shouting, but it was enough to have my frail arms tremble a pushup and make me grit my teeth, it could have popped them off my gums. I was on my knees, my hands were pressed down on the concrete floor for support. I did not believe in that thing, but I chose to say it with passion all the same. I searched deep within my being to have my Ämärangnän tongue work.</p>
<p>I opened my mouth to prepare a chant. One I wasn't good at. Blood leaked through my mouth and it choked whatever prayer I could say into a gurgle.</p>
<p>“Važjuma. Mi luli tchi vajksaran. Mo sama na tchi sama. Mey valk nälkä ja mey valk tionko.”<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup></p>
<p>The severed muscle pulled into itself with every word I repeated, connecting and gluing itself to what it used to be. It took many long minutes of prayer for the injury to finally close shut. It didn’t take away the feeling of his knife dragging through flesh.</p>
<p><em>Walk.</em></p>
<p>The voice returned once again, demanding. So I did, barely alive, and leaned on the wall as I hiked up the staircase.</p>
<p>My legs got heavier with every step I took and I left a trail of fresh blood behind me. I was scared to look back because I felt like if I did, I would see myself lying in my red puddle.</p>
<p>I might as well have.</p>
<p>I reached for the doorknob, turning and pushing it gently. Crickets sang their greetings from outside as I treaded through the hallway to the living room.</p>
<p>The blue light from the window acted as my guide to the next staircase. I noticed that a light was on, unsure if it was the room that belonged to me and my brother or my parents. Neither one mattered. I tiptoed my way up the stairs with the assistance of the carpeting to muffle my steps. By the time I reached the top, I found my answer. My brother was going inside the bathroom.</p>
<p><em>Levushka didn’t wash the blood from his back yet?</em></p>
<p>Before any more questions stirred in my mind, he spotted me and stared. I wondered what I looked like to him. He rushed over to me and grabbed my wrist.</p>
<p>“What happened to you?” he whispered his worry.</p>
<p>I couldn’t respond to him. In that basement, I screeched so loudly that it would shred my throat. Levushka seemed to understand and took me to the bathroom with him. He turned on the water and we both sat in silence as the showerhead hissed.</p>
<p>“Edmon.” he said, “You should go first.”</p>
<p>He got up to gently press his hand on my back, and it was like that knife sank into my back again. My left arm snatched his neck and shoved his body to the wall. I squeezed, staring deep into his tearing eyes. He may be the prodigy of this family, but I was always the stronger one.</p>
<p><em>Once I finish with him, I will be taking a knife to slit my mother and father's throats in their sleep. Then I could just leave.</em></p>
<p>Levushka shoved his hand to my face, pushed it out of the way, and kicked my chest. I busted and tumbled on the opposite wall and went limp. Levushka coughed and rubbed his neck.</p>
<p>He looked at me and knelt. I waited for him to attack me as he was free to do so. Instead, he has taken my head and held it to his chest. He sobbed as he tightened his grip.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he repeated. That was what broke me. I wrapped my arms around and joined him in his weeping. I realized that if there was one thing my father had succeeded in, it was turning me into one of his beasts. All I could do was pray to anyone who would listen that the same wouldn’t happen to my brother.</p>
<p>I truly belonged in this family.</p>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. “Ancient Sky God. I breathe your shining words. My flesh is your flesh. We shall hunger and we shall rise.”</div>
</div>
<p><br/></p>
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<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<p>Cite this page as:</p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/below-the-lions-den">Below the Lion’s Den</a>" by Strange Matter, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/below-the-lions-den">https://scpwiki.com/below-the-lions-den</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
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⚠️ **Content warning:** This article contains themes of child abuse, religious abuse, mutilation, torture, child death, and gore. Reader discretion is advised.
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^^by [[[Strange Matter-writes|Strange Matter]]]^^
[[/div]]
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When I was five, my father was in a car accident and I thought that he was going to die. Weeks later, he was discharged. He could finally come back home, but he was in a wheelchair. My brother, mother, and I were happy he survived. He wasn't as happy as we were.
One day he came back home, he was smiling again. No wheelchair. //Walking.// He told us he'd been “touched by the Ancient Sky God” and that she restored the strength of his legs. He would tell the story of his meeting over and over again.
After my family's first inauguration, it was only me and my brother who didn’t pass. We needed what looked like a twelve-pointed star with a hole in the middle, with seven points upwards and five downwards, then a circle that enclosed it, and paint the ground in blood, large enough to fit a few people inside the circle. Then the stars would be marked on our backs and we would enter. The stars would glow red, and pain would flood in our bodies.
The trial of strength and willpower to see if we were worthy of the Old Sky God's graces.
Dad would have us go to worship and sermons for Važjuma, in a language I never understood. But I sang her songs, repeated her mantras, and returned to the trial. We still failed. I didn’t know why that always happened.
“We’re leaving for America,” he said when I was seven. None of us argued about it. We packed our bags and we flew to our new home. It was fun to be someplace new. To be in our American house, to make American friends, and to eat American food.
It was supposed to be fun.
I was eight when he had me do many trials. My skin, muscles, and bones all burned and knawed at each other. Each time felt worse than the last. I thought that by moving here, we wouldn’t have to go through trials. But my dad insisted that we must officially be Nälkä if Važjuma is to ever set her gaze on us. Levushka finally passed, and I failed.
He had me take another one.
[[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7867|“Disappointing,”]]] dad said to me while he wiped the blade he used to carve the trial seal on my back. After he used my blood to make another seal on my chest. After he shot my nerves into something that the word “burn” can never equate to what I felt. After all my begging and screaming. After my nails were peeled off by clawing on the wooden floors.
//And I was disappointing?//
Father turned off his camera, took it, and left me to bleed in the basement. I couldn't move. I didn’t want to anymore. I laid there while my back itched and stung as it pumped more blood out of the crude lines. I knew my parents told Levushka that his older twin needed to catch up one way or another all while giving him the comfort and praise that he deserved.
His words rang through my ears.
“What is the matter with you? Stop fucking crying. No one is going to help you. No one but yourself. It’s time you stop leeching off of others and start being a man for once.”
I didn't understand what I was doing wrong. I //was// trying. I never understood why I couldn't.
I waited for him to come back. Or my mom. My brother.
Nothing.
I heard no footsteps. No voices. No rattling of the door. I thought that I would die down there. It was cold, and the only thing that kept me warm was my throbbing back which flowed red. My eyelids were heavy. At least, this will be my last trial for Važjuma.
//Get up.//
A voice rang out to me. A voice I’ve never heard before. It repeated the phrase, over and over again. It wasn't shouting, but it was enough to have my frail arms tremble a pushup and make me grit my teeth, it could have popped them off my gums. I was on my knees, my hands were pressed down on the concrete floor for support. I did not believe in that thing, but I chose to say it with passion all the same. I searched deep within my being to have my Ämärangnän tongue work.
I opened my mouth to prepare a chant. One I wasn't good at. Blood leaked through my mouth and it choked whatever prayer I could say into a gurgle.
“Važjuma. Mi luli tchi vajksaran. Mo sama na tchi sama. Mey valk nälkä ja mey valk tionko.”[[footnote]]“Ancient Sky God. I breathe your shining words. My flesh is your flesh. We shall hunger and we shall rise.” [[/footnote]]
The severed muscle pulled into itself with every word I repeated, connecting and gluing itself to what it used to be. It took many long minutes of prayer for the injury to finally close shut. It didn’t take away the feeling of his knife dragging through flesh.
//Walk.//
The voice returned once again, demanding. So I did, barely alive, and leaned on the wall as I hiked up the staircase.
My legs got heavier with every step I took and I left a trail of fresh blood behind me. I was scared to look back because I felt like if I did, I would see myself lying in my red puddle.
I might as well have.
I reached for the doorknob, turning and pushing it gently. Crickets sang their greetings from outside as I treaded through the hallway to the living room.
The blue light from the window acted as my guide to the next staircase. I noticed that a light was on, unsure if it was the room that belonged to me and my brother or my parents. Neither one mattered. I tiptoed my way up the stairs with the assistance of the carpeting to muffle my steps. By the time I reached the top, I found my answer. My brother was going inside the bathroom.
//Levushka didn’t wash the blood from his back yet?//
Before any more questions stirred in my mind, he spotted me and stared. I wondered what I looked like to him. He rushed over to me and grabbed my wrist.
“What happened to you?” he whispered his worry.
I couldn’t respond to him. In that basement, I screeched so loudly that it would shred my throat. Levushka seemed to understand and took me to the bathroom with him. He turned on the water and we both sat in silence as the showerhead hissed.
“Edmon.” he said, “You should go first.”
He got up to gently press his hand on my back, and it was like that knife sank into my back again. My left arm snatched his neck and shoved his body to the wall. I squeezed, staring deep into his tearing eyes. He may be the prodigy of this family, but I was always the stronger one.
//Once I finish with him, I will be taking a knife to slit my mother and father's throats in their sleep. Then I could just leave.//
Levushka shoved his hand to my face, pushed it out of the way, and kicked my chest. I busted and tumbled on the opposite wall and went limp. Levushka coughed and rubbed his neck.
He looked at me and knelt. I waited for him to attack me as he was free to do so. Instead, he has taken my head and held it to his chest. He sobbed as he tightened his grip.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. That was what broke me. I wrapped my arms around and joined him in his weeping. I realized that if there was one thing my father had succeeded in, it was turning me into one of his beasts. All I could do was pray to anyone who would listen that the same wouldn’t happen to my brother.
I truly belonged in this family.
[[footnoteblock]]
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2024-08-12T03:12:00
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[
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"first-person",
"sarkic",
"tale"
] |
Below the Lion’s Den - SCP Foundation
| 11
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[
"strange-matter-writes",
"scp-7867",
"component:license-box",
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[
"sarkicism-hub"
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[] |
1456175581
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/below-the-lions-den
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|
beware-walter-the-omniversal-rabbit
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<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=4&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/component%3Abhl-dark-sidebar/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
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<p><strong>Beware!</strong><br/>
<strong>Walter, the Omniversal Rabbit</strong><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Here’s <a href="/walter-the-omniversal-rabbit">Part One</a>.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<p><strong>Author:</strong> Doctor Scrappy</p>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>| Site-19, [REDACTED] |</strong></p>
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<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
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<blockquote>
<p><strong>Addendum 524-002:</strong> On ██/██/20██, <a href="/scp-524">SCP-524</a> displayed behavior inconsistent with what had previously been recorded. It proceeded to remain in place within its cell and ”nibble” at the air, and has not ceased this activity since.</p>
<p>Measurements of the surrounding Hume-level were taken. Results showed that the Hume-levels nearest to the entity were drastically lower in comparison to other areas.</p>
<p>Potential effects this may possess on local reality are uncertain. Further investigation is underway.</p>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<p>Senior Researcher Autumn Klein read through the document one more time. She re-read the document one more time for a second time. Clutching onto the edges of the paper so severely, she almost tore it in half when the door to her office burst open.</p>
<p>Dr. Gerald, a man in his mid-twenties and a bit worse for wear, had panic written all over him — sweat was rolling down his face like they were the Niagara falls, and his face frozen like the Mt. Rushmore monument.</p>
<p>”And…?” Klein finally spoke up.</p>
<p>Tongue-tied, the young researcher shook his head. His eyes were wide.</p>
<p>She snatched the document that hung loosely between his fingers out of his hand. Gerald became startled for just moment, having forgotten that he was even carrying that piece of paper. Klein’s eyes settled on the paper, like the one before.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
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<blockquote>
<p><strong>Item:</strong> Casaba-White ”Anti-Matter” Howitzer</p>
<p><strong>Termination Test Record:</strong> Device was aimed at SCP-524. A concentrated beam of anti-matter was fired at the entity. Beam shown to have no effect; equipment records anti-matter passing into the mouth of SCP-524, before dissipating entirely.</p>
<p><strong>Notes:</strong> Contact with alternative universes established to develop weaponry capable of neutralizing or incapacitating the entity. Updates will follow soon. - <em>O5-2</em></p>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<p>She could’ve screamed, pulled her hair out. She chose not to.</p>
<p>”W—what do we do?” Gerald uttered, in that all too innocent voice of his. It reminded her of her younger brother, rest his soul.</p>
<p>She took a deep breath in. ”It’s time for our last contingency.” Gerald just stood there, wide-eyed. But not those wide eyes of pure terror, but <em>perplexity</em>. Klein pressed down a button on her desk.</p>
<p>”Katie,” she said into the microphone.</p>
<p>”Yes, Senior Researcher Klein?” answered her secretary. She had heard her voice a bazillionth times now.</p>
<p>”Contact the Council, and tell them that I request <a href="/scp-6871">6871</a> for the ongoing 524 project.”</p>
<p>”Are you sure, Klein?”</p>
<p>”I’m damn sure.“ She ended the call right then and there. Dr. Gerald still stared at her with the same look. He parted his lips to speak, before he decided against it. Before he decided against that.</p>
<p>”W—what’s 6871…?”</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>This was the last straw. If not this, then nothing. Senior Researcher Autumn Klein sat in a room in Exclusionary Site-01, with several of the O5 heads standing beside her. They oversaw a live video feed of the rabbit, still nibbling at the air.</p>
<p>What would soon follow was the completion of a ritual — one that could erase anything retroactively from existence. It was now or never. She could feel her heart skip a beat.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th>Test Number</th>
<th>Person Conducting</th>
<th>Item of Removal</th>
<th>Result</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>#19</td>
<td>Dr. Gerald</td>
<td>SCP-524</td>
<td>Despite successful completion of the ritual, SCP-524 remains within reality. Hume-levels nearest to the entity begin to decrease substantially. <em>Note: SCP-524’s cheeks could be observed swelling in size, temporarily ceasing its activity of ”nibbling” at the air, before resuming this behavior a few seconds later at a heightened pace. Cheeks swelled down to normal size a few seconds later.</em></td>
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<p>*</p>
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<p><strong>| Hy-Brasil, Ireland |</strong></p>
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<em>”Never again,”</em> thought King Delbáeth II to himself, after the ginormous crocodilian-cephalopod kaiju monster tore up his city of birth. Never again would he let such a nightmarish threat, so merciless and bloodthirsty, destroy his city and terrorize its citizen ever again.
<p>But today was a different day than over three decades ago. <em>”You choose your own fate,”</em> his predecessor, King Nuada Airgetlám VII, had once said to him. He’d be wrong, because Delbáeth never chose to be sucked up by a gigantic maw of death and destruction up in the sky.</p>
<p>He held onto the railing of his balcony for dear life. He saw helplessly, as his friends were devoured by the giant mouth. A maiden of his grabbed onto the railing just like himself. She had difficulty holding on. She screamed.</p>
<p>”Hold on!” Delbáeth yelled against the howling winds of this once beautiful world. But it was for naught, as the balcony became undone.</p>
<p>Soon, not only he would be consumed, but the city, the planet, and the entire universe.</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p><strong>| Berlin, Germany |</strong></p>
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Martin Müller wasted away in the sixteenth or so night club for the night. He also chugged down the hundreth or so drink down his throat. His augmented liver could handle it, though, so he didn’t have to worry about any of that.
<p>What he did worry about, though, were the screams and howls coming from outside. Even a drunk man, such as himself, knew that there was something seriously wrong going on when someone started screaming from the top of their lungs — not that it was his obligation to do anything about it.</p>
<p>Not even when the very bricks and concrete of the building started collapsing into a pitch blackness spreading ever-so closer on the ground. When one lived as long as he had, and there were <em>a lot</em> of people like Müller, then nothing could surprise one anymore.</p>
<p>Still, in a world where death had died, the end was a welcoming change.</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p><strong>| Yellowstone National Park, United States of America |</strong></p>
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The buzzing of the locusts was near inaudible at this point. Cuts and large gashes adorned her arms and legs; no bother. Caroline North trudded on the winding corridors of this underground bunker.
<p>She stopped at a corner to hold her breath. Each one heavier than the last. She could taste her own blood in her mouth, that iron taste. It was sickening.</p>
<p>The lights turned on. Whether it was motion sensors or something different, she did not know. The light shone on a control panel. It barely reached any farther than that, a red light blinking steadily. She walked toward it, nearly stumbling over her own two feet.</p>
<p>This was it. Months of running across the entire globe had led her to this point. The A.I. — <em>she cursed herself for having forgotten its name</em> — told her that humanity’s fate rested in her hands. That only she could press the button that would save the entire world.</p>
<p>Everything had a sort of cathartic element to it — like in a dream, where nothing was real, but felt like it. All of her thoughts remained dreams, as a P.A. system spoke of ”reality-anchors failing”, and the entire underground facility folding in on itself.</p>
<p>Even the locusts, with their insatiable hunger, were eaten by the darkness.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<p>*</p>
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<p><strong>| Site-19, [REDACTED] |</strong></p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
”Order. Order!”
<p>The room soon fell into silence. The dozens of holograms of Autumn Klein stared at the not holographic one at the head of the round table. After all eyes were set on her did she open her mouth to speak:</p>
<p>”Has any of you found a solution yet?”</p>
<p>There was more of that silence. Only that it was the wrong kind of silence Autumn Klein wasn’t hoping for.</p>
<p>She spoke up again: ”Anyone?” Her eyes darted across the table.</p>
<p>An arm rose in the corner. ”Yes?” she said, somewhat relieved there was at least one to break the silence.</p>
<p>”I’m a replacement for Autumn Klein, Dr. Gerald, and I just wanted to say that my Autumn Klein has holed herself up in her office and is getting drunk.”</p>
<p>”… that’s it?”</p>
<p>Dr. Gerald nodded.</p>
<p>”Lord, we’re all gonna die,” said another Klein, who pulled out a whiskey bottle from under her desk.</p>
<p>Autumn Klein stemmed her head in her hands. She rubbed her temples, her eyes for any ideas of how to avert this clusterfuck of a ZK. But there was nothing. No ideas on how to avert the ends of the world. Hopelessness consumed her. The desperation was literally eating her from the inside-out—</p>
<p><em>”It needs to eat itself.”</em></p>
<p>The holograms looked concerndly at Autumn Klein. She pressed down a button on the table. ”Katie, order a meeting with the O5-Council! I’ve got an idea on how to stop all this!”</p>
<p>Before any of the other Autumn Kleins could question what was going on, Autumn Klein barged out through the conference room’s door. The holograms were left in utter silence.</p>
<p>”Even I could’ve come up with that,” one said, as she gulped down a glass of her whiskey.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
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<p>*</p>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
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<p>*</p>
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<blockquote>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>PROJECT FUDD</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><strong>PREFACE:</strong> The SCP-524-PRIME phenomenon functions as a ”reality-sink”, whereby the anomaly’s Hume-level is at a significantly decreased amount than surrounding reality. This has the effect of reality ”collapsing” into this lower Hume field.</p>
<p>However, SCP-524-ARC had shown the capability of, <em>paradoxically</em>, eating itself, which caused it to reappear completely unharmed. The hypothesis is that if SCP-524-PRIME were to ”eat itself”, the reality-sink would be turned ”inside-out”, thereby restoring reality to its prior state.</p>
<p>Enter Project FUDD, which aims at achieving that exact goal. A manned ship will be sent into the center of the reality-sink, where it will then discharge concentrated Humes at SCP-524-PRIME’s body to achieve the aforementioned action.</p>
<p>As said operation would prove itself to be highly dangerous, it is for this reason that I would like to volunteer to carry out the procedure personally, in attendance with other volunteers.</p>
<p><strong>We secure. We contain. We protect.</strong><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<em>- Senior Researcher Autumn Klein, Lead of SCP-524-PRIME project</em></p>
<hr/>
<strong>STATUS:</strong><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th>NAY</th>
<th>YES</th>
<th>ABSTAIN</th>
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<tr>
<td></td>
<td>O5-13</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-12</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td>O5-11</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td>O5-10</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td>O5-9</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-8</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-7</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td>O5-6</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-5</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-4</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-3</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td>O5-2</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O5-1</td>
<td></td>
<td></td>
</tr>
</table>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td><strong><span style="color: red">7</span> - <span style="color: green">6</span></strong></td>
</tr>
</table>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th>STATUS</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><strong><span style="color: red">DENIED</span></strong></td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><strong>CONCLUSION:</strong> <em>By vote of the Overseer Council, Project FUDD has been <span style="color: red">DENIED</span>. The project is deemed too risky, as it constitutes too great a loss of life of crew members. There are other ways to solve this. - O5-1</em></p>
<hr/></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>…</em></p>
<p><em>…</em></p>
<p><em>…</em></p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>TO:</strong> <span class="wiki-email">ten.pics|nielk.a#ten.pics|nielk.a</span><br/>
<strong>FROM:</strong> <span class="wiki-email">ten.pics|eilliw.f#ten.pics|eilliw.f</span><br/>
<strong>SUBJECT:</strong> Project FUDD</p>
<hr/>
<p>Your project has been approved. Do not ask when, where, how or why. Everything will be prepared at Site-19 by the end of the month; be there in the morning.</p>
<p>You owe me.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Walter, the Omniversal Rabbit">
<p><a href="/walter-the-omniversal-rabbit">Walter, the Omniversal Rabbit</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="Beware!">
<p><a href="/">Beware!</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Walter, the Omniversal Rabbit Ends">
<p><a href="/walter-the-omniversal-rabbit-ends">Walter, the Omniversal Rabbit Ends</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/beware-walter-the-omniversal-rabbit">Beware! Walter, the Omniversal Rabbit</a>" by Doctor Scrappy , from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/beware-walter-the-omniversal-rabbit">https://scpwiki.com/beware-walter-the-omniversal-rabbit</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
</div></body></html>
|
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[[=]]
**Beware!**
**Walter, the Omniversal Rabbit**
@@ @@
Here’s [[[walter-the-omniversal-rabbit|Part One]]].
@@ @@
[[/=]]
**Author:** Doctor Scrappy
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
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[[=]]
**| Site-19, [REDACTED] |**
[[/=]]
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
> **Addendum 524-002:** On ██/██/20██, [[[SCP-524]]] displayed behavior inconsistent with what had previously been recorded. It proceeded to remain in place within its cell and ”nibble” at the air, and has not ceased this activity since.
>
> Measurements of the surrounding Hume-level were taken. Results showed that the Hume-levels nearest to the entity were drastically lower in comparison to other areas.
>
> Potential effects this may possess on local reality are uncertain. Further investigation is underway.
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
Senior Researcher Autumn Klein read through the document one more time. She re-read the document one more time for a second time. Clutching onto the edges of the paper so severely, she almost tore it in half when the door to her office burst open.
Dr. Gerald, a man in his mid-twenties and a bit worse for wear, had panic written all over him -- sweat was rolling down his face like they were the Niagara falls, and his face frozen like the Mt. Rushmore monument.
”And...?” Klein finally spoke up.
Tongue-tied, the young researcher shook his head. His eyes were wide.
She snatched the document that hung loosely between his fingers out of his hand. Gerald became startled for just moment, having forgotten that he was even carrying that piece of paper. Klein’s eyes settled on the paper, like the one before.
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
> **Item:** Casaba-White ”Anti-Matter” Howitzer
>
> **Termination Test Record:** Device was aimed at SCP-524. A concentrated beam of anti-matter was fired at the entity. Beam shown to have no effect; equipment records anti-matter passing into the mouth of SCP-524, before dissipating entirely.
>
> **Notes:** Contact with alternative universes established to develop weaponry capable of neutralizing or incapacitating the entity. Updates will follow soon. - //O5-2//
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
She could’ve screamed, pulled her hair out. She chose not to.
”W--what do we do?” Gerald uttered, in that all too innocent voice of his. It reminded her of her younger brother, rest his soul.
She took a deep breath in. ”It’s time for our last contingency.” Gerald just stood there, wide-eyed. But not those wide eyes of pure terror, but //perplexity//. Klein pressed down a button on her desk.
”Katie,” she said into the microphone.
”Yes, Senior Researcher Klein?” answered her secretary. She had heard her voice a bazillionth times now.
”Contact the Council, and tell them that I request [[[SCP-6871|6871]]] for the ongoing 524 project.”
”Are you sure, Klein?”
”I’m damn sure.“ She ended the call right then and there. Dr. Gerald still stared at her with the same look. He parted his lips to speak, before he decided against it. Before he decided against that.
”W--what’s 6871...?”
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
This was the last straw. If not this, then nothing. Senior Researcher Autumn Klein sat in a room in Exclusionary Site-01, with several of the O5 heads standing beside her. They oversaw a live video feed of the rabbit, still nibbling at the air.
What would soon follow was the completion of a ritual -- one that could erase anything retroactively from existence. It was now or never. She could feel her heart skip a beat.
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
||~ Test Number ||~ Person Conducting ||~ Item of Removal ||~ Result ||
|| #19 || Dr. Gerald || SCP-524 || Despite successful completion of the ritual, SCP-524 remains within reality. Hume-levels nearest to the entity begin to decrease substantially. //Note: SCP-524’s cheeks could be observed swelling in size, temporarily ceasing its activity of ”nibbling” at the air, before resuming this behavior a few seconds later at a heightened pace. Cheeks swelled down to normal size a few seconds later.// ||
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
**| Hy-Brasil, Ireland |**
[[/=]]
@@ @@
//”Never again,”// thought King Delbáeth II to himself, after the ginormous crocodilian-cephalopod kaiju monster tore up his city of birth. Never again would he let such a nightmarish threat, so merciless and bloodthirsty, destroy his city and terrorize its citizen ever again.
But today was a different day than over three decades ago. //”You choose your own fate,”// his predecessor, King Nuada Airgetlám VII, had once said to him. He’d be wrong, because Delbáeth never chose to be sucked up by a gigantic maw of death and destruction up in the sky.
He held onto the railing of his balcony for dear life. He saw helplessly, as his friends were devoured by the giant mouth. A maiden of his grabbed onto the railing just like himself. She had difficulty holding on. She screamed.
”Hold on!” Delbáeth yelled against the howling winds of this once beautiful world. But it was for naught, as the balcony became undone.
Soon, not only he would be consumed, but the city, the planet, and the entire universe.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
**| Berlin, Germany |**
[[/=]]
@@ @@
Martin Müller wasted away in the sixteenth or so night club for the night. He also chugged down the hundreth or so drink down his throat. His augmented liver could handle it, though, so he didn’t have to worry about any of that.
What he did worry about, though, were the screams and howls coming from outside. Even a drunk man, such as himself, knew that there was something seriously wrong going on when someone started screaming from the top of their lungs -- not that it was his obligation to do anything about it.
Not even when the very bricks and concrete of the building started collapsing into a pitch blackness spreading ever-so closer on the ground. When one lived as long as he had, and there were //a lot// of people like Müller, then nothing could surprise one anymore.
Still, in a world where death had died, the end was a welcoming change.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
**| Yellowstone National Park, United States of America |**
[[/=]]
@@ @@
The buzzing of the locusts was near inaudible at this point. Cuts and large gashes adorned her arms and legs; no bother. Caroline North trudded on the winding corridors of this underground bunker.
She stopped at a corner to hold her breath. Each one heavier than the last. She could taste her own blood in her mouth, that iron taste. It was sickening.
The lights turned on. Whether it was motion sensors or something different, she did not know. The light shone on a control panel. It barely reached any farther than that, a red light blinking steadily. She walked toward it, nearly stumbling over her own two feet.
This was it. Months of running across the entire globe had led her to this point. The A.I. -- //she cursed herself for having forgotten its name// -- told her that humanity’s fate rested in her hands. That only she could press the button that would save the entire world.
Everything had a sort of cathartic element to it -- like in a dream, where nothing was real, but felt like it. All of her thoughts remained dreams, as a P.A. system spoke of ”reality-anchors failing”, and the entire underground facility folding in on itself.
Even the locusts, with their insatiable hunger, were eaten by the darkness.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
**| Site-19, [REDACTED] |**
[[/=]]
@@ @@
”Order. Order!”
The room soon fell into silence. The dozens of holograms of Autumn Klein stared at the not holographic one at the head of the round table. After all eyes were set on her did she open her mouth to speak:
”Has any of you found a solution yet?”
There was more of that silence. Only that it was the wrong kind of silence Autumn Klein wasn’t hoping for.
She spoke up again: ”Anyone?” Her eyes darted across the table.
An arm rose in the corner. ”Yes?” she said, somewhat relieved there was at least one to break the silence.
”I’m a replacement for Autumn Klein, Dr. Gerald, and I just wanted to say that my Autumn Klein has holed herself up in her office and is getting drunk.”
”... that’s it?”
Dr. Gerald nodded.
”Lord, we’re all gonna die,” said another Klein, who pulled out a whiskey bottle from under her desk.
Autumn Klein stemmed her head in her hands. She rubbed her temples, her eyes for any ideas of how to avert this clusterfuck of a ZK. But there was nothing. No ideas on how to avert the ends of the world. Hopelessness consumed her. The desperation was literally eating her from the inside-out--
//”It needs to eat itself.”//
The holograms looked concerndly at Autumn Klein. She pressed down a button on the table. ”Katie, order a meeting with the O5-Council! I’ve got an idea on how to stop all this!”
Before any of the other Autumn Kleins could question what was going on, Autumn Klein barged out through the conference room’s door. The holograms were left in utter silence.
”Even I could’ve come up with that,” one said, as she gulped down a glass of her whiskey.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
> ------
> [[=]]
> **PROJECT FUDD**
> [[/=]]
> ------
> **PREFACE:** The SCP-524-PRIME phenomenon functions as a ”reality-sink”, whereby the anomaly’s Hume-level is at a significantly decreased amount than surrounding reality. This has the effect of reality ”collapsing” into this lower Hume field.
>
> However, SCP-524-ARC had shown the capability of, //paradoxically//, eating itself, which caused it to reappear completely unharmed. The hypothesis is that if SCP-524-PRIME were to ”eat itself”, the reality-sink would be turned ”inside-out”, thereby restoring reality to its prior state.
>
> Enter Project FUDD, which aims at achieving that exact goal. A manned ship will be sent into the center of the reality-sink, where it will then discharge concentrated Humes at SCP-524-PRIME’s body to achieve the aforementioned action.
>
> As said operation would prove itself to be highly dangerous, it is for this reason that I would like to volunteer to carry out the procedure personally, in attendance with other volunteers.
>
> **We secure. We contain. We protect.**
> @@ @@
> //- Senior Researcher Autumn Klein, Lead of SCP-524-PRIME project//
> ------
> **STATUS:**
> @@ @@
> ||~ NAY ||~ YES ||~ ABSTAIN ||
> || || O5-13 || ||
> || O5-12 || || ||
> || || O5-11 || ||
> || || O5-10 || ||
> || || O5-9 || ||
> || O5-8 || || ||
> || O5-7 || || ||
> || || O5-6 || ||
> || O5-5 || || ||
> || O5-4 || || ||
> || O5-3 || || ||
> || || O5-2 || ||
> || O5-1 || || ||
>
> || **##red|7## - ##green|6##** ||
> @@ @@
> ||~ STATUS ||
> || **##red|DENIED##** ||
>
> **CONCLUSION:** //By vote of the Overseer Council, Project FUDD has been ##red|DENIED##. The project is deemed too risky, as it constitutes too great a loss of life of crew members. There are other ways to solve this. - O5-1//
> ------
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
[[=]]
//...//
//...//
//...//
[[/=]]
@@ @@
> **TO:** [email protected]
> **FROM:** [email protected]
> **SUBJECT:** Project FUDD
> ------
> Your project has been approved. Do not ask when, where, how or why. Everything will be prepared at Site-19 by the end of the month; be there in the morning.
>
> You owe me.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[include <a href="/component:earthworm">component:earthworm</a>
first=false | last=false | hub=yes |
previous-url=/walter-the-omniversal-rabbit | previous-title=Walter, the Omniversal Rabbit |
next-url=/walter-the-omniversal-rabbit-ends | next-title=Walter, the Omniversal Rabbit Ends |
hub-url=/ | hub-title=Beware! |
]]
------
@@ @@
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
@@ @@
------
|
2024-11-08T18:02:00
|
[
"absurdism",
"apocalyptic",
"comedy",
"cosmic-horror",
"end-of-death",
"hy-brasil",
"insect-hell",
"mystery",
"tale",
"the-administrator"
] |
Beware! Walter, the Omniversal Rabbit - SCP Foundation
| 0
|
[
"walter-the-omniversal-rabbit",
"scp-524",
"scp-6871",
"walter-the-omniversal-rabbit-ends",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"lowest-rated-articles"
] |
[] |
1457302357
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/beware-walter-the-omniversal-rabbit
|
|
biweekly
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>"The Foundation database is deleted. Chaos ensues."</p>
</div>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-{$first} earthworm--old-syntax-last-{$last} earthworm--old-syntax-hub-{$hub} {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Welcome to Site 19!">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/welcome-to-site-19">Welcome to Site 19!</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="Biweekly">
<p><a href="/">Biweekly</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="The Lake Oahe Monster">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-lake-oahe-monster">The Lake Oahe Monster</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Maria Jones entered the Site-19 break room, obscuring her face with a laptop. She peeked out from behind it, looking at Fritz and Clef, who were both hunched over like shrimp over their computers, staring at their screens. "Uhhh, Mr. Williams?" Maria said, tapping her foot against the floor.</p>
<p>"Just one second," Fritz replied, his eyes locked to the screen of his laptop, a 2004 ThinkPad with a sticker on the back labeled '<a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/welcome-to-site-19">Safe Cleanup Professionals Foundation</a>'. "I must kill this pathetic little—"</p>
<p>"The database is gone."</p>
<p>Clef looked away from his monitor. "The <em>fuck</em> do you mean <em>it's gone</em>?" he spat.</p>
<p>Several tinny gunshots rang out from the cheap speakers in Fritz's laptop. Maria again obscured her face, cutting off line-of-sight from Clef's piercing gaze. Fritz pumped his fist. "<em>Finally.</em> Your days of triumph are over, Clef," he said with a sigh of relief.</p>
<p>"Fritz. This is important," Clef replied. "Maria, whaddya mean <em>it's gone</em>?"</p>
<p>Maria took a deep breath and lowered the laptop onto the break room counter. She cringed as the rubber pads on the bottom of it squeaked while she turned it for Clef and Fritz to see, echoing throughout the barren, concrete floors of the Site-19 warehouse. The two looked up at the screen like a pair of wolves distracted from a carcass they'd been snacking on. Maria cleared her throat. "Okay, first of all, it's not my fault. I think Damien gave us a—"</p>
<p>"We aren't blaming you. Explain," Clef interrupted.</p>
<p>"Long story short, Damien gave us a little surprise. At least, I don't think anyone else would've done this."</p>
<p>Dee— the Foundation's overworked intern— hastily made their way into the break room. "Gaming during work hours? Can't believe our Foundation's glorious founder would do this," they said, pointing at Fritz. They dropped off three styrofoam cups of decaf coffee on the counter. "Also, who's Damien?"</p>
<p>"Hey, my break only ended six minutes ago!" Fritz replied, getting up from the computer. "As for Damien, he's our former head of IT."</p>
<p>"And a real piece of shit," Clef added, rubbing his temples as he staggered like a zombie over to the coffee.</p>
<p>"I'm surprised we even <em>have</em> an IT department. We have what, like, 20-something employees?" Dee replied.</p>
<p>Clef snatched one of the coffees from the counter. "What <em>took you so long</em>?" he asked Dee.</p>
<p>"Long story," Dee replied. "Somehow the local Starbucks ran out of non-decaf—"</p>
<p>"Hold that thought," Clef said, putting his palm in front of Dee's face. "Maria, you were saying?"</p>
<p>"As I was saying," Maria continued, "Damien put a script on our server set to nuke the database one year after he left."</p>
<p>Clef folded his arms. "And you didn't notice this 'script'— whatever that means— for an entire year?"</p>
<p>"Silence, Clef," Fritz replied. "Retrospectives and postmortems are to be a <em>blameless</em> activity. At least, that's what they'd say in my business classes in college. Maria, please continue."</p>
<p>Maria began fiddling with her laptop's keyboard. "Anyway, I, uh, managed to shut it off before it got everything. Used a disk recovery utility to restore most of it. But of the articles it permanently wiped…"</p>
<p>"Get to the point," Clef replied, wincing at the now-tarnished kill/death ratio listed on the death screen of his game.</p>
<p>Maria typed something with lightning speed into a search bar. <strong>"SCP-173"</strong> and <strong>"PAGE NOT FOUND"</strong> appeared in the middle of the screen in obnoxious, blinking text.</p>
<p>"Huh. That doesn't look good."</p>
<hr/>
<p>"Hi, everyone," Fritz said as the others took a seat in the various camping chairs and beanbags scattered throughout the break room. "You all know why you're here already, so let's start rewriting."</p>
<p>"Fritz, it's 4:50 PM. Half the staff have already gone home." Clef replied, lazily spinning around in the one office chair they had in the break room. "So you better get this done in 10 minutes," Clef added. "I'll be counting and charging you every second of overtime."</p>
<blockquote>
<p><span style="color: green"><strong>Item #:</strong> SCP-173</span></p>
<p><span style="color: green"><strong>Safe Cleanup Protocol:</strong> [do later]</span></p>
<p><span style="color: green"><strong>Description:</strong> [do later]</span></p>
</blockquote>
<p>"Just getting the boilerplate out of the way," Maria mumbled. "I'm honestly surprised we didn't have a backup.</p>
<p>"Making backups is <em>your</em> job, is it not?" Fritz asked.</p>
<p>"The budget wasn't there," Maria replied as she began frantically typing something. "I, uh, tried to make a request, to, um, purchase—"</p>
<p>"We have more than enough funds to cover spare hard drives."</p>
<p>"With all due respect, Mr. Williams—"</p>
<p>"We don't have all daaayyyy," Clef replied from across the room, spinning faster and faster with each passing second, taking the opportunity to glare at Fritz on each revolution.</p>
<p>"What Ms. Jones is trying to say, before you interrupted her, is that she attempted to requisition funds for backup hard drives. You overruled her request, Mr. Williams." Gears said, entering the room with a stack of papers.</p>
<p>"Well, I, uh—" Fritz replied, clenching his jaw. A lightbulb in his head flickered on. "I actually <em>did</em> order them. They just haven't arrived yet."</p>
<p>"That request was six months ago, Mr. Williams," Gears replied, a microscopic smirk betraying his poker face. Fritz began pacing, deep in thought.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><span style="color: green"><strong>Item #:</strong> SCP-173</span></p>
<p><span style="color: green"><strong>Safe Cleanup Protocol:</strong> lock it in a box, wipe out its shit every week, make sure three of us look at it at once yadda yadda yadda</span></p>
<p><span style="color: green"><strong>Description:</strong> statue made of concrete and rebar, traces of crylon spray paint, tries to strangle you or snap your neck but the twist is that it doesn't move when you look at it (wow!)</span></p>
</blockquote>
<p>"Added more info before we forget," Clef said after a bout of furious typing. "And yes, this is temporary."</p>
<p>"Now that we have the opportunity to rewrite the database, it would be quite useful to have some way of quickly categorizing objects. A way of telling whether an object is dangerous in case of a containment breach, or whether it will stay put." Fritz replied.</p>
<p>"It'd also sound cool as hell and make us look more official," Clef commented.</p>
<p>"I already have a few object classes in mind," Fritz added, "Ones that stay put will be called 'Safe'. More dangerous ones like the shit statue here will be—"</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Item #:</strong> SCP-173</p>
<p><strong>Safe Cleanup Protocol:</strong> lock it in a box, <span style="color: red"><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">wipe out its shit every week, make sure three of us look at it at once yadda yadda yadda</span></span> <span style="color: green">wipe its shit out as a temporary measure. Once we install a drainage system, use that instead.</span></p>
<p><strong>Description:</strong> statue made of concrete and rebar, traces of crylon spray paint, tries to strangle you or snap your neck but the twist is that it doesn't move when you look at it (wow!)</p>
</blockquote>
<p>"Who made that edit?" Clef barked, his shoe squeaking on the concrete floor as he slowed his spinning chair to a stop.</p>
<p>"I dunno," Dee mumbled, avoiding eye contact with Clef.</p>
<p>"It was Dee," Clef announced to the room.</p>
<p>"Yep, it's Dee," Fritz added.</p>
<p>"We have been over this already," Gears said, flipping through his stack of papers until he found one detailing a cost estimate, which he held up. "An automatic drainage system would require massive upfront costs. It will take upwards of 50 years to recoup these costs. Do we intend to keep 173 for 50 years?"</p>
<p>"This is what Damien would call 'technical debt.'" Fritz said, burying his head in his hands.</p>
<p>"Why do we care about what Damien thinks?," Clef replied, "Fuck Damien."</p>
<p>"An astute point," Fritz said, "Fuck Damien."</p>
<p>"Fuck Damien," Dee added, nodding.</p>
<p>"Fuck Damien!" a muffled yell from Moose came from the next room over.</p>
<p>"…I am not particularly fond of Damien either," Gears said.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><span style="color: green"><strong>Item #:</strong> SCP-173</span></p>
<p><span style="color: green"><strong>Safe Cleanup Protocol:</strong> Moved to Site-19 in 1993. Cleaning is to be done biweekly. While cleaning, at least three personnel are to look directly at SCP-173 at all times.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: green"><strong>Description:</strong> SCP-173 is a statue made of concrete, rebar, and traces of Krylon spray paint. It is animate and extremely hostile. SCP-173 can only move when not in direct line of sight.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: green">SCP-173 produces a substance similar in composition to a mixture of feces and blood.</span></p>
</blockquote>
<p>"I've cleaned up the article," Gears said.</p>
<p>"Thank you, Charlie," Fritz replied, hitting the "refresh" button on the page.</p>
<p>"We can always count on ya, Charlie!" Clef added. "Wait, what does 'biweekly' mean again?"</p>
<p>"'Biweekly' isn't even a word," Fritz said.</p>
<p>"It means 'every other week'," Dee answered, smirking.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Safe Cleanup Protocol:</strong> Moved to Site-19 in 1993. Cleaning is to be done <span style="color: red"><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">biweekly</span></span> <span style="color: green">every other week</span>. While cleaning, at least three personnel are to look directly at SCP-173 at all times.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>"Fixed it," Dee said. "Hopefully this is more clear."</p>
<p>Clef crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Dee. "I know the pencil-pushers might not be familiar with what goes on in the field but I <em>swear</em> I saw you cleaning the tank twice a week before this mess."</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Safe Cleanup Protocol:</strong> Moved to Site-19 in 1993. Cleaning is to be done <span style="color: red"><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">biweekly</span> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">every other week</span></span> <span style="color: green">twice per week</span>. While cleaning, at least three personnel are to look directly at SCP-173 at all times.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>"Actually," Dee responded, carefully typing something, "most of those visits were just <em>inspections</em>, not cleanings."</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Safe Cleanup Protocol:</strong> Moved to Site-19 in 1993. Cleaning is to be done <span style="color: red"><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">biweekly</span> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">every other week</span> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">twice per week</span></span> <span style="color: green">every other week</span>. While cleaning, at least three personnel are to look directly at SCP-173 at all times.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Clef grinned. "I'm a professional bullshitter, kid. I can see right through you."</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Safe Cleanup Protocol:</strong> Moved to Site-19 in 1993. Cleaning is to be done <span style="color: red"><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">biweekly</span> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">every other week</span> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">twice per week</span> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">every other week</span></span> <span style="color: green">thrice per week</span>. While cleaning, at least three personnel are to look directly at SCP-173 at all times.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>"Guys," Maria interrupted, standing between the two edit warriors. "I recommend that you stop before—"</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Item #:</strong> SCP-173</p>
<p><strong>Safe Cleanup Protocol:</strong> Moved to Site-19 in 1993. Cleaning is to be done <span style="color: red"><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">biweekly</span> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">every other week</span> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">twice per week</span> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">every other week</span> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">thrice per week</span></span> <span style="color: green">once per week</span>. While cleaning, at least three personnel are to look directly at SCP-173 at all times.</p>
<p><strong>Description:</strong> SCP-173 is a statue made of concrete, rebar, and traces of Krylon spray paint. It is animate and extremely hostile. SCP-173 can only move when not in direct line of sight.</p>
<p>SCP-173 produces a substance similar in composition to a mixture of feces and blood.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>"Let's just say it's once a week, how 'bout that!" Fritz said. "If it starts leaking we just redo the procedures."</p>
<p>"I have looked over my notes and know the correct cleaning interval," Gears said, pulling out another paper from the stack he had brought in. "Here, let me add—"</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>EDIT WARRING DETECTED: PAGE LOCKED FOR EDITING FOR 13d23h59m53s</strong></p>
</blockquote>
<p>Maria sighed. "Before you ask, Damien added this feature."</p>
<p>"I can see why he added it," Dee mumbled, halfheartedly gesturing at Clef. Everyone gave them a judgemental stare.</p>
<p>"W- well, I don't <em>agree</em> with Damien for adding it," Dee stammered, "but—"</p>
<p>"Oh, <em>no</em>, I get it, because you'd rather <em>skimp on work</em> instead of putting in your fair share," Clef growled, kicking off the ground to maneuver his office chair closer to Dee.</p>
<p>As the two began yelling in each other's faces, Fritz slunk over to Maria, who was standing dejectedly in the corner of the break room. "<em>Maria. I have an idea. Go archive 173's file.</em>" he whispered to her, grinning ear-to-ear. Maria nodded.</p>
<p>"I'm going to go fix the database," Maria said, an awkward smile plastered on her face as she crept out of the room.</p>
<p>"No, Maria," Clef replied, wagging his finger. "Dee fucked with <em>your</em> database. You have a right to be a part of this. Let us stand up for you."</p>
<p>"Sorry, it's urgent." Maria said, disappearing down the hallway.</p>
<p>Fritz waltzed over to the coffee machine. <strong>BEER</strong>, he typed in. It produced a cup of orange-yellow liquid, which Fritz chugged in under a second. He crushed the styrofoam cup with his hand and smashed it into the garbage can. Fritz hopped out of the break room, whistling a jaunty tune. "Fuckin coward," Clef remarked.</p>
<p>"What the fuck, man," Dee replied to Clef as they continued their shouting match, "I do <em>far</em> more dangerous things on a regular basis than cleaning the shit statue's tank. If I were to skimp out on my duties, the shit statue would be, like, <em>tenth</em> on my list."</p>
<p>"Technically," Gears said amongst the rapidly-growing cacophony of voices, "It was <em>I</em> who broke the database." He stared blankly at the others as they paid him no mind.</p>
<p>"Holy shit, Clef, you're <em>always</em> like this," Dee said. "I'm not out to get you. How does me <em>theoretically</em> skimping out on cleaning the shit statue affect <em>you</em> in any way?" Dee made a fake gasp. "Oh, <em>I</em> know! It's because you're projecting your own laziness onto me!"</p>
<p>"You think I'm projecting? Learned that word on one of your 'MeSpace' blogs, huh?" Clef spat, practically foaming at the mouth and pointing a shaky finger squarely in Dee's face. "You don't know <em>shit</em> about me. I'm <em>over twice your age</em>, for fuck's sake."</p>
<p>"THEN FUCKING ACT LIKE IT!" Dee shouted. "Why can't you—"</p>
<p>The muffled yet blood-curdling scream of a man rang out from several rooms over.</p>
<p>Everyone fell silent.</p>
<p>Clef burst out of the chair, the recoil pushing it back into Dee, who tripped on it before following after him. Gears trailed them directly behind. As the three sprinted through the Site-19 hallway, the telltale <em>thud</em> of a massive stone hitting the ground reverberated throughout the concrete foundation of the site.</p>
<p>"What the <em>fuck</em> was that," Dee hissed as the three turned a corner, "You don't suppose that was—"</p>
<p>"Holy shit," Clef replied, pointing to an open door in the middle of the hallway. A shiny placard of aluminum foil was affixed to the door with masking tape, emblazoned with the phrase "SCP-173" in gold-colored permanent marker. "It fucking <em>escaped</em>," Clef whispered.</p>
<p>The three peered inside, peeking past the door frame. "Fritz!?" Dee gasped, looking at the gruesome sight within.</p>
<p>Within the room, 173 had Fritz in a headlock. He held a sledgehammer in one hand, which he dropped into the ankle-deep layer of feces below, his hand growing more limp by the second. His clothes— once merely stained with mustard— were now drenched in the titular shit of the shit statue.</p>
<p>"Oh shit," Dee gasped. "Wh- what the <em>fuck</em> do we—"</p>
<p>"I'm bullshitting here but I have a plan," Clef replied, "Get the sledgehammer."</p>
<p>Without thinking twice, Dee dashed into the room, splashing through ankle-deep sludge until they reached the sledgehammer. They hoisted the sledgehammer over their head. "As soon as you swing this thing, <em>everyone blink</em>," Clef continued. "Hopefully this bastard has survival instincts."</p>
<p>"Three," Dee said.</p>
<p>"Two."</p>
<p>"One."</p>
<p>"BLINK!"</p>
<p>Dee swung the sledgehammer as hard as they could, aiming squarely for the top of what could arguably be considered SCP-173's head. In that split second of darkness, they heard the unmistakable scraping of concrete and the sloshing of viscous fluid. As soon as the four opened their eyes, 173 was backed up against the corner, the trail of shit it displaced flowing back into place like a thick sauce in a pan.</p>
<p>Fritz began gasping and panting, snot dripping out of his nose and tears running from his bloodshot eyes. Dee put Fritz's arm over their shoulder, helping him out of the enclosure while Clef and Gears kept watch of 173.</p>
<p>"Really, Fritz?" Clef said as Fritz exited the enclosure, "That could've <em>killed</em> you. What the <em>fuck</em> is wrong with you?"</p>
<p>Dee stared at the ground and sighed. "I'm gonna have to clean all this shit later, aren't I." they said in a deadpan voice. "Goddammit, Fritz."</p>
<p>Fritz nervously chuckled. "If you— <em>huff</em>— don't mind," Fritz said, fecal matter dripping off his shirt, "I'm gonna go take a shower."</p>
<p>"Have fun in there," Clef replied as Fritz hobbled away, Gears following close behind. "And I <em>really mean</em> that."</p>
<p>"Huh?" Fritz replied as he picked up his pace.</p>
<p>"Because the next time you see us, you won't be having much fun."</p>
<p>Gears and Fritz turned another corner on their journey to the Site-19 bathrooms. Gears peeked behind himself, noting that the two were alone. "Out of curiosity, did you genuinely intend on destroying SCP-173?" Gears asked.</p>
<p>"Nope. This was my plan all along! <em>I</em> become the scapegoat so they could get off each other's cases and learn through a shared struggle that, as they say, 'Teamwork makes the dream work!'" Fritz replied, his confident stride betraying his sludge-stained outfit. "Though, to be honest, the entire argument was <em>your</em> fault."</p>
<p>"There's just one small inconsistency, though…" Gears added, scrolling through something on his phone.</p>
<p>"I'm sure it's nothing."</p>
<p>"You got Ms. Jones to archive 173's article right before you went to its chamber."</p>
<p>"Not like we'd need the slot any—"</p>
<p>"So you <em>were</em> trying to get rid of it."</p>
<hr/>
<p>"Stinks to high heaven in here," Clef said, bringing over two buckets of cleaning chemicals to the hallway near 173's chamber.</p>
<p>"Thanks for getting those," Dee replied, grabbing a bucket.</p>
<p>"Nah, thank <em>you</em> for saving us earlier," Clef said.</p>
<p>"Wouldn't've worked without your plan." Dee replied as the two began mopping up the trail of purportedly human waste Fritz had left on the floor, the likes of which he hadn't created since the frat parties in his college days. "Sorry for all that stuff earlier, by the way. I <em>was</em> cleaning the tank twice a week. 'Biweekly' can mean either."</p>
<p>"Whoever came up with that word needs to be shot." Clef replied. Dee chuckled. "And yeah, I think I <em>was</em> projecting myself onto you. And I'm basically the Devil, so, uh, not very nice on my part."</p>
<p>"Honestly, this whole thing was kind of stupid looking back on it," Dee replied, giggling. "If I cleaned it every other week, I'd have to clean up four times the amount of shit each time. It's the same amount either way."</p>
<p>"I couldn't agree more. I don't know why I was so mad earlier."</p>
<p>"I, uh, think I might've gotten you decaf this morning, Clef," Dee replied.</p>
<p>"That explains a lot," Clef replied, rubbing his eyes. "Not to mention Fritz ruined my killstreak."</p>
<p>"Dude, <em>fuck Fritz</em>."</p>
<p>Clef shook his head. "…I'd rather not." Dee laughed.</p>
<p>"So, we good now?" Dee asked, holding out a hand for Clef to shake.</p>
<p>"Your hand's covered in shit," Clef replied, backing up.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>"But yeah, we're good."</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/biweekly">Biweekly</a>" by radian628, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/biweekly">https://scpwiki.com/biweekly</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Excerpts taken from "SCP-173"<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> SCP-173<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> moto42<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-173">SCP Wiki</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
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Maria Jones entered the Site-19 break room, obscuring her face with a laptop. She peeked out from behind it, looking at Fritz and Clef, who were both hunched over like shrimp over their computers, staring at their screens. "Uhhh, Mr. Williams?" Maria said, tapping her foot against the floor.
"Just one second," Fritz replied, his eyes locked to the screen of his laptop, a 2004 ThinkPad with a sticker on the back labeled '[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/welcome-to-site-19 Safe Cleanup Professionals Foundation]'. "I must kill this pathetic little--"
"The database is gone."
Clef looked away from his monitor. "The //fuck// do you mean //it's gone//?" he spat.
Several tinny gunshots rang out from the cheap speakers in Fritz's laptop. Maria again obscured her face, cutting off line-of-sight from Clef's piercing gaze. Fritz pumped his fist. "//Finally.// Your days of triumph are over, Clef," he said with a sigh of relief.
"Fritz. This is important," Clef replied. "Maria, whaddya mean //it's gone//?"
Maria took a deep breath and lowered the laptop onto the break room counter. She cringed as the rubber pads on the bottom of it squeaked while she turned it for Clef and Fritz to see, echoing throughout the barren, concrete floors of the Site-19 warehouse. The two looked up at the screen like a pair of wolves distracted from a carcass they'd been snacking on. Maria cleared her throat. "Okay, first of all, it's not my fault. I think Damien gave us a--"
"We aren't blaming you. Explain," Clef interrupted.
"Long story short, Damien gave us a little surprise. At least, I don't think anyone else would've done this."
Dee-- the Foundation's overworked intern-- hastily made their way into the break room. "Gaming during work hours? Can't believe our Foundation's glorious founder would do this," they said, pointing at Fritz. They dropped off three styrofoam cups of decaf coffee on the counter. "Also, who's Damien?"
"Hey, my break only ended six minutes ago!" Fritz replied, getting up from the computer. "As for Damien, he's our former head of IT."
"And a real piece of shit," Clef added, rubbing his temples as he staggered like a zombie over to the coffee.
"I'm surprised we even //have// an IT department. We have what, like, 20-something employees?" Dee replied.
Clef snatched one of the coffees from the counter. "What //took you so long//?" he asked Dee.
"Long story," Dee replied. "Somehow the local Starbucks ran out of non-decaf--"
"Hold that thought," Clef said, putting his palm in front of Dee's face. "Maria, you were saying?"
"As I was saying," Maria continued, "Damien put a script on our server set to nuke the database one year after he left."
Clef folded his arms. "And you didn't notice this 'script'-- whatever that means-- for an entire year?"
"Silence, Clef," Fritz replied. "Retrospectives and postmortems are to be a //blameless// activity. At least, that's what they'd say in my business classes in college. Maria, please continue."
Maria began fiddling with her laptop's keyboard. "Anyway, I, uh, managed to shut it off before it got everything. Used a disk recovery utility to restore most of it. But of the articles it permanently wiped..."
"Get to the point," Clef replied, wincing at the now-tarnished kill/death ratio listed on the death screen of his game.
Maria typed something with lightning speed into a search bar. **"SCP-173"** and **"PAGE NOT FOUND"** appeared in the middle of the screen in obnoxious, blinking text.
"Huh. That doesn't look good."
------
"Hi, everyone," Fritz said as the others took a seat in the various camping chairs and beanbags scattered throughout the break room. "You all know why you're here already, so let's start rewriting."
"Fritz, it's 4:50 PM. Half the staff have already gone home." Clef replied, lazily spinning around in the one office chair they had in the break room. "So you better get this done in 10 minutes," Clef added. "I'll be counting and charging you every second of overtime."
> ##green|**Item #:** SCP-173##
>
> ##green|**Safe Cleanup Protocol:** [do later]##
>
> ##green|**Description:** [do later]##
"Just getting the boilerplate out of the way," Maria mumbled. "I'm honestly surprised we didn't have a backup.
"Making backups is //your// job, is it not?" Fritz asked.
"The budget wasn't there," Maria replied as she began frantically typing something. "I, uh, tried to make a request, to, um, purchase--"
"We have more than enough funds to cover spare hard drives."
"With all due respect, Mr. Williams--"
"We don't have all daaayyyy," Clef replied from across the room, spinning faster and faster with each passing second, taking the opportunity to glare at Fritz on each revolution.
"What Ms. Jones is trying to say, before you interrupted her, is that she attempted to requisition funds for backup hard drives. You overruled her request, Mr. Williams." Gears said, entering the room with a stack of papers.
"Well, I, uh--" Fritz replied, clenching his jaw. A lightbulb in his head flickered on. "I actually //did// order them. They just haven't arrived yet."
"That request was six months ago, Mr. Williams," Gears replied, a microscopic smirk betraying his poker face. Fritz began pacing, deep in thought.
> ##green|**Item #:** SCP-173##
>
> ##green|**Safe Cleanup Protocol:** lock it in a box, wipe out its shit every week, make sure three of us look at it at once yadda yadda yadda##
>
> ##green|**Description:** statue made of concrete and rebar, traces of crylon spray paint, tries to strangle you or snap your neck but the twist is that it doesn't move when you look at it (wow!)##
"Added more info before we forget," Clef said after a bout of furious typing. "And yes, this is temporary."
"Now that we have the opportunity to rewrite the database, it would be quite useful to have some way of quickly categorizing objects. A way of telling whether an object is dangerous in case of a containment breach, or whether it will stay put." Fritz replied.
"It'd also sound cool as hell and make us look more official," Clef commented.
"I already have a few object classes in mind," Fritz added, "Ones that stay put will be called 'Safe'. More dangerous ones like the shit statue here will be--"
> **Item #:** SCP-173
>
> **Safe Cleanup Protocol:** lock it in a box, ##red|--wipe out its shit every week, make sure three of us look at it at once yadda yadda yadda--## ##green|wipe its shit out as a temporary measure. Once we install a drainage system, use that instead.##
>
> **Description:** statue made of concrete and rebar, traces of crylon spray paint, tries to strangle you or snap your neck but the twist is that it doesn't move when you look at it (wow!)
"Who made that edit?" Clef barked, his shoe squeaking on the concrete floor as he slowed his spinning chair to a stop.
"I dunno," Dee mumbled, avoiding eye contact with Clef.
"It was Dee," Clef announced to the room.
"Yep, it's Dee," Fritz added.
"We have been over this already," Gears said, flipping through his stack of papers until he found one detailing a cost estimate, which he held up. "An automatic drainage system would require massive upfront costs. It will take upwards of 50 years to recoup these costs. Do we intend to keep 173 for 50 years?"
"This is what Damien would call 'technical debt.'" Fritz said, burying his head in his hands.
"Why do we care about what Damien thinks?," Clef replied, "Fuck Damien."
"An astute point," Fritz said, "Fuck Damien."
"Fuck Damien," Dee added, nodding.
"Fuck Damien!" a muffled yell from Moose came from the next room over.
"...I am not particularly fond of Damien either," Gears said.
> ##green|**Item #:** SCP-173##
>
> ##green|**Safe Cleanup Protocol:** Moved to Site-19 in 1993. Cleaning is to be done biweekly. While cleaning, at least three personnel are to look directly at SCP-173 at all times.##
>
> ##green|**Description:** SCP-173 is a statue made of concrete, rebar, and traces of Krylon spray paint. It is animate and extremely hostile. SCP-173 can only move when not in direct line of sight.##
>
> ##green|SCP-173 produces a substance similar in composition to a mixture of feces and blood.##
"I've cleaned up the article," Gears said.
"Thank you, Charlie," Fritz replied, hitting the "refresh" button on the page.
"We can always count on ya, Charlie!" Clef added. "Wait, what does 'biweekly' mean again?"
"'Biweekly' isn't even a word," Fritz said.
"It means 'every other week'," Dee answered, smirking.
> **Safe Cleanup Protocol:** Moved to Site-19 in 1993. Cleaning is to be done ##red|--biweekly--## ##green|every other week##. While cleaning, at least three personnel are to look directly at SCP-173 at all times.
"Fixed it," Dee said. "Hopefully this is more clear."
Clef crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Dee. "I know the pencil-pushers might not be familiar with what goes on in the field but I //swear// I saw you cleaning the tank twice a week before this mess."
> **Safe Cleanup Protocol:** Moved to Site-19 in 1993. Cleaning is to be done ##red|--biweekly-- --every other week--## ##green|twice per week##. While cleaning, at least three personnel are to look directly at SCP-173 at all times.
"Actually," Dee responded, carefully typing something, "most of those visits were just //inspections//, not cleanings."
> **Safe Cleanup Protocol:** Moved to Site-19 in 1993. Cleaning is to be done ##red|--biweekly-- --every other week-- --twice per week--## ##green|every other week##. While cleaning, at least three personnel are to look directly at SCP-173 at all times.
Clef grinned. "I'm a professional bullshitter, kid. I can see right through you."
> **Safe Cleanup Protocol:** Moved to Site-19 in 1993. Cleaning is to be done ##red|--biweekly-- --every other week-- --twice per week-- --every other week--## ##green|thrice per week##. While cleaning, at least three personnel are to look directly at SCP-173 at all times.
"Guys," Maria interrupted, standing between the two edit warriors. "I recommend that you stop before--"
> **Item #:** SCP-173
>
> **Safe Cleanup Protocol:** Moved to Site-19 in 1993. Cleaning is to be done ##red|--biweekly-- --every other week-- --twice per week-- --every other week-- --thrice per week--## ##green|once per week##. While cleaning, at least three personnel are to look directly at SCP-173 at all times.
>
> **Description:** SCP-173 is a statue made of concrete, rebar, and traces of Krylon spray paint. It is animate and extremely hostile. SCP-173 can only move when not in direct line of sight.
>
> SCP-173 produces a substance similar in composition to a mixture of feces and blood.
"Let's just say it's once a week, how 'bout that!" Fritz said. "If it starts leaking we just redo the procedures."
"I have looked over my notes and know the correct cleaning interval," Gears said, pulling out another paper from the stack he had brought in. "Here, let me add--"
...
...
...
...
> **EDIT WARRING DETECTED: PAGE LOCKED FOR EDITING FOR 13d23h59m53s**
Maria sighed. "Before you ask, Damien added this feature."
"I can see why he added it," Dee mumbled, halfheartedly gesturing at Clef. Everyone gave them a judgemental stare.
"W- well, I don't //agree// with Damien for adding it," Dee stammered, "but--"
"Oh, //no//, I get it, because you'd rather //skimp on work// instead of putting in your fair share," Clef growled, kicking off the ground to maneuver his office chair closer to Dee.
As the two began yelling in each other's faces, Fritz slunk over to Maria, who was standing dejectedly in the corner of the break room. "//Maria. I have an idea. Go archive 173's file.//" he whispered to her, grinning ear-to-ear. Maria nodded.
"I'm going to go fix the database," Maria said, an awkward smile plastered on her face as she crept out of the room.
"No, Maria," Clef replied, wagging his finger. "Dee fucked with //your// database. You have a right to be a part of this. Let us stand up for you."
"Sorry, it's urgent." Maria said, disappearing down the hallway.
Fritz waltzed over to the coffee machine. **BEER**, he typed in. It produced a cup of orange-yellow liquid, which Fritz chugged in under a second. He crushed the styrofoam cup with his hand and smashed it into the garbage can. Fritz hopped out of the break room, whistling a jaunty tune. "Fuckin coward," Clef remarked.
"What the fuck, man," Dee replied to Clef as they continued their shouting match, "I do //far// more dangerous things on a regular basis than cleaning the shit statue's tank. If I were to skimp out on my duties, the shit statue would be, like, //tenth// on my list."
"Technically," Gears said amongst the rapidly-growing cacophony of voices, "It was //I// who broke the database." He stared blankly at the others as they paid him no mind.
"Holy shit, Clef, you're //always// like this," Dee said. "I'm not out to get you. How does me //theoretically// skimping out on cleaning the shit statue affect //you// in any way?" Dee made a fake gasp. "Oh, //I// know! It's because you're projecting your own laziness onto me!"
"You think I'm projecting? Learned that word on one of your 'MeSpace' blogs, huh?" Clef spat, practically foaming at the mouth and pointing a shaky finger squarely in Dee's face. "You don't know //shit// about me. I'm //over twice your age//, for fuck's sake."
"THEN FUCKING ACT LIKE IT!" Dee shouted. "Why can't you--"
The muffled yet blood-curdling scream of a man rang out from several rooms over.
Everyone fell silent.
Clef burst out of the chair, the recoil pushing it back into Dee, who tripped on it before following after him. Gears trailed them directly behind. As the three sprinted through the Site-19 hallway, the telltale //thud// of a massive stone hitting the ground reverberated throughout the concrete foundation of the site.
"What the //fuck// was that," Dee hissed as the three turned a corner, "You don't suppose that was--"
"Holy shit," Clef replied, pointing to an open door in the middle of the hallway. A shiny placard of aluminum foil was affixed to the door with masking tape, emblazoned with the phrase "SCP-173" in gold-colored permanent marker. "It fucking //escaped//," Clef whispered.
The three peered inside, peeking past the door frame. "Fritz!?" Dee gasped, looking at the gruesome sight within.
Within the room, 173 had Fritz in a headlock. He held a sledgehammer in one hand, which he dropped into the ankle-deep layer of feces below, his hand growing more limp by the second. His clothes-- once merely stained with mustard-- were now drenched in the titular shit of the shit statue.
"Oh shit," Dee gasped. "Wh- what the //fuck// do we--"
"I'm bullshitting here but I have a plan," Clef replied, "Get the sledgehammer."
Without thinking twice, Dee dashed into the room, splashing through ankle-deep sludge until they reached the sledgehammer. They hoisted the sledgehammer over their head. "As soon as you swing this thing, //everyone blink//," Clef continued. "Hopefully this bastard has survival instincts."
"Three," Dee said.
"Two."
"One."
"BLINK!"
Dee swung the sledgehammer as hard as they could, aiming squarely for the top of what could arguably be considered SCP-173's head. In that split second of darkness, they heard the unmistakable scraping of concrete and the sloshing of viscous fluid. As soon as the four opened their eyes, 173 was backed up against the corner, the trail of shit it displaced flowing back into place like a thick sauce in a pan.
Fritz began gasping and panting, snot dripping out of his nose and tears running from his bloodshot eyes. Dee put Fritz's arm over their shoulder, helping him out of the enclosure while Clef and Gears kept watch of 173.
"Really, Fritz?" Clef said as Fritz exited the enclosure, "That could've //killed// you. What the //fuck// is wrong with you?"
Dee stared at the ground and sighed. "I'm gonna have to clean all this shit later, aren't I." they said in a deadpan voice. "Goddammit, Fritz."
Fritz nervously chuckled. "If you-- //huff//-- don't mind," Fritz said, fecal matter dripping off his shirt, "I'm gonna go take a shower."
"Have fun in there," Clef replied as Fritz hobbled away, Gears following close behind. "And I //really mean// that."
"Huh?" Fritz replied as he picked up his pace.
"Because the next time you see us, you won't be having much fun."
Gears and Fritz turned another corner on their journey to the Site-19 bathrooms. Gears peeked behind himself, noting that the two were alone. "Out of curiosity, did you genuinely intend on destroying SCP-173?" Gears asked.
"Nope. This was my plan all along! //I// become the scapegoat so they could get off each other's cases and learn through a shared struggle that, as they say, 'Teamwork makes the dream work!'" Fritz replied, his confident stride betraying his sludge-stained outfit. "Though, to be honest, the entire argument was //your// fault."
"There's just one small inconsistency, though..." Gears added, scrolling through something on his phone.
"I'm sure it's nothing."
"You got Ms. Jones to archive 173's article right before you went to its chamber."
"Not like we'd need the slot any--"
"So you //were// trying to get rid of it."
------
"Stinks to high heaven in here," Clef said, bringing over two buckets of cleaning chemicals to the hallway near 173's chamber.
"Thanks for getting those," Dee replied, grabbing a bucket.
"Nah, thank //you// for saving us earlier," Clef said.
"Wouldn't've worked without your plan." Dee replied as the two began mopping up the trail of purportedly human waste Fritz had left on the floor, the likes of which he hadn't created since the frat parties in his college days. "Sorry for all that stuff earlier, by the way. I //was// cleaning the tank twice a week. 'Biweekly' can mean either."
"Whoever came up with that word needs to be shot." Clef replied. Dee chuckled. "And yeah, I think I //was// projecting myself onto you. And I'm basically the Devil, so, uh, not very nice on my part."
"Honestly, this whole thing was kind of stupid looking back on it," Dee replied, giggling. "If I cleaned it every other week, I'd have to clean up four times the amount of shit each time. It's the same amount either way."
"I couldn't agree more. I don't know why I was so mad earlier."
"I, uh, think I might've gotten you decaf this morning, Clef," Dee replied.
"That explains a lot," Clef replied, rubbing his eyes. "Not to mention Fritz ruined my killstreak."
"Dude, //fuck Fritz//."
Clef shook his head. "...I'd rather not." Dee laughed.
"So, we good now?" Dee asked, holding out a hand for Clef to shake.
"Your hand's covered in shit," Clef replied, backing up.
...
"But yeah, we're good."
[[footnoteblock]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> |author=radian628]]
> **Filename:** Excerpts taken from "SCP-173"
> **Name:** SCP-173
> **Author:** moto42
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-173 SCP Wiki]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-08-01T15:13:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"comedy",
"doctor-clef",
"doctor-gears",
"maria-jones",
"slice-of-life",
"tale",
"the-administrator",
"the-sculpture"
] |
Biweekly - SCP Foundation
| 35
|
[
"welcome-to-site-19",
"the-lake-oahe-monster",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide",
"scp-173"
] |
[
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"black-highlighter-themes"
] |
[] |
1455997077
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/biweekly
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blackbird
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<p><strong>Blackbird</strong><br/>
by: <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/merehrab" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8216454); return false;"><img alt="Merehrab" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8216454&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043724" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8216454)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/merehrab" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8216454); return false;">Merehrab</a></span></p>
<p>⚠️ <strong>Content warning:</strong> Depictions of ableism, aphobia, and verbal harassment. Some views expressed in this article are not expressed or condoned by the author. Any relation or resemblance to any real life persons are entirely coincidental.</p>
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<p>The first thing that one would notice about Dr. Michael Prescott’s office was the color of the walls.</p>
<p>Once his clients entered his domain, they were greeted with a seeming nothingness surrounding the typical items that are normally seen in a therapist’s office. It’s the color one would see while taking a midnight stroll, and thinking about life and regrets.</p>
<p>Michael Prescott knew a thing or two about regrets. He will also say, if asked, why his walls were colored the way they are. The color black educed a wide range of emotions in people, from fear of the unknown to mourning and emptiness. But it could also be associated with comfort and calming of the mind.</p>
<p>That’s what Michael designed it for—to make his patients comfortable.</p>
<p>Michael was sitting in his office chair as usual, mindlessly scrolling from his phone to pass the time. There were the usual unhinged takes and news stories that he couldn’t be bothered with. Things were going well recently.</p>
<p><em>For now.</em></p>
<p>A knock on the door. They were here. He quickly shoved his phone in his pocket, and pulled out his clipboard and pen, awaiting his newest client.</p>
<p>The door cracked slightly open, and Michael’s newest patient slowly peeked their head into the room.</p>
<p>“You may come in.”</p>
<p>The patient nodded, and pushed the door further open. They were a new arrival from Site-17, transferred over to Site-35 for a more extensive therapeutic treatment.</p>
<p>For one thing, they certainly looked like they came out of 17.</p>
<p>They were wearing a standard gray jumpsuit, with their designation bolded on their right sleeve. They looked jittery, their eyes dashing around the room as if looking for someone who wasn’t there. Their black hair was frazzled and messy, like it had never been combed in years.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” Michael asked with concern in his eyes.</p>
<p>“N-no, I’m fine, don’t worry. It’s just, it’s been a lot.” The client looked over their shoulder, before looking back at Michael.</p>
<p>“One relates. But I am here for you, and we can talk about whatever you like, no strings attached.”</p>
<p>The client nodded, before shifting in their seat. “Of course. My name’s Avery, by the way.”</p>
<p>Michael reached out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Avery.”</p>
<p>Avery reached out in kind, then slightly pulled their hand back, expecting something to happen. But Michael still waited. They eventually gripped his hand firmly and awkwardly shook it.</p>
<p>“It’s nice to meet you too, sir.” Avery gave their best smile.</p>
<p>“No need to call me that. There doesn’t need to be a hierarchy here. I’m just here to help.”</p>
<p>“What do you want me to call you, then?”</p>
<p>He thought about it for a moment. “Just Michael would be fine, for now.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Avery slumped down in their seat.</p>
<p><em>Something seems off.</em></p>
<p>Michael switched his posture, keeping himself looking professional and sympathetic. His full attention was on Avery, and he tried his damndest to not strain his eyes.</p>
<p>To most, some things are automatically obtained for them. Most people would not have to keep constant check on tone, body language, facial expressions, the literal versus the figurative, semantics, and hidden social cues manually. But Michael was not most people.</p>
<p>And that was okay, because he was himself.</p>
<p>“Have you had any problems at your previous site? Anything particular that I need to know about?”</p>
<p>“Uh…” Avery slumped down even further.</p>
<p>“You can be honest with me. Nothing that you will say will leave this room,” Michael reassured them.</p>
<p>Avery pulled themselves back up, and started to twiddle their thumbs. “I don’t know if I can say this.”</p>
<p>“It’s alright if you can’t. I just want to know how you’re feeling.”</p>
<p>“No, I literally <em>don’t know</em> if I can say this. What’s the difference between you and those other shrinks? I know that this stuff isn’t really between you and me.” Avery looked even more wary of the room around them.</p>
<p>“I promise you, I am under strict confidentiality. You are safe here.”</p>
<p>“Safe from what? Everything feels the same.”</p>
<p>“Your mental health is my top priority. Our work here is to help you. I want you to feel safe.”</p>
<p>Avery glared at him. “This is not safe, at all. And I don’t think being put in a room with concrete walls and barely anything to keep you company is exactly the best for someone’s mental health.”</p>
<p>Michael suddenly became very aware of the sound of the air circulating above.</p>
<p>He sighed. “I know how that can feel. Like you’re suffocating. But we don’t do that here.”</p>
<p>Avery gathered a bit more confidence. “Really? Is that true? Or is all this just a way to move me somewhere else so you can distract me from the fact that you’re violating <em>my rights</em> as a human being.”</p>
<p>Michael could see the determination in their eyes. To be set free. It reminded him of his past work, where many similar conversations like this occurred.</p>
<p>“You know what they told me, back at 17? ‘We take pride in getting to know our tenants, and their wellbeing is our number one priority.’ And they were <em>very concerned</em> about me in particular. But I know that’s just code for ‘we’re watching you at all times, punk.’ And you know the worst part? They had a saying where they were a ‘big, happy family.’ Christ.”</p>
<p>Michael knew those feelings all too well. He heard similar stories by other clients over the years. It became a game by the other anomalies to see which site would be the worst to be contained in: 19 or 17. After overhearing their conversations, Michael frankly thought that it was a hard choice to pick.</p>
<p>He clasped his hands together. “I promise you, Avery, in this place we will do what’s best for <em>you</em>. Your cell won’t be a cell, it’ll be your room, and you will be free to roam around most of the facility at any time.”</p>
<p>Avery raised an eyebrow. “So I can just walk around, with nobody watching my every move? You have to be joking.”</p>
<p>“I am not.”</p>
<p>For a split second, Michael could see that Avery’s eyes flashed a bright green. The door to the office then slammed open, almost being knocked off its hinges. They turned their head to the door, spotting no one.</p>
<p>They turned their head back. “Coast is clear. Unless your security has fancy invisible tech.”</p>
<p>“No one is going to watch you for any reason, Avery. We all have a right for privacy.”</p>
<p>Avery shuffled in their seat. “This sounds too good to be true. How did they allow you to do any of these things? This just doesn’t sit right with me.”</p>
<p>“Because since the beginning, we wanted to take care of those who needed a little help to live stable lives. Our procedures are lax because there is no threat from a single person in this facility, because why would they be a threat? It’s like what our founding director once said, you are not our subjects, you are our guests.’’ Michael attempted to place his hand on Avery’s shoulder, before being swatted away.</p>
<p>“Guests? In a prison. Where I can never leave. What kind of Kool-Aid did they put you on?” Avery’s eyes burned with a fiery rage, a fury at a system that had hurt so many people time and time again. Michael immediately regretted having this entire conversation.</p>
<p><em>You’re slipping, Michael.</em></p>
<p>He quietly tapped his foot with a lively, rhythmic beat. Sometimes he would spin his pen around in his fingers or rock back and forth to help him regulate himself. In times like this, he definitely needed it.</p>
<p>“I know how you’re feeling. Believe me, when I first learned of our mission, I felt the same way. I can’t let you leave, we both know that. But I can help you live your life, even in a place like this.”</p>
<p>Avery crossed their arms. “I think I get it now. Your straight white ass thinks it’s better to integrate us into this nonsense system so we can be ‘content’ and you can feel like you’re not participating in something so morally wrong. You probably haven’t had a single taste of what we experience in your life. Why not just leave? It’ll be better for you that way.”</p>
<p><em>Well, I’m not exactly-</em> He killed the thought before he could blurt it out loud.</p>
<p>“I will not leave you at the hands of something that punishes you for being different. That was a vow I made to myself years ago. I was once like those other researchers. I once disregarded <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7550">a friend’s</a> feelings and prioritized his containment protocols over anything else. I will not make that same mistake again. I am here for you. Always.”</p>
<p>Silence filled the room.</p>
<p>“Do you think I deserve being like this?” Avery asked, gesturing to themselves.</p>
<p>“You deserve to be you, no matter what.” Michael smiled warmly.</p>
<p>As they awkwardly waved goodbyes and the session ended, Michael had a thought that kept nagging him for quite a while.</p>
<p><em>Do I deserve to be myself, as well?</em></p>
<p>He had that thought for as long as he could remember. It had been there since the start.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>2001</strong></p>
<p>He was a strange kid.</p>
<p>Well, that’s what the other kids would call him. Weird. The nerd who collected Pokémon cards and shared them with the other outcasts of the school. The scrawny, timid one who’d pick grass at recess. The one who was practically an enigma to everyone else.</p>
<p>He never got picked on much by the other kids, but there was definitely an odd atmosphere in the classroom when he was around.</p>
<p>He was having a conversation with a kid named Cullen, a fellow like-minded Pokémon enthusiast. Mike’s favorite was Gengar, while Cullen’s favorite was Charizard, which he thought was a basic pick, just like vanilla ice cream. He always wondered why anyone would even pick vanilla as their favorite flavor.</p>
<p>Cullen turned to him. “So, what do you think about the new game coming up?”</p>
<p>Mike tilted his head. He tended to do that. “What new game?”</p>
<p>“My uncle works for GameFreak. He says they're making a new one!”</p>
<p>“Your uncle works for GameFreak?” Michael didn’t know that.</p>
<p>“Yeah, he makes all the pixels and stuff.” Cullen tried to not burst into laughter, putting his hand over his mouth to stifle the giggling, or rather squeaking that he’d usually make.</p>
<p>After a few seconds of silence, the gears finally turned in Mike’s head. “Okay Mickey, you got me.”</p>
<p>“You always fall for this, Mike! You’re an easy target.”</p>
<p>Cullen was right about that. He was certainly gullible. A lot of things would go over his head just as high as the neck of a giraffe. Their necks could supposedly go all the way up to the clouds. At least, that’s what Cullen told him.</p>
<p>“Well, it wasn’t very funny to begin with.”</p>
<p>Cullen grunted. “Think you can do better?”</p>
<p>Mike scratched his hair. “Sorry. I just don’t like when I’m the one being teased.”</p>
<p>“I’m not <em>teasing</em> you, Mike. It’s just good fun. We can have fun together, right?”</p>
<p>He wanted to say something else, but he decided to let it go. “Yeah. Right.”</p>
<p>Cullen pulled his collection out. “Look what I got at the store yesterday. This is going to blow your mind.”</p>
<p>He looked at Cullen’s new cards. They weren’t particularly special, but he pretended to drop his jaw in amazement, for courtesy’s sake.</p>
<p>They ogled at the cards for a while before the bell rang, and they headed back to class. Though no one was looking at him, Mike could feel them staring regardless. He wondered why he felt like the shadows on the wall, wanting to become like the light but always being blocked by something else. He wondered about a lot of things.</p>
<p>He wondered why the other kids talked differently around him, and why they couldn’t just talk to him normally. Why they told him that he looked shifty when he wasn’t looking at them, even though that didn’t really matter in the first place with his lazy eye. Why they whispered to themselves behind his back. And he could never figure it out.</p>
<p>He had to tell someone about it. Maybe a trusted adult, like his teacher.</p>
<p>When class was over, Mike ran up to Mrs. Knoth, and started to tug on her sleeve to get her attention. “Mrs. Knoth?”</p>
<p>She turned towards him. “Yes, Michael?”</p>
<p>Mike held his head down, and looked at the floor.</p>
<p>“They hate me, don’t they?”</p>
<p>The teacher gasped, before leaning down to Mike’s line-of-sight, and placing her hands on his shoulders. “No one hates you, Michael.”</p>
<p>“Then why do they talk to me like I’m an alien?”</p>
<p>“Because you’re special, Michael. You’re different from everyone else, and that’s a <em>good thing</em>. You are smart, and you are kind. You’re going to do great things in the future, okay?”</p>
<p>He nodded. “Okay.”</p>
<p>She patted him on the head. “Now go have fun with the other kids. They won’t bite.”</p>
<p>Mike turned away from the teacher, and sulked back to his seat. He didn’t even bother. Because why would he? He could barely manage a conversation to save his life. And the other kids would tear him apart.</p>
<p>Maybe he should be torn apart. Maybe that would get rid of what’s wrong with him.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>2024</strong></p>
<p>The fluorescent lights at the site always bothered Michael. They looked like someone deliberately manufactured the lights to try and make them look soothing and gentle, but the actual product never quite made the mark. The floral carpeting and the plaster walls weren’t much better, but Michael could sense the craftsmanship and that they at least tried with the overall design. It was the lights that frustrated him.</p>
<p>Not as much as how he frustrated himself, but they were quite annoying.</p>
<p>Still, he understood why they were there. To create an environment where the humanoids didn’t have to look at concrete halls and sterile labs while wandering around.</p>
<p>On the topic of wandering around, Michael was still kicking himself for lying to that kid. He was mostly correct about where the anomalies could go, but they were only restricted to the cafeteria, the section hosted by the <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/anomalous-entity-engagement-division-hub">Anomalous Entity Engagement Division</a> (the appropriately titled Playcare), and the designated lounges designed for the anomalies to relax together. They were not allowed to enter any of the research offices or the practical sectors without permission, they were not allowed to visit each other’s cells, and they were definitely not permitted to lollygag around the restricted areas of the site.</p>
<p>Frankly, this wasn’t the worst thing that happened when he forgot something. But it wouldn’t be the last.</p>
<p>He eventually made his way to the cafeteria, where a whole host of interesting things were taking place. The security officers were all mingled in one table, most likely shit-talking their boss or discussing some other escapade they did while intoxicated. Michael’s friend Emily was there as well, sitting at the far corner at the table. He gave a little wave, and she beamed at him and waved fervently right back.</p>
<p>The researchers who weren’t nerdy enough to specialize in temporal or ectodimensional studies covered most of the seats, so Michael decided to head towards the convenient empty seat next to Emily. He would rather not sit at a crowded table with people he barely talked to.</p>
<p>He turned in that direction, before bumping into someone’s side. He didn’t see her coming towards him at all.</p>
<p>“Sorry about that, I-” he tried to say, before being immediately interrupted.</p>
<p>“You weren’t paying attention at all. Yeah, I can see that.” The woman smirked. She was a brunette, with hair that flowed down to her shoulders and a nasty grin that creeped Michael out. She was wearing the standard security officer uniform, which meant that Michael could easily guess why her behavior was so jarring and repugnant.</p>
<p>“Yeah I didn’t mean to bump into you like that, it was an accident. That was all on me.”</p>
<p>“Of course it was. So maybe <em>watch where you’re going</em> next time.” The officer harrumphed at him, which Michael did not think was a real thing that people could do, and grumpily stomped toward her seat.</p>
<p>After standing there in silence for longer than he should’ve, Michael then remembered what he was supposed to do. Thankfully, the seat wasn’t taken.</p>
<p>“Did you see what just happened to me back there?” Michael asked Emily.</p>
<p>“Yep, that’s Vanessa for you,” Emily said, taking a bite out of her meatball sub.</p>
<p>Right. Vanessa Hickman, that was her name. Emily told a lot of stories about her, but she told Michael a lot of stories that he probably didn’t need to hear about to begin with, so they all blended together in his head.</p>
<p>“But I tried to be polite! It wasn’t even that bad,” Michael insisted.</p>
<p>“Look, Mike, some people just don’t give a shit about anything. Not everyone’s going to give you the same respect that you give them.”</p>
<p>She was right on that. “I know, but I shouldn’t have bumped into her in the first place.”</p>
<p>Emily patted him on the shoulder. “It’s alright Mike, it was just an accident. Let’s move on to something else.”</p>
<p>“Alright.” But his mind was still focusing on the incident. He could’ve been more perceptive. If he looked <em>just a little bit further</em> to the left, none of it would’ve happened. And everything would go smoothly.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, nothing would ever go smoothly for Michael. And he knew why. He always knew why.</p>
<p>Emily snapped him back to reality. “You good?”</p>
<p>“Of course. I’m regular.”</p>
<p>She snorted. “I never heard that from you. Regular?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Regular as every other day. I used to say that all the time in high school for some reason. I guess it now decided to come back in my head right at this moment,” Michael explained.</p>
<p>“I’m going to put that in my vocabulary from now on. That is just too good,” Emily said, pointing at Michael with a French fry.</p>
<p>“Well, whenever you need another of my random phrases, I’m right-” he was immediately interrupted by something bumping into his side.</p>
<p><em>At least it wasn’t me this time.</em> He turned towards the figure, and saw a small green figure with large, pointy ears and a recognizable golden fang.</p>
<p>“Doctor! I didn’t see you there, my apologies.” The goblin gave a bow to acknowledge his offense.</p>
<p>“Hi, Victor.” Michael frowned. Nothing ever good happened when Victor showed up.</p>
<p>“Well, my good fellow, I was wondering if you would take part in another of my experiments. You see, I have this weapon that will turn anything in its path into chickens, and I wanted to see if you-”</p>
<p>He waved him off. “Sorry Victor, but I’m a little busy right now. I’ll see if I can come in next time.”</p>
<p>“No worries, no worries! I have plenty of candidates to choose from. But I’ll get you next time, just you wait,” Victor proclaimed, waggling a finger at him and grinning maniacally.</p>
<p>Another individual rolled up in a wheelchair to grab Victor by the shirt collar.</p>
<p>“Oh, hey Desmond,” Emily greeted him.</p>
<p>The bald, dark-skinned man with a scruffy beard waved with his other hand. “I’ll take him from here.”</p>
<p>“Hey, what did I tell you about grabbing me like that? You’re my assistant, not my <em>butler</em>. Unhand me now, good sir!” Victor exclaimed, as he was dragged away by Desmond.</p>
<p>Emily shook her head. “Man, I forgot how weird this place is sometimes.”</p>
<p>“Not as strange as that time when that guy from 87 came to visit.”</p>
<p>“You know what, I take it back. Nothing is ever going to beat whatever clusterfuck that was,” Emily concurred.</p>
<p>Michael hoped she was right with that. For all he knew, his embarrassing mishaps had never been seen by anyone, and he kept it all to himself. For good reason.</p>
<p>Because how else would one live if they always dropped the ball, over and over again, with no end in sight? He doubted anyone would like to live a life like that.</p>
<p>Like his.</p>
<hr/>
<p>He had to get those pesky thoughts away, so he decided to divert the thoughts into a more positive direction.</p>
<p>He was standing in the research and experimentation sector, observing the several cramped desk spaces for researchers to conduct their tests and examine their samples. After successfully escorting a researcher back to her work after their session, he decided to take a break and watch the various happenings in the room.</p>
<p>He could see the vast ocean of people who he barely recognized, but he did know a few faces. There was the black-haired gentleman from New Jersey, who had plenty of things to say about his state. There was the girl with the Hello Kitty keychain on her purse, who was most known for her interesting music tastes and how she brightened up everyone’s day. And there was also the woman who used to work as a barista to help pay for her degree, before an anomalous accident at her workplace caused the Foundation to shut the place down and eventually recruit her.</p>
<p>Each and every day, he wondered about these people’s lives. How they were as vivid and complex as his own, and how they existed around him like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to other lives that he’ll only be there for once, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, or as a lighted window at dusk.</p>
<p>It was spellbinding to him, how he’ll only see a glimpse of what kind of lives these people lived. Maybe that was why he liked his job so much, not just to help people, but also to see more glimpses of these hidden worlds that he would normally miss.</p>
<p>His daydream was immediately disrupted by a tap on the shoulder. He turned around, and saw someone who he did not want to see in the slightest.</p>
<p>He was a short, plump man with a hideous combover, and his skin looked very similar to a shriveled grape. His eyes sagged, and Michael either thought he was brought back to life from the dead, or he just never particularly aged well. He was Howard Bates, the head of Research & Experimentation.</p>
<p>And he always worried Michael whenever he showed up, even more than Victor. At least with Victor, he knew what he was in for. But with Howard, he had no idea why his stomach always flared up whenever they met. And that worried him immensely.</p>
<p>Howard held his hand up, like a half-attempt at waving. “Hey, Michael.”</p>
<p>He just stood there. “Hi.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad to see you around. My juniors over here have been quite a hassle to deal with.” Howard gestured at his subordinates.</p>
<p>“They’re JRs, so they’re still new to the job.”</p>
<p>Howard shook his head. “No, I don’t think it’s just that. I have a very strict schedule when it comes to this line of work. These samples don’t last all day, and they have to <em>work</em> if they want to sort ‘em on time. It’s very difficult to do, and especially difficult if you <em>don’t bother at all</em>.”</p>
<p>He raised an eyebrow. “Does that indicate that you don’t particularly enjoy their…?”</p>
<p>“Their mingling, yes. They have other times to socialize. Not during times of such importance as this.”</p>
<p>Michael could see now why no one on R&E liked Howard. The scrupulous types weren’t to be reckoned with.</p>
<p>Howard turned to look at his working lab rats, before turning back to Michael. “I have a question that’s been on my mind lately. How come I don’t see you around often?”</p>
<p><em>Shit.</em></p>
<p>Michael put his hands in his pockets. “I’m just busy doing my own work.”</p>
<p>“Mmm. What else do you do outside of work?”</p>
<p>He didn’t have an answer to that. He clawed at himself internally to think of <em>something</em>, but there wasn’t much time.</p>
<p>“Um, I do cardio around the perimeter of the site, and I talk to my friend.”</p>
<p>Howard nodded. “Well, it’s good that you’re doing something with someone you care for. Now, how’s your Miss-Pretty-Pretty doing?”</p>
<p>His stomach tied itself into a knot. “You mean— Emily?”</p>
<p>“Come on. I know you two have been together for a while.”</p>
<p>Michael waved his hands around frantically. “It’s not like that! I’m not dating anyone yet! I’m not-”</p>
<p>“You can be honest with me. I won’t tell anyone,” Howard attempted to assuage him, giving him a wink.</p>
<p>“I’m <em>not</em>!” Michael snapped, before widening his eyes in the realization of how loud his voice echoed throughout the room. A few eyes were staring at him.</p>
<p>Howard simply smiled, and turned to the distracted researchers. “Please get back to work.” They immediately went back to what they were doing without question.</p>
<p>Michael’s hands were still shaking. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— I should’ve been more forthright with you.”</p>
<p>“No, I think your conviction was on point. I like you, Michael. You have something that a lot of people don’t. You have a keen mind. The knowledge you wield is a wonderful thing. Don’t let anyone else take that from you, or lead you astray. Too many have fallen for the wrong path. But you and I, we know what’s right from wrong.” Howard’s grin extended even further, and Michael could’ve sworn he heard his skin stretching.</p>
<p>He decided to exit the conversation prematurely. “Well, duty calls, so I have to go. Thanks.”</p>
<p>As he hurried out of the lab, Howard called out to him one last time. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again!”</p>
<p>No way was he going to do that. Not with him almost being outed. No way in hell.</p>
<p>He almost forgot about it. He barely told anyone, except for his brother, and he never really had to tell anyone else because being seen as a lonely loser was far better for him than the alternative. It brought back memories.</p>
<p>It also reminded him of something else.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>2007</strong></p>
<p>He was sitting on his family’s dusty old couch from ten or so years ago, torn and practically scratched to death by the family cats. It was dinner time, and he was eating hot dogs while watching the latest mediocre sitcom. Michael’s brother, Merek, was eyeing at him in the corner of the room. But he didn’t notice, as his mind was focusing on the TV in front of him.</p>
<p>The sounds around him were drowned out, and became muffled to the point of being nearly muted. His thoughts became a vivid canvas, flowing with colorful images and sounds. He was thinking about a lot of things lately. His future was gaining on him now more than ever.</p>
<p>What would happen if he went to university? He did not know. His support systems would be gone, and he would have to fend for himself. Could he ever fend for himself? He did not know that either. His constant setbacks at home were already enough of a problem.</p>
<p>His thoughts started to race around his mind, going faster and faster. The what-ifs kept coming, but Michael could hear another muffled voice calling out to him. It grew louder, and louder, until—</p>
<p>“Mike, for fuck’s sake!” Merek hollered at him.</p>
<p><em>Not again.</em></p>
<p>“Sorry about that.” Michael looked at him solemnly.</p>
<p>“Looks like it’s 10 this time. What a record.” He chuckled to himself.</p>
<p>Michael didn’t understand why this happened. Usually it occurred when he was reading a book, or watching comedy sketches on his smartphone. Every sound around him became a muddled mess, and he’d miss what other people would say to him.</p>
<p>He wondered when it was going to become a chore for them. It was already a chore for him. And Merek hated it since day one. But he didn’t like a lot of things.</p>
<p>“Every time, man. Every time.”</p>
<p>“You know I can’t just switch it on and off.”</p>
<p>“Right. But can you at least <em>try</em> to do something about it?” Merek sneered.</p>
<p>“I am trying.”</p>
<p>“You’re not trying hard enough. I swear, you do the same shit every time and expect people to be patient with you, even though you’re not changing a bit. It can’t be that difficult.”</p>
<p>Michael stared blankly at him. “It is.”</p>
<p>Merek then put his fingers up, and began counting each one. “You keep forgetting to put your clothes in the dryer, or take them out and put them away. You keep forgetting to even <em>clean your glasses</em>. You don’t talk to anyone at school. You always fuck something up when you drive. And don’t even get me started on the time when you left your underwear on when we went to the pool. You’re a <em>mess</em>, Mike.”</p>
<p>“I know. I know, I’m sorry. I know.” He hung his head down.</p>
<p>Merek kept going. “Do you care, though? I don’t think you do. I think you’re just lazy. Maybe that’s all this is.”</p>
<p>He left it there. No one spoke until their father came into the room. Michael’s dad looked tired. Probably from work. He sat down and sighed heavily, his eyes fluttering as he tried to stay awake.</p>
<p>Merek turned to the TV, and Michael did the same. They both pretended that the other person didn’t exist. Which was better than the alternative. Michael tried to focus on the show this time.</p>
<p>It eventually got to a point where commercials came on. There were the random drug ads, the fast food places, the unimportant clothing products, and the occasional commercial where Michael would perk up and actually listen to what was being advertised. He especially loved the theme park promotions, those were exciting and fun.</p>
<p>His attention began to wade, until his dad turned his head to him and pointed at the screen in front of him.</p>
<p>“You see that, Mike? That’s the good stuff right there.” He winked.</p>
<p>Michael was about to point out that his dad was still married, but decided against it. He turned toward the screen.</p>
<p>It was a lingerie commercial. Because of course it was. The women were showing off their bras and panties for all the onlookers to see. Merek started staring intently in a certain direction, but he did that with both genders so Michael just ignored him.</p>
<p>But he didn’t get it. What was the point of this commercial? To entice people? He guessed it worked, but somehow not for him.</p>
<p>He saw it everywhere. Everyone would bring it up, no matter when or where. Some people were obsessed with it, and made Michael extremely uncomfortable. The only thing he could reasonably compare it to was a donut, and hunger was the attraction. Michael did not want the donut, nor was he hungry. He wondered if he would ever be hungry in this situation.</p>
<p>After going with this analogy, he started thinking about how other people could theoretically fit in it. Some people could be hungry, and not eat the donut, instead settling with something else to eat. Perhaps they wouldn’t be hungry, but they will gladly eat the donut anyway. Perhaps neither, like him.</p>
<p>Or perhaps he needed a better analogy.</p>
<p>But his wondering persisted, and went in new directions. If he was the only person who felt this way, people would most likely see him in a different light. He wondered how his parents would feel. They accepted Merek, but non-attraction was a separate thing entirely. He wondered how the world would think of him. He did not fit that specific mold that they required, so the systems in place would most likely batter him or ignore his existence. It was a certainty.</p>
<p>But this wasn’t much of an issue for him. He dealt with the side glances before. He could handle the suspicion, and the name-calling.</p>
<p>But could he handle it twice as much? Most likely not. So he put on his mask and left it at that. After all, he was a good pretender.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The cool autumn breeze flowed through Michael as he did his morning jog around the perimeter of the site. He needed the reprieve from his daily blunders, and fall had the best weather for this purpose. Michael could never stand the heat, and he only liked winter because he could stay indoors to drink a nice cup of hot chocolate. But spring and fall were the in-between seasons, and fall especially had that fresh and crisp weather that made it perfect for his workouts.</p>
<p>As he rounded his last lap, he saw people clocking in to the site for the day. One man waved to him, and he waved in return, before heading to the side entrance of the site and stopping the timer on his phone.</p>
<p>He thought about the guy waving at him. Did he know him? Well, maybe he did, everybody did since Michael was the head psychologist. But did he <em>know</em> him?</p>
<p>Michael honestly forgot that he wasn’t an enigma anymore. He had a presence, and he did his job well. But outside of work, he wouldn’t go out of his way for conversation. He knew the names of many people, but people were more than just names. Each person had their own storybook, with the chapters of their lives filled with many tales, some of which were amusing anecdotes, while others were more disheartening. But they all equally fascinated him. Stories were his lifeblood, his way to see the world, his way to connect. And they were why he had this job in the first place.</p>
<p>To see how people ticked, and to help write their stories so that they wouldn’t feel alone.</p>
<p>As he wandered through the plaster hallways, he saw more people making their way to their specific sections. People he could talk to. But even if he tried, everything would remain the same.</p>
<p>His social skills were inadequate, and conversations would pass by him with the wind. And he tried. He always tried. But when the only advice he ever got in his life regarding this was ‘just talk more,’ after a certain point he didn’t even bother.</p>
<p>He had all the opportunities to meet new people, to make new friends, and he never did. College and high school were a blur to him. And after that, he got picked up by the Foundation, but still, nothing would change.</p>
<p>He had to change. He couldn’t be a static point in an ever-evolving world. But what could he even do?</p>
<p>He sat on that thought as he made his way to his office, to prepare for his next session. He couldn’t achieve what he wanted by default. There was always something blocking him from living a life that’s not filled with constant oversights. And he knew what it was. Of course he knew what it was. He had an entire PsyD to figure it out. But even with all that knowledge, it still kept coming, to ruin his life at every waking moment.</p>
<p>He checked the time. It was getting close. Good thing he was prepared—</p>
<p>Wait.</p>
<p>A familiar feeling crept from the back of his mind. Something was off. He missed something. But what?</p>
<p>He looked around the room, and on his person. Phone, check. Documentation, check. Glasses, check. Pen, pen, where was the pen? Oh.</p>
<p>He missed his pen and clipboard.</p>
<p>“You fucking <em>moron</em>!” he bellowed, before immediately throwing himself into a sprint towards his dormitory. Instead of just leaving his stuff in his office, he left it in his personal quarters. Again.</p>
<p>He ran like hell through the halls, catching a few odd glances from a few researchers, but he paid no mind to them. He had to get his stuff.</p>
<p>Michael slammed the door open, and immediately started throwing his stuff around the room, not caring if he would break anything. That was something that future him could worry about.</p>
<p>He paced around the room, smacking his forehead over and over again. How could he forget something as simple as a <em>clipboard</em> and a <em>pen</em>?</p>
<p>Eventually, he found them. They were hiding in one of his drawers, for reasons that he failed to recall. Because of course he did. But he had to focus. He snatched the clipboard and pen, and went right back into his sprint.</p>
<p>Emily always joked that if the site had a 100-meter-dash competition, Michael would easily get first place. He didn’t think he would be the winner, but he could go quite fast. The problem with that was the immediate consequence of complete and utter exhaustion, which would definitely be a disadvantage for him.</p>
<p>He ran through the corridors and skidded through tight corners, until the final stretch, where he successfully entered his office with only minutes to spare. He breathed deeply, and nearly stumbled into his desk as he made his way to his chair, with clipboard and pen in hand.</p>
<p>He checked his calendar off for the day. Once Avery’s session was over, he could relax. Regardless of how limited it was, Michael found his finite free time valuable, so he could ignore the clawed hands of reality for just a moment.</p>
<p>The door to the office opened once more, and Avery stiffly stepped towards the reclined chair across from Michael.</p>
<p>“Welcome back, Avery! I’m glad you could make it to our session today.”</p>
<p>They crossed their arms. “Yeah. I’m getting used to it, I guess.”</p>
<p>He tapped his pen against the clipboard. “Are you having any trouble adjusting to your environment?”</p>
<p>They scoffed. “How can I adjust to <em>a cell</em>? But maybe. I don’t really talk to the others.”</p>
<p>“Hm. Perhaps I can arrange a group activity?”</p>
<p>They shook their head. “If it’s anything like those group projects at school, then fuck that.”</p>
<p>“Let’s not go with that, then. I wasn’t fond of icebreakers either. But I will figure this out with you.”</p>
<p>They nodded, before staring at Michael’s glasses for a second. “Sorry if this sounds rude, but I think your glasses look a little dirty.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you’re fine, I actually prefer a little honesty, I do sometimes miss these things. I’ll clean them when we’re done, thanks.” He put up his facade to not make them feel guilty.</p>
<p>The lenses in Michael’s glasses were cheap plastic, so he had to clean them in the morning every day. Otherwise they would be smudged for the whole day. Thing was, no one except for his immediate family ever pointed it out to him. Michael concluded that it was either because they were too nice to be blunt with him, or they went on with their lives instead of having to worry about trivialities.</p>
<p>He wished he could have that sense of indifference. But that was for him to figure out. For now, his work must proceed as usual.</p>
<p>It proceeded as it always did. He never really had a chance to do anything otherwise.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>2008</strong></p>
<p>The summer months before what would become Michael’s adult life were short and unfulfilling. With his unparalleled wisdom, Michael decided to not take a summer job and instead do nothing throughout the summer. He had nowhere to go, and no friends to go with. He was stuck, trapped in a house that he did not want to be in.</p>
<p>His brother had his head in his hands, with a stack of paper and a calculator on the countertop. Michael would’ve tried to help him, if not for the fact that Merek had multiple AP courses, and the homework he was working on currently was calculus. Michael was never much of a math person.</p>
<p>He went to go grab a snack from the fridge, eyeing Merek warily as he mumbled several profanities and kept smacking the counter with his palm. After a while, he decided to say something.</p>
<p>“So, uh, you good?” Michael asked.</p>
<p>An acidic smile grew on Merek’s face. “What do you think? I’m in the middle of something here.”</p>
<p>He sat down next to him. “Math again?”</p>
<p>Merek sighed. “Yep. My teacher is a real piece of work. You know the one who looks like she was in the same class as Jesus? Always blabbering on and on about her dog or whatever. Her class is so <em>boring</em>.”</p>
<p>Right, Mrs. Roth. The teacher in retirement age with those really tiny reading glasses who hadn’t retired yet for some reason. Michael heard many things about her class, including how strict she was.</p>
<p>Merek turned to look at him. “Any other reason for why you want to bother me?”</p>
<p>Michael rubbed his neck. “Uh, not really, I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”</p>
<p>“Whatever. Anywho, did you do your homework today?”</p>
<p>He hadn’t, but he nodded his head anyway. “Yeah, I did.”</p>
<p>“Great. Awesome. By the way, I saw someone today that reminded me of you. Hang on, let me draw ‘em for you real quick.” Merek grabbed his pencil, and started to hastily scribble on a piece of paper.</p>
<p>When he was done, he gave the paper to Michael. He squinted his eyes to see a crude drawing of a wolf-like person or a person in a wolf-costume. Text next to the drawing read ‘this is you.’</p>
<p>He frowned. “Very funny.”</p>
<p>“Hey, you’re not denying it.”</p>
<p>“What did I do to deserve that?”</p>
<p>Merek snorted. “What did you do, huh? You want a full list of every stupid thing you’ve done?”</p>
<p>Michael clenched his fist. “I’m not stupid.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, you are. You fuck up everything. And you don’t ever listen to me. Remember when you walked outside and shut the door on me <em>while I was still talking</em>?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t mean to do that to you. I had to take the dog out.” Michael visibly looked shaken.</p>
<p>“You could’ve waited until I was finished. And you should learn how to take care of yourself better.”</p>
<p>“I’m literally fine. I can handle myself. I’m not slow, I just can’t do what everyone else can.”</p>
<p>“No, you just don’t think things through. I’m worried for you, man. Are you going to end up like those 30-year-old man-children who live in their parent’s basement and have to wear diapers? I will be very surprised if you don’t come back crying from college.” The venom in Merek’s voice seemed to grow louder as he spoke.</p>
<p>“Is that really what you think of me? Am I that pathetic to you?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I don’t see why that’s a problem here. You only care about yourself, anyway.”</p>
<p>Michael’s eyes burned with a boiling hot fury. “And the pot called the kettle black.”</p>
<p>Two things immediately happened in succession. First, in a blind rage Merek threw his pencil in Michael’s direction, causing him to weave out of the way. Then, Michael started to quickly walk backwards down the hallway, keeping his eyes on his brother.</p>
<p>“Tell me the truth. Do you hate me? I know I've been a jerk sometimes, but I can fix that. I’ll try to be better. Do you <em>hate me</em>?”</p>
<p>He didn’t answer. For a few moments, everything is silent. Once the pause became far too awkward, Merek cleared his throat and looked at Michael dejectedly.</p>
<p>“I hope you find someone worth listening to.” And he left it at that.</p>
<p>Michael turned away from his brother, and sulked upstairs to his bedroom. He couldn’t deal with him anymore. He tried to tell his father, but all he told him was to just ignore his brother’s verbal bombardments. This, as expected, did not help at all. But he wasn’t too worried about it anymore. He was more concerned about what Merek would do to other people like him. Because it was clear that he wouldn’t change his position in the slightest.</p>
<p>Michael could only hope that one day, someone would put his brother in his place.</p>
<hr/>
<p>As Michael looked back on these moments of his life, he recalled a certain conundrum that he could not understand at first.</p>
<p>He knew the intersection between his mind and his heart, what he felt and what he thought, and how they were unique from each other yet similar in how he could be disadvantaged by them. He recognized that he could be seen as a child because of either, not grasping with the way that the world works. But he understood it plenty, and he detested the systems that kept it turning.</p>
<p>What he did not understand was the why. Why must the world around him treat him this way? He was always curious on how exactly that internal switch to complete hatred worked. Michael had never been so free to be who he was, and yet there was always a possibility where one would not see him that way.</p>
<p>He remembered reading one interview years ago, where a researcher told a contained anomaly, who was also an activist for asexuality before their containment, that they had an obligation to disclose if they weren’t dating someone, and that as a carbon-based life form and as a vertebrate, they also had an obligation to disclose that they were actually a jellyfish.</p>
<p>That callous remark, that clear disregard for the humanity of a fellow person made him incredibly uncomfortable, but his intrigue started to slowly increase over time, snowballing to where it is now.</p>
<p>He started to see the connections, where the strings were tied together to form this gigantic, suffocating knot of depravity. And he traced the lines to the source. It encompassed everything haunting him, and haunting others like him.</p>
<p>And he was working for an organization that benefited from and actively promoted it.</p>
<p>It never sat well with him, but he kept doing his duty, knowing full well who he was working for. He was promised that he could help people, and he did the best he could, but in a place like the Foundation, would that be much of use at all? He should’ve left the second he found out the truth. But he didn’t. Maybe it was naivety that kept him back. Or maybe it was an obligation, to help those trapped within the margins to feel like themselves, to make them feel safe in a place that would much rather like to slowly tie a tourniquet around their necks.</p>
<p>As he pondered on this while standing awkwardly in the middle of a hallway, he felt a familiar tap on his shoulder. He turned around, and saw the devil staring back at him.</p>
<p>Howard was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. “So, how’s it going?”</p>
<p>Michael placed his hands in his pockets to match him. “Nothing much. I’m doing fine.”</p>
<p>Howard nodded. “Good, that’s good. How’s your girlfriend?”</p>
<p><em>Don’t even bother.</em> “She’s good.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Say, you want to take a quick walk with me?”</p>
<p>He didn’t want to, but there wasn’t exactly anything that he had to do at the moment, and he didn’t want to be rude. So he simply nodded.</p>
<p>“Well then, let’s go.” Howard beckoned him over. Michael made sure to keep his distance, slowly trailing from behind.</p>
<p>“It’s been… interesting, these past few years. I feel like I’m finally settling down, floating through the moment. It feels different. I’ve been working for who knows how long.”</p>
<p>Michael said nothing. Howard did not acknowledge this and kept talking.</p>
<p>“I’m 58 years old, Michael. I’m nearing the end. But you, you still have some strut to your step. You have your years.”</p>
<p>Michael nodded along, not wanting to provoke him. “Yeah.”</p>
<p>Howard stopped for a moment, before turning to Michael. “You know what that means? It means you can continue the work. It means that you can still achieve great things. And eventually, you too will settle down with your Miss-Pretty-Pretty and live a happy life.”</p>
<p>Michael tried not to wince. “Of course. I will make every effort available to me to do so.”</p>
<p>“You already have. Your mind just won’t let you see it.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean by that?” Michael raised an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“I checked your personnel file. It told me everything that I needed to know. But hey, it’s okay. I know it’s hard. But you can work to alleviate that blockage, so you can live like us. You don’t have to be what you are now. Like I said, you have a keen mind, and I don’t think you want to have anything stopping you from using your potential. Some of the ‘smart’ people in this place can’t even tie their own shoelaces. They’re too lazy. They have lazy brains. They hate to learn new things outside the narrow categories of knowledge they’ve claimed for themselves. Do you want that, Michael? Do you want to be lazy like them?”</p>
<p>The world around him slowed to a crawl. He felt like time was moving backwards. Howard’s voice became nothing more than gibberish. He felt sick. His stomach started to boil, like he was being dunked in liquid gold. And he couldn’t do anything. He thought nothing. He didn’t move, or even blink. He let the vile words pass through him.</p>
<p>Howard didn’t seem to notice, or even care. “You yourself are a therapist, right?”</p>
<p>Michael reluctantly decided to continue along. “Yes. I’m the head of the division.”</p>
<p>“Of course, of course! How could I forget? Sorry, I don’t remember names that well.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine.” It wasn’t. Was he really just a no-name?</p>
<p>“But anyway, I’m glad you’re here. Maybe one day, you can make this place even better than it was.”</p>
<p>Michael wondered when this conversation was going to end. “How, exactly? I think we’re doing fine.”</p>
<p>“We can do more. We own the world. We can do <em>so much more</em>. We still have that border problem down south. Too many illegals. Too much crime. We can put a stop to that, and yet we don’t. What do you think that makes us?”</p>
<p>And he thought it couldn’t get worse. “Apathetic?” he responded.</p>
<p>“Much worse. Stagnant. None of these people here care. They’re more willing to pride themselves as being a bunch of moral busybodies. But we know what’s right from wrong. And I hope you don’t let them tear you apart.” Howard put a hand on his shoulder. “I hope you will succeed where I have failed.”</p>
<p>Michael couldn’t take it anymore. “I’ll do my best.” And he walked slightly faster past Howard, but not too fast. He prayed that he wouldn’t be interrupted again.</p>
<p>Once he was down the hallway, he looked over his shoulder one last time. Howard was still standing there, and although Michael couldn’t see it, he was smiling like a proud father.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>2002</strong></p>
<p>His brain was wracked with sounds and ideas.</p>
<p>He tossed and turned in his quaint little bed, but he couldn’t get himself to fall asleep. Maybe that was the issue. His father always told him to not force himself to sleep, because it would never work like he wanted to, and he would be even more awake than he was. But sometimes, he wouldn’t fall asleep even if his mind was clear. He couldn’t grasp why. Didn’t everyone else fall asleep in five minutes or so? Why not him?</p>
<p>He tried to distract the thoughts with a catchy tune. It began to wriggle inside his brain and make itself a nest. The melody would repeat itself, over and over again, slowly contorting into an ear-splitting version of itself. He had to change it, so he started to think about another song. But it, too, began to recur. He wanted to tear his hair out.</p>
<p>It shouldn’t be this hard. Michael never understood why people would stay up late. For the fun of it? How was any of it fun? He felt miserable every time he slept past 12. Twice he slept past 4, and it felt like he was beaten to a pulp for the entire day after.</p>
<p>Maybe he was forcing it again. But he couldn’t unforce it, really. He didn’t want to, but he had to wake them. He promised to his father that he wouldn’t do it again. But he had to. He didn’t know what else to do.</p>
<p>With a sigh of exhaustion, he slowly pulled his covers up and stood up on the floor. While sauntering over to his parents room, he felt a twinge of guilt wash over him. But he couldn’t go back now.</p>
<p>He grabbed the handle, and intentionally opened the door so that it would squeak as loud as possible. Immediately, there was a groan coming from the far end of the room. It worked.</p>
<p>He tiptoed into the room, seeing his father stare disappointingly at him. “Go back to bed, bud.”</p>
<p>“I can’t go to sleep. I’m sorry,” Michael whimpered.</p>
<p>His father sighed. “I told you, bud, you’re overthinking it. Just calm down. Drink some water. You’ll fall asleep eventually, okay?”</p>
<p>“Okay.” He nodded. But he still stood there.</p>
<p>Michael’s mother perked up her head, noticing his sad, beady eyes staring back at her. She looked at her husband. “I’ll take care of it, okay?”</p>
<p>He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “As long as he doesn’t come back. I need my eight hours.”</p>
<p>Michael turned, and walked dejectedly back to his room. He slipped under his covers once more, and turned to see his mother standing in the doorframe, with a hand behind her back.</p>
<p>Tears started to form in his eyes. “I can’t sleep, mom. I don’t know what to do.”</p>
<p>She smiled softly, to try and cheer him up. “I know it’s hard. There are some days where I can’t sleep either. I get too worried about a lot of things. But you know what I do when I can’t sleep? I hold onto what I love, and think about those things before I drift into my dreams.”</p>
<p>Michael looked at the floor. “Am I broken, mom?”</p>
<p>She looked increasingly worried. “No, no, not at all! You’re a wonderful person, Mike. You can do great things. I know it feels like your wings are clipped, and you can’t fly like the rest of the flock. But you’re strong. You can get through anything. No matter what, you can soar as high as you want, without anyone stopping you. My little blackbird.”</p>
<p>His mother pulled out her acoustic guitar from behind her back, and began to play her favorite song. Michael knew it well. He knew it so well that he memorized the exact chords that started the song. G, Am7, G/B, C, D…</p>
<p>His mother did not sound like Paul McCartney at all, but her singing was so wonderfully alto that he couldn’t help but flutter his eyes and drift to sleep.</p>
<p>His dreams were pleasant, and he flew high in the sky, feeling the sun’s warmth on his skin. For just this moment, he was free, and it was beautiful.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Michael could never get rid of those troublesome nights. Not even where he was at now.</p>
<p>It was approximately 3:00 in the morning. He felt like he had a fever. He tried to change his position every few minutes, to see if that would change anything. But as he expected, it didn’t. His sheets were caked with sweat, and he heard the clock tick, and tick, and tick. It drove him up the wall.</p>
<p>Michael sat up, gazing downward at the far end of the bed. He was running in circles, and he fully knew why. He knew the issue, the source to all of his problems, he researched it himself when he got his degree. But even after every session where he helped his clients figure themselves out, he never found a way to do the same for himself. It should’ve been obvious, hell he could’ve looked for the techniques that he needed to manage the damn thing. But he didn’t.</p>
<p>He shouldn’t have to worry about encroaching the same errors, every day without end. He shouldn’t have to keep acting with his mask, because he could never read the script, while being expected to know all the lines. He shouldn’t have to wrestle with a mind that was structurally built to thwart him throughout it all.</p>
<p>He shouldn’t have to live in a world that hated him.</p>
<p>And he could see the signs. Oh, he could <em>see</em> it. The idea of laziness being a person just trying to survive, the mocking of people and their interests to make others feel better about themselves, and characteristics of disability being used as a cheap punchline. It put thoughts into kids’ heads in the media, and it was ingrained into language and culture.</p>
<p>Michael was rather lucky that he was only seen as a ghost. And that pained him the most. He could see that some did not have the same fate.</p>
<p>Despite all that, he was still behind the curve. He felt like he would always be behind the curve. He couldn’t let his friend down. He couldn’t let any of them down. He dug that hole too deep, and now he couldn’t see where his future would become.</p>
<p>The only thing that he felt useful for was his job. That was the singular, most important thing that defined him. It was what everyone knew him as. The guy who reached his hand out to help others up. And if that was all he was, it was better than being nothing at all.</p>
<p>He looked at the clock. It was 3:10 now. He didn’t know what to do. He checked his phone, to see if his friend was awake. Apparently, she was. What for? Who knows.</p>
<p>He had to distract himself, so he turned the brightness on his phone to the lowest setting and began to meticulously form a message to send. He had to make sure to not say anything wrong.</p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<div class="text-container">
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>Michael</strong><br/>
Hello. Why are you up so late?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>Emily</strong><br/>
Reasons. What are yours? You’re never up this late.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>Michael</strong><br/>
Can’t sleep. It fucking sucks. Feels like my brain is being stretched apart.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>Emily</strong><br/>
I’m sorry, Michael. Is there anything I can do to help?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>Michael</strong><br/>
With what? Nothing I do works.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>Emily</strong><br/>
I can help you sleep. You can come sleep next to me.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>Michael</strong><br/>
Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass. I can handle this myself. I know the source of all of this. I can fix this.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>Emily</strong><br/>
I don’t want you to beat yourself up over this. I’m really worried right now. Are you ok?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>Michael</strong><br/>
I’m fine. I don’t want you to be worried. I just need to figure this out.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>Emily</strong><br/>
If you need anything, I’m here to talk.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>Michael</strong><br/>
I’ll text you tomorrow.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>Emily</strong><br/>
Ok.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>Michael</strong><br/>
One more thing. I’m glad to be your friend. You mean the world to me.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>Emily</strong><br/>
You too <2</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text"><strong>Michael</strong><br/>
<2</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>He placed his phone down. The distraction definitely helped take his mind off things, but he needed to get some rest, sooner rather than later. So he lied back down and turned to the wall. His dad was right with one thing. He was always an overthinker.</p>
<p>Over the years, he tried taking melatonin, doing breathing exercises, anything to help him sleep. But none were very effective. All he could do was shut down the thoughts and let his body do the rest. It was harder than it looked, but it was the only thing that worked for him.</p>
<p>After an agonizing few minutes, his brain finally gave up on him. The last thought he had before he felt that familiar drift was how much he missed his mom.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The next morning was the same as before, and the weeks after were painfully mundane and tedious for Michael. He was starting to feel the monotony of it all, every waking moment was him going to a session, eating, talking to Emily if she had the time, then heading off to bed. Almost nothing interesting happened, and he identified the root of the issue immediately.</p>
<p>It was himself. His lack of communication in anything other than his job and his refusal to go out and meet new people had caused him to get himself stuck in a rut. He was always stuck in this rut. There were long stretches of time where he didn’t have anyone but himself to rely on. Sometimes, it felt like the swirling currents of change would pull him under and try to drown him, forcing him to never step out of what he considered safe. But Michael knew it was mostly all him. He was fortunate enough to still have one person by his side.</p>
<p>But what if that changed? What if, one day, he would do something so moronic, so dickish that the only person who truly understood him pushed him away for good? He had no idea why she was still around him. He always fucked things up, at every turn, at every second of every day. He could not compute why she would keep caring for the burden that he was.</p>
<p>But there was no time to think about that now. Howard’s shadow still eclipsed over him and the whole site. The only way to heal the festering wound would be to excise the infection. And that was where he was going now, into the lion’s den. So he could find more evidence to finally eject the beast from his domain.</p>
<p>His stride became more assured, and his eyes were filled with determination as he weaved past a large flock of researchers. There was only one thought on his mind. He would not let anyone else live through the vicious mockery that he had to endure. Never again.</p>
<p>When he reached the research sector, he walked to the edge of the balcony and observed the worker drones as they inspected their samples. He could see the head honcho, waving his arms around and directing the group like a director of a symphony orchestra. He meandered down to the disarray of test tubes and pipettes, and slowly inched his way to his target. After a moment of hesitation, he tapped Howard on the shoulder. It felt nice that he was the one to take him by surprise this time.</p>
<p>Howard instinctively turned around. “Good afternoon, Michael.”</p>
<p>“You as well, Howard.” Michael put his hands behind his back.</p>
<p>“What brings your presence here, o’ healer of the mind?” Howard teased him.</p>
<p>This was already going great for him. “I need you for a second. Director wants me to have a quick review with you about your performance lately. Now, it’s nothing unpleasant, I assure you of that, but she wants to check in on you to see how you’re doing,” Michael lied.</p>
<p>If he knew of his deception, Howard didn’t look like it. “Ah, well, now’s about the time they start looking into me, eh?”</p>
<p>Michael nodded. In response, Howard gestured toward the ramp. “Well, let’s get going,” he said.</p>
<p>They walked together to Howard’s office, Michael slightly trailing behind as usual. His stomach flared up like never before, and he could not wait to get out of this situation as soon as possible.</p>
<p>They entered the office, which was a sterile, Foundation-standard looking room, with a desk, a computer and a fake plant on top of a shelf. It didn’t surprise Michael at all that Howard’s office would be this mundane.</p>
<p>He sat down on his chair, and indicated to Michael to do the same. “So, what’s the dealio?”</p>
<p>Michael almost tapped on the desk with his fingers, but thankfully stopped himself from doing so. “We were definitely noticing your efficiency with your work. Your leadership is on point. So, I am wondering if you can provide some insights for me so that future generations of our researchers can understand what it's like to be in your position. What it’s like to do what you do.”</p>
<p>Howard pulled the chair forward, and sat there pondering the question. “Hm. Well, I don’t think it has to do with other people. Frankly, other people should be the least of your worries. My qualities as a leader comes from the fact that I do what I can for the Foundation. I have my convictions, and I hold them steadfast as I navigate these muddy waters. Some don’t think that way, but I think they don’t do enough.”</p>
<p>“Care to elaborate?” Michael queried.</p>
<p>“Of course. I don’t mind my fellow men, but they just do what they’re told to do. They don’t think of the bigger picture. They don’t think of how the world is being pulled apart by the seams by bad actors who are convinced that they have a right to control what we believe or say. Some of these people have too much say. And I think we should do better to hold <em>our own</em> convictions as an organization.”</p>
<p><em>There it is.</em> Michael slowly reached his hand into his pocket, and silently switched off the recording device kept within. He continued the faux-interview for another few minutes.</p>
<p>Once he was satisfied, he clasped his hands together. “Well, I think that’s all I need from you. Thank you for allowing me to do this.”</p>
<p>Howard shook his head. “No need to thank me. You know what you’re doing.”</p>
<p>Michael swiveled around with his chair, and got up and left the room, laughing to himself in his head as he closed the door.</p>
<hr/>
<p>He was in his friend’s room. They were sitting on her couch, watching a funny video of her as a young child falling flat on her face. They were laughing so hard that Michael could see Emily’s face turning bright red.</p>
<p>Michael tried to calm himself, but he couldn’t stop laughing. “You good?”</p>
<p>She took a swig of her water, and breathed deeply. “Man, was I a dumb kid.”</p>
<p>He held his bottle of water up. “True that.” They clinked their bottles together, though no clinking sound was made.</p>
<p>Michael laid against the couch. His face grew blank, and he started to stare at the wall. He enjoyed these fleeting moments with his friend, but they were, as everything in his life at this point was, fleeting. They slipped away from his grasp like sand. He wanted to hold onto them for just a bit longer.</p>
<p>He could see the problem now. He was always going to be behind everyone else. Some of that was by design, of course. But he couldn’t live with being stuck in place, while everyone else got to move forward. He was proud of everyone in his facility and their accomplishments, but he couldn’t help but feel shame for not being able to achieve the same.</p>
<p>Thankfully, he shook out of that thought fast enough to not make Emily worried. She turned to look at him, and by the look of her eyes he could tell that she was eager to recite to him another story.</p>
<p>“You know that party on Saturday I went to with my friends? Olivia was so shitfaced that she vomited towards the toilet. Not in it, <em>towards</em> it. It didn’t quite make it, and then she didn’t even notice that someone was already leaving the bathroom just as she entered it. So it got all over his pant leg!”</p>
<p>Michael felt a familiar sensation, one where he knew of something he was supposed to remember but not the details. He saw the outline, but never the actual content. His brain itched him to figure it out, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of it.</p>
<p>“Right, that party.” He slowly nodded. “I don’t quite recall that.”</p>
<p>“I invited you to go, remember? But you declined. I get it, you were probably busy.”</p>
<p>The memory jolted him, sending shockwaves through his core. He did remember. He thought she wasn’t inviting him to the party, just that she was going there with her friends. And he simply replied that he hoped she had fun. He couldn’t believe that he would miss another opportunity like that.</p>
<p>Emily immediately noticed his eyes widening. “Something wrong?”</p>
<p>He decided to be honest. He couldn’t hide anymore. “I didn’t think you were inviting me. I missed it. It’s like vampire rules, I’m not going anywhere unless you invite me by name. That’s my bad.”</p>
<p>“You’re good, you’re good. I should’ve been more clear with you. But hey, I’ll tag you on my next thing, so it’s fine.”</p>
<p>“It’s not fine,” he blurted. His logical side wasn’t in control anymore. “It’s me. It’s always me, and we both know it.”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t your fault. Some things you just can’t control.”</p>
<p>“I fucking <em>was in control</em>! And I didn’t respond like I should have. I know what’s been affecting me all my life. I know what it is. And I can’t even put it down. It has me by the throat, every day, and I can’t do anything about it.”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t mean you’re at fault. That doesn’t make you a bad person for just making a mistake.” Emily looked at him with pity. Well, it certainly looked like that to Michael, the poor miserable creature that he was.</p>
<p>He tried his hardest not to burst into tears. “I always screw things up. Every time. Could you imagine having to make the same mistake, over and over again, even though you know how to learn from it? It could be past behind you, but it’s not. It’s always there. And everyone’s going to laugh at me, because I can’t make this right.”</p>
<p>His thoughts raced through his mind, going faster and faster. He could’ve done more to learn from his past errors and move on to greener pastures, but he didn’t. It cost him everything, because he failed. He always did, and he could’ve done more—</p>
<p>Emily stopped him. “I know. You told me everything. But no one’s going to laugh at you. They’ll treat you with that in mind. They’ll treat you like a person. And if they don’t, they’re a bunch of suckers.”</p>
<p>He sniffled. “I’ve been a bad friend. I could’ve done more. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“You’re a great friend, Mike. You’ve always been there for me. I think it’s about time I should be there for you too.”</p>
<p>He smiled, but only just a little. “I think it’s because I didn’t want you to leave me. Because of my thing, and because I know you’re going to fall in love with someone else. You’re going to get married, and I’ll still be there, but the feeling will be different. You know what I mean. I’ll just always be everyone’s second favorite person.”</p>
<p>Emily wrapped her arms around him, and embraced him as tightly as she could. “I’ll never leave you behind. Never. I promise you that.”</p>
<p>Michael liked the assurance with that statement, but he knew it wouldn’t last forever. “Do I deserve this? Any of it?”</p>
<p>She slightly pulled away from him. “Yes. You worked hard for this. You worked so hard to get here.”</p>
<p>“Is that all I am? The therapist? That’s all they see of me.”</p>
<p>“They don’t see you as just that. It’s not like you’re a nobody.”</p>
<p>He looked at the floor. “But what if I am?”</p>
<p>“Then why would I be here, with you? Why wouldn’t you be the head of an entire division of our site?”</p>
<p>“I’m just going through the motions, and you probably picked me up and adopted me because you saw that I had no one else.” Michael’s veins nearly popped in frustration.</p>
<p>“I ‘adopted you’ because I saw a friend. You shouldn't have to be so hard on yourself.”</p>
<p>“You’re right. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be so selfish. I can’t be effective at my job if I’m acting like this.”</p>
<p>Emily put her hands on top of his. “You’re not selfish, Mike. You’re not.”</p>
<p>He finally made eye contact with her, his eyes heavy and dejected. “I’m 34 years old, and I’m still like this. I thought it would eventually give up. But maybe that was just me.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t give up. You never did.”</p>
<p>“I think that’s the only part where you’re wrong. I let myself go. I’ll do my best to course correct. I’m sorry.” Michael looked at her one last time. She looked happy. She always looked happy. He didn’t want to ruin that. So he got up, and left.</p>
<p>Maybe she would be better off without him.</p>
<hr/>
<p>There were two things he had to do. One, get rid of Howard. And two, rid himself from the people around him.</p>
<p>He marched toward the director’s office, a fire burning in his eyes, as he made his way throughout the twisting corridors and the hollow halls of the site. There was no turning back now.</p>
<p>He turned to the hall where the office resided, which a containment cell formerly occupied, before it got transmogrified into a 10 x 10 meter cavern, and eventually became the office and main residence for the director.</p>
<p>He was about to reach for the door, when he spotted a familiar face in the hallway. Howard was walking down the hall, whistling an unrecognizable tune. Michael stopped in his tracks. He should’ve kept his head down and continued walking, but he didn’t.</p>
<p>Howard noticed his presence, and stopped as well. He looked blissful, and pensive at the same time. “It’s been a pleasure.”</p>
<p>Michael tilted his head. He never really got rid of that habit. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>Howard smiled. “I’m headed off to greener pastures. I’m transferring to 17 in a few days. Before I close this chapter in life, I finally get to use my fullest potential.”</p>
<p>He couldn’t believe it. He just stood there, completely and utterly dumbfounded.</p>
<p>Howard, like always, kept talking. “It’s truly been a pleasure to see you get so far in your career. You’ve done well. Most are lucky to even achieve a fraction of what you do. I think your future is looking very bright.”</p>
<p>He stared blankly at him. “Yeah. I think so too. I think I can make something better for myself.”</p>
<p>Howard gave his wicked smile one last time, and turned to face his future. It was also time for Michael to face his. He wanted answers, and he was not willing to wait for them.</p>
<p>Since the doors to the original containment cell were never replaced, Michael swiped his keycard, and the doors swung upon to reveal the cavernous surroundings of the director’s abode.</p>
<p>It looked incredibly vast for its size, and Michael felt like its deep, dark maw was going to swallow him whole. There were large stalactites and stalagmites everywhere, and tiny, almost unnoticeable veins of what looked like glowing minerals were scattered amongst the walls of this space. It looked like a geologist’s dream. Michael never asked the director why this space looked the way it was. Maybe he should ask her while he still had the time. If he would remember.</p>
<p>The director was sitting at her desk, typing away on her keyboard. Probably for some important business that he had no clearance for. He sat across from her, piquing her interest as he prepared his scripted remarks.</p>
<p>“Afternoon, director.”</p>
<p>“You as well, Michael. What brings you here?” she inquired.</p>
<p>“There are two very important things that I need to discuss with you. First, the question of one Howard Bates. What exactly is the reason for his transferral?”</p>
<p>The director looked at him with hesitation. “Why do you want this information?”</p>
<p>“Because, Madeline, I want him out. For good. He hurt me. He has to <em>get out</em>,” he snapped, a little harder than he should’ve. He immediately regretted it.</p>
<p>Madeline was taken slightly aback by his utterance of her forename. She shuffled her position to look as professional and assertive as possible. “I want to know everything.”</p>
<p>He felt the sensation of his stomach sinking to the floor. “I don’t even need to tell you everything.” And he pulled out the recorder, and played its contents in their entirety.</p>
<p>He could see the director’s expression immediately turn to worry. Not out of guilt or complicity, but genuine worry for what was said.</p>
<p>A few moments after the recording sputtered out, she finally spoke. “How long has this been happening?”</p>
<p>“It’s been happening to me for a while. Mr. Bates here, regardless of intentions or not, has verbally attacked me for the past few months. He knew I had a disability, and he exploited that to try and get me on his side. I do not think that he is in a reasonable capacity to continue working for this organization, if he’s acting like this.”</p>
<p>Madeline looked sullen. “I didn’t know.”</p>
<p>He thought that excuse was pitiful. “You’re the director. You’re supposed to know everything. And I don’t ever see you leave your office.”</p>
<p>“It’s because I have—”</p>
<p>“Xeroderma pigmentosum, right. But doesn’t that only work on sunlight?” Michael was not having it.</p>
<p>She sighed. “It’s not in my purview to tell you my circumstances. But I didn’t know. And I should’ve taken more steps to avert the situation before it was exacerbated.”</p>
<p>His anger lessened slightly. “I understand. It probably just slipped right under your notice. But why is he being transferred? Who is transferring him?”</p>
<p>“The O5s,” Madeline stated bluntly.</p>
<p>He blinked. “The Council?”</p>
<p>“They thought he should’ve been in a place where his expertise was better suited.”</p>
<p>“Can’t you just fire him? Or tell them that he needs to go?”</p>
<p>“I can’t fire him. The Council says who gets to leave and who doesn’t. And I don’t think they’re the type to let essential personnel go.”</p>
<p>He was fuming, now. “So you’re just going to sit there, and let him go to the one place where no one is treated right? The <em>one place</em> that does not care for accountability?”</p>
<p>“There’s nothing I can do. They won’t let me do anything past this point. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>He slammed a fist on the table. “I should’ve sent that email earlier. I let this man do his thing for god knows how long, and now he’s walking away scot-free. This was all on me.”</p>
<p>Madeline raised an eyebrow. “What email?”</p>
<p>“…The email I sent you earlier today?”</p>
<p>“Hold on.” She clicked on her keyboard a few times, and stared at the screen for a bit. “I didn’t get an email today.”</p>
<p>Michael’s eyes opened wide, and he stared at a thousand-yards into the void, far beyond the director. “I didn’t send it.”</p>
<p>His hands started to shake. He trembled as he tried to say anything that he could, but nothing would come out.</p>
<p>The director’s concern for him was at an all time high. “Are you alright?”</p>
<p>There was no path he could go to but forwards. “I’m going to tell you the truth. I’m not just here because of Howard. I’m here to resign from the Foundation, and go back home.”</p>
<p>She didn’t know how to respond to that. His words were left hanging, and Michael could only hear the ambient sounds of the cavern around them.</p>
<p>Eventually, Madeline composed herself. “What is your reasoning behind this decision?”</p>
<p>“I am the reason. Always have been, always will be. I believe that my current mental state has undercut my capability to continue my work here as a therapist. If I let this continue, my clients will not see a person that they can trust. They will see a constant failure, who lets everyone down at every turn.”</p>
<p>She looked bewildered. “I don’t think that’s the case at all. You were hand-picked to be the head of P&P for a reason. I do not believe that your diagnosed disorders make you a failure.”</p>
<p>“Then you haven’t even begun to scratch the surface. Everything I do always never goes in my favor. No one thinks of me as anything more but a non-entity. And for <em>good reason</em>. I forget almost every little thing, every day, even something as stupid as my wallet or my phone. I don’t talk to anyone unless I’m required to do so. I get defensive every time I get confronted with anything, and defensive for things that I didn’t do at all. I’m too afraid of my own emotions, and I can’t even handle the slightest amount of criticism against me. I’m too emotional for this. I need to leave, for everyone’s sake.”</p>
<p>He never thought it would happen, but he felt the tears flow down his cheek. And he did it in front of the director. How pathetic was—</p>
<p>“Your disability is not a moral failing. It is a disability that you have to live with. It will never go away, but you can be supported by being around people who care about you. And I know for a fact that there is at least one person in this facility who cares about you,” Madeline asserted, with no doubt in her voice.</p>
<p>He wiped the tears from his eyes. “She doesn’t deserve me.”</p>
<p>“<em>You</em> deserve more than you think. You deserve to be happy.”</p>
<p>“How can I be happy? I’ve been mocked and rejected all my life. The world does not want me. It could care less. I’ve tried, believe me, but I can’t. Why should I even bother, if no one wants to bother with me?”</p>
<p>Madeline clasped her hands together. It looked eerily close to how he did it. “Self-care is not self-indulgence. Self-care is self-preservation, in a world that’s cold and cruel. It is defiance against the systems that hate, and who will gladly bend and break those trapped within the margins. Would you rather let yourself be whipped by the hands of the prejudiced, or allow yourself to continue building towards a brighter future?”</p>
<p>Michael shuffled in his seat. “What kind of future would I bring? I won’t ever get to see a world where everything isn’t on fire.”</p>
<p>“We all won’t. But I’d rather work towards a future where generations of kids won’t have to live in fear for being themselves, then do nothing at all. We might not live to see the sun on the horizon, but we can still <em>live</em>. We all live despite everything. You’re still here, despite everything. The world won’t give us what we want. But it’s up to us to find happiness in spite of that, in the people we love and care for.”</p>
<p>He considered it. Michael understood what she meant. But the fear and anxiety were still there.</p>
<p>“I don’t even think my job is worth it in the first place. I can’t just lie to these people and try to make them happy in a place like this. Could you imagine having to live like this?”</p>
<p>Madeline paused, and seemed to consider something. It looked like she was reminiscing on some past event, or events. “I can imagine that. I’ve been on that side before. <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6461">I’ve been in this place since the beginning</a>.”</p>
<p>He had no clue what that meant, but he decided to continue. “I don’t know why you even hired me. You knew I would object to being a part of this, and you still convinced me anyway.”</p>
<p>“I told you their motto, and our motto. I told you the doctrines, and I also told you to ignore them. Because this is not about the Foundation, or its mission. This is about treating people as people. Even if we can only do so much, it still matters.”</p>
<p>He stopped making eye contact, and looked down at the desk. “I don’t know what to do. I’m not ready to go back to my duties. I don’t know how to fix this.”</p>
<p>She smiled sympathetically at him. “I’ll give you some time off. Mei will take over until you are ready. I want you to know that people do care. I care. I care very deeply about you.”</p>
<p>“Do they care, though? I don’t see it. I can’t see it.”</p>
<p>“Then maybe you need to expand your horizons. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove that you are valued and appreciated for who you are.”</p>
<p>Michael smiled ruefully, but it was a genuine smile for the first time in what felt like forever. “You’re playing my own tricks on me, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>“What can I say? I learned it from the best.” Madeline smiled back.</p>
<p>“I’m really sorry about my outburst. I let my emotions get in my head,” Michael confessed.</p>
<p>“No need to worry. It was completely justified. I have things on my end that I need to work on as well. You’re going to get better. I know you will.”</p>
<p>Michael’s ever-present anxieties were somewhat quelled for the moment. He was still conflicted, and didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. It terrified him, but he needed things to change. He needed to get better. He needed to be better for himself. For his friend. For the people he cared about, and for the <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">anomalies</span> people under his watch.</p>
<p>And he knew one person who would be eager to help him out with that.</p>
<hr/>
<p>When he had the time to do so, he went through the personnel dormitory wing, going past each door until he reached the room he wanted. He raised a fist, and hesitated for a few seconds, before knocking on the door three times.</p>
<p>He heard several clanging sounds and curses before the door opened, revealing Emily in her pajamas, her hair disheveled.</p>
<p>“Bad morning?” Michael guessed.</p>
<p>“I overslept.” She sighed. “I’ll get dressed in a bit.”</p>
<p>He nodded, and she closed the door. Minutes felt like hours, and he wondered what his future would be like, now that the curtains have unfurled and the whole world opened up for him to explore. He wanted to use his vacation time to walk around the city that he called home, try new foods, and just walk around and feel the cool air on his skin. It was certainly better than these hollow walls.</p>
<p>Eventually, Emily opened up the door and gestured for him to come in. Her belongings were, of course, scattered all over the place with no rhyme or reason. The bed wasn’t even made yet. It was messy, but he liked it that way. It gave the room a sort of comfort, knowing that these objects were well-worn with care.</p>
<p>They both sat on the couch. Michael started first, which he usually never did. “I think I know my worth now.”</p>
<p>“You figured it out.”</p>
<p>“I did. I was blinded by my own preconceptions about myself. I couldn’t get over that wall I built,” Michael clarified.</p>
<p>“I’m just glad you’re alright. I was worried about you.”</p>
<p>“You were?”</p>
<p>She squeezed his shoulder lightly. “Yes! Why wouldn’t I?”</p>
<p>He raised his hands in the air. “I’m just trolling. I know you care.”</p>
<p>Emily snorted. “Trolling? Are you speaking Gen-Z now?”</p>
<p>“Would you rather I have nursing home language in my vernacular?” Michael asked in jest.</p>
<p>She laughed with a soft, melodic tone. “I don’t think you’re <em>that</em> old.”</p>
<p>“Of course not, and that’s a good thing. I still have time to figure things out.” He paused. “I don’t know what my future holds. I know I’ll still screw things up, that’s a given. But I think it’ll be better, because I have someone on my side to remind me that it’s not all bad. I may not say what I mean sometimes, and my feelings might get the better of me, but at least I have someone to catch me when I fall.”</p>
<p>And he could not fall if he did not dare to fly. But he took that leap of faith, and he was fine. Regardless of how clipped his wings were, he could still fly. It didn’t matter how fast. Because he lived by his own terms, and not anyone else’s. He accepted no definitions but his own.</p>
<p>Emily looked proud. Proud to be his friend, and proud of him for how far he’s come.</p>
<p>Michael continued. “I want to talk about something else. This stuff’s been on my mind too much lately. I need to distract myself. I need to speak my mind on something else. Anything.”</p>
<p>“Fine by me. Anything you want.”</p>
<p>He paused to think about it for a moment, but couldn’t come up with a topic to switch focus to. So instead, he asked her a question. “Is there anything that you’re confused about regarding my… identity?”</p>
<p>“What, like your orientation? Eh…” she cringed. “I don’t want to say something that’ll make you uncomfortable.”</p>
<p>“I think it’s okay to be wrong. It’s better to ask questions, no matter how ridiculous, than accidentally offend someone else because you were afraid to ask those questions.”</p>
<p>“Right.” Emily put her head in her palm, and stared into space for a rather long time. “You know what, screw it. Can you tell me about, what are those called, QPRs?”</p>
<p>“Of course! I would love that.” He was eager to elaborate on a topic that he personally enjoyed.</p>
<p>“So Queerplatonic Relationships, or QPRs for short, are like if someone wanted a relationship with someone else but without all the sexual and romantic bits. It’s a flexible idea, and the details of what that relationship would be like depend on the person. It’s not a rigid framework that just goes ‘oh they’re dating but not really.’ I personally think that these kinds of relationships can be as deep or even deeper than the romantic types. Or they don’t have to be. Again, it all depends on what the people in the QPRs want.”</p>
<p>Emily listened to him intently, following along to what he was saying. “Ok, so it’s not just romance 2.0.”</p>
<p>“People might frame it that way. They think we’re just recycling amatonormative ideas but in a new package. And we’re not. The existence of these kinds of relationships directly challenge the norms and beliefs that the mainstream public tries to impose onto us. It’s not just a substitute for romance. It’s a series of alternate routes and incommensurable geographies.”</p>
<p>She raised an eyebrow. “Amatonormative?”</p>
<p>He lightly slapped himself in the forehead and expressed a look of surprise in a sarcastic manner. “Ah! Forgot to explain that term as well. It’s like heteronormativity, but with the idea that romantic relationships are the best way to live a fulfilling life.”</p>
<p>“Oh, okay. That makes sense, actually. Thanks.”</p>
<p>He gave a thumbs up. “Always my pleasure to clear things up.”</p>
<p>He yammered on and on about his topics of interest, ones that he considered to be special and important to him. Emily listened and focused attentively for everything said, and provided questions to concepts that she was confused on. Michael could see that sparkle in her eye. She was genuinely interested in the things that brought joy to his life.</p>
<p>“So yeah, I think a bunch of things don’t have to be romantic. Like cuddling. Why can’t I cuddle with my friends? What’s wrong with that? Or sleeping in the same bed. I can’t even say that I slept with someone without making it sound weird. ‘Slept next to someone in the same bed’ just sounds too overwrought.”</p>
<p>“Would you want to do these things? Or be in a QPR?” Emily asked.</p>
<p>Michael knew why she was asking that. “I don’t know. I just don’t think I’m ready for that. I’m already sick of all the lovey-dovey shit everywhere I go. And it’s not anyone’s fault. But, maybe I would like a bit of physical contact. I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine if you aren’t, just asking.” Emily then stopped, and looked as though she was trying to recall something from the inner recesses of her mind, before snapping back to reality. “I just remembered. I’ve got some things that the director sent to me. She said to bring it to you when you come over.”</p>
<p>She got up, and went to her closet to rummage around her hodgepodge of assorted items, before lumbering back with a few handwritten letters.</p>
<p>“These are for me?” Michael asked.</p>
<p>“Yep! I think you’ll like them.” She handed the letters out to Michael, who read them thoroughly one-by-one.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Salutations my good fellow,</p>
<p>I hope you’re feeling well in these difficult times. You have always been a big help with my experiments. I don’t think they would’ve gone half as well without you. Remember that time where we handed miniature pistols to rats and they went to town with target practice? Those were the good days.</p>
<p>I hope that, whatever you’re going through, you’ll make it to the end with stride. I never doubted you in the slightest. Sometimes, our obligations do get the better of us, and we all need to take a breather and rest. I do not think that your need for inactivity is a sign of indolence. It’s a sign from your core to prevent you from overwhelming yourself. And you should heed that warning with caution.</p>
<p>Rest well doctor,<br/>
Victor</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Hey.</p>
<p>I often struggle to put my feelings into words. It never comes out like I want it to. I guess I’m just not clever enough.</p>
<p>But I do want to say one thing. Thank you for caring for me. I know you’re trying. This place still sucks, but it could suck even worse. And that’s thanks to you, and the rest of the staff. I’m very glad I’m not at 17 anymore. So thank you.</p>
<p>-Avery</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="page">
<p>Michael,<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
We’ve never engaged in much conversation together. But your presence is still known, and welcomed.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Time waits for no one. We both know this. But you don’t have to follow its path. You must always follow what you desire. Change can be difficult, but invigorating once you understand where it leads you. You can take all the time you need to carve a future where you can live your life to the fullest. And that future is defined by you. Only you know who you are. Revel in the knowledge.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
The Chairs are proud. We are all proud of you, and what you’ve accomplished. I for one cannot wait for what you can achieve in the future.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Dr. Mehrab Torabi<br/>
Chair of Temporal Studies</p>
</div>
<p>He couldn’t believe what he was reading. He was wrong. Regardless of how many times he talked to these people, his mere presence was enough to make himself known, and thought of. It should’ve been obvious. He was the Chair of P&P. But it never dawned on him until now. He was never a nobody.</p>
<p>All the emotion he suppressed broke free from the floodgates and poured through his soul. His eyes stung from the tears, his vision blurry, and his throat felt dry. But it wasn’t suffocating. It felt liberating.</p>
<p>“I- wow.” He sniffled. “I didn’t- I should’ve known.”</p>
<p>“But you know now. And I’m here to help if you need me.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Michael said. He contemplated something, and then immediately shot out of his seat. “I also want to show you something. It’s a very personal possession of mine.”</p>
<p>He took her hand, and sped off to his dormitory. She could barely keep up with how fast he was going. He swung the door open, and led her to his couch.</p>
<p>“Alright, just wait here.” He pointed at the couch, before opening the closet door and shutting it behind him.</p>
<p>Michael’s room looked much more tidy and clean than his companion’s. He preferred to see where all his belongings were, and not lose track of anything. It made more logical sense to him, especially considering the everpresent fog in his brain.</p>
<p>This arrangement worked well for him, because he was himself. Regardless of how much he disdained some parts of his internal system, they made him into who he was. He was his own person, not a caricature, a human being. And that was better than anything he could ask for. He was himself, and he always will be.</p>
<p>Eventually, Michael came back out, with an acoustic guitar in hand.</p>
<p>“My mother gave this to me. It was hers before… you know. I’ve never touched it until now.”</p>
<p>“You want to play a song for me?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I want to play her favorite song. And one of mine, but it was her song.” He sat down next to Emily, and placed his fingers in the correct positions.</p>
<p>He always practiced it, but never played it in front of anyone, for a number of reasons. He thought his singing wasn’t quite as good as it could be, and he never had anyone to perform for. But now he did. He had someone who cheered for him on the sidelines, who would always be there for him, no matter what obstacles he would face next.</p>
<p>He thought about himself, how the identities that defined him intersected with each other, and how they differed. He thought about the systems that hurt him, and how they could be challenged, and maybe even replaced one day. He thought about the people in his site, and how the variety of their experiences make the world a better place to live in.</p>
<p>It might have been easier if everything was black-and-white. But the world was so much more beautiful with all its shades of colors.</p>
<p>He remembered the beginning chords, and played the song like how he practiced. Like how his mother would play it.</p>
<p>G, Am7, G/B, C, D…</p>
<p>And there he was, the little blackbird, flying free.</p>
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It might have been easier if everything was black-and-white. But the world was so much more beautiful with all its shades of colors.
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[[module CSS]]
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--header-title: "SITE-35";
--header-subtitle: "SUPPORT, CONSOLE, PROTECT";
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**Blackbird**
by: [[*user Merehrab]]
⚠️ **Content warning:** Depictions of ableism, aphobia, and verbal harassment. Some views expressed in this article are not expressed or condoned by the author. Any relation or resemblance to any real life persons are entirely coincidental.
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The first thing that one would notice about Dr. Michael Prescott’s office was the color of the walls.
Once his clients entered his domain, they were greeted with a seeming nothingness surrounding the typical items that are normally seen in a therapist’s office. It’s the color one would see while taking a midnight stroll, and thinking about life and regrets.
Michael Prescott knew a thing or two about regrets. He will also say, if asked, why his walls were colored the way they are. The color black educed a wide range of emotions in people, from fear of the unknown to mourning and emptiness. But it could also be associated with comfort and calming of the mind.
That’s what Michael designed it for—to make his patients comfortable.
Michael was sitting in his office chair as usual, mindlessly scrolling from his phone to pass the time. There were the usual unhinged takes and news stories that he couldn’t be bothered with. Things were going well recently.
//For now.//
A knock on the door. They were here. He quickly shoved his phone in his pocket, and pulled out his clipboard and pen, awaiting his newest client.
The door cracked slightly open, and Michael’s newest patient slowly peeked their head into the room.
“You may come in.”
The patient nodded, and pushed the door further open. They were a new arrival from Site-17, transferred over to Site-35 for a more extensive therapeutic treatment.
For one thing, they certainly looked like they came out of 17.
They were wearing a standard gray jumpsuit, with their designation bolded on their right sleeve. They looked jittery, their eyes dashing around the room as if looking for someone who wasn’t there. Their black hair was frazzled and messy, like it had never been combed in years.
“Are you alright?” Michael asked with concern in his eyes.
“N-no, I’m fine, don’t worry. It’s just, it’s been a lot.” The client looked over their shoulder, before looking back at Michael.
“One relates. But I am here for you, and we can talk about whatever you like, no strings attached.”
The client nodded, before shifting in their seat. “Of course. My name’s Avery, by the way.”
Michael reached out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Avery.”
Avery reached out in kind, then slightly pulled their hand back, expecting something to happen. But Michael still waited. They eventually gripped his hand firmly and awkwardly shook it.
“It’s nice to meet you too, sir.” Avery gave their best smile.
“No need to call me that. There doesn’t need to be a hierarchy here. I’m just here to help.”
“What do you want me to call you, then?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Just Michael would be fine, for now.”
“Okay.” Avery slumped down in their seat.
//Something seems off.//
Michael switched his posture, keeping himself looking professional and sympathetic. His full attention was on Avery, and he tried his damndest to not strain his eyes.
To most, some things are automatically obtained for them. Most people would not have to keep constant check on tone, body language, facial expressions, the literal versus the figurative, semantics, and hidden social cues manually. But Michael was not most people.
And that was okay, because he was himself.
“Have you had any problems at your previous site? Anything particular that I need to know about?”
“Uh…” Avery slumped down even further.
“You can be honest with me. Nothing that you will say will leave this room,” Michael reassured them.
Avery pulled themselves back up, and started to twiddle their thumbs. “I don’t know if I can say this.”
“It’s alright if you can’t. I just want to know how you’re feeling.”
“No, I literally //don’t know// if I can say this. What’s the difference between you and those other shrinks? I know that this stuff isn’t really between you and me.” Avery looked even more wary of the room around them.
“I promise you, I am under strict confidentiality. You are safe here.”
“Safe from what? Everything feels the same.”
“Your mental health is my top priority. Our work here is to help you. I want you to feel safe.”
Avery glared at him. “This is not safe, at all. And I don’t think being put in a room with concrete walls and barely anything to keep you company is exactly the best for someone’s mental health.”
Michael suddenly became very aware of the sound of the air circulating above.
He sighed. “I know how that can feel. Like you’re suffocating. But we don’t do that here.”
Avery gathered a bit more confidence. “Really? Is that true? Or is all this just a way to move me somewhere else so you can distract me from the fact that you’re violating //my rights// as a human being.”
Michael could see the determination in their eyes. To be set free. It reminded him of his past work, where many similar conversations like this occurred.
“You know what they told me, back at 17? ‘We take pride in getting to know our tenants, and their wellbeing is our number one priority.’ And they were //very concerned// about me in particular. But I know that’s just code for ‘we’re watching you at all times, punk.’ And you know the worst part? They had a saying where they were a ‘big, happy family.’ Christ.”
Michael knew those feelings all too well. He heard similar stories by other clients over the years. It became a game by the other anomalies to see which site would be the worst to be contained in: 19 or 17. After overhearing their conversations, Michael frankly thought that it was a hard choice to pick.
He clasped his hands together. “I promise you, Avery, in this place we will do what’s best for //you//. Your cell won’t be a cell, it’ll be your room, and you will be free to roam around most of the facility at any time.”
Avery raised an eyebrow. “So I can just walk around, with nobody watching my every move? You have to be joking.”
“I am not.”
For a split second, Michael could see that Avery’s eyes flashed a bright green. The door to the office then slammed open, almost being knocked off its hinges. They turned their head to the door, spotting no one.
They turned their head back. “Coast is clear. Unless your security has fancy invisible tech.”
“No one is going to watch you for any reason, Avery. We all have a right for privacy.”
Avery shuffled in their seat. “This sounds too good to be true. How did they allow you to do any of these things? This just doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Because since the beginning, we wanted to take care of those who needed a little help to live stable lives. Our procedures are lax because there is no threat from a single person in this facility, because why would they be a threat? It’s like what our founding director once said, you are not our subjects, you are our guests.’’ Michael attempted to place his hand on Avery’s shoulder, before being swatted away.
“Guests? In a prison. Where I can never leave. What kind of Kool-Aid did they put you on?” Avery’s eyes burned with a fiery rage, a fury at a system that had hurt so many people time and time again. Michael immediately regretted having this entire conversation.
//You’re slipping, Michael.//
He quietly tapped his foot with a lively, rhythmic beat. Sometimes he would spin his pen around in his fingers or rock back and forth to help him regulate himself. In times like this, he definitely needed it.
“I know how you’re feeling. Believe me, when I first learned of our mission, I felt the same way. I can’t let you leave, we both know that. But I can help you live your life, even in a place like this.”
Avery crossed their arms. “I think I get it now. Your straight white ass thinks it’s better to integrate us into this nonsense system so we can be ‘content’ and you can feel like you’re not participating in something so morally wrong. You probably haven’t had a single taste of what we experience in your life. Why not just leave? It’ll be better for you that way.”
//Well, I’m not exactly-// He killed the thought before he could blurt it out loud.
“I will not leave you at the hands of something that punishes you for being different. That was a vow I made to myself years ago. I was once like those other researchers. I once disregarded [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7550 a friend’s] feelings and prioritized his containment protocols over anything else. I will not make that same mistake again. I am here for you. Always.”
Silence filled the room.
“Do you think I deserve being like this?” Avery asked, gesturing to themselves.
“You deserve to be you, no matter what.” Michael smiled warmly.
As they awkwardly waved goodbyes and the session ended, Michael had a thought that kept nagging him for quite a while.
//Do I deserve to be myself, as well?//
He had that thought for as long as he could remember. It had been there since the start.
----
**2001**
He was a strange kid.
Well, that’s what the other kids would call him. Weird. The nerd who collected Pokémon cards and shared them with the other outcasts of the school. The scrawny, timid one who’d pick grass at recess. The one who was practically an enigma to everyone else.
He never got picked on much by the other kids, but there was definitely an odd atmosphere in the classroom when he was around.
He was having a conversation with a kid named Cullen, a fellow like-minded Pokémon enthusiast. Mike’s favorite was Gengar, while Cullen’s favorite was Charizard, which he thought was a basic pick, just like vanilla ice cream. He always wondered why anyone would even pick vanilla as their favorite flavor.
Cullen turned to him. “So, what do you think about the new game coming up?”
Mike tilted his head. He tended to do that. “What new game?”
“My uncle works for GameFreak. He says they're making a new one!”
“Your uncle works for GameFreak?” Michael didn’t know that.
“Yeah, he makes all the pixels and stuff.” Cullen tried to not burst into laughter, putting his hand over his mouth to stifle the giggling, or rather squeaking that he’d usually make.
After a few seconds of silence, the gears finally turned in Mike’s head. “Okay Mickey, you got me.”
“You always fall for this, Mike! You’re an easy target.”
Cullen was right about that. He was certainly gullible. A lot of things would go over his head just as high as the neck of a giraffe. Their necks could supposedly go all the way up to the clouds. At least, that’s what Cullen told him.
“Well, it wasn’t very funny to begin with.”
Cullen grunted. “Think you can do better?”
Mike scratched his hair. “Sorry. I just don’t like when I’m the one being teased.”
“I’m not //teasing// you, Mike. It’s just good fun. We can have fun together, right?”
He wanted to say something else, but he decided to let it go. “Yeah. Right.”
Cullen pulled his collection out. “Look what I got at the store yesterday. This is going to blow your mind.”
He looked at Cullen’s new cards. They weren’t particularly special, but he pretended to drop his jaw in amazement, for courtesy’s sake.
They ogled at the cards for a while before the bell rang, and they headed back to class. Though no one was looking at him, Mike could feel them staring regardless. He wondered why he felt like the shadows on the wall, wanting to become like the light but always being blocked by something else. He wondered about a lot of things.
He wondered why the other kids talked differently around him, and why they couldn’t just talk to him normally. Why they told him that he looked shifty when he wasn’t looking at them, even though that didn’t really matter in the first place with his lazy eye. Why they whispered to themselves behind his back. And he could never figure it out.
He had to tell someone about it. Maybe a trusted adult, like his teacher.
When class was over, Mike ran up to Mrs. Knoth, and started to tug on her sleeve to get her attention. “Mrs. Knoth?”
She turned towards him. “Yes, Michael?”
Mike held his head down, and looked at the floor.
“They hate me, don’t they?”
The teacher gasped, before leaning down to Mike’s line-of-sight, and placing her hands on his shoulders. “No one hates you, Michael.”
“Then why do they talk to me like I’m an alien?”
“Because you’re special, Michael. You’re different from everyone else, and that’s a //good thing//. You are smart, and you are kind. You’re going to do great things in the future, okay?”
He nodded. “Okay.”
She patted him on the head. “Now go have fun with the other kids. They won’t bite.”
Mike turned away from the teacher, and sulked back to his seat. He didn’t even bother. Because why would he? He could barely manage a conversation to save his life. And the other kids would tear him apart.
Maybe he should be torn apart. Maybe that would get rid of what’s wrong with him.
----
**2024**
The fluorescent lights at the site always bothered Michael. They looked like someone deliberately manufactured the lights to try and make them look soothing and gentle, but the actual product never quite made the mark. The floral carpeting and the plaster walls weren’t much better, but Michael could sense the craftsmanship and that they at least tried with the overall design. It was the lights that frustrated him.
Not as much as how he frustrated himself, but they were quite annoying.
Still, he understood why they were there. To create an environment where the humanoids didn’t have to look at concrete halls and sterile labs while wandering around.
On the topic of wandering around, Michael was still kicking himself for lying to that kid. He was mostly correct about where the anomalies could go, but they were only restricted to the cafeteria, the section hosted by the [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/anomalous-entity-engagement-division-hub Anomalous Entity Engagement Division] (the appropriately titled Playcare), and the designated lounges designed for the anomalies to relax together. They were not allowed to enter any of the research offices or the practical sectors without permission, they were not allowed to visit each other’s cells, and they were definitely not permitted to lollygag around the restricted areas of the site.
Frankly, this wasn’t the worst thing that happened when he forgot something. But it wouldn’t be the last.
He eventually made his way to the cafeteria, where a whole host of interesting things were taking place. The security officers were all mingled in one table, most likely shit-talking their boss or discussing some other escapade they did while intoxicated. Michael’s friend Emily was there as well, sitting at the far corner at the table. He gave a little wave, and she beamed at him and waved fervently right back.
The researchers who weren’t nerdy enough to specialize in temporal or ectodimensional studies covered most of the seats, so Michael decided to head towards the convenient empty seat next to Emily. He would rather not sit at a crowded table with people he barely talked to.
He turned in that direction, before bumping into someone’s side. He didn’t see her coming towards him at all.
“Sorry about that, I-” he tried to say, before being immediately interrupted.
“You weren’t paying attention at all. Yeah, I can see that.” The woman smirked. She was a brunette, with hair that flowed down to her shoulders and a nasty grin that creeped Michael out. She was wearing the standard security officer uniform, which meant that Michael could easily guess why her behavior was so jarring and repugnant.
“Yeah I didn’t mean to bump into you like that, it was an accident. That was all on me.”
“Of course it was. So maybe //watch where you’re going// next time.” The officer harrumphed at him, which Michael did not think was a real thing that people could do, and grumpily stomped toward her seat.
After standing there in silence for longer than he should’ve, Michael then remembered what he was supposed to do. Thankfully, the seat wasn’t taken.
“Did you see what just happened to me back there?” Michael asked Emily.
“Yep, that’s Vanessa for you,” Emily said, taking a bite out of her meatball sub.
Right. Vanessa Hickman, that was her name. Emily told a lot of stories about her, but she told Michael a lot of stories that he probably didn’t need to hear about to begin with, so they all blended together in his head.
“But I tried to be polite! It wasn’t even that bad,” Michael insisted.
“Look, Mike, some people just don’t give a shit about anything. Not everyone’s going to give you the same respect that you give them.”
She was right on that. “I know, but I shouldn’t have bumped into her in the first place.”
Emily patted him on the shoulder. “It’s alright Mike, it was just an accident. Let’s move on to something else.”
“Alright.” But his mind was still focusing on the incident. He could’ve been more perceptive. If he looked //just a little bit further// to the left, none of it would’ve happened. And everything would go smoothly.
Unfortunately, nothing would ever go smoothly for Michael. And he knew why. He always knew why.
Emily snapped him back to reality. “You good?”
“Of course. I’m regular.”
She snorted. “I never heard that from you. Regular?”
“Yeah. Regular as every other day. I used to say that all the time in high school for some reason. I guess it now decided to come back in my head right at this moment,” Michael explained.
“I’m going to put that in my vocabulary from now on. That is just too good,” Emily said, pointing at Michael with a French fry.
“Well, whenever you need another of my random phrases, I’m right-” he was immediately interrupted by something bumping into his side.
//At least it wasn’t me this time.// He turned towards the figure, and saw a small green figure with large, pointy ears and a recognizable golden fang.
“Doctor! I didn’t see you there, my apologies.” The goblin gave a bow to acknowledge his offense.
“Hi, Victor.” Michael frowned. Nothing ever good happened when Victor showed up.
“Well, my good fellow, I was wondering if you would take part in another of my experiments. You see, I have this weapon that will turn anything in its path into chickens, and I wanted to see if you-”
He waved him off. “Sorry Victor, but I’m a little busy right now. I’ll see if I can come in next time.”
“No worries, no worries! I have plenty of candidates to choose from. But I’ll get you next time, just you wait,” Victor proclaimed, waggling a finger at him and grinning maniacally.
Another individual rolled up in a wheelchair to grab Victor by the shirt collar.
“Oh, hey Desmond,” Emily greeted him.
The bald, dark-skinned man with a scruffy beard waved with his other hand. “I’ll take him from here.”
“Hey, what did I tell you about grabbing me like that? You’re my assistant, not my //butler//. Unhand me now, good sir!” Victor exclaimed, as he was dragged away by Desmond.
Emily shook her head. “Man, I forgot how weird this place is sometimes.”
“Not as strange as that time when that guy from 87 came to visit.”
“You know what, I take it back. Nothing is ever going to beat whatever clusterfuck that was,” Emily concurred.
Michael hoped she was right with that. For all he knew, his embarrassing mishaps had never been seen by anyone, and he kept it all to himself. For good reason.
Because how else would one live if they always dropped the ball, over and over again, with no end in sight? He doubted anyone would like to live a life like that.
Like his.
----
He had to get those pesky thoughts away, so he decided to divert the thoughts into a more positive direction.
He was standing in the research and experimentation sector, observing the several cramped desk spaces for researchers to conduct their tests and examine their samples. After successfully escorting a researcher back to her work after their session, he decided to take a break and watch the various happenings in the room.
He could see the vast ocean of people who he barely recognized, but he did know a few faces. There was the black-haired gentleman from New Jersey, who had plenty of things to say about his state. There was the girl with the Hello Kitty keychain on her purse, who was most known for her interesting music tastes and how she brightened up everyone’s day. And there was also the woman who used to work as a barista to help pay for her degree, before an anomalous accident at her workplace caused the Foundation to shut the place down and eventually recruit her.
Each and every day, he wondered about these people’s lives. How they were as vivid and complex as his own, and how they existed around him like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to other lives that he’ll only be there for once, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, or as a lighted window at dusk.
It was spellbinding to him, how he’ll only see a glimpse of what kind of lives these people lived. Maybe that was why he liked his job so much, not just to help people, but also to see more glimpses of these hidden worlds that he would normally miss.
His daydream was immediately disrupted by a tap on the shoulder. He turned around, and saw someone who he did not want to see in the slightest.
He was a short, plump man with a hideous combover, and his skin looked very similar to a shriveled grape. His eyes sagged, and Michael either thought he was brought back to life from the dead, or he just never particularly aged well. He was Howard Bates, the head of Research & Experimentation.
And he always worried Michael whenever he showed up, even more than Victor. At least with Victor, he knew what he was in for. But with Howard, he had no idea why his stomach always flared up whenever they met. And that worried him immensely.
Howard held his hand up, like a half-attempt at waving. “Hey, Michael.”
He just stood there. “Hi.”
“I’m glad to see you around. My juniors over here have been quite a hassle to deal with.” Howard gestured at his subordinates.
“They’re JRs, so they’re still new to the job.”
Howard shook his head. “No, I don’t think it’s just that. I have a very strict schedule when it comes to this line of work. These samples don’t last all day, and they have to //work// if they want to sort ‘em on time. It’s very difficult to do, and especially difficult if you //don’t bother at all//.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Does that indicate that you don’t particularly enjoy their…?”
“Their mingling, yes. They have other times to socialize. Not during times of such importance as this.”
Michael could see now why no one on R&E liked Howard. The scrupulous types weren’t to be reckoned with.
Howard turned to look at his working lab rats, before turning back to Michael. “I have a question that’s been on my mind lately. How come I don’t see you around often?”
//Shit.//
Michael put his hands in his pockets. “I’m just busy doing my own work.”
“Mmm. What else do you do outside of work?”
He didn’t have an answer to that. He clawed at himself internally to think of //something//, but there wasn’t much time.
“Um, I do cardio around the perimeter of the site, and I talk to my friend.”
Howard nodded. “Well, it’s good that you’re doing something with someone you care for. Now, how’s your Miss-Pretty-Pretty doing?”
His stomach tied itself into a knot. “You mean— Emily?”
“Come on. I know you two have been together for a while.”
Michael waved his hands around frantically. “It’s not like that! I’m not dating anyone yet! I’m not-”
“You can be honest with me. I won’t tell anyone,” Howard attempted to assuage him, giving him a wink.
“I’m //not//!” Michael snapped, before widening his eyes in the realization of how loud his voice echoed throughout the room. A few eyes were staring at him.
Howard simply smiled, and turned to the distracted researchers. “Please get back to work.” They immediately went back to what they were doing without question.
Michael’s hands were still shaking. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— I should’ve been more forthright with you.”
“No, I think your conviction was on point. I like you, Michael. You have something that a lot of people don’t. You have a keen mind. The knowledge you wield is a wonderful thing. Don’t let anyone else take that from you, or lead you astray. Too many have fallen for the wrong path. But you and I, we know what’s right from wrong.” Howard’s grin extended even further, and Michael could’ve sworn he heard his skin stretching.
He decided to exit the conversation prematurely. “Well, duty calls, so I have to go. Thanks.”
As he hurried out of the lab, Howard called out to him one last time. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again!”
No way was he going to do that. Not with him almost being outed. No way in hell.
He almost forgot about it. He barely told anyone, except for his brother, and he never really had to tell anyone else because being seen as a lonely loser was far better for him than the alternative. It brought back memories.
It also reminded him of something else.
----
**2007**
He was sitting on his family’s dusty old couch from ten or so years ago, torn and practically scratched to death by the family cats. It was dinner time, and he was eating hot dogs while watching the latest mediocre sitcom. Michael’s brother, Merek, was eyeing at him in the corner of the room. But he didn’t notice, as his mind was focusing on the TV in front of him.
The sounds around him were drowned out, and became muffled to the point of being nearly muted. His thoughts became a vivid canvas, flowing with colorful images and sounds. He was thinking about a lot of things lately. His future was gaining on him now more than ever.
What would happen if he went to university? He did not know. His support systems would be gone, and he would have to fend for himself. Could he ever fend for himself? He did not know that either. His constant setbacks at home were already enough of a problem.
His thoughts started to race around his mind, going faster and faster. The what-ifs kept coming, but Michael could hear another muffled voice calling out to him. It grew louder, and louder, until—
“Mike, for fuck’s sake!” Merek hollered at him.
//Not again.//
“Sorry about that.” Michael looked at him solemnly.
“Looks like it’s 10 this time. What a record.” He chuckled to himself.
Michael didn’t understand why this happened. Usually it occurred when he was reading a book, or watching comedy sketches on his smartphone. Every sound around him became a muddled mess, and he’d miss what other people would say to him.
He wondered when it was going to become a chore for them. It was already a chore for him. And Merek hated it since day one. But he didn’t like a lot of things.
“Every time, man. Every time.”
“You know I can’t just switch it on and off.”
“Right. But can you at least //try// to do something about it?” Merek sneered.
“I am trying.”
“You’re not trying hard enough. I swear, you do the same shit every time and expect people to be patient with you, even though you’re not changing a bit. It can’t be that difficult.”
Michael stared blankly at him. “It is.”
Merek then put his fingers up, and began counting each one. “You keep forgetting to put your clothes in the dryer, or take them out and put them away. You keep forgetting to even //clean your glasses//. You don’t talk to anyone at school. You always fuck something up when you drive. And don’t even get me started on the time when you left your underwear on when we went to the pool. You’re a //mess//, Mike.”
“I know. I know, I’m sorry. I know.” He hung his head down.
Merek kept going. “Do you care, though? I don’t think you do. I think you’re just lazy. Maybe that’s all this is.”
He left it there. No one spoke until their father came into the room. Michael’s dad looked tired. Probably from work. He sat down and sighed heavily, his eyes fluttering as he tried to stay awake.
Merek turned to the TV, and Michael did the same. They both pretended that the other person didn’t exist. Which was better than the alternative. Michael tried to focus on the show this time.
It eventually got to a point where commercials came on. There were the random drug ads, the fast food places, the unimportant clothing products, and the occasional commercial where Michael would perk up and actually listen to what was being advertised. He especially loved the theme park promotions, those were exciting and fun.
His attention began to wade, until his dad turned his head to him and pointed at the screen in front of him.
“You see that, Mike? That’s the good stuff right there.” He winked.
Michael was about to point out that his dad was still married, but decided against it. He turned toward the screen.
It was a lingerie commercial. Because of course it was. The women were showing off their bras and panties for all the onlookers to see. Merek started staring intently in a certain direction, but he did that with both genders so Michael just ignored him.
But he didn’t get it. What was the point of this commercial? To entice people? He guessed it worked, but somehow not for him.
He saw it everywhere. Everyone would bring it up, no matter when or where. Some people were obsessed with it, and made Michael extremely uncomfortable. The only thing he could reasonably compare it to was a donut, and hunger was the attraction. Michael did not want the donut, nor was he hungry. He wondered if he would ever be hungry in this situation.
After going with this analogy, he started thinking about how other people could theoretically fit in it. Some people could be hungry, and not eat the donut, instead settling with something else to eat. Perhaps they wouldn’t be hungry, but they will gladly eat the donut anyway. Perhaps neither, like him.
Or perhaps he needed a better analogy.
But his wondering persisted, and went in new directions. If he was the only person who felt this way, people would most likely see him in a different light. He wondered how his parents would feel. They accepted Merek, but non-attraction was a separate thing entirely. He wondered how the world would think of him. He did not fit that specific mold that they required, so the systems in place would most likely batter him or ignore his existence. It was a certainty.
But this wasn’t much of an issue for him. He dealt with the side glances before. He could handle the suspicion, and the name-calling.
But could he handle it twice as much? Most likely not. So he put on his mask and left it at that. After all, he was a good pretender.
----
The cool autumn breeze flowed through Michael as he did his morning jog around the perimeter of the site. He needed the reprieve from his daily blunders, and fall had the best weather for this purpose. Michael could never stand the heat, and he only liked winter because he could stay indoors to drink a nice cup of hot chocolate. But spring and fall were the in-between seasons, and fall especially had that fresh and crisp weather that made it perfect for his workouts.
As he rounded his last lap, he saw people clocking in to the site for the day. One man waved to him, and he waved in return, before heading to the side entrance of the site and stopping the timer on his phone.
He thought about the guy waving at him. Did he know him? Well, maybe he did, everybody did since Michael was the head psychologist. But did he //know// him?
Michael honestly forgot that he wasn’t an enigma anymore. He had a presence, and he did his job well. But outside of work, he wouldn’t go out of his way for conversation. He knew the names of many people, but people were more than just names. Each person had their own storybook, with the chapters of their lives filled with many tales, some of which were amusing anecdotes, while others were more disheartening. But they all equally fascinated him. Stories were his lifeblood, his way to see the world, his way to connect. And they were why he had this job in the first place.
To see how people ticked, and to help write their stories so that they wouldn’t feel alone.
As he wandered through the plaster hallways, he saw more people making their way to their specific sections. People he could talk to. But even if he tried, everything would remain the same.
His social skills were inadequate, and conversations would pass by him with the wind. And he tried. He always tried. But when the only advice he ever got in his life regarding this was ‘just talk more,’ after a certain point he didn’t even bother.
He had all the opportunities to meet new people, to make new friends, and he never did. College and high school were a blur to him. And after that, he got picked up by the Foundation, but still, nothing would change.
He had to change. He couldn’t be a static point in an ever-evolving world. But what could he even do?
He sat on that thought as he made his way to his office, to prepare for his next session. He couldn’t achieve what he wanted by default. There was always something blocking him from living a life that’s not filled with constant oversights. And he knew what it was. Of course he knew what it was. He had an entire PsyD to figure it out. But even with all that knowledge, it still kept coming, to ruin his life at every waking moment.
He checked the time. It was getting close. Good thing he was prepared—
Wait.
A familiar feeling crept from the back of his mind. Something was off. He missed something. But what?
He looked around the room, and on his person. Phone, check. Documentation, check. Glasses, check. Pen, pen, where was the pen? Oh.
He missed his pen and clipboard.
“You fucking //moron//!” he bellowed, before immediately throwing himself into a sprint towards his dormitory. Instead of just leaving his stuff in his office, he left it in his personal quarters. Again.
He ran like hell through the halls, catching a few odd glances from a few researchers, but he paid no mind to them. He had to get his stuff.
Michael slammed the door open, and immediately started throwing his stuff around the room, not caring if he would break anything. That was something that future him could worry about.
He paced around the room, smacking his forehead over and over again. How could he forget something as simple as a //clipboard// and a //pen//?
Eventually, he found them. They were hiding in one of his drawers, for reasons that he failed to recall. Because of course he did. But he had to focus. He snatched the clipboard and pen, and went right back into his sprint.
Emily always joked that if the site had a 100-meter-dash competition, Michael would easily get first place. He didn’t think he would be the winner, but he could go quite fast. The problem with that was the immediate consequence of complete and utter exhaustion, which would definitely be a disadvantage for him.
He ran through the corridors and skidded through tight corners, until the final stretch, where he successfully entered his office with only minutes to spare. He breathed deeply, and nearly stumbled into his desk as he made his way to his chair, with clipboard and pen in hand.
He checked his calendar off for the day. Once Avery’s session was over, he could relax. Regardless of how limited it was, Michael found his finite free time valuable, so he could ignore the clawed hands of reality for just a moment.
The door to the office opened once more, and Avery stiffly stepped towards the reclined chair across from Michael.
“Welcome back, Avery! I’m glad you could make it to our session today.”
They crossed their arms. “Yeah. I’m getting used to it, I guess.”
He tapped his pen against the clipboard. “Are you having any trouble adjusting to your environment?”
They scoffed. “How can I adjust to //a cell//? But maybe. I don’t really talk to the others.”
“Hm. Perhaps I can arrange a group activity?”
They shook their head. “If it’s anything like those group projects at school, then fuck that.”
“Let’s not go with that, then. I wasn’t fond of icebreakers either. But I will figure this out with you.”
They nodded, before staring at Michael’s glasses for a second. “Sorry if this sounds rude, but I think your glasses look a little dirty.”
“Oh, you’re fine, I actually prefer a little honesty, I do sometimes miss these things. I’ll clean them when we’re done, thanks.” He put up his facade to not make them feel guilty.
The lenses in Michael’s glasses were cheap plastic, so he had to clean them in the morning every day. Otherwise they would be smudged for the whole day. Thing was, no one except for his immediate family ever pointed it out to him. Michael concluded that it was either because they were too nice to be blunt with him, or they went on with their lives instead of having to worry about trivialities.
He wished he could have that sense of indifference. But that was for him to figure out. For now, his work must proceed as usual.
It proceeded as it always did. He never really had a chance to do anything otherwise.
----
**2008**
The summer months before what would become Michael’s adult life were short and unfulfilling. With his unparalleled wisdom, Michael decided to not take a summer job and instead do nothing throughout the summer. He had nowhere to go, and no friends to go with. He was stuck, trapped in a house that he did not want to be in.
His brother had his head in his hands, with a stack of paper and a calculator on the countertop. Michael would’ve tried to help him, if not for the fact that Merek had multiple AP courses, and the homework he was working on currently was calculus. Michael was never much of a math person.
He went to go grab a snack from the fridge, eyeing Merek warily as he mumbled several profanities and kept smacking the counter with his palm. After a while, he decided to say something.
“So, uh, you good?” Michael asked.
An acidic smile grew on Merek’s face. “What do you think? I’m in the middle of something here.”
He sat down next to him. “Math again?”
Merek sighed. “Yep. My teacher is a real piece of work. You know the one who looks like she was in the same class as Jesus? Always blabbering on and on about her dog or whatever. Her class is so //boring//.”
Right, Mrs. Roth. The teacher in retirement age with those really tiny reading glasses who hadn’t retired yet for some reason. Michael heard many things about her class, including how strict she was.
Merek turned to look at him. “Any other reason for why you want to bother me?”
Michael rubbed his neck. “Uh, not really, I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“Whatever. Anywho, did you do your homework today?”
He hadn’t, but he nodded his head anyway. “Yeah, I did.”
“Great. Awesome. By the way, I saw someone today that reminded me of you. Hang on, let me draw ‘em for you real quick.” Merek grabbed his pencil, and started to hastily scribble on a piece of paper.
When he was done, he gave the paper to Michael. He squinted his eyes to see a crude drawing of a wolf-like person or a person in a wolf-costume. Text next to the drawing read ‘this is you.’
He frowned. “Very funny.”
“Hey, you’re not denying it.”
“What did I do to deserve that?”
Merek snorted. “What did you do, huh? You want a full list of every stupid thing you’ve done?”
Michael clenched his fist. “I’m not stupid.”
“Yeah, you are. You fuck up everything. And you don’t ever listen to me. Remember when you walked outside and shut the door on me //while I was still talking//?”
“I didn’t mean to do that to you. I had to take the dog out.” Michael visibly looked shaken.
“You could’ve waited until I was finished. And you should learn how to take care of yourself better.”
“I’m literally fine. I can handle myself. I’m not slow, I just can’t do what everyone else can.”
“No, you just don’t think things through. I’m worried for you, man. Are you going to end up like those 30-year-old man-children who live in their parent’s basement and have to wear diapers? I will be very surprised if you don’t come back crying from college.” The venom in Merek’s voice seemed to grow louder as he spoke.
“Is that really what you think of me? Am I that pathetic to you?”
“Yes. I don’t see why that’s a problem here. You only care about yourself, anyway.”
Michael’s eyes burned with a boiling hot fury. “And the pot called the kettle black.”
Two things immediately happened in succession. First, in a blind rage Merek threw his pencil in Michael’s direction, causing him to weave out of the way. Then, Michael started to quickly walk backwards down the hallway, keeping his eyes on his brother.
“Tell me the truth. Do you hate me? I know I've been a jerk sometimes, but I can fix that. I’ll try to be better. Do you //hate me//?”
He didn’t answer. For a few moments, everything is silent. Once the pause became far too awkward, Merek cleared his throat and looked at Michael dejectedly.
“I hope you find someone worth listening to.” And he left it at that.
Michael turned away from his brother, and sulked upstairs to his bedroom. He couldn’t deal with him anymore. He tried to tell his father, but all he told him was to just ignore his brother’s verbal bombardments. This, as expected, did not help at all. But he wasn’t too worried about it anymore. He was more concerned about what Merek would do to other people like him. Because it was clear that he wouldn’t change his position in the slightest.
Michael could only hope that one day, someone would put his brother in his place.
----
As Michael looked back on these moments of his life, he recalled a certain conundrum that he could not understand at first.
He knew the intersection between his mind and his heart, what he felt and what he thought, and how they were unique from each other yet similar in how he could be disadvantaged by them. He recognized that he could be seen as a child because of either, not grasping with the way that the world works. But he understood it plenty, and he detested the systems that kept it turning.
What he did not understand was the why. Why must the world around him treat him this way? He was always curious on how exactly that internal switch to complete hatred worked. Michael had never been so free to be who he was, and yet there was always a possibility where one would not see him that way.
He remembered reading one interview years ago, where a researcher told a contained anomaly, who was also an activist for asexuality before their containment, that they had an obligation to disclose if they weren’t dating someone, and that as a carbon-based life form and as a vertebrate, they also had an obligation to disclose that they were actually a jellyfish.
That callous remark, that clear disregard for the humanity of a fellow person made him incredibly uncomfortable, but his intrigue started to slowly increase over time, snowballing to where it is now.
He started to see the connections, where the strings were tied together to form this gigantic, suffocating knot of depravity. And he traced the lines to the source. It encompassed everything haunting him, and haunting others like him.
And he was working for an organization that benefited from and actively promoted it.
It never sat well with him, but he kept doing his duty, knowing full well who he was working for. He was promised that he could help people, and he did the best he could, but in a place like the Foundation, would that be much of use at all? He should’ve left the second he found out the truth. But he didn’t. Maybe it was naivety that kept him back. Or maybe it was an obligation, to help those trapped within the margins to feel like themselves, to make them feel safe in a place that would much rather like to slowly tie a tourniquet around their necks.
As he pondered on this while standing awkwardly in the middle of a hallway, he felt a familiar tap on his shoulder. He turned around, and saw the devil staring back at him.
Howard was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. “So, how’s it going?”
Michael placed his hands in his pockets to match him. “Nothing much. I’m doing fine.”
Howard nodded. “Good, that’s good. How’s your girlfriend?”
//Don’t even bother.// “She’s good.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Say, you want to take a quick walk with me?”
He didn’t want to, but there wasn’t exactly anything that he had to do at the moment, and he didn’t want to be rude. So he simply nodded.
“Well then, let’s go.” Howard beckoned him over. Michael made sure to keep his distance, slowly trailing from behind.
“It’s been… interesting, these past few years. I feel like I’m finally settling down, floating through the moment. It feels different. I’ve been working for who knows how long.”
Michael said nothing. Howard did not acknowledge this and kept talking.
“I’m 58 years old, Michael. I’m nearing the end. But you, you still have some strut to your step. You have your years.”
Michael nodded along, not wanting to provoke him. “Yeah.”
Howard stopped for a moment, before turning to Michael. “You know what that means? It means you can continue the work. It means that you can still achieve great things. And eventually, you too will settle down with your Miss-Pretty-Pretty and live a happy life.”
Michael tried not to wince. “Of course. I will make every effort available to me to do so.”
“You already have. Your mind just won’t let you see it.”
“What do you mean by that?” Michael raised an eyebrow.
“I checked your personnel file. It told me everything that I needed to know. But hey, it’s okay. I know it’s hard. But you can work to alleviate that blockage, so you can live like us. You don’t have to be what you are now. Like I said, you have a keen mind, and I don’t think you want to have anything stopping you from using your potential. Some of the ‘smart’ people in this place can’t even tie their own shoelaces. They’re too lazy. They have lazy brains. They hate to learn new things outside the narrow categories of knowledge they’ve claimed for themselves. Do you want that, Michael? Do you want to be lazy like them?”
The world around him slowed to a crawl. He felt like time was moving backwards. Howard’s voice became nothing more than gibberish. He felt sick. His stomach started to boil, like he was being dunked in liquid gold. And he couldn’t do anything. He thought nothing. He didn’t move, or even blink. He let the vile words pass through him.
Howard didn’t seem to notice, or even care. “You yourself are a therapist, right?”
Michael reluctantly decided to continue along. “Yes. I’m the head of the division.”
“Of course, of course! How could I forget? Sorry, I don’t remember names that well.”
“It’s fine.” It wasn’t. Was he really just a no-name?
“But anyway, I’m glad you’re here. Maybe one day, you can make this place even better than it was.”
Michael wondered when this conversation was going to end. “How, exactly? I think we’re doing fine.”
“We can do more. We own the world. We can do //so much more//. We still have that border problem down south. Too many illegals. Too much crime. We can put a stop to that, and yet we don’t. What do you think that makes us?”
And he thought it couldn’t get worse. “Apathetic?” he responded.
“Much worse. Stagnant. None of these people here care. They’re more willing to pride themselves as being a bunch of moral busybodies. But we know what’s right from wrong. And I hope you don’t let them tear you apart.” Howard put a hand on his shoulder. “I hope you will succeed where I have failed.”
Michael couldn’t take it anymore. “I’ll do my best.” And he walked slightly faster past Howard, but not too fast. He prayed that he wouldn’t be interrupted again.
Once he was down the hallway, he looked over his shoulder one last time. Howard was still standing there, and although Michael couldn’t see it, he was smiling like a proud father.
----
**2002**
His brain was wracked with sounds and ideas.
He tossed and turned in his quaint little bed, but he couldn’t get himself to fall asleep. Maybe that was the issue. His father always told him to not force himself to sleep, because it would never work like he wanted to, and he would be even more awake than he was. But sometimes, he wouldn’t fall asleep even if his mind was clear. He couldn’t grasp why. Didn’t everyone else fall asleep in five minutes or so? Why not him?
He tried to distract the thoughts with a catchy tune. It began to wriggle inside his brain and make itself a nest. The melody would repeat itself, over and over again, slowly contorting into an ear-splitting version of itself. He had to change it, so he started to think about another song. But it, too, began to recur. He wanted to tear his hair out.
It shouldn’t be this hard. Michael never understood why people would stay up late. For the fun of it? How was any of it fun? He felt miserable every time he slept past 12. Twice he slept past 4, and it felt like he was beaten to a pulp for the entire day after.
Maybe he was forcing it again. But he couldn’t unforce it, really. He didn’t want to, but he had to wake them. He promised to his father that he wouldn’t do it again. But he had to. He didn’t know what else to do.
With a sigh of exhaustion, he slowly pulled his covers up and stood up on the floor. While sauntering over to his parents room, he felt a twinge of guilt wash over him. But he couldn’t go back now.
He grabbed the handle, and intentionally opened the door so that it would squeak as loud as possible. Immediately, there was a groan coming from the far end of the room. It worked.
He tiptoed into the room, seeing his father stare disappointingly at him. “Go back to bed, bud.”
“I can’t go to sleep. I’m sorry,” Michael whimpered.
His father sighed. “I told you, bud, you’re overthinking it. Just calm down. Drink some water. You’ll fall asleep eventually, okay?”
“Okay.” He nodded. But he still stood there.
Michael’s mother perked up her head, noticing his sad, beady eyes staring back at her. She looked at her husband. “I’ll take care of it, okay?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “As long as he doesn’t come back. I need my eight hours.”
Michael turned, and walked dejectedly back to his room. He slipped under his covers once more, and turned to see his mother standing in the doorframe, with a hand behind her back.
Tears started to form in his eyes. “I can’t sleep, mom. I don’t know what to do.”
She smiled softly, to try and cheer him up. “I know it’s hard. There are some days where I can’t sleep either. I get too worried about a lot of things. But you know what I do when I can’t sleep? I hold onto what I love, and think about those things before I drift into my dreams.”
Michael looked at the floor. “Am I broken, mom?”
She looked increasingly worried. “No, no, not at all! You’re a wonderful person, Mike. You can do great things. I know it feels like your wings are clipped, and you can’t fly like the rest of the flock. But you’re strong. You can get through anything. No matter what, you can soar as high as you want, without anyone stopping you. My little blackbird.”
His mother pulled out her acoustic guitar from behind her back, and began to play her favorite song. Michael knew it well. He knew it so well that he memorized the exact chords that started the song. G, Am7, G/B, C, D…
His mother did not sound like Paul McCartney at all, but her singing was so wonderfully alto that he couldn’t help but flutter his eyes and drift to sleep.
His dreams were pleasant, and he flew high in the sky, feeling the sun’s warmth on his skin. For just this moment, he was free, and it was beautiful.
----
Michael could never get rid of those troublesome nights. Not even where he was at now.
It was approximately 3:00 in the morning. He felt like he had a fever. He tried to change his position every few minutes, to see if that would change anything. But as he expected, it didn’t. His sheets were caked with sweat, and he heard the clock tick, and tick, and tick. It drove him up the wall.
Michael sat up, gazing downward at the far end of the bed. He was running in circles, and he fully knew why. He knew the issue, the source to all of his problems, he researched it himself when he got his degree. But even after every session where he helped his clients figure themselves out, he never found a way to do the same for himself. It should’ve been obvious, hell he could’ve looked for the techniques that he needed to manage the damn thing. But he didn’t.
He shouldn’t have to worry about encroaching the same errors, every day without end. He shouldn’t have to keep acting with his mask, because he could never read the script, while being expected to know all the lines. He shouldn’t have to wrestle with a mind that was structurally built to thwart him throughout it all.
He shouldn’t have to live in a world that hated him.
And he could see the signs. Oh, he could //see// it. The idea of laziness being a person just trying to survive, the mocking of people and their interests to make others feel better about themselves, and characteristics of disability being used as a cheap punchline. It put thoughts into kids’ heads in the media, and it was ingrained into language and culture.
Michael was rather lucky that he was only seen as a ghost. And that pained him the most. He could see that some did not have the same fate.
Despite all that, he was still behind the curve. He felt like he would always be behind the curve. He couldn’t let his friend down. He couldn’t let any of them down. He dug that hole too deep, and now he couldn’t see where his future would become.
The only thing that he felt useful for was his job. That was the singular, most important thing that defined him. It was what everyone knew him as. The guy who reached his hand out to help others up. And if that was all he was, it was better than being nothing at all.
He looked at the clock. It was 3:10 now. He didn’t know what to do. He checked his phone, to see if his friend was awake. Apparently, she was. What for? Who knows.
He had to distract himself, so he turned the brightness on his phone to the lowest setting and began to meticulously form a message to send. He had to make sure to not say anything wrong.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
Hello. Why are you up so late?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Emily**
Reasons. What are yours? You’re never up this late.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
Can’t sleep. It fucking sucks. Feels like my brain is being stretched apart.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Emily**
I’m sorry, Michael. Is there anything I can do to help?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
With what? Nothing I do works.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Emily**
I can help you sleep. You can come sleep next to me.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass. I can handle this myself. I know the source of all of this. I can fix this.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Emily**
I don’t want you to beat yourself up over this. I’m really worried right now. Are you ok?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
I’m fine. I don’t want you to be worried. I just need to figure this out.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Emily**
If you need anything, I’m here to talk.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
I’ll text you tomorrow.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Emily**
Ok.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
One more thing. I’m glad to be your friend. You mean the world to me. [[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Emily**
You too <2[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
<2[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
He placed his phone down. The distraction definitely helped take his mind off things, but he needed to get some rest, sooner rather than later. So he lied back down and turned to the wall. His dad was right with one thing. He was always an overthinker.
Over the years, he tried taking melatonin, doing breathing exercises, anything to help him sleep. But none were very effective. All he could do was shut down the thoughts and let his body do the rest. It was harder than it looked, but it was the only thing that worked for him.
After an agonizing few minutes, his brain finally gave up on him. The last thought he had before he felt that familiar drift was how much he missed his mom.
----
The next morning was the same as before, and the weeks after were painfully mundane and tedious for Michael. He was starting to feel the monotony of it all, every waking moment was him going to a session, eating, talking to Emily if she had the time, then heading off to bed. Almost nothing interesting happened, and he identified the root of the issue immediately.
It was himself. His lack of communication in anything other than his job and his refusal to go out and meet new people had caused him to get himself stuck in a rut. He was always stuck in this rut. There were long stretches of time where he didn’t have anyone but himself to rely on. Sometimes, it felt like the swirling currents of change would pull him under and try to drown him, forcing him to never step out of what he considered safe. But Michael knew it was mostly all him. He was fortunate enough to still have one person by his side.
But what if that changed? What if, one day, he would do something so moronic, so dickish that the only person who truly understood him pushed him away for good? He had no idea why she was still around him. He always fucked things up, at every turn, at every second of every day. He could not compute why she would keep caring for the burden that he was.
But there was no time to think about that now. Howard’s shadow still eclipsed over him and the whole site. The only way to heal the festering wound would be to excise the infection. And that was where he was going now, into the lion’s den. So he could find more evidence to finally eject the beast from his domain.
His stride became more assured, and his eyes were filled with determination as he weaved past a large flock of researchers. There was only one thought on his mind. He would not let anyone else live through the vicious mockery that he had to endure. Never again.
When he reached the research sector, he walked to the edge of the balcony and observed the worker drones as they inspected their samples. He could see the head honcho, waving his arms around and directing the group like a director of a symphony orchestra. He meandered down to the disarray of test tubes and pipettes, and slowly inched his way to his target. After a moment of hesitation, he tapped Howard on the shoulder. It felt nice that he was the one to take him by surprise this time.
Howard instinctively turned around. “Good afternoon, Michael.”
“You as well, Howard.” Michael put his hands behind his back.
“What brings your presence here, o’ healer of the mind?” Howard teased him.
This was already going great for him. “I need you for a second. Director wants me to have a quick review with you about your performance lately. Now, it’s nothing unpleasant, I assure you of that, but she wants to check in on you to see how you’re doing,” Michael lied.
If he knew of his deception, Howard didn’t look like it. “Ah, well, now’s about the time they start looking into me, eh?”
Michael nodded. In response, Howard gestured toward the ramp. “Well, let’s get going,” he said.
They walked together to Howard’s office, Michael slightly trailing behind as usual. His stomach flared up like never before, and he could not wait to get out of this situation as soon as possible.
They entered the office, which was a sterile, Foundation-standard looking room, with a desk, a computer and a fake plant on top of a shelf. It didn’t surprise Michael at all that Howard’s office would be this mundane.
He sat down on his chair, and indicated to Michael to do the same. “So, what’s the dealio?”
Michael almost tapped on the desk with his fingers, but thankfully stopped himself from doing so. “We were definitely noticing your efficiency with your work. Your leadership is on point. So, I am wondering if you can provide some insights for me so that future generations of our researchers can understand what it's like to be in your position. What it’s like to do what you do.”
Howard pulled the chair forward, and sat there pondering the question. “Hm. Well, I don’t think it has to do with other people. Frankly, other people should be the least of your worries. My qualities as a leader comes from the fact that I do what I can for the Foundation. I have my convictions, and I hold them steadfast as I navigate these muddy waters. Some don’t think that way, but I think they don’t do enough.”
“Care to elaborate?” Michael queried.
“Of course. I don’t mind my fellow men, but they just do what they’re told to do. They don’t think of the bigger picture. They don’t think of how the world is being pulled apart by the seams by bad actors who are convinced that they have a right to control what we believe or say. Some of these people have too much say. And I think we should do better to hold //our own// convictions as an organization.”
//There it is.// Michael slowly reached his hand into his pocket, and silently switched off the recording device kept within. He continued the faux-interview for another few minutes.
Once he was satisfied, he clasped his hands together. “Well, I think that’s all I need from you. Thank you for allowing me to do this.”
Howard shook his head. “No need to thank me. You know what you’re doing.”
Michael swiveled around with his chair, and got up and left the room, laughing to himself in his head as he closed the door.
----
He was in his friend’s room. They were sitting on her couch, watching a funny video of her as a young child falling flat on her face. They were laughing so hard that Michael could see Emily’s face turning bright red.
Michael tried to calm himself, but he couldn’t stop laughing. “You good?”
She took a swig of her water, and breathed deeply. “Man, was I a dumb kid.”
He held his bottle of water up. “True that.” They clinked their bottles together, though no clinking sound was made.
Michael laid against the couch. His face grew blank, and he started to stare at the wall. He enjoyed these fleeting moments with his friend, but they were, as everything in his life at this point was, fleeting. They slipped away from his grasp like sand. He wanted to hold onto them for just a bit longer.
He could see the problem now. He was always going to be behind everyone else. Some of that was by design, of course. But he couldn’t live with being stuck in place, while everyone else got to move forward. He was proud of everyone in his facility and their accomplishments, but he couldn’t help but feel shame for not being able to achieve the same.
Thankfully, he shook out of that thought fast enough to not make Emily worried. She turned to look at him, and by the look of her eyes he could tell that she was eager to recite to him another story.
“You know that party on Saturday I went to with my friends? Olivia was so shitfaced that she vomited towards the toilet. Not in it, //towards// it. It didn’t quite make it, and then she didn’t even notice that someone was already leaving the bathroom just as she entered it. So it got all over his pant leg!”
Michael felt a familiar sensation, one where he knew of something he was supposed to remember but not the details. He saw the outline, but never the actual content. His brain itched him to figure it out, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
“Right, that party.” He slowly nodded. “I don’t quite recall that.”
“I invited you to go, remember? But you declined. I get it, you were probably busy.”
The memory jolted him, sending shockwaves through his core. He did remember. He thought she wasn’t inviting him to the party, just that she was going there with her friends. And he simply replied that he hoped she had fun. He couldn’t believe that he would miss another opportunity like that.
Emily immediately noticed his eyes widening. “Something wrong?”
He decided to be honest. He couldn’t hide anymore. “I didn’t think you were inviting me. I missed it. It’s like vampire rules, I’m not going anywhere unless you invite me by name. That’s my bad.”
“You’re good, you’re good. I should’ve been more clear with you. But hey, I’ll tag you on my next thing, so it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” he blurted. His logical side wasn’t in control anymore. “It’s me. It’s always me, and we both know it.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Some things you just can’t control.”
“I fucking //was in control//! And I didn’t respond like I should have. I know what’s been affecting me all my life. I know what it is. And I can’t even put it down. It has me by the throat, every day, and I can’t do anything about it.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re at fault. That doesn’t make you a bad person for just making a mistake.” Emily looked at him with pity. Well, it certainly looked like that to Michael, the poor miserable creature that he was.
He tried his hardest not to burst into tears. “I always screw things up. Every time. Could you imagine having to make the same mistake, over and over again, even though you know how to learn from it? It could be past behind you, but it’s not. It’s always there. And everyone’s going to laugh at me, because I can’t make this right.”
His thoughts raced through his mind, going faster and faster. He could’ve done more to learn from his past errors and move on to greener pastures, but he didn’t. It cost him everything, because he failed. He always did, and he could’ve done more—
Emily stopped him. “I know. You told me everything. But no one’s going to laugh at you. They’ll treat you with that in mind. They’ll treat you like a person. And if they don’t, they’re a bunch of suckers.”
He sniffled. “I’ve been a bad friend. I could’ve done more. I’m sorry.”
“You’re a great friend, Mike. You’ve always been there for me. I think it’s about time I should be there for you too.”
He smiled, but only just a little. “I think it’s because I didn’t want you to leave me. Because of my thing, and because I know you’re going to fall in love with someone else. You’re going to get married, and I’ll still be there, but the feeling will be different. You know what I mean. I’ll just always be everyone’s second favorite person.”
Emily wrapped her arms around him, and embraced him as tightly as she could. “I’ll never leave you behind. Never. I promise you that.”
Michael liked the assurance with that statement, but he knew it wouldn’t last forever. “Do I deserve this? Any of it?”
She slightly pulled away from him. “Yes. You worked hard for this. You worked so hard to get here.”
“Is that all I am? The therapist? That’s all they see of me.”
“They don’t see you as just that. It’s not like you’re a nobody.”
He looked at the floor. “But what if I am?”
“Then why would I be here, with you? Why wouldn’t you be the head of an entire division of our site?”
“I’m just going through the motions, and you probably picked me up and adopted me because you saw that I had no one else.” Michael’s veins nearly popped in frustration.
“I ‘adopted you’ because I saw a friend. You shouldn't have to be so hard on yourself.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be so selfish. I can’t be effective at my job if I’m acting like this.”
Emily put her hands on top of his. “You’re not selfish, Mike. You’re not.”
He finally made eye contact with her, his eyes heavy and dejected. “I’m 34 years old, and I’m still like this. I thought it would eventually give up. But maybe that was just me.”
“You didn’t give up. You never did.”
“I think that’s the only part where you’re wrong. I let myself go. I’ll do my best to course correct. I’m sorry.” Michael looked at her one last time. She looked happy. She always looked happy. He didn’t want to ruin that. So he got up, and left.
Maybe she would be better off without him.
----
There were two things he had to do. One, get rid of Howard. And two, rid himself from the people around him.
He marched toward the director’s office, a fire burning in his eyes, as he made his way throughout the twisting corridors and the hollow halls of the site. There was no turning back now.
He turned to the hall where the office resided, which a containment cell formerly occupied, before it got transmogrified into a 10 x 10 meter cavern, and eventually became the office and main residence for the director.
He was about to reach for the door, when he spotted a familiar face in the hallway. Howard was walking down the hall, whistling an unrecognizable tune. Michael stopped in his tracks. He should’ve kept his head down and continued walking, but he didn’t.
Howard noticed his presence, and stopped as well. He looked blissful, and pensive at the same time. “It’s been a pleasure.”
Michael tilted his head. He never really got rid of that habit. “What do you mean?”
Howard smiled. “I’m headed off to greener pastures. I’m transferring to 17 in a few days. Before I close this chapter in life, I finally get to use my fullest potential.”
He couldn’t believe it. He just stood there, completely and utterly dumbfounded.
Howard, like always, kept talking. “It’s truly been a pleasure to see you get so far in your career. You’ve done well. Most are lucky to even achieve a fraction of what you do. I think your future is looking very bright.”
He stared blankly at him. “Yeah. I think so too. I think I can make something better for myself.”
Howard gave his wicked smile one last time, and turned to face his future. It was also time for Michael to face his. He wanted answers, and he was not willing to wait for them.
Since the doors to the original containment cell were never replaced, Michael swiped his keycard, and the doors swung upon to reveal the cavernous surroundings of the director’s abode.
It looked incredibly vast for its size, and Michael felt like its deep, dark maw was going to swallow him whole. There were large stalactites and stalagmites everywhere, and tiny, almost unnoticeable veins of what looked like glowing minerals were scattered amongst the walls of this space. It looked like a geologist’s dream. Michael never asked the director why this space looked the way it was. Maybe he should ask her while he still had the time. If he would remember.
The director was sitting at her desk, typing away on her keyboard. Probably for some important business that he had no clearance for. He sat across from her, piquing her interest as he prepared his scripted remarks.
“Afternoon, director.”
“You as well, Michael. What brings you here?” she inquired.
“There are two very important things that I need to discuss with you. First, the question of one Howard Bates. What exactly is the reason for his transferral?”
The director looked at him with hesitation. “Why do you want this information?”
“Because, Madeline, I want him out. For good. He hurt me. He has to //get out//,” he snapped, a little harder than he should’ve. He immediately regretted it.
Madeline was taken slightly aback by his utterance of her forename. She shuffled her position to look as professional and assertive as possible. “I want to know everything.”
He felt the sensation of his stomach sinking to the floor. “I don’t even need to tell you everything.” And he pulled out the recorder, and played its contents in their entirety.
He could see the director’s expression immediately turn to worry. Not out of guilt or complicity, but genuine worry for what was said.
A few moments after the recording sputtered out, she finally spoke. “How long has this been happening?”
“It’s been happening to me for a while. Mr. Bates here, regardless of intentions or not, has verbally attacked me for the past few months. He knew I had a disability, and he exploited that to try and get me on his side. I do not think that he is in a reasonable capacity to continue working for this organization, if he’s acting like this.”
Madeline looked sullen. “I didn’t know.”
He thought that excuse was pitiful. “You’re the director. You’re supposed to know everything. And I don’t ever see you leave your office.”
“It’s because I have—”
“Xeroderma pigmentosum, right. But doesn’t that only work on sunlight?” Michael was not having it.
She sighed. “It’s not in my purview to tell you my circumstances. But I didn’t know. And I should’ve taken more steps to avert the situation before it was exacerbated.”
His anger lessened slightly. “I understand. It probably just slipped right under your notice. But why is he being transferred? Who is transferring him?”
“The O5s,” Madeline stated bluntly.
He blinked. “The Council?”
“They thought he should’ve been in a place where his expertise was better suited.”
“Can’t you just fire him? Or tell them that he needs to go?”
“I can’t fire him. The Council says who gets to leave and who doesn’t. And I don’t think they’re the type to let essential personnel go.”
He was fuming, now. “So you’re just going to sit there, and let him go to the one place where no one is treated right? The //one place// that does not care for accountability?”
“There’s nothing I can do. They won’t let me do anything past this point. I’m sorry.”
He slammed a fist on the table. “I should’ve sent that email earlier. I let this man do his thing for god knows how long, and now he’s walking away scot-free. This was all on me.”
Madeline raised an eyebrow. “What email?”
“…The email I sent you earlier today?”
“Hold on.” She clicked on her keyboard a few times, and stared at the screen for a bit. “I didn’t get an email today.”
Michael’s eyes opened wide, and he stared at a thousand-yards into the void, far beyond the director. “I didn’t send it.”
His hands started to shake. He trembled as he tried to say anything that he could, but nothing would come out.
The director’s concern for him was at an all time high. “Are you alright?”
There was no path he could go to but forwards. “I’m going to tell you the truth. I’m not just here because of Howard. I’m here to resign from the Foundation, and go back home.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that. His words were left hanging, and Michael could only hear the ambient sounds of the cavern around them.
Eventually, Madeline composed herself. “What is your reasoning behind this decision?”
“I am the reason. Always have been, always will be. I believe that my current mental state has undercut my capability to continue my work here as a therapist. If I let this continue, my clients will not see a person that they can trust. They will see a constant failure, who lets everyone down at every turn.”
She looked bewildered. “I don’t think that’s the case at all. You were hand-picked to be the head of P&P for a reason. I do not believe that your diagnosed disorders make you a failure.”
“Then you haven’t even begun to scratch the surface. Everything I do always never goes in my favor. No one thinks of me as anything more but a non-entity. And for //good reason//. I forget almost every little thing, every day, even something as stupid as my wallet or my phone. I don’t talk to anyone unless I’m required to do so. I get defensive every time I get confronted with anything, and defensive for things that I didn’t do at all. I’m too afraid of my own emotions, and I can’t even handle the slightest amount of criticism against me. I’m too emotional for this. I need to leave, for everyone’s sake.”
He never thought it would happen, but he felt the tears flow down his cheek. And he did it in front of the director. How pathetic was—
“Your disability is not a moral failing. It is a disability that you have to live with. It will never go away, but you can be supported by being around people who care about you. And I know for a fact that there is at least one person in this facility who cares about you,” Madeline asserted, with no doubt in her voice.
He wiped the tears from his eyes. “She doesn’t deserve me.”
“//You// deserve more than you think. You deserve to be happy.”
“How can I be happy? I’ve been mocked and rejected all my life. The world does not want me. It could care less. I’ve tried, believe me, but I can’t. Why should I even bother, if no one wants to bother with me?”
Madeline clasped her hands together. It looked eerily close to how he did it. “Self-care is not self-indulgence. Self-care is self-preservation, in a world that’s cold and cruel. It is defiance against the systems that hate, and who will gladly bend and break those trapped within the margins. Would you rather let yourself be whipped by the hands of the prejudiced, or allow yourself to continue building towards a brighter future?”
Michael shuffled in his seat. “What kind of future would I bring? I won’t ever get to see a world where everything isn’t on fire.”
“We all won’t. But I’d rather work towards a future where generations of kids won’t have to live in fear for being themselves, then do nothing at all. We might not live to see the sun on the horizon, but we can still //live//. We all live despite everything. You’re still here, despite everything. The world won’t give us what we want. But it’s up to us to find happiness in spite of that, in the people we love and care for.”
He considered it. Michael understood what she meant. But the fear and anxiety were still there.
“I don’t even think my job is worth it in the first place. I can’t just lie to these people and try to make them happy in a place like this. Could you imagine having to live like this?”
Madeline paused, and seemed to consider something. It looked like she was reminiscing on some past event, or events. “I can imagine that. I’ve been on that side before. [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6461 I’ve been in this place since the beginning].”
He had no clue what that meant, but he decided to continue. “I don’t know why you even hired me. You knew I would object to being a part of this, and you still convinced me anyway.”
“I told you their motto, and our motto. I told you the doctrines, and I also told you to ignore them. Because this is not about the Foundation, or its mission. This is about treating people as people. Even if we can only do so much, it still matters.”
He stopped making eye contact, and looked down at the desk. “I don’t know what to do. I’m not ready to go back to my duties. I don’t know how to fix this.”
She smiled sympathetically at him. “I’ll give you some time off. Mei will take over until you are ready. I want you to know that people do care. I care. I care very deeply about you.”
“Do they care, though? I don’t see it. I can’t see it.”
“Then maybe you need to expand your horizons. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove that you are valued and appreciated for who you are.”
Michael smiled ruefully, but it was a genuine smile for the first time in what felt like forever. “You’re playing my own tricks on me, aren’t you?”
“What can I say? I learned it from the best.” Madeline smiled back.
“I’m really sorry about my outburst. I let my emotions get in my head,” Michael confessed.
“No need to worry. It was completely justified. I have things on my end that I need to work on as well. You’re going to get better. I know you will.”
Michael’s ever-present anxieties were somewhat quelled for the moment. He was still conflicted, and didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. It terrified him, but he needed things to change. He needed to get better. He needed to be better for himself. For his friend. For the people he cared about, and for the --anomalies-- people under his watch.
And he knew one person who would be eager to help him out with that.
----
When he had the time to do so, he went through the personnel dormitory wing, going past each door until he reached the room he wanted. He raised a fist, and hesitated for a few seconds, before knocking on the door three times.
He heard several clanging sounds and curses before the door opened, revealing Emily in her pajamas, her hair disheveled.
“Bad morning?” Michael guessed.
“I overslept.” She sighed. “I’ll get dressed in a bit.”
He nodded, and she closed the door. Minutes felt like hours, and he wondered what his future would be like, now that the curtains have unfurled and the whole world opened up for him to explore. He wanted to use his vacation time to walk around the city that he called home, try new foods, and just walk around and feel the cool air on his skin. It was certainly better than these hollow walls.
Eventually, Emily opened up the door and gestured for him to come in. Her belongings were, of course, scattered all over the place with no rhyme or reason. The bed wasn’t even made yet. It was messy, but he liked it that way. It gave the room a sort of comfort, knowing that these objects were well-worn with care.
They both sat on the couch. Michael started first, which he usually never did. “I think I know my worth now.”
“You figured it out.”
“I did. I was blinded by my own preconceptions about myself. I couldn’t get over that wall I built,” Michael clarified.
“I’m just glad you’re alright. I was worried about you.”
“You were?”
She squeezed his shoulder lightly. “Yes! Why wouldn’t I?”
He raised his hands in the air. “I’m just trolling. I know you care.”
Emily snorted. “Trolling? Are you speaking Gen-Z now?”
“Would you rather I have nursing home language in my vernacular?” Michael asked in jest.
She laughed with a soft, melodic tone. “I don’t think you’re //that// old.”
“Of course not, and that’s a good thing. I still have time to figure things out.” He paused. “I don’t know what my future holds. I know I’ll still screw things up, that’s a given. But I think it’ll be better, because I have someone on my side to remind me that it’s not all bad. I may not say what I mean sometimes, and my feelings might get the better of me, but at least I have someone to catch me when I fall.”
And he could not fall if he did not dare to fly. But he took that leap of faith, and he was fine. Regardless of how clipped his wings were, he could still fly. It didn’t matter how fast. Because he lived by his own terms, and not anyone else’s. He accepted no definitions but his own.
Emily looked proud. Proud to be his friend, and proud of him for how far he’s come.
Michael continued. “I want to talk about something else. This stuff’s been on my mind too much lately. I need to distract myself. I need to speak my mind on something else. Anything.”
“Fine by me. Anything you want.”
He paused to think about it for a moment, but couldn’t come up with a topic to switch focus to. So instead, he asked her a question. “Is there anything that you’re confused about regarding my… identity?”
“What, like your orientation? Eh…” she cringed. “I don’t want to say something that’ll make you uncomfortable.”
“I think it’s okay to be wrong. It’s better to ask questions, no matter how ridiculous, than accidentally offend someone else because you were afraid to ask those questions.”
“Right.” Emily put her head in her palm, and stared into space for a rather long time. “You know what, screw it. Can you tell me about, what are those called, QPRs?”
“Of course! I would love that.” He was eager to elaborate on a topic that he personally enjoyed.
“So Queerplatonic Relationships, or QPRs for short, are like if someone wanted a relationship with someone else but without all the sexual and romantic bits. It’s a flexible idea, and the details of what that relationship would be like depend on the person. It’s not a rigid framework that just goes ‘oh they’re dating but not really.’ I personally think that these kinds of relationships can be as deep or even deeper than the romantic types. Or they don’t have to be. Again, it all depends on what the people in the QPRs want.”
Emily listened to him intently, following along to what he was saying. “Ok, so it’s not just romance 2.0.”
“People might frame it that way. They think we’re just recycling amatonormative ideas but in a new package. And we’re not. The existence of these kinds of relationships directly challenge the norms and beliefs that the mainstream public tries to impose onto us. It’s not just a substitute for romance. It’s a series of alternate routes and incommensurable geographies.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Amatonormative?”
He lightly slapped himself in the forehead and expressed a look of surprise in a sarcastic manner. “Ah! Forgot to explain that term as well. It’s like heteronormativity, but with the idea that romantic relationships are the best way to live a fulfilling life.”
“Oh, okay. That makes sense, actually. Thanks.”
He gave a thumbs up. “Always my pleasure to clear things up.”
He yammered on and on about his topics of interest, ones that he considered to be special and important to him. Emily listened and focused attentively for everything said, and provided questions to concepts that she was confused on. Michael could see that sparkle in her eye. She was genuinely interested in the things that brought joy to his life.
“So yeah, I think a bunch of things don’t have to be romantic. Like cuddling. Why can’t I cuddle with my friends? What’s wrong with that? Or sleeping in the same bed. I can’t even say that I slept with someone without making it sound weird. ‘Slept next to someone in the same bed’ just sounds too overwrought.”
“Would you want to do these things? Or be in a QPR?” Emily asked.
Michael knew why she was asking that. “I don’t know. I just don’t think I’m ready for that. I’m already sick of all the lovey-dovey shit everywhere I go. And it’s not anyone’s fault. But, maybe I would like a bit of physical contact. I don’t know.”
“It’s fine if you aren’t, just asking.” Emily then stopped, and looked as though she was trying to recall something from the inner recesses of her mind, before snapping back to reality. “I just remembered. I’ve got some things that the director sent to me. She said to bring it to you when you come over.”
She got up, and went to her closet to rummage around her hodgepodge of assorted items, before lumbering back with a few handwritten letters.
“These are for me?” Michael asked.
“Yep! I think you’ll like them.” She handed the letters out to Michael, who read them thoroughly one-by-one.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Salutations my good fellow,
I hope you’re feeling well in these difficult times. You have always been a big help with my experiments. I don’t think they would’ve gone half as well without you. Remember that time where we handed miniature pistols to rats and they went to town with target practice? Those were the good days.
I hope that, whatever you’re going through, you’ll make it to the end with stride. I never doubted you in the slightest. Sometimes, our obligations do get the better of us, and we all need to take a breather and rest. I do not think that your need for inactivity is a sign of indolence. It’s a sign from your core to prevent you from overwhelming yourself. And you should heed that warning with caution.
Rest well doctor,
Victor
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Hey.
I often struggle to put my feelings into words. It never comes out like I want it to. I guess I’m just not clever enough.
But I do want to say one thing. Thank you for caring for me. I know you’re trying. This place still sucks, but it could suck even worse. And that’s thanks to you, and the rest of the staff. I’m very glad I’m not at 17 anymore. So thank you.
-Avery
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="page"]]
Michael,
@@ @@
We’ve never engaged in much conversation together. But your presence is still known, and welcomed.
@@ @@
Time waits for no one. We both know this. But you don’t have to follow its path. You must always follow what you desire. Change can be difficult, but invigorating once you understand where it leads you. You can take all the time you need to carve a future where you can live your life to the fullest. And that future is defined by you. Only you know who you are. Revel in the knowledge.
@@ @@
The Chairs are proud. We are all proud of you, and what you’ve accomplished. I for one cannot wait for what you can achieve in the future.
@@ @@
Dr. Mehrab Torabi
Chair of Temporal Studies
[[/div]]
He couldn’t believe what he was reading. He was wrong. Regardless of how many times he talked to these people, his mere presence was enough to make himself known, and thought of. It should’ve been obvious. He was the Chair of P&P. But it never dawned on him until now. He was never a nobody.
All the emotion he suppressed broke free from the floodgates and poured through his soul. His eyes stung from the tears, his vision blurry, and his throat felt dry. But it wasn’t suffocating. It felt liberating.
“I- wow.” He sniffled. “I didn’t- I should’ve known.”
“But you know now. And I’m here to help if you need me.”
“I know,” Michael said. He contemplated something, and then immediately shot out of his seat. “I also want to show you something. It’s a very personal possession of mine.”
He took her hand, and sped off to his dormitory. She could barely keep up with how fast he was going. He swung the door open, and led her to his couch.
“Alright, just wait here.” He pointed at the couch, before opening the closet door and shutting it behind him.
Michael’s room looked much more tidy and clean than his companion’s. He preferred to see where all his belongings were, and not lose track of anything. It made more logical sense to him, especially considering the everpresent fog in his brain.
This arrangement worked well for him, because he was himself. Regardless of how much he disdained some parts of his internal system, they made him into who he was. He was his own person, not a caricature, a human being. And that was better than anything he could ask for. He was himself, and he always will be.
Eventually, Michael came back out, with an acoustic guitar in hand.
“My mother gave this to me. It was hers before… you know. I’ve never touched it until now.”
“You want to play a song for me?”
“Yes. I want to play her favorite song. And one of mine, but it was her song.” He sat down next to Emily, and placed his fingers in the correct positions.
He always practiced it, but never played it in front of anyone, for a number of reasons. He thought his singing wasn’t quite as good as it could be, and he never had anyone to perform for. But now he did. He had someone who cheered for him on the sidelines, who would always be there for him, no matter what obstacles he would face next.
He thought about himself, how the identities that defined him intersected with each other, and how they differed. He thought about the systems that hurt him, and how they could be challenged, and maybe even replaced one day. He thought about the people in his site, and how the variety of their experiences make the world a better place to live in.
It might have been easier if everything was black-and-white. But the world was so much more beautiful with all its shades of colors.
He remembered the beginning chords, and played the song like how he practiced. Like how his mother would play it.
G, Am7, G/B, C, D…
And there he was, the little blackbird, flying free.
[[include <a href="/component:wikimodule">component:wikimodule</a> |ratings= --]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-11-07T16:10:00
|
[
"bittersweet",
"lgbtq",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
Blackbird - SCP Foundation
| 12
|
[
"scp-7550",
"anomalous-entity-engagement-division-hub",
"scp-6461",
"scp-7163",
"scp-7467",
"scp-8035",
"turning-out",
"infatuation-in-black",
"merehrabs-musings",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1457295963
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/blackbird
|
|
blessings-of-bumaro
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Once upon a time, there was a man named Robert. He was a cheat of a man blessed with a silver tongue, but he was no better than a scoundrel. He dreamed to be surrounded by fooled minds, bathed in the splendid light of fame and wealth.</p>
<p>Day by day, more and more people fell to his ruse. His stories blinded them to where they were willingly emptying their pockets for his tricks. But how can those small pennies here and there, thin dollar bills he pestered, quench his thirst? When he found himself amidst the Land of the Free — a country ravaged by war, filled with people caressing their broken hearts — Robert knew he could free their money from their pockets.</p>
<p>What better place than this?</p>
<p>He weaved his words into a net of wonders, but those wounded souls refused to follow his script. They needed something better, not just sugary words, not imaginary happiness, but an anchor to solidify this wrecking reality. The yuppies and counterculture youth were the perfect targets.</p>
<p>A faith to follow.</p>
<p>A figure to believe.</p>
<p>But where, in this ordinary and boring world, could he find the gold for his linings and glass for his tale? His foot traced the path of the unnatural, his soul listened to the whispers in the dark.</p>
<p>He found Portland.</p>
<p>But not just one! How could his plowing field be that plain? Three merged into one, and in that utterly magical place, civilization grew based on miracle. Not every abnormal community is as disgusting as that <em><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sarkicism-hub">cult</a></em>. In this place, the wood was ready to be carved. Matches were ready to be lit.</p>
<p>Like a curious bird, he fluttered from street to street, and ventured into every building he found. He decided to give up any plans and let his wings flow through the wind,<br/>
<span style="color: white">+</span> <span style="color: #555555">between hundreds and thousands of stores,</span><br/>
<span style="color: white">++</span> <span style="color: #555555">a voice called to him, from behind a door…</span><br/>
<span style="color: white">+++</span> <span style="color: #555555">An offer enticing, a promise too nice:</span><br/>
<span style="color: white">++++</span> <span style="color: #555555">"One in a million, don't think twice!"</span></p>
<p>"I see that keen eye you have! What you have there, are truly treasures!" The Shopkeeper complimented his choice, leaning forward as if to tell a secret to him. "I would not sell these to the normal people of this town— But you, I know that you could handle their magic." Brimming with confidence, Robert stepped onto the streets of this lovely place with an armful of wonderful things.</p>
<p>"Oh, you poor soul, you were tricked!" A raspy voice called out to him. An old, ragged man waved Robert to sit down beside him.</p>
<p>"That is no ordinary <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-813">glass orb</a> you have— just a light touch you shall place, and it will shatter to pieces. All of its previous owners… well, I don't want to even mention their consequences. Not one of their eyes survived this tragedy."</p>
<p>Robert's eyes were stuck to the shimmering orb. What kind of luck was he having?</p>
<p>"And how about this?" Robert's voice was breathy, like a mere being witnessing the genesis of a godly creation.</p>
<p>"Oh, that <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1139">metal block</a>! Beware of its humble appearance - a spark of electricity is all it needs to render any melodic speech to absolute gibberish!"</p>
<p>Robert bid the old man goodbye, endless thoughts swirling in his mind. Urged to forge something from nothing, to make puppets from worthless.</p>
<p>An intricate doll made of lead, with eyes of glass and tongue of awe. Ready to dance to all his songs: to the people She’ll belong.</p>
<p><span style="color: white">++++</span> <span style="color: #555555">A godly amazement, a sight to see!</span></p>
<p>As her vision became clear, so should her story be told: broken parts and tattered wires, missing gears and rusted bolts.</p>
<p><span style="color: white">+++++</span> <span style="color: #555555">Rises from rubbles, and shines on thee,</span></p>
<p>A fable is weaving, and a web to behold; This myth is forging, for money it calls.</p>
<p><span style="color: white">++++++</span> <span style="color: #555555">brings you Her knowledge, cleanses your pain!</span></p>
<p>He plays with the strings of this <em>Marionette</em> in his mind. Her life he shall bring, and his wealth she shall make. As her figure is embedded in the hearts of those believed, his pouch will be flowing with cash from those deceived.</p>
<p><span style="color: white">+++++++</span> <span style="color: #555555">Majestic machine, my Mekhane.</span></p>
<p>Robert prepares his items and gathers a crowd for his speech. Stepping onto a nearby pavilion, he then begins to <em>preach</em>:</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><span style="color: grey">"Fellow Three Portlanders stop and hear me!</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">When was the last time you truly felt free?</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">Last time you felt the tinge of joy,</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">And sadness all felt like a ploy?</span></p>
<p><span style="color: grey">I shall tell you the name of Her,</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">She who will save us, the experts concur:</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">Who brings us thought, and does not miss,</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">Expell the pain, and bring us bliss!</span></p>
<p>Bumaro raised the two items, displaying them like relics.</p>
<p><span style="color: grey">"The Eye of Her: this orb you see -</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">Those shards captured, to let Her be free;</span><br/>
<span style="color: white">+++++++</span> <span style="color: #555555">An honor it is to see Her might,</span><br/>
<span style="color: white">+++++++</span> <span style="color: #555555">To be Her vision, to be Her light!"</span></p>
<p><span style="color: grey">"Put that aside and look at this box;</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">Those gibberish words? That meaningless squawk!</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">She gifts you with Her Holy Tongue,</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">to praise Her words; sing Her songs!"</span></p>
<p>Bumaro smiled, as the crowd surrounded him. The play he concocted has mesmerized them, numbing their sense and muddling their wit. His little, blank-headed marionette danced upon the silvery threads, her moves pulled bypassers around into her gaze.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>A voice from the crowd rings out like a bell, an army medic is doubting his sell.</p>
<p><span style="color: green">"Answer us then, the so-called believer,</span><br/>
<span style="color: green">Deny us our faith, unholy deceiver!</span><br/>
<span style="color: green">Glass in the eye, and gears in your chest?</span><br/>
<span style="color: green">Metal sacrilege you meld with your flesh!</span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><span style="color: grey">"Oh my dear friend, let me tell you this,</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">Hear my truth! There’s nothing amiss</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">Open your heart, come here and see:</span><br/>
<span style="color: white">+++++++</span> <span style="color: #555555">If you're Her chosen, Her Blessed Be?"</span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>His wording was numbed, his mind was muddled;<br/>
losing control and his limbs stumbled.<br/>
Though very few here acknowledged his speech,<br/>
his sidewalk congregation knew the sound of a preach.</p>
<p>The medic snapped out, seeing what was happening:<br/>
<span style="color: green">"These are Her parts? My, they are so dazzling!</span><br/>
<span style="color: green">Why, then, is She not at work in the day?</span><br/>
<span style="color: green">Where are her gifts, her powers, you say?"</span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><span style="color: grey">Oh, believer, She pities to refrain,</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">a duty comes first, her own ball and chain;</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">She finds herself burdened with fighting a god,</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">keeping him away, that treacherous fraud."</span></p>
<p><span style="color: grey">"Listen, my friend, he’s flawed and wicked,</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">Someone whose words should never be permitted.</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">The Flesh of the Sarkites, he's the cause,</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey"><em>He</em> keeps us from Her love without pause."</span></p>
<p>The crowd bubbled, and then their feelings erupted. The surge of emotion overwhelmed Bumaro, pushing him into crooks and crevices of the bustling crowd. On the altar, the fake Goddess smiles fondly, as her praising words echo in his ears.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>Robert felt his body, the air that he was wheezing.<br/>
His limbs were cold, his breath icy and freezing.</p>
<p>He heard the gears twisting and turning, rusty bolts clinking and clacking.<br/>
Sounds like a structure's falling, a building that breaks,</p>
<p><span style="color: #555555">or a creation's rising, a creature that wakes.</span></p>
<p>There must be no love here, as he is alone,</p>
<p><span style="color: #555555">And yet he feels loved,</span><br/>
<span style="color: #555555">and yet he feels known.</span></p>
<p>He's being crushed by an unseen machine.<br/>
One that is kind, and loving, it seems.</p>
<p>The love is suffocating him, burning air from his chest.<br/>
Leaving him breathless, the oxygen left.</p>
<p>But then there’s smoke, and then there’s steam<br/>
twisted his lungs and froze his esteem.</p>
<p>Robert chokes on the oily taste.<br/>
The strings he weaved: nothing but waste.</p>
<p>The machine starts to shake off Her rust.<br/>
Gears destroyed strings and ground them to dust.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Bumaro jolts up from his sleep. How long has it been since everything started? Days? Weeks? Or months? Either way, as long as these naive sheep listen to him and hold him dearly in their blinded heart, things will go exactly as planned.</p>
<p>He steps upon the stage, with a robe so vibrant that no others can compare. He is radiant, though his glow is not of the Holy; he is sparkling with his newly bought gold jewelry.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="color: #555555">Robert preaches the love of Mekhane.</span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><span style="color: grey">"My dear followers, relinquish your treasure!</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">Jewels and cash will bring you no pleasure!</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">Use their luster to brighten Her light,</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">use your power to broaden Her might!"</span></p>
<p>Bumaro, the shepherd, stands before his flock and his prize. Oh, the hypnotic feeling to be the focus of so many eyes. He practically floated, flew amid their gaze, but somewhere behind, <em>something</em> leaked through his haze.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="color: #555555">The walls were breaking - a curtain call,</span><br/>
<span style="color: #555555">- into endless gears, both big and small.</span><br/>
<span style="color: #555555">Turning and spinning that silvery circuitry,</span><br/>
<span style="color: #555555">in a rhythmic tones, that orderly filigree.</span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>He blinks, and the vision is gone. A flame arises inside him, kicking his instinct up to the brim. Bumaro hastily wraps the sermon up and runs to the mirror.</p>
<p>Nothing is wrong. It's all normal.</p>
<p>He touched his face, once again, to reassure his frightened heart.</p>
<p>“Remember, Bumaro, you’re not just any man<br/>
but one with a Goddess, grasped in his hand!”<br/>
A puppet, a marionette with no thinking<br/>
he's her creator, her world, her everything!</p>
<p>Rewrite the tales and re-mold the past:<br/>
Geppetto's kindness never did last!<br/>
Pinocchio might have slipped, broke free from the strings<br/>
but Bumaro can only struggle, he couldn’t open his ring.</p>
<p>He has complete control over his creation.<br/>
This is just a hiccup, a small hallucination.</p>
<p>His followers, he hears them, speaking and muttering.<br/>
His fear builds, as they observe their deliverer suffering.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: blue">"Is the Prophet fine?</span><br/>
<span style="color: blue">He's quick to end mass…</span><br/>
<span style="color: blue">I wish to ask,</span><br/>
<span style="color: blue">but I fear being crass."</span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>They are just worried for him. Nothing sacrilegious sprouted in their minds. Robert sighs in relief and collects himself. Once more, he returns to the adoring sight of his followers and uses his dexterous tongue to ease their wavers.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Bumaro stands a wealthy man, his church now equal to his land. He ate gourmet meals and delicate creations; his men wailed and cried, starving at their stations.</p>
<p>'Cause how can one prove their devotion,<br/>
when flesh is the cause of erosion?<br/>
The drinks shall be cold, the bread shall be stale,<br/>
as bodies collapse, the mind will prevail.</p>
<p>He returns to his herd, his mass of believers.<br/>
He continues to blind them, his words honey, treating their fevers.</p>
<p>If their savings can't add to his wealth,<br/>
who else can be blamed besides themselves?<br/>
Devotion the tax, a tithe for Her door<br/>
praying, preaching, donating more!</p>
<p>The mass ended, and Robert looked at himself in the mirror.<br/>
He gazed intently, and then he sees Her.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="color: white">+++++++++++</span> <span style="color: #555555">A shard of glass glistened like steel;</span><br/>
<span style="color: white">+++++++++++++++</span> <span style="color: #555555">it no longer hurts, no longer feels.</span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Robert rushed to the crowd to find Jack -<br/>
With skill over flesh, a chance to get his back.<br/>
Even from afar, a panic Bumaro called,<br/>
his gut is wrenching, his mind is sprawled.</p>
<p><span style="color: grey">"Jack, oh Jack, how much I need your aid!</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">For this thing I see, I'm quite afraid.</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">This glass in my eye - it doesn't ache,</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">and I wish it gone, before it breaks."</span></p>
<p>Jack nodded, and he took a moment trying to remove the glass - before he gasped, whispering atonement.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: green">"Robert, my friend, there's no need for aid!</span><br/>
<span style="color: green">Do not fear the blessing inlaid!</span><br/>
<span style="color: green">A gift from Mekhane, this is Her grace,</span><br/>
<span style="color: green">Praise to the Prophet! He's blessed today!"</span></p>
<p>The crowd listened in,<br/>
their voices ring out:<br/>
<strong>"Praise be to the Prophet,</strong><br/>
<strong>And all his Devout!"</strong></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Robert quickly excused himself away;<br/>
there was no doubt that his scheme went astray!<br/>
His whole body was beginning to shake,<br/>
why did this story seem more real than fake?</p>
<p>He returned to his room, head buried in his hands,<br/>
Figuring ways to prevent his end.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>No. There are no plans. His mind was now blank paper, and his temple throbbed with pain. He has to sleep. He needs some rest.</p>
<p>Before that, everything can wait.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>His eyes were closed but his mind awakes<br/>
some nasty worries, that's all it takes.<br/>
When night turned to day, Bumaro rose,<br/>
cold and tormented, is this what he chose?</p>
<p>Tis' such a burden - a Prophet's role:</p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: #555555">keeps things in check and under control.</span> <span style="color: white">+++++++</span><br/>
<span style="color: #555555">All these wishes, both major or minor,</span> <span style="color: white">++++++</span><br/>
<span style="color: #555555">grant them, and he'll make Her figure finer.</span> <span style="color: white">+++++</span></p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Though he's about the best person to—</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<h6 id="toc0"><span>Thump.</span></h6>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>He ignored the noise,<br/>
didn't even wince.<br/>
It's just construction, he was convinced.</p>
<p>The people came to be preached to<br/>
line by line, it's him they look up to<br/>
preparing praises—</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<h5 id="toc1"><span>Thump.</span></h5>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Nobody else heard it.<br/>
Bumaro heard the nigh ear-shattering noise<br/>
yet nobody noticed the non-stop—</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<h4 id="toc2"><span>Thump.</span></h4>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>He could not keep himself from jumping,<br/>
The noise was so loud, so ear-piercing that—</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<h3 id="toc3"><span>Thump.</span></h3>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>It just kept getting louder, faster—</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<h2 id="toc4"><span>Thump.</span></h2>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>He couldn't hear himself thi—</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<h1 id="toc5"><span>Thump.</span></h1>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h1 id="toc6"><span>Thump.</span></h1>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h1 id="toc7"><span>Thump.</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><span style="color: grey">"My dear followers—"</span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<h1 id="toc8"><span>Thump.</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><span style="color: grey">"Folks, come with me! It's something I hear!</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">Not one normal, a blessing to cheer—"</span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<h1 id="toc9"><span>Thump.</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>They followed him and at his direction,<br/>
"Kick down that door!" they rushed to action.<br/>
That's where it is—</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<h1 id="toc10"><span>Thump.</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>The door is now gone, blasted to parts.<br/>
He looks in, to find a metal heart.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<h1 id="toc11"><span>Thump.</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>People jumped.<br/>
They could hear it.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: #555555">He's not crazy.</span> <span style="color: white">++++</span><br/>
<span style="color: #555555">He’s blessed.</span> <span style="color: white">+++</span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><span style="color: grey">"What is that thing?"</span><br/>
He spoke to himself.<br/>
They're running gears, and twisting cells!<br/>
A majestic piece no one has seen<br/>
Clicking in rhyme, a holy sheen.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<h1 id="toc12"><span>Thump.</span></h1>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Jack calls out.<br/>
<span style="color: green">"It is the heart of Mekhane!</span><br/>
<span style="color: green">We too are Her Blessed!</span><br/>
<span style="color: green">Praise to the Goddess,</span><br/>
<span style="color: green">and to the Prophet!"</span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Robert staggered, façade fell apart<br/>
Fear erupted as his gaze met my heart,<br/>
what would this do without locks and nails?<br/>
Gold chains dangled as his fingers trailed.</p>
<p>So he then spun another story,<br/>
<em>another</em> lie to ease his worry.</p>
<p><span style="color: grey">"My followers, I call out to thee!</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">She blessed us, with a heart this Holy,</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">Such precious things must be protected</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">from greedy eyes, this relic perfected!"</span></p>
<p>My miracle now stands, locked and forbidden.<br/>
Forget all your problems when truth is hidden.<br/>
They are blinded by him, part of his play,<br/>
follow his lead, a Prophet betray.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>Bumaro dreams of metal, bolts, and gears<br/>
they fell into place, as the sky appears.<br/>
The blueprint I drafted, the clockwork of mine.<br/>
The strings of a puppet, the truth they unwind.</p>
<p>Compared to my hand, he's<br/>
<span style="font-size:smaller;">indefinitely small</span><br/>
and those that he can't see:</p>
<h4 id="toc13"><span>inconceivably big.</span></h4>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">"Who are you? What’s this place I see?</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">Why am I here? What is wanted from me?"</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc14"><span>You've Broken My Heart, For Saying Such Things</span></h4>
<h4 id="toc15"><span>Left Your Creation, Let Loose Your Strings</span></h4>
<h4 id="toc16"><span>Open Your Eye, Bear Witness To This:</span></h4>
<h4 id="toc17"><span>The Consequence Sprouts From You And Your"Wits".</span></h4>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">"No, you liar, how can that be true?</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">You were nothing other than scrap and glue!</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">Something to hold them together, win over their favor–</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">a fake belief, a lie, so they wouldn’t waver,</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">a puppet you were, dead and stationed;</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">my Marionette, my creation!</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc18"><span>I Am Not Just One Part Of Your Play,</span></h4>
<h4 id="toc19"><span>"A Mere Puppet," Well That's Just Your Say,</span></h4>
<h4 id="toc20"><span>Only To Myself That I Will Obey</span></h4>
<h4 id="toc21"><span>One With No Strings, One Has Gone Astray.</span></h4>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">"What do you want? All I will grant!</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">There’s plenty of gold, belief, a chant!</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">I'll go and flee, I’ll drive to the sea</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">I beg that you spare my life. Just don't kill me!"</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc22"><span>You Are My Prophet, Who Brought Me Life</span></h4>
<h4 id="toc23"><span>Why Should Yours End, My Shepard, My Guide?</span></h4>
<h4 id="toc24"><span>The Trust You Placed Will Not Go To Waste,</span></h4>
<h4 id="toc25"><span>For I Would Never Betray Your Faith.</span></h4>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
He sighs a bit, relief comes as a stream.<br/>
Bumaro stands straight, try probing my scheme.<br/>
<span style="color: grey">"Then why am I here? And what's your purpose?"</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">If not to punish me for my deceitful circus?”</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc26"><span>I Brought You Here, For The Sake Of A Gift</span></h4>
<h4 id="toc27"><span>A Wish I'll Grant, So Your Trust Won't Shift.</span></h4>
<h4 id="toc28"><span>One Outside Of The Wealth in Your Hand,</span></h4>
<h4 id="toc29"><span>One That Your Wit Will Not Understand.</span></h4>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<h4 id="toc30"><span>A True Blessing I Am Bringing,</span></h4>
<h4 id="toc31"><span>To Clear The Doubts In My Devouts.</span></h4>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
His eyes widen, horror instilled,<br/>
<span style="color: grey">"That was you? No, you are not real.</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">This’s just a dream, and you’re just in my mind!</span><br/>
<span style="color: grey">I'm waking up now, I'll leave you behind!"</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc32"><span>Stories Have Power.</span></h4>
<p>I whispered in his ear<br/>
my gears swallow him and wires adhere.<br/>
Though my joints are weak and power shattered.<br/>
As I slumber, my light will be gathered.</p>
<p>Though I'm broken and missing my piece,<br/>
the love I carry will not decrease.<br/>
My energy may have faltered, dried up, or drained,<br/>
but the hope I brought will never be stained.<br/>
‘Cause when the flame flickers and waves,<br/>
My congregation in light, a beacon of faith.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Bumaro was startled as he rushed out of bed</p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: #555555">my limbs stumbled and my heart pounded,</span> <span style="color: white">++</span></p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>his mind muddled and his breath astray,<br/>
But the horrors he faced faded not with the day.<br/>
He ran to the bathroom, the world ‘round him whirled,<br/>
choked on his breath as his stomach knotted and curled.</p>
<p>He passes the mirror, hoping himself saved,<br/>
but his eye caught a glimpse of something crazed.<br/>
When creeping back slowly, peering to the reflection,<br/>
he fears the image of crystalline deception:<br/>
He sees the shimmering, thin outline<br/>
of strings wrapping him up, neat and tight.</p>
<p>His eyes were glass and joints were metal,<br/>
his body robotic, an empty vessel.<br/>
A living human no longer, a lustrous pastor<br/>
as wires spread from puppet to master.</p>
<p>She had no strings on Her, free, independent,<br/>
but the threads bound him, the sorrowful repentant.</p>
<p>His marionette cut Herself free,<br/>
And listen to his followers' pleas.<br/>
It dawned on him, he laughed:</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><span style="color: grey">"Now I see.</span></p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="color: grey">She wasn't the puppet.</span></p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: grey">It was me."</span></p>
</div>
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<p>"<a href="/blessings-of-bumaro">Blessings of Bumaro</a>" by DoctorLilithSophia, ashiningmoon, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/blessings-of-bumaro">https://scpwiki.com/blessings-of-bumaro</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
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<p><strong>Filename:</strong> 1.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ashiningmoon" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9126871); return false;"><img alt="ashiningmoon" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=9126871&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735053075" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=9126871)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ashiningmoon" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9126871); return false;">ashiningmoon</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> cc-by-sa 3.0</p>
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<p><strong>Filename:</strong> 2.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ashiningmoon" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9126871); return false;"><img alt="ashiningmoon" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=9126871&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735053075" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=9126871)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ashiningmoon" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9126871); return false;">ashiningmoon</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> cc-by-sa 3.0</p>
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<p><strong>Filename:</strong> 3.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ashiningmoon" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9126871); return false;"><img alt="ashiningmoon" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=9126871&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735053075" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=9126871)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ashiningmoon" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9126871); return false;">ashiningmoon</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> cc-by-sa 3.0</p>
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<p><strong>Filename:</strong> 4.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ashiningmoon" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9126871); return false;"><img alt="ashiningmoon" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=9126871&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735053075" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=9126871)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ashiningmoon" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9126871); return false;">ashiningmoon</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> cc-by-sa 3.0</p>
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|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:eventyr">:scp-wiki:theme:eventyr</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:fade-in">:scp-wiki:component:fade-in</a> speed=2]]
[[<]]
Once upon a time, there was a man named Robert. He was a cheat of a man blessed with a silver tongue, but he was no better than a scoundrel. He dreamed to be surrounded by fooled minds, bathed in the splendid light of fame and wealth.
Day by day, more and more people fell to his ruse. His stories blinded them to where they were willingly emptying their pockets for his tricks. But how can those small pennies here and there, thin dollar bills he pestered, quench his thirst? When he found himself amidst the Land of the Free — a country ravaged by war, filled with people caressing their broken hearts — Robert knew he could free their money from their pockets.
What better place than this?
He weaved his words into a net of wonders, but those wounded souls refused to follow his script. They needed something better, not just sugary words, not imaginary happiness, but an anchor to solidify this wrecking reality. The yuppies and counterculture youth were the perfect targets.
A faith to follow.
A figure to believe.
But where, in this ordinary and boring world, could he find the gold for his linings and glass for his tale? His foot traced the path of the unnatural, his soul listened to the whispers in the dark.
He found Portland.
But not just one! How could his plowing field be that plain? Three merged into one, and in that utterly magical place, civilization grew based on miracle. Not every abnormal community is as disgusting as that //[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sarkicism-hub cult]//. In this place, the wood was ready to be carved. Matches were ready to be lit.
Like a curious bird, he fluttered from street to street, and ventured into every building he found. He decided to give up any plans and let his wings flow through the wind,
##white|+## ##555555|between hundreds and thousands of stores,##
##white|++## ##555555|a voice called to him, from behind a door...##
##white|+++## ##555555|An offer enticing, a promise too nice:##
##white|++++## ##555555|"One in a million, don't think twice!"##
"I see that keen eye you have! What you have there, are truly treasures!" The Shopkeeper complimented his choice, leaning forward as if to tell a secret to him. "I would not sell these to the normal people of this town-- But you, I know that you could handle their magic." Brimming with confidence, Robert stepped onto the streets of this lovely place with an armful of wonderful things.
"Oh, you poor soul, you were tricked!" A raspy voice called out to him. An old, ragged man waved Robert to sit down beside him.
"That is no ordinary [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-813 glass orb] you have-- just a light touch you shall place, and it will shatter to pieces. All of its previous owners... well, I don't want to even mention their consequences. Not one of their eyes survived this tragedy."
Robert's eyes were stuck to the shimmering orb. What kind of luck was he having?
"And how about this?" Robert's voice was breathy, like a mere being witnessing the genesis of a godly creation.
"Oh, that [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1139 metal block]! Beware of its humble appearance - a spark of electricity is all it needs to render any melodic speech to absolute gibberish!"
Robert bid the old man goodbye, endless thoughts swirling in his mind. Urged to forge something from nothing, to make puppets from worthless.
An intricate doll made of lead, with eyes of glass and tongue of awe. Ready to dance to all his songs: to the people She’ll belong.
##white|++++## ##555555|A godly amazement, a sight to see!##
As her vision became clear, so should her story be told: broken parts and tattered wires, missing gears and rusted bolts.
##white|+++++## ##555555|Rises from rubbles, and shines on thee,##
A fable is weaving, and a web to behold; This myth is forging, for money it calls.
##white|++++++## ##555555|brings you Her knowledge, cleanses your pain!##
He plays with the strings of this //Marionette// in his mind. Her life he shall bring, and his wealth she shall make. As her figure is embedded in the hearts of those believed, his pouch will be flowing with cash from those deceived.
##white|+++++++## ##555555|Majestic machine, my Mekhane.##
Robert prepares his items and gathers a crowd for his speech. Stepping onto a nearby pavilion, he then begins to //preach//:
[[/<]]
[[=]]
[[image 1.png]]
[[/=]]
[[<]]
##grey|"Fellow Three Portlanders stop and hear me!##
##grey|When was the last time you truly felt free?##
##grey|Last time you felt the tinge of joy,##
##grey|And sadness all felt like a ploy?##
##grey|I shall tell you the name of Her,##
##grey|She who will save us, the experts concur:##
##grey|Who brings us thought, and does not miss,##
##grey|Expell the pain, and bring us bliss!##
Bumaro raised the two items, displaying them like relics.
##grey|"The Eye of Her: this orb you see -##
##grey|Those shards captured, to let Her be free;##
##white|+++++++## ##555555|An honor it is to see Her might,##
##white|+++++++## ##555555|To be Her vision, to be Her light!"##
##grey|"Put that aside and look at this box;##
##grey|Those gibberish words? That meaningless squawk!##
##grey|She gifts you with Her Holy Tongue,##
##grey|to praise Her words; sing Her songs!"##
Bumaro smiled, as the crowd surrounded him. The play he concocted has mesmerized them, numbing their sense and muddling their wit. His little, blank-headed marionette danced upon the silvery threads, her moves pulled bypassers around into her gaze.
[[/<]]
[[>]]
A voice from the crowd rings out like a bell, an army medic is doubting his sell.
##green|"Answer us then, the so-called believer,##
##green|Deny us our faith, unholy deceiver!##
##green|Glass in the eye, and gears in your chest?##
##green|Metal sacrilege you meld with your flesh!##
[[/>]]
[[<]]
##grey|"Oh my dear friend, let me tell you this,##
##grey|Hear my truth! There’s nothing amiss##
##grey|Open your heart, come here and see:##
##white|+++++++## ##555555| If you're Her chosen, Her Blessed Be?"##
[[/<]]
[[>]]
His wording was numbed, his mind was muddled;
losing control and his limbs stumbled.
Though very few here acknowledged his speech,
his sidewalk congregation knew the sound of a preach.
The medic snapped out, seeing what was happening:
##green|"These are Her parts? My, they are so dazzling!##
##green|Why, then, is She not at work in the day?##
##green|Where are her gifts, her powers, you say?"##
[[/>]]
[[<]]
##grey|Oh, believer, She pities to refrain,##
##grey|a duty comes first, her own ball and chain;##
##grey|She finds herself burdened with fighting a god,##
##grey|keeping him away, that treacherous fraud."##
##grey|"Listen, my friend, he’s flawed and wicked,##
##grey|Someone whose words should never be permitted.##
##grey|The Flesh of the Sarkites, he's the cause,##
##grey|//He// keeps us from Her love without pause."##
The crowd bubbled, and then their feelings erupted. The surge of emotion overwhelmed Bumaro, pushing him into crooks and crevices of the bustling crowd. On the altar, the fake Goddess smiles fondly, as her praising words echo in his ears.
[[/<]]
[[div class="eventyr-hr"]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
Robert felt his body, the air that he was wheezing.
His limbs were cold, his breath icy and freezing.
He heard the gears twisting and turning, rusty bolts clinking and clacking.
Sounds like a structure's falling, a building that breaks,
##555555|or a creation's rising, a creature that wakes.##
There must be no love here, as he is alone,
##555555|And yet he feels loved,##
##555555|and yet he feels known.##
He's being crushed by an unseen machine.
One that is kind, and loving, it seems.
The love is suffocating him, burning air from his chest.
Leaving him breathless, the oxygen left.
But then there’s smoke, and then there’s steam
twisted his lungs and froze his esteem.
Robert chokes on the oily taste.
The strings he weaved: nothing but waste.
The machine starts to shake off Her rust.
Gears destroyed strings and ground them to dust.
[[/=]]
[[<]]
Bumaro jolts up from his sleep. How long has it been since everything started? Days? Weeks? Or months? Either way, as long as these naive sheep listen to him and hold him dearly in their blinded heart, things will go exactly as planned.
He steps upon the stage, with a robe so vibrant that no others can compare. He is radiant, though his glow is not of the Holy; he is sparkling with his newly bought gold jewelry.
[[/<]]
[[=]]
##555555|Robert preaches the love of Mekhane.##
[[/=]]
[[<]]
##grey|"My dear followers, relinquish your treasure!##
##grey|Jewels and cash will bring you no pleasure!##
##grey|Use their luster to brighten Her light,##
##grey|use your power to broaden Her might!"##
Bumaro, the shepherd, stands before his flock and his prize. Oh, the hypnotic feeling to be the focus of so many eyes. He practically floated, flew amid their gaze, but somewhere behind, //something// leaked through his haze.
[[/<]]
[[=]]
##555555|The walls were breaking - a curtain call,##
##555555|- into endless gears, both big and small.##
##555555|Turning and spinning that silvery circuitry,##
##555555|in a rhythmic tones, that orderly filigree.##
[[/=]]
[[<]]
He blinks, and the vision is gone. A flame arises inside him, kicking his instinct up to the brim. Bumaro hastily wraps the sermon up and runs to the mirror.
Nothing is wrong. It's all normal.
He touched his face, once again, to reassure his frightened heart.
“Remember, Bumaro, you’re not just any man
but one with a Goddess, grasped in his hand!”
A puppet, a marionette with no thinking
he's her creator, her world, her everything!
Rewrite the tales and re-mold the past:
Geppetto's kindness never did last!
Pinocchio might have slipped, broke free from the strings
but Bumaro can only struggle, he couldn’t open his ring.
He has complete control over his creation.
This is just a hiccup, a small hallucination.
His followers, he hears them, speaking and muttering.
His fear builds, as they observe their deliverer suffering.
[[/<]]
[[>]]
##blue|"Is the Prophet fine?##
##blue|He's quick to end mass...##
##blue|I wish to ask,##
##blue|but I fear being crass."##
[[/>]]
[[<]]
They are just worried for him. Nothing sacrilegious sprouted in their minds. Robert sighs in relief and collects himself. Once more, he returns to the adoring sight of his followers and uses his dexterous tongue to ease their wavers.
[[/<]]
[[div class="eventyr-hr"]]
[[/div]]
[[<]]
Bumaro stands a wealthy man, his church now equal to his land. He ate gourmet meals and delicate creations; his men wailed and cried, starving at their stations.
'Cause how can one prove their devotion,
when flesh is the cause of erosion?
The drinks shall be cold, the bread shall be stale,
as bodies collapse, the mind will prevail.
He returns to his herd, his mass of believers.
He continues to blind them, his words honey, treating their fevers.
If their savings can't add to his wealth,
who else can be blamed besides themselves?
Devotion the tax, a tithe for Her door
praying, preaching, donating more!
The mass ended, and Robert looked at himself in the mirror.
He gazed intently, and then he sees Her.
[[/<]]
[[=]]
##white|+++++++++++## ##555555|A shard of glass glistened like steel;##
##white|+++++++++++++++## ##555555|it no longer hurts, no longer feels.##
[[/=]]
[[=]]
[[image 2.png]]
[[/=]]
[[<]]
Robert rushed to the crowd to find Jack -
With skill over flesh, a chance to get his back.
Even from afar, a panic Bumaro called,
his gut is wrenching, his mind is sprawled.
##grey|"Jack, oh Jack, how much I need your aid!##
##grey|For this thing I see, I'm quite afraid.##
##grey|This glass in my eye - it doesn't ache,##
##grey|and I wish it gone, before it breaks."##
Jack nodded, and he took a moment trying to remove the glass - before he gasped, whispering atonement.
[[/<]]
[[>]]
##green|"Robert, my friend, there's no need for aid!##
##green|Do not fear the blessing inlaid!##
##green|A gift from Mekhane, this is Her grace,##
##green|Praise to the Prophet! He's blessed today!"##
The crowd listened in,
their voices ring out:
**"Praise be to the Prophet,**
**And all his Devout!"**
[[/>]]
[[<]]
Robert quickly excused himself away;
there was no doubt that his scheme went astray!
His whole body was beginning to shake,
why did this story seem more real than fake?
He returned to his room, head buried in his hands,
Figuring ways to prevent his end.
...
No. There are no plans. His mind was now blank paper, and his temple throbbed with pain. He has to sleep. He needs some rest.
Before that, everything can wait.
[[/<]]
[[div class="eventyr-hr"]]
[[/div]]
[[<]]
His eyes were closed but his mind awakes
some nasty worries, that's all it takes.
When night turned to day, Bumaro rose,
cold and tormented, is this what he chose?
Tis' such a burden - a Prophet's role:
[[/<]]
[[>]]
##555555|keeps things in check and under control.## ##white|+++++++##
##555555|All these wishes, both major or minor,## ##white|++++++##
##555555|grant them, and he'll make Her figure finer.## ##white|+++++##
[[/>]]
[[<]]
Though he's about the best person to--
[[/<]]
[[>]]
++++++ Thump.
[[/>]]
[[<]]
He ignored the noise,
didn't even wince.
It's just construction, he was convinced.
The people came to be preached to
line by line, it's him they look up to
preparing praises—
[[/<]]
[[>]]
+++++ Thump.
[[/>]]
[[<]]
Nobody else heard it.
Bumaro heard the nigh ear-shattering noise
yet nobody noticed the non-stop--
[[/<]]
[[>]]
++++ Thump.
[[/>]]
[[<]]
He could not keep himself from jumping,
The noise was so loud, so ear-piercing that--
[[/<]]
[[>]]
+++ Thump.
[[/>]]
[[<]]
It just kept getting louder, faster--
[[/<]]
[[>]]
++ Thump.
[[/>]]
[[<]]
He couldn't hear himself thi--
[[/<]]
[[>]]
+ Thump.
@@ @@
+ Thump.
@@ @@
+ Thump.
[[/>]]
[[<]]
##grey|"My dear followers—"##
[[/<]]
[[>]]
+ Thump.
[[/>]]
[[<]]
##grey|"Folks, come with me! It's something I hear!##
##grey|Not one normal, a blessing to cheer—"##
[[/<]]
[[>]]
+ Thump.
[[/>]]
[[<]]
They followed him and at his direction,
"Kick down that door!" they rushed to action.
That's where it is—
[[/<]]
[[>]]
+ Thump.
[[/>]]
[[<]]
The door is now gone, blasted to parts.
He looks in, to find a metal heart.
[[/<]]
[[>]]
+ Thump.
[[/>]]
[[<]]
People jumped.
They could hear it.
[[/<]]
[[>]]
##555555|He's not crazy.## ##white|++++##
##555555|He’s blessed.## ##white|+++##
[[/>]]
[[<]]
##grey|"What is that thing?"##
He spoke to himself.
They're running gears, and twisting cells!
A majestic piece no one has seen
Clicking in rhyme, a holy sheen.
[[/<]]
[[>]]
+ Thump.
@@ @@
Jack calls out.
##green|"It is the heart of Mekhane!##
##green|We too are Her Blessed!##
##green|Praise to the Goddess,##
##green|and to the Prophet!"##
[[/>]]
[[<]]
Robert staggered, façade fell apart
Fear erupted as his gaze met my heart,
what would this do without locks and nails?
Gold chains dangled as his fingers trailed.
So he then spun another story,
//another// lie to ease his worry.
##grey|"My followers, I call out to thee!##
##grey|She blessed us, with a heart this Holy,##
##grey|Such precious things must be protected##
##grey|from greedy eyes, this relic perfected!"##
My miracle now stands, locked and forbidden.
Forget all your problems when truth is hidden.
They are blinded by him, part of his play,
follow his lead, a Prophet betray.
[[/<]]
[[div class="eventyr-hr"]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
Bumaro dreams of metal, bolts, and gears
they fell into place, as the sky appears.
The blueprint I drafted, the clockwork of mine.
The strings of a puppet, the truth they unwind.
Compared to my hand, he's
[[size smaller]]indefinitely small[[/size]]
and those that he can't see:
++++ inconceivably big.
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[=]]
[[image 3.png]]
[[/=]]
[[<]]
@@ @@
##grey|"Who are you? What’s this place I see?##
##grey|Why am I here? What is wanted from me?"##
@@ @@
[[/<]]
[[=]]
++++ You've Broken My Heart, For Saying Such Things
++++ Left Your Creation, Let Loose Your Strings
++++ Open Your Eye, Bear Witness To This:
++++ The Consequence Sprouts From You And Your"Wits".
[[/=]]
[[<]]
@@ @@
##grey|"No, you liar, how can that be true?##
##grey|You were nothing other than scrap and glue!##
##grey|Something to hold them together, win over their favor–##
##grey|a fake belief, a lie, so they wouldn’t waver,##
##grey|a puppet you were, dead and stationed;##
##grey|my Marionette, my creation!##
@@ @@
[[/<]]
[[=]]
++++ I Am Not Just One Part Of Your Play,
++++ "A Mere Puppet," Well That's Just Your Say,
++++ Only To Myself That I Will Obey
++++ One With No Strings, One Has Gone Astray.
[[/=]]
[[<]]
@@ @@
##grey|"What do you want? All I will grant!##
##grey|There’s plenty of gold, belief, a chant!##
##grey|I'll go and flee, I’ll drive to the sea##
##grey|I beg that you spare my life. Just don't kill me!"##
@@ @@
[[/<]]
[[=]]
++++ You Are My Prophet, Who Brought Me Life
++++ Why Should Yours End, My Shepard, My Guide?
++++ The Trust You Placed Will Not Go To Waste,
++++ For I Would Never Betray Your Faith.
[[/=]]
[[<]]
@@ @@
He sighs a bit, relief comes as a stream.
Bumaro stands straight, try probing my scheme.
##grey|"Then why am I here? And what's your purpose?"##
##grey|If not to punish me for my deceitful circus?”##
@@ @@
[[/<]]
[[=]]
++++ I Brought You Here, For The Sake Of A Gift
++++ A Wish I'll Grant, So Your Trust Won't Shift.
++++ One Outside Of The Wealth in Your Hand,
++++ One That Your Wit Will Not Understand.
@@ @@
++++ A True Blessing I Am Bringing,
++++ To Clear The Doubts In My Devouts.
[[/=]]
[[<]]
@@ @@
His eyes widen, horror instilled,
##grey|"That was you? No, you are not real.##
##grey|This’s just a dream, and you’re just in my mind!##
##grey|I'm waking up now, I'll leave you behind!"##
@@ @@
[[/<]]
[[=]]
++++ Stories Have Power.
I whispered in his ear
my gears swallow him and wires adhere.
Though my joints are weak and power shattered.
As I slumber, my light will be gathered.
Though I'm broken and missing my piece,
the love I carry will not decrease.
My energy may have faltered, dried up, or drained,
but the hope I brought will never be stained.
‘Cause when the flame flickers and waves,
My congregation in light, a beacon of faith.
[[/=]]
[[div class="eventyr-hr"]]
[[/div]]
[[<]]
Bumaro was startled as he rushed out of bed
[[/<]]
[[>]]
##555555|my limbs stumbled and my heart pounded,## ##white|++##
[[/>]]
[[<]]
his mind muddled and his breath astray,
But the horrors he faced faded not with the day.
He ran to the bathroom, the world ‘round him whirled,
choked on his breath as his stomach knotted and curled.
He passes the mirror, hoping himself saved,
but his eye caught a glimpse of something crazed.
When creeping back slowly, peering to the reflection,
he fears the image of crystalline deception:
He sees the shimmering, thin outline
of strings wrapping him up, neat and tight.
His eyes were glass and joints were metal,
his body robotic, an empty vessel.
A living human no longer, a lustrous pastor
as wires spread from puppet to master.
She had no strings on Her, free, independent,
but the threads bound him, the sorrowful repentant.
His marionette cut Herself free,
And listen to his followers' pleas.
It dawned on him, he laughed:
[[/<]]
[[<]]
##grey|"Now I see.##
[[/<]]
[[=]]
##grey|She wasn't the puppet.##
[[/=]]
[[>]]
##grey|It was me."##
[[/>]]
[[=]]
[[image 4.png]]
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=DoctorLilithSophia, ashiningmoon]]
=====
> **Filename:** 1.png
> **Author:** [[*user ashiningmoon]]
> **License:** cc-by-sa 3.0
=====
> **Filename:** 2.png
> **Author:** [[*user ashiningmoon]]
> **License:** cc-by-sa 3.0
=====
> **Filename:** 3.png
> **Author:** [[*user ashiningmoon]]
> **License:** cc-by-sa 3.0
=====
> **Filename:** 4.png
> **Author:** [[*user ashiningmoon]]
> **License:** cc-by-sa 3.0
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-09-26T01:48:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"broken-god",
"co-authored",
"eventyr",
"illustrated",
"otherworldly",
"religious-fiction",
"robert-bumaro",
"tale",
"three-portlands"
] |
Blessings of Bumaro - SCP Foundation
| 39
|
[
"sarkicism-hub",
"scp-813",
"scp-1139",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"church-of-the-broken-god-hub"
] |
[] |
1456931317
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/blessings-of-bumaro
|
|
blue-blooded-blues
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<div class="content-descriptor"><span style="display: syntax error near `{$gore} ==`">Graphic depiction of blood, gore or mutilation of body parts</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$sexual-r`">Features sexual themes or language, but does not depict sexual acts.</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$sexually`">Explicit depiction of sexual acts.</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$sexual-a`">Features non-consensual sexual acts.</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$child-ab`">Depiction of severe mistreatment of children</span><br/>
<span style="display: block">Depiction of self-harm</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$suicide}`">Depiction of suicide</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$torture}`">Depiction of torture</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$custom} `">{$custom-content}</span></div>
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<pre><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">sidebar-width-on-desktop:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--base-font-size) * (</span><span class="hl-number">266</span><span class="hl-code"> / </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-code">))</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">body-width-on-desktop:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">45.75</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (min-width: 56.25</span><span class="hl-identifier">rem</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#content-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> initial</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> row</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - (</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">min-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - var(--final-header-height-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">10.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem) </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code"> / </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> initial</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--body-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">45.75</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--body-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">45.75</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> min(</span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-code">vw, var(--body-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">45.75</span><span class="hl-code">rem))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> -webkit-sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">grid-area:</span><span class="hl-code"> side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">min-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow-y:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">scroll</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code">
translate </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
background-color </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
padding </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms linear,
margin </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms linear</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--swatch-tertiary-color, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--sidebar-bg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">translate:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">rtl</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">thin</span><span class="hl-code">;
-</span><span class="hl-reserved">ms-scroll-chaining:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overscroll-behavior:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-color:</span><span class="hl-code">
rgba(var(--swatch-primary-darker), </span><span class="hl-number">0.1</span><span class="hl-code">) /* Thumb */
rgba(var(--swatch-tertiary-color), </span><span class="hl-number">0.05</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">; /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--swatch-secondary-color, </span><span class="hl-number">244</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">244</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">244</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">0.8</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-corner</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw + </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right-style:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--sidebar-bg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">is</span><span class="hl-code">(:</span><span class="hl-identifier">hover</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">active</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">focus-within</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow-x:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow-y:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--swatch-primary-darker), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--sidebar-bg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">translate:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem) - var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-color:</span><span class="hl-code">
rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">) /* Thumb */
rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">; /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-color:</span><span class="hl-code">
rgb(var(--swatch-primary-darker, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">) /* Thumb */
rgb(var(--swatch-menubg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">; /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> " "</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">fixed</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
background-position </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
opacity </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url("https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/component%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Acollapsible-sidebar/sidebar-tab.svg")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-attachment:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">fixed</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">12.875</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">pointer-events:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">is</span><span class="hl-code">(:</span><span class="hl-identifier">hover</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">active</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">focus-within</span><span class="hl-code">) + </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">14.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
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<p>This article contains depictions of severe depression and psychological trauma, thoughts of self-harm and suicide, and medical abuse.</p>
<p><strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/no-return-hub">More from this canon: No Return</a></strong></p>
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<p>This article was made for <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/tiredsn0w" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7483584); return false;"><img alt="tiredsn0w" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=7483584&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736515185" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=7483584)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/tiredsn0w" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7483584); return false;">tiredsn0w</a></span> as part of <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/forum/t-16984471/13th-annual-art-exchange">SCP Art Exchange 2024!</a></p>
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<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6118">5a82</a> let out a frightened scream as he jolted up in a panic, the dream images continuing to flash through his mind. As he began to regain awareness, he investigated his surroundings. Instead of being connected to tubes and being slowly consumed by flames, he found himself surrounded by four white foam walls. At one end of the room was a large two way window, and at another a securely locked door. He was lying in a bed dressed in a white shirt and pants and covered with a sheet.</p>
<p>“<em>…another one of those damn nightmares.</em>“ He whispered to himself in his native alien language. He began to calm down and felt less anxious. These nightmares were a constant reminder. A reminder of all he‘d ever known and experienced for most of his miserable life. His true nature. What he was born to be, likely all he’d ever be, regardless of what the doctors within this place thought or said.</p>
<p>Thinking of the people here had gotten him diving deep into his thoughts again. Just how long had he been here now anyways, in this bleak complex facility owned by the people on this planet? It was hard to keep track of the number of days, especially due to differing planetary hours. From what he was able to determine, he believed it had been at least a year since the crash that resulted in him ending up here.</p>
<p>“<em>Why am I even thinking about this? So what if I’ve been in this place for a year? It’s not like it matters…Nothing’s changed.</em>” He said to himself as he curled into a fetal position and leaned his head against his knees. No matter what planet he’s on, it doesn’t change the fact he’s going to be in the same position as he’s always been. Surrounded by scientists and doctors, the occasional experiments, interviews, and checkups. It was all the same. Sure he hasn’t been stuffed into a pod, connected to countless tubes and wires, or strapped to a table being poked and prodded like a lab animal like he was back home after he reached the necessary age. Sure, maybe a few people in this place had been a bit more “empathetic” or “compassionate”, stating that they just wanted to understand and help. But he knew better now. He could see through the facade and knew the truth.</p>
<p>The truth was no matter what the people here said or did, it was all the same. They were no different than those back home, and he was going through the same cycle of pain and torment that he had gone through since the very moment of his birth. Why couldn’t he just be free? To finally end the pain and misery? Why couldn’t he just be allowed to die already? It was as if the universe was keeping him alive just to suffer. Even when he had found one opportunity to put a bullet in his head, it was taken from him, and he found himself in a new cell in another one of their countless prisons. He couldn’t even harm himself without being caught. Even when he wasn’t being watched, he couldn’t harm himself thanks to cushioned walls and protective hand guards and socks so he couldn’t claw at himself. He couldn't even write down his own thoughts anymore since they restricted his access to paper and pencils.</p>
<p>One day the universe decided to tease him with a false sense of hope. He found himself feeling incredibly weak and unable to breathe without a machine. For the first time in his life, he felt genuinely ill. For weeks he felt <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6500">as if he was withering away and he didn’t know why</a>. But he didn’t really care, because he thought that the universe had decided to show him mercy. He was finally going to die. Cruelly, this hope was taken away from him again, as he suddenly recovered and the cycle continued without end, showing just how cruel the universe truly is.</p>
<p>Strangely though, shortly after his near death experience, things around him had begun to change. It all started during one of his annual checkups. He noticed that the symbol on their tags was different now. The circle with arrows was replaced with a “V” surrounded by a green star. One of them also called him a VNP instead of the usual SCP which he’d gotten used to. His curiosity peaked him and he began to eavesdrop on the conversations surrounding him outside his cell. He heard mentions of “vanguard” and something about them figuring out a “normalization protocol” regarding him, and thus not yet officially being a VNP. They said his mental state and paranoia could be a problem and were concerned any protocol could negatively affect him and make his mental health worse than it already was.</p>
<p>He snarled and clenched his hands just thinking about it, remembering what they accused him of.</p>
<p>“<em>They accuse me of being paranoid?! I’m not paranoid, I’m self aware! I’m more than that…I’m a victim.</em>“ His anger then quickly turned to sadness as tears began to pour down his face. He buried his head back into his lap.</p>
<p>“<em>…I’m an abomination.</em>”</p>
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<p><strong>Vanguard Watchtower-19</strong><br/>
<em>9 February, 2022</em></p>
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<p>The double doors to the administrative meeting room of Watchtower-19 opened as numerous directors and researchers exited. They’d just finished a meeting between the site directors to discuss which Foundation sites had yet to be converted into either a watchtower or lighthouse, and how to adapt their standard procedures to better reflect Vanguard’s mission of normalization.</p>
<p>One of these researchers was Dr. Mitchell, who volunteered to fill in for Site-66’s director Louis Martin who was attending another meeting formulating a normalization protocol for <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1929">1929</a>, after reported sightings of small identical phenomena occurring within New Mexico.</p>
<p>She had taken extensive notes in the meeting regarding lighthouse facility configuration plans, public opening scheduling suggestions, currently selected anomalies for normalization, and new standard protocol ideas.</p>
<p>She pulled out her phone and began dialing the director of Site-66, while she continued to walk down the corridor.</p>
<p>“Hello, Director Martin? This is Dr. Mitchell, the meeting at Watchtower-19 just concluded.”</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>“Everything went well sir, We’ve come to some agreements and developed several proposals we believe will be necessary to convert 66 to a lighthouse.”</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>“Yes, I’ll be sure to go over all the details with you and the rest of 66’s personnel upon your return. We can also discuss any recommendations regarding the proposals.”</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>“Understood. I’ll return to the site as soon as I’m finished with my work here, there are just a few things I need to take care of before I leave.”</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>“Yes, I will, thank you sir.” She finished speaking as she hung up and placed her phone back in her pocket. She sighed as she rubbed the back of head In agitation. It had been several months since the Veil of Secrecy was brought down and the Foundation dissolved to become Vanguard, but she was still getting used to all the changes that had been occurring. While a small part of her was glad the Veil ended, another part of her was annoyed by it, because now they had to go through the same amount of effort in containing anomalies to explain these things to the public.</p>
<p>But her colleagues working at Site-66 could worry about all of that when she forwarded them the documents. For now she had another meeting she had to attend before she left.</p>
<p>An annual meeting with a subject that she’d had the most interactions with… an old “acquaintance”.</p>
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<p>It took her about eight minutes to reach SCP-6118’s chamber. She’d been there often to check in on them, and attempt the occasional failed interview to get some clear answers about their past. The current on-duty surveilling researcher noticed Dr. Mitchell’s arrival.</p>
<p>“How’s 6118’s status? Any updates I need to be informed of?” She asked as she glanced through the two way glass.</p>
<p>“Nope, just the usual. The daily pattern of them mostly preferring to keep to themselves, curling up in bed, getting up to consume their nutritional solutions, or read the books we’ve provided.” The researcher said as they got up from their desk.</p>
<p>“You’re positive? There hasn’t been any noticeable improvements or changes in their behavior as of late?” She questioned as she continued to look through the window.</p>
<p>“Well actually, if you look at the night surveillance footage, the subject often trembles and shifts in their sleep. Facial expressions and lip movement also suggest aggravated or disturbed muttering. This commonly leads to them waking up in a panicked and agitated state. Obviously, 6118 is suffering from constant nightmares.“</p>
<p>“I’m already aware of the nightmares. It seems to be a common experience, even during their time in Site-66.”</p>
<p>“Well, unfortunately it seems their frequency has increased. This is having a massively negative impact on the subject. Take a look, this is the footage from last night.”</p>
<p>Dr. Mitchell watched as 6118 thrashed around for a time in their sleep before jolting up screaming in a cold sweat. It took some time before they calmed down and returned to a fetal position.</p>
<p>“You are right, they seem deeply disturbed. But I’ve seen similar behavior before.” Dr. Mitchell stated as she looked to the researcher.</p>
<p>“That’s not the concerning part though. Keep watching.”</p>
<p>She looked back at the footage, and after a few seconds noticed that 6118 uncurled and appeared to be showing signs of deep emotional distress. They began to breathe heavily as they looked down at their hands. Suddenly, Dr. Mitchell was then taken aback as she witnessed them beginning to aggressively use their teeth to bite and pull at the mittens and socks strapped to their hands and feet. This went on for several minutes before they suddenly stopped, only to suddenly grab their pillow and press it firmly against their face in what appeared to be an attempt at self suffocation. This doesn’t work however, due to their bed and clothing being made with breathable materials. Eventually, 6118 appeared to give up as they threw their pillow to the other side of the room and then lay sprawled on the floor, crying hysterically for a time before settling into quiet sobs and whimpers. The footage stopped playing as the researcher looked back to Mitchell, deeply disturbed by what she witnessed.</p>
<p>“In the morning it attempted to assault the personnel entering the room for its morning nutrition. They also stole one of their keycards and attempted to escape…but not before trying to use it to slit its own throat. We had to physically restrain it before we administered sedatives. We decided it has become necessary to keep it mildly sedated to keep it calm. But here’s the most concerning part, even after sedating it…it begged for us to let it die, claiming that it is a monster. The higher ups are starting to doubt if we’ll be able to develop a suitable normalization protocol to grant 6118 VNP status.”</p>
<p>Hearing this made Dr. Mitchell feel a deep sense of pity for 6118 as she looked at them through the window. Her compassion for the alien had increased greatly after the incident on 16/6/2020 when they attempted to kill themself after gaining their hand on Sergeant Brinley’s gun. Though she felt anger towards them at first for killing the sergeant over a book, the anger quickly changed to worry when they turned the gun on themself. It was at that moment that Mitchell came to realize that 6118 was a deeply disturbed and traumatized individual. She truly wanted to help them after that incident, but she couldn’t really do much without knowing about their past. The info they’d gathered so far led her to believe that 6118 was the victim of experimentation as a possible weapon, although she couldn’t get any confirmation since they refused to speak.</p>
<p>“I presume you wish to try another attempt at communication?” The researcher asked Mitchell.</p>
<p>“…No, I don’t think that would work at this point. Make sure to inform me if anything comes up that I should know about.”</p>
<p>She turned around and left the chamber, feeling more depressed than she had when she first arrived. Distracted, she did not notice the ecstatic individual traveling down the hall, causing her to crash into Dr. Mitchell as they both tumbled and scattered papers around.</p>
<p>“Oh no! Oh jeez, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that. I was just in such a good mood that I guess I wasn’t paying attention to what was in front of me and-“ the woman says in a slight panic as she proceeded to gather up her documents, only to be cut off by Dr. Mitchell.</p>
<p>“No, it's fine. It’s my fault, I’m the one who wasn’t paying attention.” She said as she got up and dusted off her lab coat. The woman she’d bump into was a fellow researcher. A young woman with a ginger colored curly bob cut and brown eyes. She looked to be in her late twenties and wore unusually colorful clothing for a researcher. Her short sleeved lab coat was lime green and she wore a choker, bracelets, and anklets made of colored beads. She also wore moss green sandals and a big smile.</p>
<p>“Here let me help you with that.” Mitchell said as she started helping to pick up the scattered documents.</p>
<p>“Oh thank you. I really appreciate the help, it would be a pain to pick this up all by myself. I’m Christina by the way, junior researcher Christina Phillips. Again I’m sorry I ran into you, I’m just in such a good mood today. I’m a little scatter brained.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine, like I said it was my fault for not paying attention, I have a few things on my mind. Dr. Jane Mitchell of Site-19, or Watchtower-19 as were are calling it now.”</p>
<p>Dr. Mitchell’s attention shifted to the document she had just picked up, noticing it was a proposal request. But it was its contents that really caught her eye.</p>
<p>(<em>Sapient entity/humanoid rehabilitation and psychiatric program.</em>)</p>
<p>“…Excuse me, if you don’t mind me asking, can you explain this rehabilitation program?” Dr. Mitchell asked as she handed the last bits of documentation to Christina.</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m glad you asked! You see, I actually came here from Site-oh I mean Watchtower-17, to present my proposal for a new program that I think will be hugely useful to Vanguard’s mission of introducing anomalies to the rest of the world. Now, it’s common knowledge that aside from creatures, inanimate objects, locations, and other forms of anomalous phenomena, we also have a number of sapient entities and anomalous humans. A number of these individuals would probably be easy to rehabilitate and set free to live a normal life, but there are sadly those who aren’t accustomed to living in the outside world, or are suffering from psychological problems that present a huge problem when it comes to setting them free. So that’s why I came up with this!”</p>
<p>Christina then showed the reorganized proposal sheet to Dr. Mitchell.</p>
<p>“To put it simply, I proposed a rehab program that helps teach sapient entities the norms and customs of living within the outside world of society, as well as providing therapeutic care to those who are suffering from mental illness or psychological trauma. This offers a chance at recovery for them and a chance to be out in public. I showed this to Director Moose and she granted permission for myself and my colleagues at 17 to create the program. Oh man, I can't wait to tell them she said yes!” she said as she hugged the documents and lightly chuckled with excitement.</p>
<p>Despite being a little weirded out by the young researchers' giddiness, Dr. Mitchell couldn’t help but admit that such a proposal was a good idea. After all, a number of sapient humanoid anomalies had been in containment for years, decades even. So it was only logical that a number of them would need tutoring or even therapy before being granted VNP status.</p>
<p>It was at that moment the metaphorical light bulb went off in her head, and she remembered.</p>
<p>6118.</p>
<p>She turned back to look at the door she just exited, remembering the disturbed alien within. Perhaps this could be the chance to finally get the answers that she and Vanguard were seeking about 6118’s past, and getting them the help they clearly needed.</p>
<p>She turned back to Christina as a plan was forming in her head.</p>
<p>“By chance, do you have a pamphlet for this program?”</p>
<p>Hearing this made Christina smile.</p>
<p>“Oh definitely, I actually already made some that I brought over on the off chance someone here might be interested. Are you thinking about joining as a volunteer for the program?” she asked as she handed one of the pamphlets to Dr. Mitchell.</p>
<p>“Well, I would say I definitely find it interesting and I may consider joining.” she paused briefly as she turned back to the door leading to 6118’s chamber.</p>
<p>“…But I might also know someone who desperately needs the help.”</p>
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<p><strong>Vanguard Watchtower-19, Director’s Office</strong><br/>
<em>9 February, 2022</em></p>
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<p>Dr. Mitchell nervously shifted her shoulders as she took a seat in front of Director Tilda Moose’s desk. Normally she wouldn’t feel so uncomfortable when speaking with a site director, but she’s aware that Tilda is one of the few people in Vanguard who has a lot on their plate when it comes to the changes that are happening. Mitchell also doubted that she’ll convince her to allow what she has on her mind.</p>
<p>“Again, I wanted to apologize for the sudden request to speak with you. I know you’re likely very busy right now, and considering the site conversion meeting was less than half an hour ago…”</p>
<p>Tilda Moose raised her hand to assure Mitchell that it was nothing to worry about.</p>
<p>“There’s no reason to be concerned about it Dr. Mitchell, I’m willing to make some time to provide assistance to fellow personnel. You actually chose a good time to talk with me as I just got off a video meeting. So, what is it that you wished to speak with me about?”</p>
<p>“Right. I learned you recently authorized the program stated in this pamphlet, right?” Mitchell said as she showed Tilda the pamphlet for the rehabilitation program.</p>
<p>“Ah, I presume you had a run in with Junior researcher Phillips then?” Tilda asked, as she looked over the pamphlet.</p>
<p>“Run in is one way to put it, yes.” Mitchell responded while looking the other way, thinking back to when they tumbled over each other.</p>
<p>“I thought as much. I’m quite familiar with young Ms. Phillips. A bright young lady. Perhaps a little bit too peppy for someone in her field though.”</p>
<p>Dr. Mitchell couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at that comment, thinking it fit so well.</p>
<p>“But to answer your question, yes. I authorized the establishment of a rehabilitation and therapy program for the express purpose of providing tutoring and counseling for sapient anomalous individuals and entities. This could help teach or remind them how to live life in the outside world, as well as to help them overcome any psychological issues and trauma they may have experienced…especially if we were the ones responsible for their traumas.” Tilda answered Mitchell, feeling a bit uncomfortable mentioning some of those mentally disturbed cases were the result of their own actions.</p>
<p>“Well the reason I came to speak with you is because I have a request I’d like to make regarding the program.”</p>
<p>“Oh? I’m presuming you wish to apply to join the program?” Tilda asked.</p>
<p>Before Mitchell answered, she scratched the back of her head nervously while looking away.</p>
<p>“Well that’s one of my considerations. But that’s not the main reason. The thing is…I came here to request that 6118 be entered into the program.”</p>
<p>For what felt like an eternity, they sat and silently stared at each other. Mitchell had an expression of anticipation and concern, while Tilda looked at her with an expression that shows she was still processing what she had just heard.</p>
<p>Finally after a few more seconds, Tilda finally responded.</p>
<p>“…Dr. Mitchell, in case you aren’t aware, there has been a concerning development with 6118.”</p>
<p>“I know, I already saw the footage from last night, and I’ve been informed they are now being mildly sedated.” Mitchell answered, knowing where this discussion was going.</p>
<p>“Then I’m sure you know very well that such a decision is not only risky, but could lead to serious consequences should things go wrong. As such, I can’t approve of 6118 being admitted to the program.“</p>
<p>Mitchell suspected that she was going to disagree with the idea, knowing very well how dangerous 6118 can be if they become too unstable. But she knew unless something was done to help them, they would become even more unstable.</p>
<p>“Director Moose, please! You have to let 6118 join, it might be the best means to develop a normalization protocol to grant them VNP status!”</p>
<p>“I just can’t allow it because it’s too much of a risk to others, both personnel and those enrolled in the program. We both know that 6118 is psychologically unstable and is unwilling to cooperate.”</p>
<p>Mitchell then stood up from her chair with a determined and annoyed facial expression.</p>
<p>“Based on trauma! I’ve looked over what little we managed to gather from both the notes it made and what little we managed to get out of the interviews before they started refusing to speak. Add in the fact that they were in a containment tube when we recovered them, I believe that 6118 is a victim suffering from psychological trauma, possibly a victim of abuse via unethical experimentations. Not only that, but I have suspicions that they probably were even forced to be used as a weapon, made to do horrible things against their will. Why else would they claim themselves to be a monster, or how they knew how to effectively use a firearm?”</p>
<p>Hearing this information gave Tilda pause. Taking into account what she knows regarding 6118, she can’t help but admit that Mitchell had a point. Some of the information stated in the official documents for 6118 did match with what she was implying, the idea of them being a test subject of some sort of experiment was very likely. Also Tilda wasn’t stupid, she was clearly aware that 6118 was a psychologically disturbed individual, showing clear signs of PTSD and self harm. It was one of the reasons why they reinforced their containment chamber with foam padding and strapped sturdy mittens and socks to their limbs, to prevent them from hurting themselves.</p>
<p>“But what’s really concerning, is that whatever trauma they went through has clearly affected not only their mental and physical well-being, but also their emotional state! After an obviously disturbing nightmare last night, which they’ve been suffering from on a daily basis lately, 6118 went ballistic trying to destroy their own garments before collapsing to the floor in an emotional breakdown. But I don’t think it’s because they’re haunted by whatever torture they’ve experienced…I think 6118 is afraid of themself.”</p>
<p>This statement really got Tilda’s attention, wondering what Mitchell was implying.</p>
<p>“What exactly do you mean by ‘afraid of themself’?” She asked.</p>
<p>“Think about it. Say the theory of them being a weapon is true. Wouldn’t you be afraid of yourself if you knew you only existed to hurt others? Also, remember what I mentioned earlier, they claimed that they were a monster. Someone wouldn’t just call themself that unless they had done something terrible. But the part that has me the most concerned…is that I think their self fear is beginning to overwhelm them and is causing suicidal ideations. During the incident that got them transferred to this site, they tried to kill themself with a gun they stole, and this morning they tried to slit their throat with a keycard they stole! Hell, they even begged the doctors holding them down to kill them!”</p>
<p>Mitchell then placed both her hands on the desk as she looked straight into Tilda’s eyes.</p>
<p>“I get that you don’t want to risk putting others in possible danger, but if anyone is at greater risk of being harmed by 6118…it’s 6118 themself! They’re sick, and clearly getting worse! That’s why I am begging you to let them attend Christina’s rehabilitation program. Because they clearly need the kind of help she and those applying as personnel can provide! They need this, and if we don’t get them the help they need soon…it might be too late.”</p>
<p>Tilda was still for a moment, pondering over everything Mitchell said. Eventually, Tilda came to the conclusion that Mitchell was right, that 6118 was clearly sick and in desperate need of professional help. If they just keep them in their chamber in bed constantly pumped full of sedatives, and considering 6118’s incredible immune system, it was likely they’d somehow develop an immunity to the sedatives and attempt to use the IV syringe to stab themself to death. Not to mention Vanguard’s mission was to not just normalize the anomalous, but to also help the people of the anomalous world. <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sarkic-heat">Varis’ ongoing campaign</a> was a major example of that.</p>
<p>“So please Tilda, I’m begging you…Let them join the program. If you’re still worried about the possibility of someone getting hurt, I’ll watch over them, and come up with precautionary measures to be extra safe. I promise to take full responsibility.” Mitchell asked as she looked at Tilda with a pleading and worried expression.</p>
<p>Eventually Tilda let out a tired sigh and turned back to Mitchell.</p>
<p>“Dr. Mitchell, after careful consideration and taking what you have stated into account…I’ll allow 6118 to be admitted into the program, but only under strict supervision and surveillance. I’ll also need to be informed of any progress or lack thereof.”</p>
<p>A soft smile grew on Mitchell’s face as she stood and clasped her hands together.</p>
<p>“Thank you Director Moose! I’ll be sure to keep you updated.”</p>
<p>Mitchell got up from the chair and proceeded to walk out of the office, but was then stopped by Tilda as she spoke up.</p>
<p>“Promise me one thing though.”</p>
<p>Mitchell turned to look at Tilda.</p>
<p>“Just…don’t make me regret this.”</p>
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<p>If 5a82 wasn’t already suspicious of the changes that had been occurring lately with his “caretakers”, then he certainly was now with the situation he currently found himself in.</p>
<p>‘First they began pumping me with drugs to keep me <em>under control</em>, now I find myself strapped to some form of mobile chair riding in one of their aerial vehicles to who knows where?!’ He thought to himself, feeling more mentally sober than he did an hour ago. He couldn’t help but wonder if they intentionally lowered the amount of sedatives being pumped into him, or if he was starting to develop an immunity.</p>
<p>Seeing as he physically couldn’t do anything about the situation he was in, he mentally began going over the events leading to his current state. He may be restrained physically, but at least he’s free in his mind.</p>
<p>He recalled that he was just lying in his bed, feeling the effects of the sedatives doing their job. One of the doctors had left one of his provided books on his lap in case he felt like reading, not that he wanted to.</p>
<p>‘It’s not like it was going to help in any way. It wouldn't end my suffering. Besides, I remember I already finished that one.’</p>
<p>Then suddenly without warning, a team of guards came into his room, one of them pushing a mobile chair. Then just forced him out of bed and sat him down in the chair, strapping his wrists and ankles into the restraints.</p>
<p>‘No doubt to keep me from doing anything they don’t like. Not surprising considering what happened the last time guards with guns came into my room.’</p>
<p>As they were rolling him out of his room, he was greeted by one of the scientists, a woman who for some strange reason, seemed vaguely familiar to him. It wasn’t until she greeted him with a “hello” that he realized who she was, recognizing her voice. It was the same woman who occasionally spoke to him through the intercom, always attempting to get him to reveal the secrets of his past. This was the first time he actually saw her in person. Out of all the people in this organization, she’s the one he’s had the most interactions with.</p>
<p>‘I mean voru, she’s the reason I even know how to speak their language.’</p>
<p>What she told him filled him with both curiosity and suspicion. Something he couldn’t stop thinking about after hearing it.</p>
<p>“I understand that you don’t exactly trust us, and I know that it very likely has to do with whatever occurred to you in your past. But I want you to understand we really are trying to help you, and we just want to know what you are and what happened to you so we can do just that. We’re taking you somewhere that has a new program to provide special help to those currently in our custody, especially those going through traumatic stress. I think it’ll greatly help you in dealing with your inner turmoil.”</p>
<p>‘Program…my inner turmoil…help me? Do they really think I’m so gullible?! After what they’ve done to me so far, the tests, the interrogations, the incident with my book, the fabric cages on my extremities, the sedatives?! This is all just a ploy like always! The same kind of ploys I’ve experienced for most of my miserable existence…”</p>
<p>Those horrible memories began to flood his mind again.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>Floating in liquid…feeling tubes and wires everywhere.</em></p>
<p>…</p>
<p><em>Sitting at a desk alongside his fellow Gen-5s.</em></p>
<p>…</p>
<p><em>Men in uniforms, soldiers and generals.</em></p>
<p>…</p>
<p><em>Knowledge flooding his mind…calculating the most lethal shots…silent kills with a blade.</em></p>
<p>…</p>
<p><em>…<a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/yamete-kudasai">Father</a>…</em></p>
</div>
<p>He shook his head, trying to get the flashes playing through his mind to stop. He didn’t want to deal with them right now.</p>
<p>‘Besides, even if they were telling the truth, if this has anything to do with this <em>normalization</em> he overheard them mention, there’s nothing they can do to help me that doesn’t involve putting me out of my misery! No one can help me, there’s no saving me! I can’t change what I am. I’m a monster…I have no free will.’</p>
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<p><strong>Vanguard Watchtower-17, Rehab Center</strong><br/>
<em>11 February, 2022</em></p>
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<p>Dr. Mitchell and the security team had just arrived at Watchtower-17. After a quick clearance from security and receiving directions, they found themselves at the double doors to the rehab program entrance.</p>
<p>6118 couldn’t help but glance at the sign. He was expecting the program to be some form a therapy center based on what the doctor said, but he still had his doubts. He wasn’t going to let his guard down, knowing that this was very likely a facade for something darker.</p>
<p>Dr. Mitchell was immediately greeted by Researcher Phillips at the front door waving to her with a bright smile.</p>
<p>“Dr. Mitchell, how nice to see you again so soon! I heard you applied to join the program's personnel, so I thought I’d wait by the entrance to greet you.”</p>
<p>“Nice to see you again too Christina. I’ll admit I was interested in viewing the program, but I’m mostly here to help keep a careful eye on your new patient.”</p>
<p>Phillips turned her attention to 6118, who was looking off to the side with an anxious expression.</p>
<p>“Oh, this must be the patient you were referring to back at 19.” She said as she walked up to 6118 and crouched slightly to be face to face with them.</p>
<p>“Hi, my name is Christina Phillips, I’m going to be one of the doctors you will be spending time with today. I can promise you that you are going to like it here!”</p>
<p>6118 didn’t respond with anything but a quick glance her way before looking away again.</p>
<p>Phillips was a bit disappointed by the lack of response, but she could also tell that the humanoid in front of her was clearly uncomfortable and distrusting of their surroundings, especially once she noticed the restraints.</p>
<p>Mitchell then walked up to her and whispered into her ear.</p>
<p>“6118 is not very trusting of personnel, A result of suspected PTSD due to a traumatic past.”</p>
<p>“What kind of PTSD?” Phillips questioned back, now eager to know what this individual had experienced.</p>
<p>“Not entirely sure, they refuse to speak about it. But personal notes and reactions lean towards experimental abuse. They’ve actually attempted self harm and suicide on a few occasions, the restraints and security are a precaution because of it. A necessity for their safety and ours. Director Moose wouldn’t allow them to be admitted without said precautions.”</p>
<p>Phillips' expression shifted to one of pity and sadness as she looked back at 6118. She knew that she would likely deal with victims of PTSD, especially those that were suicidal. But she wasn’t expecting to be dealing with one on the program's first day. Nevertheless, she was determined to help this poor soul in any way she could. She then knelt down to 6118 and put her hand on their shoulder, causing them to jolt back out of reflex.</p>
<p>“Hey, you don’t have to be afraid. I promise I’ll make you feel better. I’ll show you that there is nothing to be afraid of anymore.”</p>
<p>6118 barely reacted. Phillips frowned slightly at the reaction, feeling that this might take a lot more than compassion and genuine understanding to help them heal.</p>
<p>Then she had an idea. What better way to help someone recover from their pain than to be surrounded by those who had suffered the same kind of pain?! She then looked back to 6118 with a smile.</p>
<p>“In fact, I think I know how we will begin your treatment. Let’s try some good old fashioned group therapy!”</p>
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<p>5a82, along with his escorts and the colorful doctor Phillips found themselves in one of the many counseling rooms within the center. He couldn’t help but notice some of the occupied rooms as they passed by them. He had no idea there were so many strange beings held by this organization.</p>
<p>The most notable so far had to be the ones sitting in the chairs beside him. Three of them were female adults and one was male.</p>
<p>The first <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-191">had large portions of their body replaced with machinery</a>, some of it crude in appearance, the rest being more sophisticated mechanically.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘Did she do that to herself, or did someone do this to her?! I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter.’</span></p>
<p>The second <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-811">was green and appeared somewhat amphibious</a>, slick with some sort of oily substance that made him think of mucus. She was the only one not in a chair. Instead she was placed in a mobile glass cube with a pool filled with water and a circular grid for speaking through. There were also two individuals in hazmat suits standing besides her.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘Is she toxic or can she not be outside of water? Considering the suits, I’m guessing it’s the former.</span></p>
<p>The third appeared to be elderly <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1884">and had no hands, they also appeared to be blind, judging from the eyes. They were accompanied by some bizarre amalgamation of hundreds of arms</a>.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘…What in the name of the belt of Kepler is that thing?!’</span></p>
<p>The male had darker skin and black hair, and they were wearing a hooded jacket. He was also the only other person accompanied by a doctor, a woman. 5a82 wondered what was so unusual about him, as he looked pretty normal. He got his answer when the man noticed the doctor trying to clean her glasses, witnessing him <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4051">opening a small wormhole out of thin air and pulling a wet rag from it which he gave to her to use</a>.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘Guess I’m not that special to these people after all, just another freak of nature. As if I already didn’t feel like a monster.’</span></p>
<p>His attention was then directed to a knock at the door. Dr. Phillips opened the door and let in a male doctor with blonde hair and glasses.</p>
<p>“Everyone, this is Doctor Glass. He will be joining us today to help you all to share your stories and also help us all to get to know each other better.” Phillips said with a smile, as she led Doctor Glass to the center of their circle of chairs.</p>
<p>“Good day everyone. Now, I’m sure all of you are still a little confused on how this will work, and what we’re hoping to accomplish. The point of this gathering is to help you get over any personal troubles you may have, and to familiarize you with some exercises to help you be more prepared for when you get what is known as VNP status. When this happens, you’ll be set free to live in the outside world in a way that benefits both yourselves and others.” Glass said, as he and Phillips took their seats.</p>
<p>This revelation surprised the attendees. Some seemed excited and others nervous. 5a82 however was feeling a sense of fear and confusion.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">Set me free, Are they serious?! A dangerous abomination like me doesnt deserve to be free!’</span></p>
<p>He was so focused on his thoughts that he didn’t notice Phillips observing the look on his face before focusing back on the whole group and speaking up.</p>
<p>“Now before we begin sharing our stories, let's start by introducing each other. Who would like to go first?”</p>
<p>She looked around the group before she landed on the cyborg.</p>
<p>“How about you dear? Can you tell us your name?”</p>
<p>The cyborg was quiet for a second before they spoke up in a heavily mechanical voice.</p>
<p>“<tt>HELLO. MY BIRTH NAME IS VICTORIA, BUT SOME FRIENDS I MADE DURING MY STAY HERE CALL ME CYBIE. I ALSO GO BY 191.</tt>”</p>
<p>Phillips then turned to the amphibian woman. They didn’t say anything at first, until one of the hazard men spoke to her.</p>
<p>“It’s alright, you can answer her.”</p>
<p>She then looked back to Phillips and responded in a broken manner.</p>
<p>“Name is Aé.”</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘She must not know how to talk properly.</span></p>
<p>Then the elderly woman had her turn.</p>
<p>“I don’t remember my birth name, but I went by the name of Madame Rezarta in the circus. The big ball of hands next to me is Luana. You can consider her my seeing eye dog, but that doesn’t mean she’s a pet. We’re connected.”</p>
<p>5a82 couldn’t help but feel a sense of interest in the woman and her many armed companion.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘So she uses that thing to help guide her due to her lack of sight? Also what is a circus? The name she gave sounded like a stage name. Was she some kind of performer?’</span></p>
<p>Next, the portal man was up.</p>
<p>“My name is Rainer Miller, and I’m happy to be here, I will do anything I can to help out around here.”</p>
<p>The woman next to him suddenly spoke to him in a worrying tone.<br/>
“You’re helping just by being here, remember?”</p>
<p>Rainer looked embarrassed as he rubbed his thumbs together.</p>
<p>“Oh, right. Thanks for reminding me.”</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘He’s like a nervous child who wants to make his mother proud…not that I would know what that feels like.’</span></p>
<p>Finally…it was his turn.</p>
<p>5a82 didn’t speak up and remained quiet for what felt like an eternity. He was still skeptical of this whole thing. He still couldn’t help wondering what they were up to and if they were only trying to lull him into a false sense of security.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry for my acquaintance's behavior, he has some trust issues and is not much for talking.”</p>
<p>The familiar female doctor that he now came to know as Dr. Mitchell stated, as she placed a hand on his shoulder while looking towards Phillips and Glass.</p>
<p>Phillips then got up from her seat and came closer to 5a82 before kneeling to look him in the eyes.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to be scared. Like I said, I’m here to help and want to help you feel better. We’re all friends here. Go on, you can tell us your name.”</p>
<p>He remained silent for a bit, as he thought it over.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘I guess I don’t really have much of a choice in the matter…Oh who am I kidding I never have a choice!”</span></p>
<p>…</p>
<p>“…5a82.”</p>
<p>Phillips at first just smiled and giggled a little before she spoke up again.</p>
<p>“No sweetie, I mean your name. The name you were born with.”</p>
<p>“…I…I just did.”</p>
<p>Phillips' smile then slowly shifted to a frown and she took on a worried expression.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you don’t remember having any other names?”</p>
<p>“NO!”</p>
<p>Phillips was startled by the hostile reaction, not expecting them to lash out like that. If she wasn’t already feeling pity for the alien, now she was definitely concerned for them.</p>
<p>5a82 suddenly regretted snapping at the doctor, especially when he noticed the concerned and frightened look in her eyes. This caused him to think maybe he was a bit too harsh on her.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘Maybe she doesn’t know about me, or is just a new employee? Perhaps this is the first time she’s seen or heard about me. I mean it isn’t so unlikely that not everyone that works for these people knows about me. It’s likely they have so many others here that I’m just a random face in the crowd. I guess if I’m going to be attending more time at this center, I should at least try to be more cooperative with her, especially if she’s really telling the truth.’</span></p>
<p>5a82 then showed a regretful facial expression while looking down at the floor.</p>
<p>“S-sorry.”</p>
<p>Phillips' mood shifted after hearing them say those words, making her feel more confident in their possible progress.</p>
<p>Mitchell was also comforted by this response, feeling that maybe this idea might work after all.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it sweetie, I was a little concerned that's all.”</p>
<p>She then walked back to her seat and sat down next to Glass. Glass got out a clipboard and a pen as he began writing something down before looking back to the group.</p>
<p>“Okay, now that we’ve all gotten around to introducing one another, how about we tell a little something about ourselves? After that, I would also like you to tell us your story and how the Foundation found you.”</p>
<p>Hearing this made 5a82 concerned, thinking that maybe he was right after all as he started to develop a distrustful expression once again.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘Was this all just a ploy to get me to finally tell them my past?! Why can’t they just understand already that knowing what I really am won’t make much of a difference?!’</span></p>
<p>Glass then looked over to the cyborg calling herself Cybie.</p>
<p>“Ms. Victoria, since you were the first to introduce yourself, why don’t you go first.”</p>
<p>Cybie shuffled for a bit before she straightened up and began to speak.</p>
<p>“<tt>WELL, AS YOU CAN SEE, MOST OF MY BODY WAS REPLACED BY MACHINERY. I CAN INTERACT WITH CERTAIN DEVICES AND I HAVE TO CONSTANTLY RECHARGE MYSELF IN ORDER TO FUNCTION OR I SHUT DOWN. I HAVE HAD THESE MECHANICAL AUGMENTATIONS AND HAVE BEEN WITH THE PEOPLE HERE SINCE I WAS A YOUNG CHILD. ONE DAY I FOUND MYSELF TAKEN IN BY A DOCTOR WHO WORKED FOR…I THINK IT WAS SOME SORT OF <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/valravn-corporation-hub">MILITARY COMPANY?</a> EVENTUALLY THE FOUNDATION FOUND ME AFTER RAIDING HIS LAB AND TOOK ME IN. I DON’T REALLY REMEMBER MY FAMILY OR MY PARENTS, BUT THE PEOPLE WHO WORK HERE ARE THE CLOSEST THING TO A FAMILY I HAVE. THEY TOOK CARE OF ME, HELPED REPAIR MY MODIFICATIONS WHENEVER THEY HAVE PROBLEMS, AND THEY EVEN GAVE ME UPGRADES AND BETTER REPLACEMENTS AS I GOT OLDER. IN FACT ORIGINALLY I COULDN’T TALK UNTIL THEY GAVE ME A SPEECH UNIT A FEW YEARS AGO.</tt>”</p>
<p>5a82 was absolutely shocked by what he had heard from the cyborg, making his mind swirl with thoughts and questions.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘By the stars! I knew someone had to have been responsible for her being part machine, but a military company? And she’s been that way since she was a child?! What kind of sick psycho would turn a child into a half machine abomination?! Were they planning to use her as a weapon?!…Wait, is she just like me? Could she have been made to do horrible things against her will?!’</span></p>
<p>Then he realized something else that she had said.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘They took care of her? Even giving her upgrades to make it easier for her to live? Is she really so grateful that she considers the people keeping her here family? Have I…have I been wrong about these scientists?’</span></p>
<p>After hearing more from Cybie about her experiences living in the Foundation, Dr. Glass moved on to the amphibian woman named Aé. The hazmat men explained what she could do. Apparently the mucus she was covered in is corrosive, she can also regurgitate bodily waste as a means of defense or hunting prey.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘So she’s a predator.’</span></p>
<p>Then one of the hazard men said they’d like her to tell them the same thing she told the two men, mentioning something about “before a box”. She seemed to understand as she then turned to the group and talked, accompanied with swift and demonstrative arm and hand movements.</p>
<p>“Aé not always like Aé. Aé once have skin like man, like people. Then big tall man, bigger than Aé. Stick needle here, needle cold, needle bring pain. Red, lot of red from mouth. Skin now like this. Was scared, was hungry. Aé ate man, than ran ran ran. Aé get lost, hide in big water, water with trees and many bugs. Docktys find Aé, bring here. Help clean Aé when dirty. Help teach Aé be better at talking. Gave Aé food, water, brush, home.”</p>
<p>Despite the broken english and poor speaking skills, 5a82 understood what Aé was saying, and once again his thoughts began racing.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘She means she was once a normal person, then someone turned her into this?! The needle she mentioned, there’s no doubt she’s talking about a syringe. It must have been filled with some sort of mutation serum. Also did I hear that one part right? She ate whoever did this to her?! Maybe they deserved it, but that is just an unpleasant thought! Hold up, I just realized she too is a victim of cruel experiments! She also said the people here helped her too! Perhaps I really have been wrong about my predicament. Maybe these people aren’t so bad after all.’</span></p>
<p>Dr. Mitchell noticed how 5a82 seemed to be deep in thought. She hoped they might be starting to let go of their distrust.</p>
<p>“Okay Madame Rezarta, how about you tell us what you and Luana can do?” Phillips said to Rezarta.</p>
<p>“Well as I stated, I’m blind and Luana serves as my eyes, as well as my hands. Whatever she feels, so do I. This lets me develop a mental image of my surroundings. This unfortunately also means that whatever pain Luana feels, I feel it too.”</p>
<p>“I see, very interesting. How did you meet your companion, and how did you both come into the Foundation’s care?” Doctor Glass asked as he continued taking notes.</p>
<p>“Luana’s actually been with me since birth. We’ve always been together. As for where Luana came from, no idea. Not even she knows.”</p>
<p>Luana followed this by shrugging all her arms.</p>
<p>“As for how it all started, when I was a child, Luana and I were kidnapped, taken from our home in the middle of the night by the Herman Fuller Circus. They took us and forced us into their freakshow, before making me a ‘palm reader’ when I got older. Luana would feel peoples faces and I would make deductions based on their facial features. If ever made an error in any way, I would either be denied dinner or whipped, and Luana would feel the pain too. I have visible scars on my body to prove it. One night Luana had enough and killed the guard keeping us in our tent, without my knowledge of course, and in a panic we fled for our lives. The Foundation found us after I tried to get a room at a hotel and Luana acted out of impatience. Honestly, living with the Foundation was much better than being with those assholes in the circus.”</p>
<p>Luana again followed up with her comment, this time replying by holding the middle finger in every hand. This drew giggles from a few of those listening.</p>
<p>The more 5a82 heard, the more cracks formed in the wall that was his doubt and distrust.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘They were kidnapped as a child, abused, and forced to be performers?! How can someone just rip an innocent child away from their family and treat them as a tool for profit in show business?! A disabled individual no less! Nobody should be used for a person’s own personal gain!…Like I was. These individuals suffered similar torments as me, and these people helped them…maybe they really do want to help me. But…what could they do to help me? A monster like me?’</span></p>
<p>“You see it now right? This place can provide the help you need to get over your trauma. If you just share with us, we can help you let go of the past.” Dr. Mitchell whispered to him, as she noticed him coming more to a realization about his caretakers and the program.</p>
<p>“Now then, I believe it’s your turn Mr. Miller. Care to tell us what you can do?” Dr. Glass asked as his and Phillips’ attention turned to him.</p>
<p>“Well, I can create portals at will, and then I can reach into them and pull out anything that I desire. I’ve used it on numerous occasions in the past for the Foundation whenever they needed me to assist in something important.”</p>
<p>“So you’ve helped them out a lot?”</p>
<p>“Oh yes, a lot. I once was even allowed to accompany a MTF on a mission. It was then I learned I could stop dangerous things by pulling out their opposite, which cancels them out. In fact it’s thanks to the Foundation that I’ve perfecting my abilities.”</p>
<p>“Really? That’s great to hear!” Philips said in genuine delight.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I didn’t really fully understand my abilities and how they worked, but thanks to the Foundations and their tests, I now understand them better than I did before. I’m grateful to the Foundation and I wish to continue helping them, even if you Vanguard guys are replacing them in a sense.”</p>
<p>The female scientist next to him suddenly developed a saddened expression as she looked at Rainer with concern. She then spoke to him.</p>
<p>“Rainer, could you please cover your ears for a moment? There’s something I’d like to say to them that I’d rather you not hear.”</p>
<p>“Oh, uh okay.”</p>
<p>He proceeds to cover his ears and the scientist turned her attention back to the group with a more stoic expression.</p>
<p>“I’d just like to bring up something important. I’m Dr. Jules Yesenia, and I’ve been a scheduled regular therapist for Rainer. I’d also like to note that while these tests did help him learn more about his abilities, some of them were not done ethically or mainly for the purpose of studying his abilities. The doctor in charge of these tests, Dr. Edwards, personally used these tests as a means of causing cruel punishment to Rainer. This was all out of a desire for vengeance for an incident 4051 intentionally caused that resulted in his brother Dr. Roswell being crippled. Luckily after re-evaluations and some digging, Edwards was punished for his actions, and once Vanguard was formed, he was fired. Unfortunately Edwards’ actions and cruelty, as well as unplanned carelessness on our part led to Rainer developing what is essentially Stockholm syndrome, and I hoped this program would help break him of this condition.”</p>
<p>She stopped to take a deep breath before continuing.</p>
<p>“Another thing I want to state. Rainer also used his abilities to save lives, and was unfairly punished for it because of the old ways of the Foundation. He had even been using his abilities to help and save others before the Foundation became aware of him. If you truly wish to help him in a way that’ll get him VNP status, I want it to be so that his powers can be used to save lives, and to prove those who thought him too dangerous were wrong! Also please, please let him be with his family again. It’s the least I can do to make up for not doing anything to save him from what happened to him in the past.</p>
<p>She then tapped Rainer’s shoulder to let him know it was okay to stop covering his ears now.</p>
<p>At that moment, the last remnants of doubt and distrust which 5a82 had held for so long finally crumbled as he thought over everything he just heard, all the while coming to a final realization.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘…They punished his tormentor, and they feel guilty over their mistake? They even helped him become stronger, even letting him help them whenever they needed him?! She even wants him to be free as a way of saying sorry for not helping him when he truly needed it before?!’</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">…</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">…</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">…</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘…I <em>was</em> wrong…they really <em>do</em> want to help me…and I practically spat in their faces, thinking they were no different than those back home.’</span></p>
<p>Then a specific memory popped into his head.</p>
<p>A memory about a book, a guard…and a gun.</p>
<p>…a gunshot.</p>
<p>His eyes began to burn, as he felt them building up with tears.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘…what have I done?’</span></p>
<p>5a82 let his head drop, feeling as tears began to drip from his eyes down his face. He then closed his fingers tightly into a fist, and clenched his teeth tightly into a snarl, feeling his bones and teeth groan under the pressure.</p>
<p><span style="color: #5252ff">‘…I really am a monster…I don’t deserve their kindness…I don’t deserve their help!’</span></p>
<p>“Alrighty then, that just leaves us with…” Phillips began to say but quickly developed a look of worry when she noticed 5a82’s body language and expression.</p>
<p>Doctors Glass and Mitchell, along with everyone else soon focused their attention on him as well.</p>
<p>“5a82?” Dr. Mitchell said in a concerned tone.</p>
<p>He didn’t respond.</p>
<p>“Honey, are you alright?” Phillips asked with genuine worry.</p>
<p>He still didn’t respond.</p>
<p>“5a82, if something has you worried or frightened, don’t be afraid to-“ Dr. Glass began to speak, before he was suddenly cut off.</p>
<p>“Let me out…”</p>
<p>5a82 suddenly spoke up.</p>
<p>“What?” Dr. Glass responded with confusion.</p>
<p>5a82 was silent for a moment before responding.</p>
<p>“Let me out…let me out! LET ME OUT!!”</p>
<p>5a82 then began to aggressively push and thrash about in the wheelchair, causing the guard behind him to fall over.</p>
<p>The whole room reacted to his unexpected violent outburst. Dr. Mitchell and her team of guards backed away, the guards grasping their weapons in caution. Phillips was frightened and filled with absolute concern over his health. The other attendants backed up in shock, with Aé and Luana bracing to defend themselves, seeing the outburst as an act of aggression.</p>
<p>“LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT OF THIS CHAIR NOW!”</p>
<p>He continued to scream as he thrashed and bucked, all the while pulling at his restraints with aggressive force.</p>
<p>“Stop, calm down! 5a82 stop this!” Mitchell called out, now fearing that their mental state might be beyond repair.</p>
<p>“I SAID LET ME OUT OF HERE! LET ME OUT OF THIS THING NOW!!”</p>
<p>One of the guards began to reach for a tranquillizing sedative.</p>
<p>“That’s it, I’m pulling the plug on this. This plan is a failure!”</p>
<p>As he began to approach 5a82 with the sedative, Phillips noticed two things. The look of pain and regret in their eyes, and the tears on their face.</p>
<p>“NO WAIT!” She shouted. This guard stopped and Phillips continued to watch 5a82 struggle for a few more seconds.</p>
<p>Then he shouted again.</p>
<p>“PLEASE!!”</p>
<p>But not with anger, but with pleading sadness.</p>
<p>His struggling slowly lessened, before finally stopping. He then proceeded to sniffle and take ragged breaths. He then looked up to Phillips, his expression now broken and soaked in tears as he continued to quietly cry.</p>
<p>“Please…let me go. Let me go please!”</p>
<p>Seeing this made Phillips realize he wasn’t being aggressive, he was overloading with emotions. She could see their face was full of sadness, pain, guilt, regret, and sorrow.</p>
<p>At that moment, she knew what had to be done.</p>
<p>“Unlock his restraints.”</p>
<p>This shocked the other attendees. They did not like the idea.</p>
<p>“Doctor, you can’t be-“ One of the guards began to protest.</p>
<p>“DO IT!”</p>
<p>Only to be cut off as Phillips angrily demanded.</p>
<p>The guard then looked at Dr. Mitchell for assistance.</p>
<p>Mitchell noticed the pleading look in Phillips eyes, and how she nodded at her. She realized Phillips knew what she was doing before looking back at the guard.</p>
<p>“Do what she says. Now.”</p>
<p>After a moment, the guard approached 5a82 and released them from their restraints.</p>
<p>The moment he was freed, he bolted out of the chair and collapsed onto his hands and knees, shaking as he continued to sob softly. After a few moments he began speaking.</p>
<p>“…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>Phillips slowly walked up to 5a82. She exuded a caring and motherly demeanor.</p>
<p>“Hey, it’s okay. You were just overwhelmed, that's all. I know hearing about how people went through rough times can be quite emotional but—“</p>
<p>“No…not that.”</p>
<p>Dr. Glass then stood up and walked over to stand next to Phillips.</p>
<p>“Why are you apologizing then? It’s okay to tell us.”</p>
<p>“…For doubting you.”</p>
<p>He then lifted his head and turned towards Mitchell and the guards.</p>
<p>“For doubting all of you!”</p>
<p>He then diverted his eyes down the ground once again.</p>
<p>“All the time I’ve spent here, being housed in that room as you came around for the occasional tests, checkups and interviews…I thought you were just a bunch of liars and manipulators. Thinking that you were pretending to care about me and having what’s best for me as your intentions. Me believing those were just facades to cover your true selfish intentions that only benefited yourselves. Seeing me as nothing more than a tool…a lab rat…or even a means to an end. No different than the kind of people I had to deal with most of my life back home.”</p>
<p>Hearing his words drew concern, pity, and morbid curiosity from everyone in the room.</p>
<p>“All those times you’ve intervened in my attempts at ending my life, safety proofing my room and even my own limbs, I thought you were only keeping me alive so you could continue to exploit me. But then you brought me here, and I now see that I was wrong. You were trying to protect me, genuinely trying to help me. But my paranoia and trauma clouded my judgement, and it not only made things difficult for you, but it also got others hurt…or worse.”</p>
<p>This comment caused Mitchell to remember the incident at site-66 and Sgt. Brinley.</p>
<p>5a82 then tightened his fist as he began to visibly shake.</p>
<p>“But you don’t understand…You can’t help me, I don’t deserve your help. I’m nothing more than a monster that deserves to be put down.”</p>
<p>Hearing that hit Phillips hard, horrified to hear him say that.</p>
<p>“That’s not true-“</p>
<p>“YES IT IS! I’M A KILLING MACHINE LITERALLY BRED FOR WAR!”</p>
<p>Everyone in the room, especially Mitchell and Phillips, were taken aback and shocked by what 5a82 just stated.</p>
<p>“…I wasn’t lying when I said 5a82 was my name. Because it’s my designation, my instance code! I wasn’t born, I was made! I’m a categorized fifth generation synthetic being, one clone out of hundreds! Created for the purpose of being used by the government powers of the empire that rules my home planet, Kepler.”</p>
<p>Both Mitchell and Phillips were absolutely shocked by this revelation. Their horror grew as he continued to reveal his story.</p>
<p>“I grew up being examined by doctors and scientists, taking classes with other synthetics on what we all were supposed to know and what our ‘benefactors’ would have planned for us if we scored highly positive results. I was a special case, a special variant of an older generation. Raised by the very man I was cloned from. Eventually I gained the interest of some of the military higher ups of our government. That’s when the hell that is my life truly began.”</p>
<p>“…I was right wasn’t I?” Asked Mitchell, garnering everyone’s attention and making 5a82 look up towards her.</p>
<p>“Your highly developed immune system, your ability to use a firearm…They tried to use you as a weapon, didn’t they?”</p>
<p>Everyone then looked back to 5a82 waiting for him to answer. His response was hesitant</p>
<p>“…It started with combat training, something I had to practice daily as I grew up. Then it was weapons training. How to shoot a gun, the mechanisms, how to wield a knife. At first I thought it was mainly for self defense. But then once I reached maturity, they started pumping my mind with knowledge and techniques on how to be as lethal and effective at killing as possible. After that they started assigning me classified missions. Denying a mission was never an option. I had no free will, I had no choice. Something I didn’t realize until years later. Destroying rebel forces, stealing data or supplies from opposing foreign offworld powers, sabotage, and disposing of incriminating evidence. But if there was one type of mission I was assigned the most…it was assassinations.”</p>
<p>5a82 tightened his fists even more, blood beginning to drip from his fingers.</p>
<p>“Politicians, counter revolutionaries, government officials both rivals and our own, wealthy businessmen, popular election runner ups, military leaders, cultural heroes, the occasional traitors…even women and children. I was forced to slaughter entire families and to help commit genocide of other worlds. The blood of literally thousands is on my hands. I can’t even begin to count the number of sleepless nights I’ve had. Overwhelmed with the thoughts, wishing to undo all I’ve done. And the nightmares…the damned awful nightmares!”</p>
<p>Phillips put her hands over her mouth as tears began to pour down her face. Horrified by what she was hearing. Many of the others in the room shared similar expressions.</p>
<p>“Then the next thing I knew, they started using me for experiments! Turning me into some kind of super soldier. They altered my immune system, making me able to adapt and neutralize practically any pathogen and virus from my body. They did this to both make me an even more effective killer, and to test their biological weapons. Then they would use those same weapons to massacre thousands of innocent people on other planets. The guilt, the stress, the horrors I’ve experienced. It had an effect on my mind, my mental state. They knew I was becoming unstable and rebellious, so one day they took me by surprise and knocked me out. The next thing I knew, I was in a glass tube floating in fluid, connected to hundreds of tubes and wires. Forcefully made a prisoner of their continuous experiments. I was a lab rat in a cage!”</p>
<p>Phillips couldn’t take much more as she collapsed to her knees and she continued to silently weep. Mitchell wasn’t doing so well either, absolutely horrified not only by the revelation that her theory was correct, but that it was much worse than she expected.</p>
<p>Then suddenly to their surprise and dread, 5a82 emitted a chilling chuckle, one that sounded as if he was holding on to sanity by a thread.</p>
<p>“So do you understand now? There’s nothing you can do to help me that doesn’t involve spilling my blood. My very existence has only led to death and destruction. I only exist to be a tool of war, to be violently used by others for their own personal gain. Don’t you see? I was born to be a weapon! I WAS BORN TO KILL!”</p>
<p>He finished his rant by punching the floor with brute strength, enough to cause cracks and causing blood to flow from his knuckles. He then stood up on his knees as he continued to laugh insanely while tears continued to flow.</p>
<p>“DON’T YOU GET IT?! I’M A MONSTER AND I’LL ALWAYS BE A MONSTER! I CAN’T CHANGE WHAT I AM, I CAN’T BE ANYTHING ELSE! I HAVE NO CHOICE, I HAVE NO FREE WILL! I’M A KILLER, I’M A WEAPON, I’M A GUN!…I’M DEATH ITSELF!!!”</p>
<p>He proceeded to cackle maniacally as he stared into the ceiling with a mad look on his face, and hopelessness in his eyes.</p>
<p>…<em>warm</em>…</p>
<p>Only to suddenly stop as he began to feel warmth around his upper torso. Looking down he found Phillips with her arms around his chest and her head on his shoulder. She was embracing him.</p>
<p>Though he couldn’t see her face, he could feel the tears dripping onto his shoulder.</p>
<p>“You’re wrong…YOU'RE WRONG! YOU’RE NOT A MONSTER, YOU’RE NOT A KILLER, AND YOU’RE CERTAINLY NOT A WEAPON!”</p>
<p>She embraced him tighter.</p>
<p>“You don’t exist only to kill! If you did then you wouldn’t feel regret and remorse for all the horrible things that you were made to do against your will! You deeply regret all the crimes that the horrible government of your homeworld made you do. That shows you have a heart and that you truly don't want to hurt people! Also, so what if you’re a synthetic being?! Just because you weren’t born a natural way doesn’t mean you’re not an individual capable of making their own choices. That doesn’t mean you have no free will!”</p>
<p>Mitchell couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude to Phillips for being so bold and honest. Hearing her say such caring and thoughtful words was incredibly moving.</p>
<p>“You may have been given these skills and abilities for evil, but that doesn't mean they can’t be used for good! You can use your powers to save people, to help those who can’t defend themselves, to protect those from suffering the same kind of pain that you have been through for so long! You can become something better than what you were. You can be someone who saves lives and helps make a better future for everyone! You can be a hero!”</p>
<p>Hearing this, 5a82 couldn’t help but look towards Rainer, who looked back with a comforting smile and nodded his head.</p>
<p>“You do have a choice. You can change what you are, and you can be anything you want to be! There’s a quote from one of my favorite childhood movies, ‘you don’t have to be a gun! You are what <em>you</em> choose to be!’ It’s your decision!”</p>
<p>Dr. Glass was genuinely impressed at Phillips‘ handling of the situation. She had shown bravery, empathy and compassion. He even considered offering her a position in Vanguard’s psychology department.</p>
<p>”So I don’t care what you think, I don’t care if you were born in a lab, I don’t care if you were trained to be a remorseless killer, I don’t care if you spilled innocent blood, I don’t care if you think you’re irredeemable, I don’t even care if you believe you have no soul! YOU DO DESERVE TO LIVE!”</p>
<p>For what felt like an eternity, the room was quiet. No one moved and no one made a sound.</p>
<p>Eventually, something began to become audible.</p>
<p>5a82, slowly and softly began to chuckle.</p>
<p>This reaction was not what everyone was expecting, and it made them more than a little uncomfortable.</p>
<p>5a82’s chuckling slowly build up in volume and intensity, eventually evolving into full blown chaotic laughter.</p>
<p>Phillips was wondering if she had failed and only made things worse.</p>
<p>Eventually however, they noticed his laughter starting to change, sounding more empty. Then slowly, his laughter shifted into loud weeping. He then embraced Phillips as he proceeded to experience an immense emotional release, tears overflowing and staining both Phillips shoulder and his shirt.</p>
<p>“Shh, it’s okay, let it all out. I’m here for you.” Phillips said, once again in that comforting motherly tone as she closed her eyes and patted 5a82’s back.</p>
<p>They both then noticed another pair of arms wrap around them. Phillips opened her eyes to see Mitchell had joined her in comforting him.</p>
<p>“We all are. Everything’s going to be okay.”</p>
<p>5a82’s loud crying eventually settles into softer whimpers and sniffles. Hey let his pain and emotions flow until he was exhausted and could no longer cry. The room was silent again…until a whisper was uttered.</p>
<p>“Please…help me.”</p>
<p>Both doctors embraced him tighter as they both responded to him.</p>
<p>“We will.”</p>
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<p>April, 21, 2022 (Earth time)<br/>
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I’m a monster, I can never be anything else…I have no choice…No free will..<br/>
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The man that I was two months ago believed that with all of his being.<br/>
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Now though, I see now that I was a fool for believing it.<br/>
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I won’t lie. My past still haunts me. I can never forget all the horrible things I did when I was locked in the chains of the corrupt tyrants of my homeworld’s government.<br/>
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All the people I’ve hurt, even killed. I can never forget their faces and can never truly forgive myself for spilling their blood.<br/>
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But now I know I don’t have to let it hold me down. I don’t have to end my own life as penance. Also while I still do have the occasional nightmares, they don’t bother me as much as they used to. I now see my past doesn’t define who I am, I can be who I choose to be, and nobody can tell me otherwise.<br/>
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Everyone deserves a second chance, even me.<br/>
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I owe it all to the people of this planet, the humans of Earth. I owe it to Vanguard and the people who kept me alive since I crashed here.<br/>
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Ever since Dr. Mitchell got permission to admit me to Ms. Phillips new rehab center, I have been getting the help and care needed to recover from the scars of my past. It definitely has helped me a lot, and I know now that I can trust these people with my safety. I now have so many supportive people around me, so I know I am in good hands.<br/>
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Dr. Phillips has been mentoring me and helping me deal with my trauma by developing treatments and activities that help me get my mind off of them. She’s also been working hard to help me understand everything I need to know about the outside world of this planet, providing me the knowledge and social skills needed for when they finally believe I’m ready to be granted status as a VNP.<br/>
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Dr. Mitchell also stops every once in a while to check up on me and my progress, as well as to occasionally join in discussing more about my past now that I no longer feel the need to keep it to myself. She once told me that her superior was proud to see the program was working, and that I’m making excellent progress. She even told me they were considering stopping by to see for themselves and to meet me in person.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Mitchell and Phillips have done so much for me, I am truly lucky to have them around. If it weren’t for the both of them, I probably would’ve spilled my own blood by now. They saved my life, and I’m grateful.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
With how well I’ve been doing in my progress, I’ve been allowed more freedom to explore the center. I’m interacting with and getting to know some of the other residents. It amazes me how there are so many colorful characters on this planet. I even made a friend, <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-163">another stranded offworlder just like me.</a><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
I also regularly interact with Cybie, Aé, Rezarta and Rainer since we have group sessions together. Our traumatic backgrounds are so similar that we work well together in our therapy. They’re all making good progress too.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Cybie recently gained the interest of a group of <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/church-of-the-broken-god-hub">cyborgs</a>, who are willing to take her under their wing and improve her in ways that would allow her to live a normal life.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Aé’s language skills are really improving, and she’s starting to remember small bits of her old life.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Recently, Vanguard tracked down and contacted Rezarta’s brothers. I can’t even tell you how touching it was to see her hug them with tears in her eyes. Though it was humorous seeing Luana nearly suffocate them in her many arms.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Rainer has started to become more independent, and has been using his abilities to help out everyone at the center. He was also able to see his mother again. Their emotional reunion lasted for what seemed like hours.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
As for me, aside from being allowed to free roam the center, they decided I was stable enough to remove the gloves and socks strapped to me. It felt nice to feel the air flow between my fingers and toes again.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Recently I was allowed to begin journaling again, hence these entries. Mitchell had even suggested I write a book about my story. It seemed like an interesting idea, so I might consider it.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
We also have been talking recently about the idea of giving me a new name. 5a82 would just serve as a reminder of the life I’ve now chosen to leave behind.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Giving myself a new name isn’t going to be easy, as I’m not that creative.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
But maybe one day…perhaps I’ll find the perfect name for the new me.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
</div>
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<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>5a82 closed the journal and placed it by his side.</p>
<p>He let out a sigh as he laid back on the grassy lawn, taking a moment to relax and enjoy the warm spring breeze.</p>
<p>“<em>I almost forgot what fresh air felt like.</em>’</p>
<p>He felt spending time in the rehab center’s new garden was a perfect place to start working on his new journal. Aside from him, many of the other patients are spending time in the garden, enjoying interacting with one another.</p>
<p>He watched as a young woman with <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-134">eyes made of stars</a> was having a conversation with another wearing a <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-187">blindfold</a>. He also noticed <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-040">a pink haired woman riding atop a pink and blue furred four legged creature</a> as it playfully chases around a pair of what he can only describe as <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-131">eyeballs on wheels</a>. Then he saw as a <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-527">suited man with a fish head</a> was having a heated discussion with some sort of <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2662">humanoid with cephalopod characteristics and tentacles</a>, vaguely hearing the latter state something about “crazy people stop bothering him” and the former stating that they “just want to feel special like their siblings”.</p>
<p>“<em>So many strange faces, all so different. Yet at the same time so similar.</em>”</p>
<p>Seeing so many of these abnormal souls interacting, and being out in the open for the first time in who knows how long gave him comfort, knowing they were all getting the help they needed just like him.</p>
<p>This made him recollect much of what he’d gone through to get to this point. How he’d come so far and was now on the road to a better life.</p>
<p>“<em>To think, I was brought into this world as a tool of oppression for corrupt political powers. Now I’m not far from starting a new life on a planet I really don’t belong on.</em>”</p>
<p>He then started to drift into thoughts about his homeworld.</p>
<p>“<em>But there are still those back home. Those still suffering at the hands of those who abuse their power for their gain. The citizens of Kepler, and my fellow synthetics…The man I once considered my father, that is if he is even still alive.</em>”</p>
<p>He had no doubt that with everything that had happened to him, he could never go back there. Not that he would want to. It no longer felt like home anymore after all the horror he went through there. Besides, he’s now aware that this planet doesn’t yet possess the technology for interstellar travel.</p>
<p>“<em>But maybe, maybe with the help of the people of this world…perhaps one day when such technology is possible for them, I can return there and liberate it from the corruption keeping it enslaved. To ensure no one else born on that world can suffer the same as me!</em>”</p>
<p>He then remembered what Phillips had once said.</p>
<p><strong>“You may have been given these skills and abilities for evil, but that doesn't mean they can’t be used for good! You can use your powers to save people, to help those who can’t defend themselves, to protect those from suffering the same kind of pain that you have been through for so long! You can become something better than what you were. You can be someone who saves lives and helps make a better future for everyone! You can be a hero!”</strong></p>
<p>Perhaps when he’s ready, he’ll go back and do just that. Be the hero that his homeworld needs.</p>
<p>But until then…</p>
<p>He still has some recovering to do, while creating a new life in this new home, on a new world.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/blue-blooded-blues">Blue Blooded Blues</a>" by WarriorofChaos, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/blue-blooded-blues">https://scpwiki.com/blue-blooded-blues</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> 6118-Icon.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/warriorofchaos" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(4246396); return false;"><img alt="WarriorofChaos" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=4246396&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736515185" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=4246396)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/warriorofchaos" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(4246396); return false;">WarriorofChaos</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
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<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Rehab-Center-Sign.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:LERK">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:LERK</a><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Keikyu-railway-KK12-Kojiya-station-sign-20210621-115843.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Keikyu-railway-KK12-Kojiya-station-sign-20210621-115843.jpg</a><br/>
<strong>Additional notes:</strong> Image edited by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/warriorofchaos" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(4246396); return false;"><img alt="WarriorofChaos" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=4246396&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736515185" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=4246396)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/warriorofchaos" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(4246396); return false;">WarriorofChaos</a></span></p>
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<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Sunset.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/warriorofchaos" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(4246396); return false;"><img alt="WarriorofChaos" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=4246396&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736515185" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=4246396)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/warriorofchaos" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(4246396); return false;">WarriorofChaos</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:adult-content-warning">:scp-wiki:component:adult-content-warning</a>
|self-harm=1
|More details in content warning.
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:root {
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[[=]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Copperplate Gothic'; color: #B61805; font-size: 280%"]]**Blue Blooded Blues**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
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[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
This article contains depictions of severe depression and psychological trauma, thoughts of self-harm and suicide, and medical abuse.
**[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/no-return-hub More from this canon: No Return]**
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-cw">:scp-wiki:component:info-cw</a>]]
[[/=]]
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[[div class="blockquote"]]
This article was made for [[*user tiredsn0w]] as part of [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/forum/t-16984471/13th-annual-art-exchange SCP Art Exchange 2024!]
I hope you enjoy it! :)
[[/div]]
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[[image http://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/local--files/artexchange-2024/6118-Icon.png width="150px"]]
[[/=]]
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[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6118 5a82] let out a frightened scream as he jolted up in a panic, the dream images continuing to flash through his mind. As he began to regain awareness, he investigated his surroundings. Instead of being connected to tubes and being slowly consumed by flames, he found himself surrounded by four white foam walls. At one end of the room was a large two way window, and at another a securely locked door. He was lying in a bed dressed in a white shirt and pants and covered with a sheet.
“//…another one of those damn nightmares.//“ He whispered to himself in his native alien language. He began to calm down and felt less anxious. These nightmares were a constant reminder. A reminder of all he‘d ever known and experienced for most of his miserable life. His true nature. What he was born to be, likely all he’d ever be, regardless of what the doctors within this place thought or said.
Thinking of the people here had gotten him diving deep into his thoughts again. Just how long had he been here now anyways, in this bleak complex facility owned by the people on this planet? It was hard to keep track of the number of days, especially due to differing planetary hours. From what he was able to determine, he believed it had been at least a year since the crash that resulted in him ending up here.
“//Why am I even thinking about this? So what if I’ve been in this place for a year? It’s not like it matters…Nothing’s changed.//” He said to himself as he curled into a fetal position and leaned his head against his knees. No matter what planet he’s on, it doesn’t change the fact he’s going to be in the same position as he’s always been. Surrounded by scientists and doctors, the occasional experiments, interviews, and checkups. It was all the same. Sure he hasn’t been stuffed into a pod, connected to countless tubes and wires, or strapped to a table being poked and prodded like a lab animal like he was back home after he reached the necessary age. Sure, maybe a few people in this place had been a bit more “empathetic” or “compassionate”, stating that they just wanted to understand and help. But he knew better now. He could see through the facade and knew the truth.
The truth was no matter what the people here said or did, it was all the same. They were no different than those back home, and he was going through the same cycle of pain and torment that he had gone through since the very moment of his birth. Why couldn’t he just be free? To finally end the pain and misery? Why couldn’t he just be allowed to die already? It was as if the universe was keeping him alive just to suffer. Even when he had found one opportunity to put a bullet in his head, it was taken from him, and he found himself in a new cell in another one of their countless prisons. He couldn’t even harm himself without being caught. Even when he wasn’t being watched, he couldn’t harm himself thanks to cushioned walls and protective hand guards and socks so he couldn’t claw at himself. He couldn't even write down his own thoughts anymore since they restricted his access to paper and pencils.
One day the universe decided to tease him with a false sense of hope. He found himself feeling incredibly weak and unable to breathe without a machine. For the first time in his life, he felt genuinely ill. For weeks he felt [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6500 as if he was withering away and he didn’t know why]. But he didn’t really care, because he thought that the universe had decided to show him mercy. He was finally going to die. Cruelly, this hope was taken away from him again, as he suddenly recovered and the cycle continued without end, showing just how cruel the universe truly is.
Strangely though, shortly after his near death experience, things around him had begun to change. It all started during one of his annual checkups. He noticed that the symbol on their tags was different now. The circle with arrows was replaced with a “V” surrounded by a green star. One of them also called him a VNP instead of the usual SCP which he’d gotten used to. His curiosity peaked him and he began to eavesdrop on the conversations surrounding him outside his cell. He heard mentions of “vanguard” and something about them figuring out a “normalization protocol” regarding him, and thus not yet officially being a VNP. They said his mental state and paranoia could be a problem and were concerned any protocol could negatively affect him and make his mental health worse than it already was.
He snarled and clenched his hands just thinking about it, remembering what they accused him of.
“//They accuse me of being paranoid?! I’m not paranoid, I’m self aware! I’m more than that…I’m a victim.//“ His anger then quickly turned to sadness as tears began to pour down his face. He buried his head back into his lap.
“//…I’m an abomination.//”
[[/div]]
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[[=]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/grigori-karpin-s-author-page/vanguard%20transparent.png width="100px" height="100px"]]
[[/=]]
[[=]]
**Vanguard Watchtower-19**
//9 February, 2022//
[[/=]]
The double doors to the administrative meeting room of Watchtower-19 opened as numerous directors and researchers exited. They’d just finished a meeting between the site directors to discuss which Foundation sites had yet to be converted into either a watchtower or lighthouse, and how to adapt their standard procedures to better reflect Vanguard’s mission of normalization.
One of these researchers was Dr. Mitchell, who volunteered to fill in for Site-66’s director Louis Martin who was attending another meeting formulating a normalization protocol for [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1929 1929], after reported sightings of small identical phenomena occurring within New Mexico.
She had taken extensive notes in the meeting regarding lighthouse facility configuration plans, public opening scheduling suggestions, currently selected anomalies for normalization, and new standard protocol ideas.
She pulled out her phone and began dialing the director of Site-66, while she continued to walk down the corridor.
“Hello, Director Martin? This is Dr. Mitchell, the meeting at Watchtower-19 just concluded.”
…
“Everything went well sir, We’ve come to some agreements and developed several proposals we believe will be necessary to convert 66 to a lighthouse.”
…
“Yes, I’ll be sure to go over all the details with you and the rest of 66’s personnel upon your return. We can also discuss any recommendations regarding the proposals.”
…
“Understood. I’ll return to the site as soon as I’m finished with my work here, there are just a few things I need to take care of before I leave.”
…
“Yes, I will, thank you sir.” She finished speaking as she hung up and placed her phone back in her pocket. She sighed as she rubbed the back of head In agitation. It had been several months since the Veil of Secrecy was brought down and the Foundation dissolved to become Vanguard, but she was still getting used to all the changes that had been occurring. While a small part of her was glad the Veil ended, another part of her was annoyed by it, because now they had to go through the same amount of effort in containing anomalies to explain these things to the public.
But her colleagues working at Site-66 could worry about all of that when she forwarded them the documents. For now she had another meeting she had to attend before she left.
An annual meeting with a subject that she’d had the most interactions with… an old “acquaintance”.
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It took her about eight minutes to reach SCP-6118’s chamber. She’d been there often to check in on them, and attempt the occasional failed interview to get some clear answers about their past. The current on-duty surveilling researcher noticed Dr. Mitchell’s arrival.
“How’s 6118’s status? Any updates I need to be informed of?” She asked as she glanced through the two way glass.
“Nope, just the usual. The daily pattern of them mostly preferring to keep to themselves, curling up in bed, getting up to consume their nutritional solutions, or read the books we’ve provided.” The researcher said as they got up from their desk.
“You’re positive? There hasn’t been any noticeable improvements or changes in their behavior as of late?” She questioned as she continued to look through the window.
“Well actually, if you look at the night surveillance footage, the subject often trembles and shifts in their sleep. Facial expressions and lip movement also suggest aggravated or disturbed muttering. This commonly leads to them waking up in a panicked and agitated state. Obviously, 6118 is suffering from constant nightmares.“
“I’m already aware of the nightmares. It seems to be a common experience, even during their time in Site-66.”
“Well, unfortunately it seems their frequency has increased. This is having a massively negative impact on the subject. Take a look, this is the footage from last night.”
Dr. Mitchell watched as 6118 thrashed around for a time in their sleep before jolting up screaming in a cold sweat. It took some time before they calmed down and returned to a fetal position.
“You are right, they seem deeply disturbed. But I’ve seen similar behavior before.” Dr. Mitchell stated as she looked to the researcher.
“That’s not the concerning part though. Keep watching.”
She looked back at the footage, and after a few seconds noticed that 6118 uncurled and appeared to be showing signs of deep emotional distress. They began to breathe heavily as they looked down at their hands. Suddenly, Dr. Mitchell was then taken aback as she witnessed them beginning to aggressively use their teeth to bite and pull at the mittens and socks strapped to their hands and feet. This went on for several minutes before they suddenly stopped, only to suddenly grab their pillow and press it firmly against their face in what appeared to be an attempt at self suffocation. This doesn’t work however, due to their bed and clothing being made with breathable materials. Eventually, 6118 appeared to give up as they threw their pillow to the other side of the room and then lay sprawled on the floor, crying hysterically for a time before settling into quiet sobs and whimpers. The footage stopped playing as the researcher looked back to Mitchell, deeply disturbed by what she witnessed.
“In the morning it attempted to assault the personnel entering the room for its morning nutrition. They also stole one of their keycards and attempted to escape…but not before trying to use it to slit its own throat. We had to physically restrain it before we administered sedatives. We decided it has become necessary to keep it mildly sedated to keep it calm. But here’s the most concerning part, even after sedating it…it begged for us to let it die, claiming that it is a monster. The higher ups are starting to doubt if we’ll be able to develop a suitable normalization protocol to grant 6118 VNP status.”
Hearing this made Dr. Mitchell feel a deep sense of pity for 6118 as she looked at them through the window. Her compassion for the alien had increased greatly after the incident on 16/6/2020 when they attempted to kill themself after gaining their hand on Sergeant Brinley’s gun. Though she felt anger towards them at first for killing the sergeant over a book, the anger quickly changed to worry when they turned the gun on themself. It was at that moment that Mitchell came to realize that 6118 was a deeply disturbed and traumatized individual. She truly wanted to help them after that incident, but she couldn’t really do much without knowing about their past. The info they’d gathered so far led her to believe that 6118 was the victim of experimentation as a possible weapon, although she couldn’t get any confirmation since they refused to speak.
“I presume you wish to try another attempt at communication?” The researcher asked Mitchell.
“…No, I don’t think that would work at this point. Make sure to inform me if anything comes up that I should know about.”
She turned around and left the chamber, feeling more depressed than she had when she first arrived. Distracted, she did not notice the ecstatic individual traveling down the hall, causing her to crash into Dr. Mitchell as they both tumbled and scattered papers around.
“Oh no! Oh jeez, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that. I was just in such a good mood that I guess I wasn’t paying attention to what was in front of me and-“ the woman says in a slight panic as she proceeded to gather up her documents, only to be cut off by Dr. Mitchell.
“No, it's fine. It’s my fault, I’m the one who wasn’t paying attention.” She said as she got up and dusted off her lab coat. The woman she’d bump into was a fellow researcher. A young woman with a ginger colored curly bob cut and brown eyes. She looked to be in her late twenties and wore unusually colorful clothing for a researcher. Her short sleeved lab coat was lime green and she wore a choker, bracelets, and anklets made of colored beads. She also wore moss green sandals and a big smile.
“Here let me help you with that.” Mitchell said as she started helping to pick up the scattered documents.
“Oh thank you. I really appreciate the help, it would be a pain to pick this up all by myself. I’m Christina by the way, junior researcher Christina Phillips. Again I’m sorry I ran into you, I’m just in such a good mood today. I’m a little scatter brained.”
“It’s fine, like I said it was my fault for not paying attention, I have a few things on my mind. Dr. Jane Mitchell of Site-19, or Watchtower-19 as were are calling it now.”
Dr. Mitchell’s attention shifted to the document she had just picked up, noticing it was a proposal request. But it was its contents that really caught her eye.
(//Sapient entity/humanoid rehabilitation and psychiatric program.//)
“…Excuse me, if you don’t mind me asking, can you explain this rehabilitation program?” Dr. Mitchell asked as she handed the last bits of documentation to Christina.
“Oh, I’m glad you asked! You see, I actually came here from Site-oh I mean Watchtower-17, to present my proposal for a new program that I think will be hugely useful to Vanguard’s mission of introducing anomalies to the rest of the world. Now, it’s common knowledge that aside from creatures, inanimate objects, locations, and other forms of anomalous phenomena, we also have a number of sapient entities and anomalous humans. A number of these individuals would probably be easy to rehabilitate and set free to live a normal life, but there are sadly those who aren’t accustomed to living in the outside world, or are suffering from psychological problems that present a huge problem when it comes to setting them free. So that’s why I came up with this!”
Christina then showed the reorganized proposal sheet to Dr. Mitchell.
“To put it simply, I proposed a rehab program that helps teach sapient entities the norms and customs of living within the outside world of society, as well as providing therapeutic care to those who are suffering from mental illness or psychological trauma. This offers a chance at recovery for them and a chance to be out in public. I showed this to Director Moose and she granted permission for myself and my colleagues at 17 to create the program. Oh man, I can't wait to tell them she said yes!” she said as she hugged the documents and lightly chuckled with excitement.
Despite being a little weirded out by the young researchers' giddiness, Dr. Mitchell couldn’t help but admit that such a proposal was a good idea. After all, a number of sapient humanoid anomalies had been in containment for years, decades even. So it was only logical that a number of them would need tutoring or even therapy before being granted VNP status.
It was at that moment the metaphorical light bulb went off in her head, and she remembered.
6118.
She turned back to look at the door she just exited, remembering the disturbed alien within. Perhaps this could be the chance to finally get the answers that she and Vanguard were seeking about 6118’s past, and getting them the help they clearly needed.
She turned back to Christina as a plan was forming in her head.
“By chance, do you have a pamphlet for this program?”
Hearing this made Christina smile.
“Oh definitely, I actually already made some that I brought over on the off chance someone here might be interested. Are you thinking about joining as a volunteer for the program?” she asked as she handed one of the pamphlets to Dr. Mitchell.
“Well, I would say I definitely find it interesting and I may consider joining.” she paused briefly as she turned back to the door leading to 6118’s chamber.
“…But I might also know someone who desperately needs the help.”
[[/div]]
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[[=]]
**Vanguard Watchtower-19, Director’s Office**
//9 February, 2022//
[[/=]]
Dr. Mitchell nervously shifted her shoulders as she took a seat in front of Director Tilda Moose’s desk. Normally she wouldn’t feel so uncomfortable when speaking with a site director, but she’s aware that Tilda is one of the few people in Vanguard who has a lot on their plate when it comes to the changes that are happening. Mitchell also doubted that she’ll convince her to allow what she has on her mind.
“Again, I wanted to apologize for the sudden request to speak with you. I know you’re likely very busy right now, and considering the site conversion meeting was less than half an hour ago…”
Tilda Moose raised her hand to assure Mitchell that it was nothing to worry about.
“There’s no reason to be concerned about it Dr. Mitchell, I’m willing to make some time to provide assistance to fellow personnel. You actually chose a good time to talk with me as I just got off a video meeting. So, what is it that you wished to speak with me about?”
“Right. I learned you recently authorized the program stated in this pamphlet, right?” Mitchell said as she showed Tilda the pamphlet for the rehabilitation program.
“Ah, I presume you had a run in with Junior researcher Phillips then?” Tilda asked, as she looked over the pamphlet.
“Run in is one way to put it, yes.” Mitchell responded while looking the other way, thinking back to when they tumbled over each other.
“I thought as much. I’m quite familiar with young Ms. Phillips. A bright young lady. Perhaps a little bit too peppy for someone in her field though.”
Dr. Mitchell couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at that comment, thinking it fit so well.
“But to answer your question, yes. I authorized the establishment of a rehabilitation and therapy program for the express purpose of providing tutoring and counseling for sapient anomalous individuals and entities. This could help teach or remind them how to live life in the outside world, as well as to help them overcome any psychological issues and trauma they may have experienced…especially if we were the ones responsible for their traumas.” Tilda answered Mitchell, feeling a bit uncomfortable mentioning some of those mentally disturbed cases were the result of their own actions.
“Well the reason I came to speak with you is because I have a request I’d like to make regarding the program.”
“Oh? I’m presuming you wish to apply to join the program?” Tilda asked.
Before Mitchell answered, she scratched the back of her head nervously while looking away.
“Well that’s one of my considerations. But that’s not the main reason. The thing is…I came here to request that 6118 be entered into the program.”
For what felt like an eternity, they sat and silently stared at each other. Mitchell had an expression of anticipation and concern, while Tilda looked at her with an expression that shows she was still processing what she had just heard.
Finally after a few more seconds, Tilda finally responded.
“…Dr. Mitchell, in case you aren’t aware, there has been a concerning development with 6118.”
“I know, I already saw the footage from last night, and I’ve been informed they are now being mildly sedated.” Mitchell answered, knowing where this discussion was going.
“Then I’m sure you know very well that such a decision is not only risky, but could lead to serious consequences should things go wrong. As such, I can’t approve of 6118 being admitted to the program.“
Mitchell suspected that she was going to disagree with the idea, knowing very well how dangerous 6118 can be if they become too unstable. But she knew unless something was done to help them, they would become even more unstable.
“Director Moose, please! You have to let 6118 join, it might be the best means to develop a normalization protocol to grant them VNP status!”
“I just can’t allow it because it’s too much of a risk to others, both personnel and those enrolled in the program. We both know that 6118 is psychologically unstable and is unwilling to cooperate.”
Mitchell then stood up from her chair with a determined and annoyed facial expression.
“Based on trauma! I’ve looked over what little we managed to gather from both the notes it made and what little we managed to get out of the interviews before they started refusing to speak. Add in the fact that they were in a containment tube when we recovered them, I believe that 6118 is a victim suffering from psychological trauma, possibly a victim of abuse via unethical experimentations. Not only that, but I have suspicions that they probably were even forced to be used as a weapon, made to do horrible things against their will. Why else would they claim themselves to be a monster, or how they knew how to effectively use a firearm?”
Hearing this information gave Tilda pause. Taking into account what she knows regarding 6118, she can’t help but admit that Mitchell had a point. Some of the information stated in the official documents for 6118 did match with what she was implying, the idea of them being a test subject of some sort of experiment was very likely. Also Tilda wasn’t stupid, she was clearly aware that 6118 was a psychologically disturbed individual, showing clear signs of PTSD and self harm. It was one of the reasons why they reinforced their containment chamber with foam padding and strapped sturdy mittens and socks to their limbs, to prevent them from hurting themselves.
“But what’s really concerning, is that whatever trauma they went through has clearly affected not only their mental and physical well-being, but also their emotional state! After an obviously disturbing nightmare last night, which they’ve been suffering from on a daily basis lately, 6118 went ballistic trying to destroy their own garments before collapsing to the floor in an emotional breakdown. But I don’t think it’s because they’re haunted by whatever torture they’ve experienced…I think 6118 is afraid of themself.”
This statement really got Tilda’s attention, wondering what Mitchell was implying.
“What exactly do you mean by ‘afraid of themself’?” She asked.
“Think about it. Say the theory of them being a weapon is true. Wouldn’t you be afraid of yourself if you knew you only existed to hurt others? Also, remember what I mentioned earlier, they claimed that they were a monster. Someone wouldn’t just call themself that unless they had done something terrible. But the part that has me the most concerned…is that I think their self fear is beginning to overwhelm them and is causing suicidal ideations. During the incident that got them transferred to this site, they tried to kill themself with a gun they stole, and this morning they tried to slit their throat with a keycard they stole! Hell, they even begged the doctors holding them down to kill them!”
Mitchell then placed both her hands on the desk as she looked straight into Tilda’s eyes.
“I get that you don’t want to risk putting others in possible danger, but if anyone is at greater risk of being harmed by 6118…it’s 6118 themself! They’re sick, and clearly getting worse! That’s why I am begging you to let them attend Christina’s rehabilitation program. Because they clearly need the kind of help she and those applying as personnel can provide! They need this, and if we don’t get them the help they need soon…it might be too late.”
Tilda was still for a moment, pondering over everything Mitchell said. Eventually, Tilda came to the conclusion that Mitchell was right, that 6118 was clearly sick and in desperate need of professional help. If they just keep them in their chamber in bed constantly pumped full of sedatives, and considering 6118’s incredible immune system, it was likely they’d somehow develop an immunity to the sedatives and attempt to use the IV syringe to stab themself to death. Not to mention Vanguard’s mission was to not just normalize the anomalous, but to also help the people of the anomalous world. [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sarkic-heat Varis’ ongoing campaign] was a major example of that.
“So please Tilda, I’m begging you…Let them join the program. If you’re still worried about the possibility of someone getting hurt, I’ll watch over them, and come up with precautionary measures to be extra safe. I promise to take full responsibility.” Mitchell asked as she looked at Tilda with a pleading and worried expression.
Eventually Tilda let out a tired sigh and turned back to Mitchell.
“Dr. Mitchell, after careful consideration and taking what you have stated into account…I’ll allow 6118 to be admitted into the program, but only under strict supervision and surveillance. I’ll also need to be informed of any progress or lack thereof.”
A soft smile grew on Mitchell’s face as she stood and clasped her hands together.
“Thank you Director Moose! I’ll be sure to keep you updated.”
Mitchell got up from the chair and proceeded to walk out of the office, but was then stopped by Tilda as she spoke up.
“Promise me one thing though.”
Mitchell turned to look at Tilda.
“Just…don’t make me regret this.”
[[/div]]
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If 5a82 wasn’t already suspicious of the changes that had been occurring lately with his “caretakers”, then he certainly was now with the situation he currently found himself in.
‘First they began pumping me with drugs to keep me //under control//, now I find myself strapped to some form of mobile chair riding in one of their aerial vehicles to who knows where?!’ He thought to himself, feeling more mentally sober than he did an hour ago. He couldn’t help but wonder if they intentionally lowered the amount of sedatives being pumped into him, or if he was starting to develop an immunity.
Seeing as he physically couldn’t do anything about the situation he was in, he mentally began going over the events leading to his current state. He may be restrained physically, but at least he’s free in his mind.
He recalled that he was just lying in his bed, feeling the effects of the sedatives doing their job. One of the doctors had left one of his provided books on his lap in case he felt like reading, not that he wanted to.
‘It’s not like it was going to help in any way. It wouldn't end my suffering. Besides, I remember I already finished that one.’
Then suddenly without warning, a team of guards came into his room, one of them pushing a mobile chair. Then just forced him out of bed and sat him down in the chair, strapping his wrists and ankles into the restraints.
‘No doubt to keep me from doing anything they don’t like. Not surprising considering what happened the last time guards with guns came into my room.’
As they were rolling him out of his room, he was greeted by one of the scientists, a woman who for some strange reason, seemed vaguely familiar to him. It wasn’t until she greeted him with a “hello” that he realized who she was, recognizing her voice. It was the same woman who occasionally spoke to him through the intercom, always attempting to get him to reveal the secrets of his past. This was the first time he actually saw her in person. Out of all the people in this organization, she’s the one he’s had the most interactions with.
‘I mean voru, she’s the reason I even know how to speak their language.’
What she told him filled him with both curiosity and suspicion. Something he couldn’t stop thinking about after hearing it.
“I understand that you don’t exactly trust us, and I know that it very likely has to do with whatever occurred to you in your past. But I want you to understand we really are trying to help you, and we just want to know what you are and what happened to you so we can do just that. We’re taking you somewhere that has a new program to provide special help to those currently in our custody, especially those going through traumatic stress. I think it’ll greatly help you in dealing with your inner turmoil.”
‘Program…my inner turmoil…help me? Do they really think I’m so gullible?! After what they’ve done to me so far, the tests, the interrogations, the incident with my book, the fabric cages on my extremities, the sedatives?! This is all just a ploy like always! The same kind of ploys I’ve experienced for most of my miserable existence…”
Those horrible memories began to flood his mind again.
[[=]]
//Floating in liquid…feeling tubes and wires everywhere.//
…
//Sitting at a desk alongside his fellow Gen-5s.//
…
//Men in uniforms, soldiers and generals.//
…
//Knowledge flooding his mind…calculating the most lethal shots…silent kills with a blade.//
…
//…[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/yamete-kudasai Father]…//
[[/=]]
He shook his head, trying to get the flashes playing through his mind to stop. He didn’t want to deal with them right now.
‘Besides, even if they were telling the truth, if this has anything to do with this //normalization// he overheard them mention, there’s nothing they can do to help me that doesn’t involve putting me out of my misery! No one can help me, there’s no saving me! I can’t change what I am. I’m a monster…I have no free will.’
[[/div]]
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**Vanguard Watchtower-17, Rehab Center**
//11 February, 2022//
[[/=]]
Dr. Mitchell and the security team had just arrived at Watchtower-17. After a quick clearance from security and receiving directions, they found themselves at the double doors to the rehab program entrance.
[[=]]
[[image http://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/local--files/artexchange-2024/Rehab-Center-Sign.png width="650px"]]
[[/=]]
6118 couldn’t help but glance at the sign. He was expecting the program to be some form a therapy center based on what the doctor said, but he still had his doubts. He wasn’t going to let his guard down, knowing that this was very likely a facade for something darker.
Dr. Mitchell was immediately greeted by Researcher Phillips at the front door waving to her with a bright smile.
“Dr. Mitchell, how nice to see you again so soon! I heard you applied to join the program's personnel, so I thought I’d wait by the entrance to greet you.”
“Nice to see you again too Christina. I’ll admit I was interested in viewing the program, but I’m mostly here to help keep a careful eye on your new patient.”
Phillips turned her attention to 6118, who was looking off to the side with an anxious expression.
“Oh, this must be the patient you were referring to back at 19.” She said as she walked up to 6118 and crouched slightly to be face to face with them.
“Hi, my name is Christina Phillips, I’m going to be one of the doctors you will be spending time with today. I can promise you that you are going to like it here!”
6118 didn’t respond with anything but a quick glance her way before looking away again.
Phillips was a bit disappointed by the lack of response, but she could also tell that the humanoid in front of her was clearly uncomfortable and distrusting of their surroundings, especially once she noticed the restraints.
Mitchell then walked up to her and whispered into her ear.
“6118 is not very trusting of personnel, A result of suspected PTSD due to a traumatic past.”
“What kind of PTSD?” Phillips questioned back, now eager to know what this individual had experienced.
“Not entirely sure, they refuse to speak about it. But personal notes and reactions lean towards experimental abuse. They’ve actually attempted self harm and suicide on a few occasions, the restraints and security are a precaution because of it. A necessity for their safety and ours. Director Moose wouldn’t allow them to be admitted without said precautions.”
Phillips' expression shifted to one of pity and sadness as she looked back at 6118. She knew that she would likely deal with victims of PTSD, especially those that were suicidal. But she wasn’t expecting to be dealing with one on the program's first day. Nevertheless, she was determined to help this poor soul in any way she could. She then knelt down to 6118 and put her hand on their shoulder, causing them to jolt back out of reflex.
“Hey, you don’t have to be afraid. I promise I’ll make you feel better. I’ll show you that there is nothing to be afraid of anymore.”
6118 barely reacted. Phillips frowned slightly at the reaction, feeling that this might take a lot more than compassion and genuine understanding to help them heal.
Then she had an idea. What better way to help someone recover from their pain than to be surrounded by those who had suffered the same kind of pain?! She then looked back to 6118 with a smile.
“In fact, I think I know how we will begin your treatment. Let’s try some good old fashioned group therapy!”
[[/div]]
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5a82, along with his escorts and the colorful doctor Phillips found themselves in one of the many counseling rooms within the center. He couldn’t help but notice some of the occupied rooms as they passed by them. He had no idea there were so many strange beings held by this organization.
The most notable so far had to be the ones sitting in the chairs beside him. Three of them were female adults and one was male.
The first [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-191 had large portions of their body replaced with machinery], some of it crude in appearance, the rest being more sophisticated mechanically.
##5252FF|‘Did she do that to herself, or did someone do this to her?! I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter.’##
The second [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-811 was green and appeared somewhat amphibious], slick with some sort of oily substance that made him think of mucus. She was the only one not in a chair. Instead she was placed in a mobile glass cube with a pool filled with water and a circular grid for speaking through. There were also two individuals in hazmat suits standing besides her.
##5252FF|‘Is she toxic or can she not be outside of water? Considering the suits, I’m guessing it’s the former.##
The third appeared to be elderly [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1884 and had no hands, they also appeared to be blind, judging from the eyes. They were accompanied by some bizarre amalgamation of hundreds of arms].
##5252FF|‘...What in the name of the belt of Kepler is that thing?!’##
The male had darker skin and black hair, and they were wearing a hooded jacket. He was also the only other person accompanied by a doctor, a woman. 5a82 wondered what was so unusual about him, as he looked pretty normal. He got his answer when the man noticed the doctor trying to clean her glasses, witnessing him [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4051 opening a small wormhole out of thin air and pulling a wet rag from it which he gave to her to use].
##5252FF|‘Guess I’m not that special to these people after all, just another freak of nature. As if I already didn’t feel like a monster.’##
His attention was then directed to a knock at the door. Dr. Phillips opened the door and let in a male doctor with blonde hair and glasses.
“Everyone, this is Doctor Glass. He will be joining us today to help you all to share your stories and also help us all to get to know each other better.” Phillips said with a smile, as she led Doctor Glass to the center of their circle of chairs.
“Good day everyone. Now, I’m sure all of you are still a little confused on how this will work, and what we’re hoping to accomplish. The point of this gathering is to help you get over any personal troubles you may have, and to familiarize you with some exercises to help you be more prepared for when you get what is known as VNP status. When this happens, you’ll be set free to live in the outside world in a way that benefits both yourselves and others.” Glass said, as he and Phillips took their seats.
This revelation surprised the attendees. Some seemed excited and others nervous. 5a82 however was feeling a sense of fear and confusion.
##5252FF|Set me free, Are they serious?! A dangerous abomination like me doesnt deserve to be free!’##
He was so focused on his thoughts that he didn’t notice Phillips observing the look on his face before focusing back on the whole group and speaking up.
“Now before we begin sharing our stories, let's start by introducing each other. Who would like to go first?”
She looked around the group before she landed on the cyborg.
“How about you dear? Can you tell us your name?”
The cyborg was quiet for a second before they spoke up in a heavily mechanical voice.
“{{HELLO. MY BIRTH NAME IS VICTORIA, BUT SOME FRIENDS I MADE DURING MY STAY HERE CALL ME CYBIE. I ALSO GO BY 191.}}”
Phillips then turned to the amphibian woman. They didn’t say anything at first, until one of the hazard men spoke to her.
“It’s alright, you can answer her.”
She then looked back to Phillips and responded in a broken manner.
“Name is Aé.”
##5252FF|‘She must not know how to talk properly.##
Then the elderly woman had her turn.
“I don’t remember my birth name, but I went by the name of Madame Rezarta in the circus. The big ball of hands next to me is Luana. You can consider her my seeing eye dog, but that doesn’t mean she’s a pet. We’re connected.”
5a82 couldn’t help but feel a sense of interest in the woman and her many armed companion.
##5252FF|‘So she uses that thing to help guide her due to her lack of sight? Also what is a circus? The name she gave sounded like a stage name. Was she some kind of performer?’##
Next, the portal man was up.
“My name is Rainer Miller, and I’m happy to be here, I will do anything I can to help out around here.”
The woman next to him suddenly spoke to him in a worrying tone.
“You’re helping just by being here, remember?”
Rainer looked embarrassed as he rubbed his thumbs together.
“Oh, right. Thanks for reminding me.”
##5252FF|‘He’s like a nervous child who wants to make his mother proud…not that I would know what that feels like.’##
Finally…it was his turn.
5a82 didn’t speak up and remained quiet for what felt like an eternity. He was still skeptical of this whole thing. He still couldn’t help wondering what they were up to and if they were only trying to lull him into a false sense of security.
“I’m sorry for my acquaintance's behavior, he has some trust issues and is not much for talking.”
The familiar female doctor that he now came to know as Dr. Mitchell stated, as she placed a hand on his shoulder while looking towards Phillips and Glass.
Phillips then got up from her seat and came closer to 5a82 before kneeling to look him in the eyes.
“You don’t have to be scared. Like I said, I’m here to help and want to help you feel better. We’re all friends here. Go on, you can tell us your name.”
He remained silent for a bit, as he thought it over.
##5252FF|‘I guess I don’t really have much of a choice in the matter…Oh who am I kidding I never have a choice!”##
…
“...5a82.”
Phillips at first just smiled and giggled a little before she spoke up again.
“No sweetie, I mean your name. The name you were born with.”
“...I…I just did.”
Phillips' smile then slowly shifted to a frown and she took on a worried expression.
“Are you sure you don’t remember having any other names?”
“NO!”
Phillips was startled by the hostile reaction, not expecting them to lash out like that. If she wasn’t already feeling pity for the alien, now she was definitely concerned for them.
5a82 suddenly regretted snapping at the doctor, especially when he noticed the concerned and frightened look in her eyes. This caused him to think maybe he was a bit too harsh on her.
##5252FF|‘Maybe she doesn’t know about me, or is just a new employee? Perhaps this is the first time she’s seen or heard about me. I mean it isn’t so unlikely that not everyone that works for these people knows about me. It’s likely they have so many others here that I’m just a random face in the crowd. I guess if I’m going to be attending more time at this center, I should at least try to be more cooperative with her, especially if she’s really telling the truth.’##
5a82 then showed a regretful facial expression while looking down at the floor.
“S-sorry.”
Phillips' mood shifted after hearing them say those words, making her feel more confident in their possible progress.
Mitchell was also comforted by this response, feeling that maybe this idea might work after all.
“Don’t worry about it sweetie, I was a little concerned that's all.”
She then walked back to her seat and sat down next to Glass. Glass got out a clipboard and a pen as he began writing something down before looking back to the group.
“Okay, now that we’ve all gotten around to introducing one another, how about we tell a little something about ourselves? After that, I would also like you to tell us your story and how the Foundation found you.”
Hearing this made 5a82 concerned, thinking that maybe he was right after all as he started to develop a distrustful expression once again.
##5252FF|‘Was this all just a ploy to get me to finally tell them my past?! Why can’t they just understand already that knowing what I really am won’t make much of a difference?!’##
Glass then looked over to the cyborg calling herself Cybie.
“Ms. Victoria, since you were the first to introduce yourself, why don’t you go first.”
Cybie shuffled for a bit before she straightened up and began to speak.
“{{WELL, AS YOU CAN SEE, MOST OF MY BODY WAS REPLACED BY MACHINERY. I CAN INTERACT WITH CERTAIN DEVICES AND I HAVE TO CONSTANTLY RECHARGE MYSELF IN ORDER TO FUNCTION OR I SHUT DOWN. I HAVE HAD THESE MECHANICAL AUGMENTATIONS AND HAVE BEEN WITH THE PEOPLE HERE SINCE I WAS A YOUNG CHILD. ONE DAY I FOUND MYSELF TAKEN IN BY A DOCTOR WHO WORKED FOR…I THINK IT WAS SOME SORT OF [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/valravn-corporation-hub MILITARY COMPANY?] EVENTUALLY THE FOUNDATION FOUND ME AFTER RAIDING HIS LAB AND TOOK ME IN. I DON’T REALLY REMEMBER MY FAMILY OR MY PARENTS, BUT THE PEOPLE WHO WORK HERE ARE THE CLOSEST THING TO A FAMILY I HAVE. THEY TOOK CARE OF ME, HELPED REPAIR MY MODIFICATIONS WHENEVER THEY HAVE PROBLEMS, AND THEY EVEN GAVE ME UPGRADES AND BETTER REPLACEMENTS AS I GOT OLDER. IN FACT ORIGINALLY I COULDN’T TALK UNTIL THEY GAVE ME A SPEECH UNIT A FEW YEARS AGO.}}”
5a82 was absolutely shocked by what he had heard from the cyborg, making his mind swirl with thoughts and questions.
##5252FF|‘By the stars! I knew someone had to have been responsible for her being part machine, but a military company? And she’s been that way since she was a child?! What kind of sick psycho would turn a child into a half machine abomination?! Were they planning to use her as a weapon?!...Wait, is she just like me? Could she have been made to do horrible things against her will?!’##
Then he realized something else that she had said.
##5252FF|‘They took care of her? Even giving her upgrades to make it easier for her to live? Is she really so grateful that she considers the people keeping her here family? Have I…have I been wrong about these scientists?’##
After hearing more from Cybie about her experiences living in the Foundation, Dr. Glass moved on to the amphibian woman named Aé. The hazmat men explained what she could do. Apparently the mucus she was covered in is corrosive, she can also regurgitate bodily waste as a means of defense or hunting prey.
##5252FF|‘So she’s a predator.’##
Then one of the hazard men said they’d like her to tell them the same thing she told the two men, mentioning something about “before a box”. She seemed to understand as she then turned to the group and talked, accompanied with swift and demonstrative arm and hand movements.
“Aé not always like Aé. Aé once have skin like man, like people. Then big tall man, bigger than Aé. Stick needle here, needle cold, needle bring pain. Red, lot of red from mouth. Skin now like this. Was scared, was hungry. Aé ate man, than ran ran ran. Aé get lost, hide in big water, water with trees and many bugs. Docktys find Aé, bring here. Help clean Aé when dirty. Help teach Aé be better at talking. Gave Aé food, water, brush, home.”
Despite the broken english and poor speaking skills, 5a82 understood what Aé was saying, and once again his thoughts began racing.
##5252FF|‘She means she was once a normal person, then someone turned her into this?! The needle she mentioned, there’s no doubt she’s talking about a syringe. It must have been filled with some sort of mutation serum. Also did I hear that one part right? She ate whoever did this to her?! Maybe they deserved it, but that is just an unpleasant thought! Hold up, I just realized she too is a victim of cruel experiments! She also said the people here helped her too! Perhaps I really have been wrong about my predicament. Maybe these people aren’t so bad after all.’##
Dr. Mitchell noticed how 5a82 seemed to be deep in thought. She hoped they might be starting to let go of their distrust.
“Okay Madame Rezarta, how about you tell us what you and Luana can do?” Phillips said to Rezarta.
“Well as I stated, I’m blind and Luana serves as my eyes, as well as my hands. Whatever she feels, so do I. This lets me develop a mental image of my surroundings. This unfortunately also means that whatever pain Luana feels, I feel it too.”
“I see, very interesting. How did you meet your companion, and how did you both come into the Foundation’s care?” Doctor Glass asked as he continued taking notes.
“Luana’s actually been with me since birth. We’ve always been together. As for where Luana came from, no idea. Not even she knows.”
Luana followed this by shrugging all her arms.
“As for how it all started, when I was a child, Luana and I were kidnapped, taken from our home in the middle of the night by the Herman Fuller Circus. They took us and forced us into their freakshow, before making me a ‘palm reader’ when I got older. Luana would feel peoples faces and I would make deductions based on their facial features. If ever made an error in any way, I would either be denied dinner or whipped, and Luana would feel the pain too. I have visible scars on my body to prove it. One night Luana had enough and killed the guard keeping us in our tent, without my knowledge of course, and in a panic we fled for our lives. The Foundation found us after I tried to get a room at a hotel and Luana acted out of impatience. Honestly, living with the Foundation was much better than being with those assholes in the circus.”
Luana again followed up with her comment, this time replying by holding the middle finger in every hand. This drew giggles from a few of those listening.
The more 5a82 heard, the more cracks formed in the wall that was his doubt and distrust.
##5252FF|‘They were kidnapped as a child, abused, and forced to be performers?! How can someone just rip an innocent child away from their family and treat them as a tool for profit in show business?! A disabled individual no less! Nobody should be used for a person’s own personal gain!…Like I was. These individuals suffered similar torments as me, and these people helped them…maybe they really do want to help me. But…what could they do to help me? A monster like me?’##
“You see it now right? This place can provide the help you need to get over your trauma. If you just share with us, we can help you let go of the past.” Dr. Mitchell whispered to him, as she noticed him coming more to a realization about his caretakers and the program.
“Now then, I believe it’s your turn Mr. Miller. Care to tell us what you can do?” Dr. Glass asked as his and Phillips’ attention turned to him.
“Well, I can create portals at will, and then I can reach into them and pull out anything that I desire. I’ve used it on numerous occasions in the past for the Foundation whenever they needed me to assist in something important.”
“So you’ve helped them out a lot?”
“Oh yes, a lot. I once was even allowed to accompany a MTF on a mission. It was then I learned I could stop dangerous things by pulling out their opposite, which cancels them out. In fact it’s thanks to the Foundation that I’ve perfecting my abilities.”
“Really? That’s great to hear!” Philips said in genuine delight.
“Yeah, I didn’t really fully understand my abilities and how they worked, but thanks to the Foundations and their tests, I now understand them better than I did before. I’m grateful to the Foundation and I wish to continue helping them, even if you Vanguard guys are replacing them in a sense.”
The female scientist next to him suddenly developed a saddened expression as she looked at Rainer with concern. She then spoke to him.
“Rainer, could you please cover your ears for a moment? There’s something I’d like to say to them that I’d rather you not hear.”
“Oh, uh okay.”
He proceeds to cover his ears and the scientist turned her attention back to the group with a more stoic expression.
“I’d just like to bring up something important. I’m Dr. Jules Yesenia, and I’ve been a scheduled regular therapist for Rainer. I’d also like to note that while these tests did help him learn more about his abilities, some of them were not done ethically or mainly for the purpose of studying his abilities. The doctor in charge of these tests, Dr. Edwards, personally used these tests as a means of causing cruel punishment to Rainer. This was all out of a desire for vengeance for an incident 4051 intentionally caused that resulted in his brother Dr. Roswell being crippled. Luckily after re-evaluations and some digging, Edwards was punished for his actions, and once Vanguard was formed, he was fired. Unfortunately Edwards’ actions and cruelty, as well as unplanned carelessness on our part led to Rainer developing what is essentially Stockholm syndrome, and I hoped this program would help break him of this condition.”
She stopped to take a deep breath before continuing.
“Another thing I want to state. Rainer also used his abilities to save lives, and was unfairly punished for it because of the old ways of the Foundation. He had even been using his abilities to help and save others before the Foundation became aware of him. If you truly wish to help him in a way that’ll get him VNP status, I want it to be so that his powers can be used to save lives, and to prove those who thought him too dangerous were wrong! Also please, please let him be with his family again. It’s the least I can do to make up for not doing anything to save him from what happened to him in the past.
She then tapped Rainer’s shoulder to let him know it was okay to stop covering his ears now.
At that moment, the last remnants of doubt and distrust which 5a82 had held for so long finally crumbled as he thought over everything he just heard, all the while coming to a final realization.
##5252FF|‘…They punished his tormentor, and they feel guilty over their mistake? They even helped him become stronger, even letting him help them whenever they needed him?! She even wants him to be free as a way of saying sorry for not helping him when he truly needed it before?!’##
##5252FF|…##
##5252FF|…##
##5252FF|…##
##5252FF|‘…I //was// wrong…they really //do// want to help me…and I practically spat in their faces, thinking they were no different than those back home.’##
Then a specific memory popped into his head.
A memory about a book, a guard…and a gun.
…a gunshot.
His eyes began to burn, as he felt them building up with tears.
##5252FF|‘…what have I done?’##
5a82 let his head drop, feeling as tears began to drip from his eyes down his face. He then closed his fingers tightly into a fist, and clenched his teeth tightly into a snarl, feeling his bones and teeth groan under the pressure.
##5252FF|‘…I really am a monster…I don’t deserve their kindness…I don’t deserve their help!’##
“Alrighty then, that just leaves us with…” Phillips began to say but quickly developed a look of worry when she noticed 5a82’s body language and expression.
Doctors Glass and Mitchell, along with everyone else soon focused their attention on him as well.
“5a82?” Dr. Mitchell said in a concerned tone.
He didn’t respond.
“Honey, are you alright?” Phillips asked with genuine worry.
He still didn’t respond.
“5a82, if something has you worried or frightened, don’t be afraid to-“ Dr. Glass began to speak, before he was suddenly cut off.
“Let me out…”
5a82 suddenly spoke up.
“What?” Dr. Glass responded with confusion.
5a82 was silent for a moment before responding.
“Let me out…let me out! LET ME OUT!!”
5a82 then began to aggressively push and thrash about in the wheelchair, causing the guard behind him to fall over.
The whole room reacted to his unexpected violent outburst. Dr. Mitchell and her team of guards backed away, the guards grasping their weapons in caution. Phillips was frightened and filled with absolute concern over his health. The other attendants backed up in shock, with Aé and Luana bracing to defend themselves, seeing the outburst as an act of aggression.
“LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT OF THIS CHAIR NOW!”
He continued to scream as he thrashed and bucked, all the while pulling at his restraints with aggressive force.
“Stop, calm down! 5a82 stop this!” Mitchell called out, now fearing that their mental state might be beyond repair.
“I SAID LET ME OUT OF HERE! LET ME OUT OF THIS THING NOW!!”
One of the guards began to reach for a tranquillizing sedative.
“That’s it, I’m pulling the plug on this. This plan is a failure!”
As he began to approach 5a82 with the sedative, Phillips noticed two things. The look of pain and regret in their eyes, and the tears on their face.
“NO WAIT!” She shouted. This guard stopped and Phillips continued to watch 5a82 struggle for a few more seconds.
Then he shouted again.
“PLEASE!!”
But not with anger, but with pleading sadness.
His struggling slowly lessened, before finally stopping. He then proceeded to sniffle and take ragged breaths. He then looked up to Phillips, his expression now broken and soaked in tears as he continued to quietly cry.
“Please…let me go. Let me go please!”
Seeing this made Phillips realize he wasn’t being aggressive, he was overloading with emotions. She could see their face was full of sadness, pain, guilt, regret, and sorrow.
At that moment, she knew what had to be done.
“Unlock his restraints.”
This shocked the other attendees. They did not like the idea.
“Doctor, you can’t be-“ One of the guards began to protest.
“DO IT!”
Only to be cut off as Phillips angrily demanded.
The guard then looked at Dr. Mitchell for assistance.
Mitchell noticed the pleading look in Phillips eyes, and how she nodded at her. She realized Phillips knew what she was doing before looking back at the guard.
“Do what she says. Now.”
After a moment, the guard approached 5a82 and released them from their restraints.
The moment he was freed, he bolted out of the chair and collapsed onto his hands and knees, shaking as he continued to sob softly. After a few moments he began speaking.
“…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Phillips slowly walked up to 5a82. She exuded a caring and motherly demeanor.
“Hey, it’s okay. You were just overwhelmed, that's all. I know hearing about how people went through rough times can be quite emotional but—“
“No…not that.”
Dr. Glass then stood up and walked over to stand next to Phillips.
“Why are you apologizing then? It’s okay to tell us.”
“…For doubting you.”
He then lifted his head and turned towards Mitchell and the guards.
“For doubting all of you!”
He then diverted his eyes down the ground once again.
“All the time I’ve spent here, being housed in that room as you came around for the occasional tests, checkups and interviews…I thought you were just a bunch of liars and manipulators. Thinking that you were pretending to care about me and having what’s best for me as your intentions. Me believing those were just facades to cover your true selfish intentions that only benefited yourselves. Seeing me as nothing more than a tool…a lab rat…or even a means to an end. No different than the kind of people I had to deal with most of my life back home.”
Hearing his words drew concern, pity, and morbid curiosity from everyone in the room.
“All those times you’ve intervened in my attempts at ending my life, safety proofing my room and even my own limbs, I thought you were only keeping me alive so you could continue to exploit me. But then you brought me here, and I now see that I was wrong. You were trying to protect me, genuinely trying to help me. But my paranoia and trauma clouded my judgement, and it not only made things difficult for you, but it also got others hurt…or worse.”
This comment caused Mitchell to remember the incident at site-66 and Sgt. Brinley.
5a82 then tightened his fist as he began to visibly shake.
“But you don’t understand…You can’t help me, I don’t deserve your help. I’m nothing more than a monster that deserves to be put down.”
Hearing that hit Phillips hard, horrified to hear him say that.
“That’s not true-“
“YES IT IS! I’M A KILLING MACHINE LITERALLY BRED FOR WAR!”
Everyone in the room, especially Mitchell and Phillips, were taken aback and shocked by what 5a82 just stated.
“…I wasn’t lying when I said 5a82 was my name. Because it’s my designation, my instance code! I wasn’t born, I was made! I’m a categorized fifth generation synthetic being, one clone out of hundreds! Created for the purpose of being used by the government powers of the empire that rules my home planet, Kepler.”
Both Mitchell and Phillips were absolutely shocked by this revelation. Their horror grew as he continued to reveal his story.
“I grew up being examined by doctors and scientists, taking classes with other synthetics on what we all were supposed to know and what our ‘benefactors’ would have planned for us if we scored highly positive results. I was a special case, a special variant of an older generation. Raised by the very man I was cloned from. Eventually I gained the interest of some of the military higher ups of our government. That’s when the hell that is my life truly began.”
“…I was right wasn’t I?” Asked Mitchell, garnering everyone’s attention and making 5a82 look up towards her.
“Your highly developed immune system, your ability to use a firearm…They tried to use you as a weapon, didn’t they?”
Everyone then looked back to 5a82 waiting for him to answer. His response was hesitant
“…It started with combat training, something I had to practice daily as I grew up. Then it was weapons training. How to shoot a gun, the mechanisms, how to wield a knife. At first I thought it was mainly for self defense. But then once I reached maturity, they started pumping my mind with knowledge and techniques on how to be as lethal and effective at killing as possible. After that they started assigning me classified missions. Denying a mission was never an option. I had no free will, I had no choice. Something I didn’t realize until years later. Destroying rebel forces, stealing data or supplies from opposing foreign offworld powers, sabotage, and disposing of incriminating evidence. But if there was one type of mission I was assigned the most…it was assassinations.”
5a82 tightened his fists even more, blood beginning to drip from his fingers.
“Politicians, counter revolutionaries, government officials both rivals and our own, wealthy businessmen, popular election runner ups, military leaders, cultural heroes, the occasional traitors…even women and children. I was forced to slaughter entire families and to help commit genocide of other worlds. The blood of literally thousands is on my hands. I can’t even begin to count the number of sleepless nights I’ve had. Overwhelmed with the thoughts, wishing to undo all I’ve done. And the nightmares…the damned awful nightmares!”
Phillips put her hands over her mouth as tears began to pour down her face. Horrified by what she was hearing. Many of the others in the room shared similar expressions.
“Then the next thing I knew, they started using me for experiments! Turning me into some kind of super soldier. They altered my immune system, making me able to adapt and neutralize practically any pathogen and virus from my body. They did this to both make me an even more effective killer, and to test their biological weapons. Then they would use those same weapons to massacre thousands of innocent people on other planets. The guilt, the stress, the horrors I’ve experienced. It had an effect on my mind, my mental state. They knew I was becoming unstable and rebellious, so one day they took me by surprise and knocked me out. The next thing I knew, I was in a glass tube floating in fluid, connected to hundreds of tubes and wires. Forcefully made a prisoner of their continuous experiments. I was a lab rat in a cage!”
Phillips couldn’t take much more as she collapsed to her knees and she continued to silently weep. Mitchell wasn’t doing so well either, absolutely horrified not only by the revelation that her theory was correct, but that it was much worse than she expected.
Then suddenly to their surprise and dread, 5a82 emitted a chilling chuckle, one that sounded as if he was holding on to sanity by a thread.
“So do you understand now? There’s nothing you can do to help me that doesn’t involve spilling my blood. My very existence has only led to death and destruction. I only exist to be a tool of war, to be violently used by others for their own personal gain. Don’t you see? I was born to be a weapon! I WAS BORN TO KILL!”
He finished his rant by punching the floor with brute strength, enough to cause cracks and causing blood to flow from his knuckles. He then stood up on his knees as he continued to laugh insanely while tears continued to flow.
“DON’T YOU GET IT?! I’M A MONSTER AND I’LL ALWAYS BE A MONSTER! I CAN’T CHANGE WHAT I AM, I CAN’T BE ANYTHING ELSE! I HAVE NO CHOICE, I HAVE NO FREE WILL! I’M A KILLER, I’M A WEAPON, I’M A GUN!…I’M DEATH ITSELF!!!”
He proceeded to cackle maniacally as he stared into the ceiling with a mad look on his face, and hopelessness in his eyes.
…//warm//…
Only to suddenly stop as he began to feel warmth around his upper torso. Looking down he found Phillips with her arms around his chest and her head on his shoulder. She was embracing him.
Though he couldn’t see her face, he could feel the tears dripping onto his shoulder.
“You’re wrong…YOU'RE WRONG! YOU’RE NOT A MONSTER, YOU’RE NOT A KILLER, AND YOU’RE CERTAINLY NOT A WEAPON!”
She embraced him tighter.
“You don’t exist only to kill! If you did then you wouldn’t feel regret and remorse for all the horrible things that you were made to do against your will! You deeply regret all the crimes that the horrible government of your homeworld made you do. That shows you have a heart and that you truly don't want to hurt people! Also, so what if you’re a synthetic being?! Just because you weren’t born a natural way doesn’t mean you’re not an individual capable of making their own choices. That doesn’t mean you have no free will!”
Mitchell couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude to Phillips for being so bold and honest. Hearing her say such caring and thoughtful words was incredibly moving.
“You may have been given these skills and abilities for evil, but that doesn't mean they can’t be used for good! You can use your powers to save people, to help those who can’t defend themselves, to protect those from suffering the same kind of pain that you have been through for so long! You can become something better than what you were. You can be someone who saves lives and helps make a better future for everyone! You can be a hero!”
Hearing this, 5a82 couldn’t help but look towards Rainer, who looked back with a comforting smile and nodded his head.
“You do have a choice. You can change what you are, and you can be anything you want to be! There’s a quote from one of my favorite childhood movies, ‘you don’t have to be a gun! You are what //you// choose to be!’ It’s your decision!”
Dr. Glass was genuinely impressed at Phillips‘ handling of the situation. She had shown bravery, empathy and compassion. He even considered offering her a position in Vanguard’s psychology department.
”So I don’t care what you think, I don’t care if you were born in a lab, I don’t care if you were trained to be a remorseless killer, I don’t care if you spilled innocent blood, I don’t care if you think you’re irredeemable, I don’t even care if you believe you have no soul! YOU DO DESERVE TO LIVE!”
For what felt like an eternity, the room was quiet. No one moved and no one made a sound.
Eventually, something began to become audible.
5a82, slowly and softly began to chuckle.
This reaction was not what everyone was expecting, and it made them more than a little uncomfortable.
5a82’s chuckling slowly build up in volume and intensity, eventually evolving into full blown chaotic laughter.
Phillips was wondering if she had failed and only made things worse.
Eventually however, they noticed his laughter starting to change, sounding more empty. Then slowly, his laughter shifted into loud weeping. He then embraced Phillips as he proceeded to experience an immense emotional release, tears overflowing and staining both Phillips shoulder and his shirt.
“Shh, it’s okay, let it all out. I’m here for you.” Phillips said, once again in that comforting motherly tone as she closed her eyes and patted 5a82’s back.
They both then noticed another pair of arms wrap around them. Phillips opened her eyes to see Mitchell had joined her in comforting him.
“We all are. Everything’s going to be okay.”
5a82’s loud crying eventually settles into softer whimpers and sniffles. Hey let his pain and emotions flow until he was exhausted and could no longer cry. The room was silent again…until a whisper was uttered.
“Please…help me.”
Both doctors embraced him tighter as they both responded to him.
“We will.”
[[/div]]
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[[div class="page"]]
April, 21, 2022 (Earth time)
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I’m a monster, I can never be anything else…I have no choice…No free will..
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The man that I was two months ago believed that with all of his being.
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Now though, I see now that I was a fool for believing it.
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I won’t lie. My past still haunts me. I can never forget all the horrible things I did when I was locked in the chains of the corrupt tyrants of my homeworld’s government.
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All the people I’ve hurt, even killed. I can never forget their faces and can never truly forgive myself for spilling their blood.
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But now I know I don’t have to let it hold me down. I don’t have to end my own life as penance. Also while I still do have the occasional nightmares, they don’t bother me as much as they used to. I now see my past doesn’t define who I am, I can be who I choose to be, and nobody can tell me otherwise.
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Everyone deserves a second chance, even me.
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I owe it all to the people of this planet, the humans of Earth. I owe it to Vanguard and the people who kept me alive since I crashed here.
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Ever since Dr. Mitchell got permission to admit me to Ms. Phillips new rehab center, I have been getting the help and care needed to recover from the scars of my past. It definitely has helped me a lot, and I know now that I can trust these people with my safety. I now have so many supportive people around me, so I know I am in good hands.
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Dr. Phillips has been mentoring me and helping me deal with my trauma by developing treatments and activities that help me get my mind off of them. She’s also been working hard to help me understand everything I need to know about the outside world of this planet, providing me the knowledge and social skills needed for when they finally believe I’m ready to be granted status as a VNP.
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Dr. Mitchell also stops every once in a while to check up on me and my progress, as well as to occasionally join in discussing more about my past now that I no longer feel the need to keep it to myself. She once told me that her superior was proud to see the program was working, and that I’m making excellent progress. She even told me they were considering stopping by to see for themselves and to meet me in person.
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Mitchell and Phillips have done so much for me, I am truly lucky to have them around. If it weren’t for the both of them, I probably would’ve spilled my own blood by now. They saved my life, and I’m grateful.
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With how well I’ve been doing in my progress, I’ve been allowed more freedom to explore the center. I’m interacting with and getting to know some of the other residents. It amazes me how there are so many colorful characters on this planet. I even made a friend, [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-163 another stranded offworlder just like me.]
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I also regularly interact with Cybie, Aé, Rezarta and Rainer since we have group sessions together. Our traumatic backgrounds are so similar that we work well together in our therapy. They’re all making good progress too.
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Cybie recently gained the interest of a group of [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/church-of-the-broken-god-hub cyborgs], who are willing to take her under their wing and improve her in ways that would allow her to live a normal life.
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Aé’s language skills are really improving, and she’s starting to remember small bits of her old life.
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Recently, Vanguard tracked down and contacted Rezarta’s brothers. I can’t even tell you how touching it was to see her hug them with tears in her eyes. Though it was humorous seeing Luana nearly suffocate them in her many arms.
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Rainer has started to become more independent, and has been using his abilities to help out everyone at the center. He was also able to see his mother again. Their emotional reunion lasted for what seemed like hours.
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As for me, aside from being allowed to free roam the center, they decided I was stable enough to remove the gloves and socks strapped to me. It felt nice to feel the air flow between my fingers and toes again.
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Recently I was allowed to begin journaling again, hence these entries. Mitchell had even suggested I write a book about my story. It seemed like an interesting idea, so I might consider it.
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We also have been talking recently about the idea of giving me a new name. 5a82 would just serve as a reminder of the life I’ve now chosen to leave behind.
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Giving myself a new name isn’t going to be easy, as I’m not that creative.
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But maybe one day…perhaps I’ll find the perfect name for the new me.
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5a82 closed the journal and placed it by his side.
He let out a sigh as he laid back on the grassy lawn, taking a moment to relax and enjoy the warm spring breeze.
“//I almost forgot what fresh air felt like.//’
He felt spending time in the rehab center’s new garden was a perfect place to start working on his new journal. Aside from him, many of the other patients are spending time in the garden, enjoying interacting with one another.
He watched as a young woman with [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-134 eyes made of stars] was having a conversation with another wearing a [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-187 blindfold]. He also noticed [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-040 a pink haired woman riding atop a pink and blue furred four legged creature] as it playfully chases around a pair of what he can only describe as [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-131 eyeballs on wheels]. Then he saw as a [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-527 suited man with a fish head] was having a heated discussion with some sort of [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2662 humanoid with cephalopod characteristics and tentacles], vaguely hearing the latter state something about “crazy people stop bothering him” and the former stating that they “just want to feel special like their siblings”.
“//So many strange faces, all so different. Yet at the same time so similar.//”
Seeing so many of these abnormal souls interacting, and being out in the open for the first time in who knows how long gave him comfort, knowing they were all getting the help they needed just like him.
This made him recollect much of what he’d gone through to get to this point. How he’d come so far and was now on the road to a better life.
“//To think, I was brought into this world as a tool of oppression for corrupt political powers. Now I’m not far from starting a new life on a planet I really don’t belong on.//”
He then started to drift into thoughts about his homeworld.
“//But there are still those back home. Those still suffering at the hands of those who abuse their power for their gain. The citizens of Kepler, and my fellow synthetics…The man I once considered my father, that is if he is even still alive.//”
He had no doubt that with everything that had happened to him, he could never go back there. Not that he would want to. It no longer felt like home anymore after all the horror he went through there. Besides, he’s now aware that this planet doesn’t yet possess the technology for interstellar travel.
“//But maybe, maybe with the help of the people of this world…perhaps one day when such technology is possible for them, I can return there and liberate it from the corruption keeping it enslaved. To ensure no one else born on that world can suffer the same as me!//”
He then remembered what Phillips had once said.
**“You may have been given these skills and abilities for evil, but that doesn't mean they can’t be used for good! You can use your powers to save people, to help those who can’t defend themselves, to protect those from suffering the same kind of pain that you have been through for so long! You can become something better than what you were. You can be someone who saves lives and helps make a better future for everyone! You can be a hero!”**
Perhaps when he’s ready, he’ll go back and do just that. Be the hero that his homeworld needs.
But until then…
He still has some recovering to do, while creating a new life in this new home, on a new world.
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> **Filename:** 6118-Icon.png
> **Author:** [[*user WarriorofChaos]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
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> **Filename:** Rehab-Center-Sign.png
> **Author:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:LERK
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Keikyu-railway-KK12-Kojiya-station-sign-20210621-115843.jpg
> **Additional notes:** Image edited by [[*user WarriorofChaos]]
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> **Filename:** Sunset.png
> **Author:** [[*user WarriorofChaos]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
=====
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2024-12-31T14:29:00
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Blue Blooded Blues - SCP Foundation
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1458159348
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/blue-blooded-blues
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bones-malone-and-the-spooky-boys-the-lamentations-of-the-chi
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<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Ahalloween/3&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p>Within a corner booth of La Rue Macabre’s premier Italian restaurant, ‘Sapne d’Italia!’, Bones Malone was making his way through the ghostly form of a bowl of bolognese. From his seat, he could just make out the head of Johnny Rotten stepping inside and removing his hat out of respect to Mama Marie. After Johnny shared a few quick words with the host, Philipe, he would be led to Bones’ booth, then the two were left alone as Philipe bowed and backed away.</p>
<p>‘Johnny… good to see you.‘</p>
<p>The barest of looks greeted Johnny as a form of acknowledgement from Bones, but it was clear he already knew something was up. He always knew.</p>
<p>‘He’s in trouble, Bones.’</p>
<p>‘What happened, Johnny?’</p>
<p>The slight pause in Bones’ eating was not lost on Johnny.</p>
<p>‘He was in Three Portlands. Doing the hand-off with the Runners. You know we figured those amateurs wouldn’t dare. ‘</p>
<p>Johnny’s teeth ground a few times before he spit out the accusation.</p>
<p>‘They fuckin’ dared, boss.’</p>
<p>For a long minute, the only sound that could be heard was the light scrapping of utensils as Bones dug into his pasta. He took his time chewing it over before setting his silverware down, wiping his boney face, and placing his hands upon the table.</p>
<p>‘Do we know where he is?’</p>
<p>Johnny straightened up tall and nodded resolutely.</p>
<p>‘We know where he is.’</p>
<p>With a nod of his own, Bones slid out of the booth, fetched his jacket and hat, and turned to Johnny.</p>
<p>‘Then let’s go get’em.’</p>
<hr/>
<p>‘What the fuck are you smiling about?!’</p>
<p>Jimmy Reaper sat inside a large shipping container, his arms tied behind his back and secured to the chair. Rory Underfoot stood over him, taking some time to re-adjust his brass knuckles. Despite the pain running through his skull, Jimmy let out a light chuckle.</p>
<p>‘I’m a skeleton, ya dope. I’m always smiling.’</p>
<p>That one earned Jimmy a right hook across the cheek, deepening the crack Rory had started.</p>
<p>‘Nungh. Never could take a fuckin’ joke… But ya wanna know why I’m so happy? Because I know my brothers are coming for me, Rory. And you think I’m crazy?’</p>
<p>Despite his bravado, Rory felt a chill run through him. But he had already chosen to take on Bones and couldn’t back down now.</p>
<p>‘You old bastards have been a thorn in all our sides for too fucking long!’</p>
<p>Rory slammed Jimmy’s jaw with a left hook to punctuate the threat. But it was more to pump himself up.</p>
<p>With a laugh, Jimmy spit out a broken tooth and glared up at his assailant.</p>
<p>‘Where’re yer friends, Ror’? Where’s the rest of your original crew? Where’s Kiku? Where’s Samael?</p>
<p>‘… Where’s Steph- ‘</p>
<p>‘YOU DON’T GET TO SAY HIS NAME!"</p>
<p>Rory bristled in rage, screamed for his lost comrades, particularly Stephen, and landed a flurry of punches upon Jimmy. The back of the chair broke from the impact of the blows slamming Jimmy backwards.</p>
<p>Once Rory exhausted his rage, he was panting heavily and glaring at the wraith before him. Jimmy’s right orbital socket had a large, deep crack running down to the bottom of his cheek. Three more teeth were missing. And his jaw shouldn’t be at that angle. But, somehow, he could still speak in broken words.</p>
<p>‘e 'ought 'ell, ‘Ory.’</p>
<p>‘Until you killed him, you fucking psycho!’</p>
<p>The necromantic energy that kept the skeleton alive had been surging to repair the damage all the while. It would take some time to fix him up, but Jimmy focused on his jaw first. With a few heavy cracks, the bones rearranged themselves and set back into place.</p>
<p>‘Ahh, much better. Anyways, he fought well. But he died because you idiots are swinging outta yer league. You got him kill-’</p>
<p>Rory interrupted Jimmy’s regeneration with another punch square on his cheek. The crack along his cheek widened. But Jimmy roared against him in defiance.</p>
<p>‘IT WAS BECAUSE YOU WASN’T LOYAL TO THEM, YA MOOK! YOU LEFT THEM ALL TO DI-!’</p>
<p>Rory interrupted Jimmy again with another right hook. And a left. And another of each, with many more to come. He knew Jimmy was right, but he didn’t want to accept it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The radio was silent. There was no conversation. There was just the roar of the Bone Wagon’s engine and the sound of the wind whipping through the open windows.</p>
<p>Johnny Rotten sat hunched over the wheel, eyes staring down the road, and boney fingers gripping so hard he might leave an indentation on the leather. His mind was focused on only two things; save his brother and kill any bastard who would dare hurt Jimmy. Leave the plans up to Bones. Johnny just wanted to create a warpath.</p>
<p>Bones, though, hung out the window with his boney butt on the windowsill, one hand hanging onto the roof and the other hanging onto his hat. As the wagon sped down the road to Three Portland’s warehouse district, ideas were flooding Bones‘ mind. Calling in some favors and summoning demons to flay the gang alive. Maybe a different favor and bring in a monster mankind was not meant to know of. Maybe just rip out their skeletons. Slowly. A warpath of his own, but with much more style.</p>
<p>It was Johnny who first broke the silence with a loud, growling voice.</p>
<p>‘It’s been a while since anyone tried to take us on!‘</p>
<p>Bones answered by slapping the roof of the car and yelling out a declaration for all the world to hear.</p>
<p>‘You worried, Johnny?! Come on, we’re Bones Malone and the Spooky Boys! And I’ll be a fuckin ‘fleshy again before I leave one of you behind!’</p>
<p>With a wicked cackle, Bones slipped back into his seat, turned to Johnny, and placed a hand on his shoulder.</p>
<p>‘You two are my family, ya hear? Now let’s go get our damn brother and remind everyone just who the fuck we are!’</p>
<p>If Johnny had flesh to grin, he'd probably be ripping a few muscles at that one. With a roar from Hell itself, the Bone Wagon screamed into the night as Johnny redlined the engine.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Rory Underfoot sat in his office and stared out a window over his stock of pilfered goods. His hand was shaking as he nursed a whiskey, the third in the past half-hour.</p>
<p>On the other side of his desk, Lisa and Hank shifted nervously as they watched him until Lisa broke into Rory’s ruminating.</p>
<p>‘Rory… I think we bit off more than we can chew with this one. There’s a reason Bones and his Boys have been around since the old days.‘</p>
<p>The voice that answered her sounded quite unlike the Rory they’ve come to know and support. It wasn’t the cocksure kid who wanted to take on the world, find the vault, and make them kings and queens of the anomalous underworld. It was a broken man who had seen too much of the world and was fully realizing just how much he had lost.</p>
<p>‘I-I know, Lis. I… Fuck. I really screwed us on this one.’</p>
<p>He’d been so sure of starting this fight. Figured that if they took out Bones, they’d make a name for themselves. Show the world that they were worth something. Get their revenge for Stephen. But Jimmy’s words echoed in his head.</p>
<p>‘Kiku should be here… And Samael. And St- ‘</p>
<p>The name froze on his lips as his heart seized up in anguish just thinking about the man he had loved. But the sacrifice Stephen had made for them pushed Rory to finally say his name.</p>
<p>‘And Stephen…’</p>
<p>The names of their fallen comrades brought a long minute of silence from the trio before Hank tried to press Rory about the business with Jimmy Reaper.</p>
<p>‘Boss, you-‘</p>
<p>A loud growl of self-loathing and hatred curled from Rory as he hurled his glass against the wall.</p>
<p>‘DON’T CALL ME THAT! Jimmy, tha-that FUCKER was right, Hank! I’m not a “boss”! I’m an idiot who’s gotten his friends killed!’</p>
<p>Rory turned to face the two, pain etched into every feature as he faced the only friends he had left.</p>
<p>‘OUR FRIENDS ARE DEAD BECAUSE OF ME! I could’ve gone back for them. I could’ve let the fucking money go and gotten them out! We could… we could have them here with us right now. If only…</p>
<p>'If only I wasn’t such a fucking bastard. Putting more worth on the loot than our crew. Caring about fucking money more than friends… More than family.'</p>
<p>‘So ya finally figured it out, eh, Rory?’</p>
<p>The click of a revolver’s hammer echoed louder than Bones ‘words, but all three heard every syllable. They turned to see Bones had leveled his gun at Rory’s head, while Johnny’s tommy gun kept the other two in line. There was no bravado in Bones’ tone. None of his usual playfulness, mirth, or even patience as he glared down the barrel at the first son of a bitch to threaten him and his boys in two decades.</p>
<p>‘Looks like Jimmy taught you the lesson you should’ve known from the start. The crew is family. And you don’t leave family behind, Rory. And you make sure everyone knows not to mess with your family.’</p>
<p>A single bullet rang from Johnny’s gun and slammed through Hank’s left calf, causing the burly druid to collapse and scream in pain. Rory didn’t even think as he sprang from his chair to kneel next to Hank; almost shielding the larger man from any more bullets. Bones kept his gun trained, but didn’t pull the trigger as he watched the act of care for a crewmate. That act of concern would also kept Johnny from taking out one of Lisa’s legs.</p>
<p>While Rory held a handkerchief to Hank's leg, Bones stalked over to them, his revolver never wavering. None of the trio moved as he closed the distance and placed the barrel of his gun against Rory’s forehead. And when Bones spoke, it was as if the coldest winds of Hell blew all around them in frigid fury.</p>
<p>‘Now… Where. The FUCK. Is Jimmy?’</p>
<hr/>
<p>Lisa and Hank were left in the office to let her work together on some healing thaumaturgy; and with Bones on his own mission, Johnny was the one to lead Rory through the stacks of wooden crates that held the Runner’s stock. Booze, magickal supplies, illicit drugs, and general loot gave way to a sole shipping container.</p>
<p>As the two walked, sporadic gunfire rang out periodically from around the shipping yard; more often just a single shot. Sometimes more.</p>
<p>‘Pl-Please wait, Johnny!’</p>
<p>It was clear Johnny wasn’t a fan of being given orders from anyone but Bones as he roughly shoved the barrel of his gun deeper into Rory’s back.</p>
<p>‘We ain’t playin’ twenty-fuckin’-questions right now, Ror’.‘</p>
<p>‘I-I just want to know what Bones is doing! ‘</p>
<p>Johnny felt his finger itching to just waste Rory, but Bones had tempered that anger back in the car. Some pie-in-the-sky speech about teaching the younger generations how to be proper gangsters. It was more Bones' plan for the warehouse that calmed him, ‘though. As long as everyone gets the message not to fuck with Bones Malone and the Spooky Boys.</p>
<p>‘Remember how he asked if anyone else here was part of your crew and you said they were just hired mooks? ‘</p>
<p>‘Yeah…? ‘</p>
<p>The pair reached the shipping container and Johnny shoved Rory forward to slam against the door. After regaining his footing, Rory started unlatching the container doors while Johnny kept going.</p>
<p>‘He’s going to find them and give them a warning shot. Then kill’em if they do anything other than surrender and run. Once they’re dead or gone, he’s gonna finish 'securin' the property'.'</p>
<p>Rory froze at that, his hands on the unlocked door as he gazed up at Johnny. The re-kindled care for his compatriots pushed him to make another request of Johnny.</p>
<p>‘Please, just leave Hank and Lisa out of-‘</p>
<p>‘Oh, Shut it, Rory! You three mugs are getting out of here alive. Now get outta my damn way! ‘</p>
<p>After having pushed Johnny so much, Rory opted to simply wrench open the thick doors of the shipping container and step aside.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The light from the door blinded Jimmy, but he could make out the form of Rory standing to the side, along with a thin figure who hadn’t come to visit him yet.</p>
<p>‘Ya brought a friend, Ror’? Ya want me to teach them about loyalty, too? ‘</p>
<p>‘How’s this for loyalty, ya skeletal son of a saint? ‘</p>
<p>Jimmy sat up fully, his eyes adjusting enough to see the shape of Johnny hurrying over to get to work untying him. Although he wanted to boast that he knew they were coming for him, he was ashamed that such was even required. He was always the one to screw things up for the other two, after all.</p>
<p>‘I fucked it up, Johnny. I was cocky. I was sloppy. I was-’</p>
<p>‘You was Jimmy Reaper. A fucking idiot with a skull full a rocks.’</p>
<p>He wanted to take it as a rebuke, but the warm tone Johnny used wouldn’t let him. If he had a heart, it'd start warming up quite a bit.</p>
<p>‘You was Jimmy Reaper. My damn brother. No matter what shit you get into, you know Bones and I got your back.’</p>
<p>A spared look at Rory standing at the entrance of the container was all it took for him to shrink back a bit. Despite how angry Johnny was at the young kid, he couldn’t help but see a bit of his early days in those idiots.</p>
<p>‘Especially when you decide to take some time to teach these young upstarts what being a crew really means.’</p>
<p>Once the ropes fell away, Jimmy took a moment to nurse the joints on his wrists, then rose on unsteady legs. At the faintest wobble, Johnny was immediately at his side, slipping an arm under Jimmy’s shoulder for support.</p>
<p>‘Ya know, I had to take a helluva beating to get it through Rory’s thick skull. He almost got through my damn thick skull!’</p>
<p>Despite complaining about the physical punishment, Jimmy’s regeneration was still repairing his body. In fact, a new tooth just popped out of his jaw and nestled among the others as Johnny sighed. The two would slowly make their way to the entrance of the container slowly so Jimmy wouldn’t also start complaining about his busted kneecap as Johnny quipped back.</p>
<p>‘Yeah, but you know Bones wants us to be an example to the new blood. Speaking of…’</p>
<p>The weight of Rory’s lost crew just kept growing heavier on his back at the sight of Jimmy and Johnny. And that was when the weight of a heavy hand nestled upon Rory’s shoulder. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked up to see Hank offering a comforting smile with Lisa on his other side, trying her best to support the much larger druid as blood still trickled from his leg.</p>
<p>‘Boss…’</p>
<p>‘I told you not to call me that.’</p>
<p>Even hearing the title caused a fresh wave of guilt and shame to wash over him. And Lisa’s follow-up certainly didn’t help.</p>
<p>‘Rory, this was the dumbest fucking idea you’ve ever had.’</p>
<p>It stung, but not as badly as Bones’ follow-up.</p>
<p>‘Yeah, ya got that right.’</p>
<p>The heavy click of the detonator punctuated Bones’ retort, then the explosions underlined it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>All around the dock, smoke and fire billowed as Bones destroyed the Runners entire stock. A loud cackle rang out loudly from him as his crew got their revenge and left a reminder for anyone who would think to stand against them. But his voice fell when he turned to look at Rory.</p>
<p>Rather than panicking over his lost goods, Rory was doing everything he could to focus with Lisa In a healing ritual to help repair Hank’s bullet wound. Bones’ eyes slowly turned up to look over the burning boxes and containers around them, then back to Rory. And he cackled again.</p>
<p>Not at the carnage, but at the love. And it invigorated Bones, reminded him of his early days with Jimmy, Johnny, and Jason. And what it meant to finally find your family.</p>
<p>‘Looks like ya mugs finally get it. Cost ya a lot to get here, too. Kiku. Samael. Stephen.’</p>
<p>That last name ruined Rory’s concentration on the spell. The memories of Stephen screaming at them to run while he covered them. Of Rory’s love screaming for him to get everyone else out and forget about him. Of looking back one last time and seeing Jimmy blowing a hole through Stephen’s chest. It was the whole reason he even started this fight. Revenge on Jimmy. But Bones brought him back down to Earth.</p>
<p>‘And here’s another lesson for you three. This life ain’t easy. We lose people sometimes. Sometimes because we were fucking idiots and didn’t tell them to drop the loot and run. Like you and Stephen. Like me and Jason…‘</p>
<p>Bones took a long moment to share a mournful memory with Jimmy and Johnny. The trio all took their hats off, placed them against their chests, and Rory could swear he almost saw tears in their eyes. With a deep sigh, Bones steeled himself and kneeled down to put a hand on Rory’s shoulder.</p>
<p>‘But when someone stays behind to protect their family, we honor it, ya hear? I don’t know about Kiku and Samael, but I know Stephen went out in a blaze of glory. To protect his family. I know it’s cold to hear, Rory, but it was business. We had nothing ‘gainst you or Stephen. But he was the only reason you idiots got outta there. Now it’s up to ya to fuckin do something to be worthy of his sacrifice.‘</p>
<p>All around them, chaos reigned as all the material goods the Runners had burned down to the ground. But the sight of the trio huddled together for safety brought a quiet laugh from Bones while he stood up and looked down at the hat in his hands.</p>
<p>‘You’re the leader of this outfit, Rory. You gotta be the one to know when you’re in over your head. You gotta be the one to protect your family. It’s what I didn’t do, and it cost me as much as it did you. But I can see you’ve finally got it. You know what it is to be a crew. Just like ours…'</p>
<p>For a long minute, Bones regarded the hat in his hands. The hat of Richard D. Chappelle, deceased leader of the Chicago Spirit. The only memento of Bones’ oldest rival, and one of his most important possessions.</p>
<p>‘Just like Richie D.’s…’</p>
<p>Finally, Bones gently placed the hat on Rory’s head and chuckled softly at the fact it seemed to fit a little too well.</p>
<p>‘You’re back to square one, Rory. But ya got your family. So you mugs work hard, beat down those bastards who don’t understand family, make a damn name for yourselves, and give me that hat back when you can say you’re a great crew.’</p>
<p>With that, Bones slipped an arm under Jimmy’s right shoulder, with Johnny on the left, and the trio left Rory, Lisa, and Hank among their burning stock. And the hope that the Runners could become genuine contenders for the inheritors of the Will of D.</p>
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<p>"<a href="/bones-malone-and-the-spooky-boys-the-lamentations-of-the-chi">Bones Malone and the Spooky Boys: The Lamentations of the Chicago Runners</a>" by Corax D, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/bones-malone-and-the-spooky-boys-the-lamentations-of-the-chi">https://scpwiki.com/bones-malone-and-the-spooky-boys-the-lamentations-of-the-chi</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:halloween">:scp-wiki:theme:halloween</a>]]
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Within a corner booth of La Rue Macabre’s premier Italian restaurant, ‘Sapne d’Italia!’, Bones Malone was making his way through the ghostly form of a bowl of bolognese. From his seat, he could just make out the head of Johnny Rotten stepping inside and removing his hat out of respect to Mama Marie. After Johnny shared a few quick words with the host, Philipe, he would be led to Bones’ booth, then the two were left alone as Philipe bowed and backed away.
‘Johnny... good to see you.‘
The barest of looks greeted Johnny as a form of acknowledgement from Bones, but it was clear he already knew something was up. He always knew.
‘He’s in trouble, Bones.’
‘What happened, Johnny?’
The slight pause in Bones’ eating was not lost on Johnny.
‘He was in Three Portlands. Doing the hand-off with the Runners. You know we figured those amateurs wouldn’t dare. ‘
Johnny’s teeth ground a few times before he spit out the accusation.
‘They fuckin’ dared, boss.’
For a long minute, the only sound that could be heard was the light scrapping of utensils as Bones dug into his pasta. He took his time chewing it over before setting his silverware down, wiping his boney face, and placing his hands upon the table.
‘Do we know where he is?’
Johnny straightened up tall and nodded resolutely.
‘We know where he is.’
With a nod of his own, Bones slid out of the booth, fetched his jacket and hat, and turned to Johnny.
‘Then let’s go get’em.’
-----
‘What the fuck are you smiling about?!’
Jimmy Reaper sat inside a large shipping container, his arms tied behind his back and secured to the chair. Rory Underfoot stood over him, taking some time to re-adjust his brass knuckles. Despite the pain running through his skull, Jimmy let out a light chuckle.
‘I’m a skeleton, ya dope. I’m always smiling.’
That one earned Jimmy a right hook across the cheek, deepening the crack Rory had started.
‘Nungh. Never could take a fuckin’ joke... But ya wanna know why I’m so happy? Because I know my brothers are coming for me, Rory. And you think I’m crazy?’
Despite his bravado, Rory felt a chill run through him. But he had already chosen to take on Bones and couldn’t back down now.
‘You old bastards have been a thorn in all our sides for too fucking long!’
Rory slammed Jimmy’s jaw with a left hook to punctuate the threat. But it was more to pump himself up.
With a laugh, Jimmy spit out a broken tooth and glared up at his assailant.
‘Where’re yer friends, Ror’? Where’s the rest of your original crew? Where’s Kiku? Where’s Samael?
‘... Where’s Steph- ‘
‘YOU DON’T GET TO SAY HIS NAME!"
Rory bristled in rage, screamed for his lost comrades, particularly Stephen, and landed a flurry of punches upon Jimmy. The back of the chair broke from the impact of the blows slamming Jimmy backwards.
Once Rory exhausted his rage, he was panting heavily and glaring at the wraith before him. Jimmy’s right orbital socket had a large, deep crack running down to the bottom of his cheek. Three more teeth were missing. And his jaw shouldn’t be at that angle. But, somehow, he could still speak in broken words.
‘e 'ought 'ell, ‘Ory.’
‘Until you killed him, you fucking psycho!’
The necromantic energy that kept the skeleton alive had been surging to repair the damage all the while. It would take some time to fix him up, but Jimmy focused on his jaw first. With a few heavy cracks, the bones rearranged themselves and set back into place.
‘Ahh, much better. Anyways, he fought well. But he died because you idiots are swinging outta yer league. You got him kill-’
Rory interrupted Jimmy’s regeneration with another punch square on his cheek. The crack along his cheek widened. But Jimmy roared against him in defiance.
‘IT WAS BECAUSE YOU WASN’T LOYAL TO THEM, YA MOOK! YOU LEFT THEM ALL TO DI-!’
Rory interrupted Jimmy again with another right hook. And a left. And another of each, with many more to come. He knew Jimmy was right, but he didn’t want to accept it.
-----
The radio was silent. There was no conversation. There was just the roar of the Bone Wagon’s engine and the sound of the wind whipping through the open windows.
Johnny Rotten sat hunched over the wheel, eyes staring down the road, and boney fingers gripping so hard he might leave an indentation on the leather. His mind was focused on only two things; save his brother and kill any bastard who would dare hurt Jimmy. Leave the plans up to Bones. Johnny just wanted to create a warpath.
Bones, though, hung out the window with his boney butt on the windowsill, one hand hanging onto the roof and the other hanging onto his hat. As the wagon sped down the road to Three Portland’s warehouse district, ideas were flooding Bones‘ mind. Calling in some favors and summoning demons to flay the gang alive. Maybe a different favor and bring in a monster mankind was not meant to know of. Maybe just rip out their skeletons. Slowly. A warpath of his own, but with much more style.
It was Johnny who first broke the silence with a loud, growling voice.
‘It’s been a while since anyone tried to take us on!‘
Bones answered by slapping the roof of the car and yelling out a declaration for all the world to hear.
‘You worried, Johnny?! Come on, we’re Bones Malone and the Spooky Boys! And I’ll be a fuckin ‘fleshy again before I leave one of you behind!’
With a wicked cackle, Bones slipped back into his seat, turned to Johnny, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘You two are my family, ya hear? Now let’s go get our damn brother and remind everyone just who the fuck we are!’
If Johnny had flesh to grin, he'd probably be ripping a few muscles at that one. With a roar from Hell itself, the Bone Wagon screamed into the night as Johnny redlined the engine.
-----
Rory Underfoot sat in his office and stared out a window over his stock of pilfered goods. His hand was shaking as he nursed a whiskey, the third in the past half-hour.
On the other side of his desk, Lisa and Hank shifted nervously as they watched him until Lisa broke into Rory’s ruminating.
‘Rory... I think we bit off more than we can chew with this one. There’s a reason Bones and his Boys have been around since the old days.‘
The voice that answered her sounded quite unlike the Rory they’ve come to know and support. It wasn’t the cocksure kid who wanted to take on the world, find the vault, and make them kings and queens of the anomalous underworld. It was a broken man who had seen too much of the world and was fully realizing just how much he had lost.
‘I-I know, Lis. I… Fuck. I really screwed us on this one.’
He’d been so sure of starting this fight. Figured that if they took out Bones, they’d make a name for themselves. Show the world that they were worth something. Get their revenge for Stephen. But Jimmy’s words echoed in his head.
‘Kiku should be here... And Samael. And St- ‘
The name froze on his lips as his heart seized up in anguish just thinking about the man he had loved. But the sacrifice Stephen had made for them pushed Rory to finally say his name.
‘And Stephen...’
The names of their fallen comrades brought a long minute of silence from the trio before Hank tried to press Rory about the business with Jimmy Reaper.
‘Boss, you-‘
A loud growl of self-loathing and hatred curled from Rory as he hurled his glass against the wall.
‘DON’T CALL ME THAT! Jimmy, tha-that FUCKER was right, Hank! I’m not a “boss”! I’m an idiot who’s gotten his friends killed!’
Rory turned to face the two, pain etched into every feature as he faced the only friends he had left.
‘OUR FRIENDS ARE DEAD BECAUSE OF ME! I could’ve gone back for them. I could’ve let the fucking money go and gotten them out! We could... we could have them here with us right now. If only...
'If only I wasn’t such a fucking bastard. Putting more worth on the loot than our crew. Caring about fucking money more than friends... More than family.'
‘So ya finally figured it out, eh, Rory?’
The click of a revolver’s hammer echoed louder than Bones ‘words, but all three heard every syllable. They turned to see Bones had leveled his gun at Rory’s head, while Johnny’s tommy gun kept the other two in line. There was no bravado in Bones’ tone. None of his usual playfulness, mirth, or even patience as he glared down the barrel at the first son of a bitch to threaten him and his boys in two decades.
‘Looks like Jimmy taught you the lesson you should’ve known from the start. The crew is family. And you don’t leave family behind, Rory. And you make sure everyone knows not to mess with your family.’
A single bullet rang from Johnny’s gun and slammed through Hank’s left calf, causing the burly druid to collapse and scream in pain. Rory didn’t even think as he sprang from his chair to kneel next to Hank; almost shielding the larger man from any more bullets. Bones kept his gun trained, but didn’t pull the trigger as he watched the act of care for a crewmate. That act of concern would also kept Johnny from taking out one of Lisa’s legs.
While Rory held a handkerchief to Hank's leg, Bones stalked over to them, his revolver never wavering. None of the trio moved as he closed the distance and placed the barrel of his gun against Rory’s forehead. And when Bones spoke, it was as if the coldest winds of Hell blew all around them in frigid fury.
‘Now... Where. The FUCK. Is Jimmy?’
-----
Lisa and Hank were left in the office to let her work together on some healing thaumaturgy; and with Bones on his own mission, Johnny was the one to lead Rory through the stacks of wooden crates that held the Runner’s stock. Booze, magickal supplies, illicit drugs, and general loot gave way to a sole shipping container.
As the two walked, sporadic gunfire rang out periodically from around the shipping yard; more often just a single shot. Sometimes more.
‘Pl-Please wait, Johnny!’
It was clear Johnny wasn’t a fan of being given orders from anyone but Bones as he roughly shoved the barrel of his gun deeper into Rory’s back.
‘We ain’t playin’ twenty-fuckin’-questions right now, Ror’.‘
‘I-I just want to know what Bones is doing! ‘
Johnny felt his finger itching to just waste Rory, but Bones had tempered that anger back in the car. Some pie-in-the-sky speech about teaching the younger generations how to be proper gangsters. It was more Bones' plan for the warehouse that calmed him, ‘though. As long as everyone gets the message not to fuck with Bones Malone and the Spooky Boys.
‘Remember how he asked if anyone else here was part of your crew and you said they were just hired mooks? ‘
‘Yeah...? ‘
The pair reached the shipping container and Johnny shoved Rory forward to slam against the door. After regaining his footing, Rory started unlatching the container doors while Johnny kept going.
‘He’s going to find them and give them a warning shot. Then kill’em if they do anything other than surrender and run. Once they’re dead or gone, he’s gonna finish 'securin' the property'.'
Rory froze at that, his hands on the unlocked door as he gazed up at Johnny. The re-kindled care for his compatriots pushed him to make another request of Johnny.
‘Please, just leave Hank and Lisa out of-‘
‘Oh, Shut it, Rory! You three mugs are getting out of here alive. Now get outta my damn way! ‘
After having pushed Johnny so much, Rory opted to simply wrench open the thick doors of the shipping container and step aside.
-----
The light from the door blinded Jimmy, but he could make out the form of Rory standing to the side, along with a thin figure who hadn’t come to visit him yet.
‘Ya brought a friend, Ror’? Ya want me to teach them about loyalty, too? ‘
‘How’s this for loyalty, ya skeletal son of a saint? ‘
Jimmy sat up fully, his eyes adjusting enough to see the shape of Johnny hurrying over to get to work untying him. Although he wanted to boast that he knew they were coming for him, he was ashamed that such was even required. He was always the one to screw things up for the other two, after all.
‘I fucked it up, Johnny. I was cocky. I was sloppy. I was-’
‘You was Jimmy Reaper. A fucking idiot with a skull full a rocks.’
He wanted to take it as a rebuke, but the warm tone Johnny used wouldn’t let him. If he had a heart, it'd start warming up quite a bit.
‘You was Jimmy Reaper. My damn brother. No matter what shit you get into, you know Bones and I got your back.’
A spared look at Rory standing at the entrance of the container was all it took for him to shrink back a bit. Despite how angry Johnny was at the young kid, he couldn’t help but see a bit of his early days in those idiots.
‘Especially when you decide to take some time to teach these young upstarts what being a crew really means.’
Once the ropes fell away, Jimmy took a moment to nurse the joints on his wrists, then rose on unsteady legs. At the faintest wobble, Johnny was immediately at his side, slipping an arm under Jimmy’s shoulder for support.
‘Ya know, I had to take a helluva beating to get it through Rory’s thick skull. He almost got through my damn thick skull!’
Despite complaining about the physical punishment, Jimmy’s regeneration was still repairing his body. In fact, a new tooth just popped out of his jaw and nestled among the others as Johnny sighed. The two would slowly make their way to the entrance of the container slowly so Jimmy wouldn’t also start complaining about his busted kneecap as Johnny quipped back.
‘Yeah, but you know Bones wants us to be an example to the new blood. Speaking of...’
The weight of Rory’s lost crew just kept growing heavier on his back at the sight of Jimmy and Johnny. And that was when the weight of a heavy hand nestled upon Rory’s shoulder. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked up to see Hank offering a comforting smile with Lisa on his other side, trying her best to support the much larger druid as blood still trickled from his leg.
‘Boss...’
‘I told you not to call me that.’
Even hearing the title caused a fresh wave of guilt and shame to wash over him. And Lisa’s follow-up certainly didn’t help.
‘Rory, this was the dumbest fucking idea you’ve ever had.’
It stung, but not as badly as Bones’ follow-up.
‘Yeah, ya got that right.’
The heavy click of the detonator punctuated Bones’ retort, then the explosions underlined it.
-----
All around the dock, smoke and fire billowed as Bones destroyed the Runners entire stock. A loud cackle rang out loudly from him as his crew got their revenge and left a reminder for anyone who would think to stand against them. But his voice fell when he turned to look at Rory.
Rather than panicking over his lost goods, Rory was doing everything he could to focus with Lisa In a healing ritual to help repair Hank’s bullet wound. Bones’ eyes slowly turned up to look over the burning boxes and containers around them, then back to Rory. And he cackled again.
Not at the carnage, but at the love. And it invigorated Bones, reminded him of his early days with Jimmy, Johnny, and Jason. And what it meant to finally find your family.
‘Looks like ya mugs finally get it. Cost ya a lot to get here, too. Kiku. Samael. Stephen.’
That last name ruined Rory’s concentration on the spell. The memories of Stephen screaming at them to run while he covered them. Of Rory’s love screaming for him to get everyone else out and forget about him. Of looking back one last time and seeing Jimmy blowing a hole through Stephen’s chest. It was the whole reason he even started this fight. Revenge on Jimmy. But Bones brought him back down to Earth.
‘And here’s another lesson for you three. This life ain’t easy. We lose people sometimes. Sometimes because we were fucking idiots and didn’t tell them to drop the loot and run. Like you and Stephen. Like me and Jason…‘
Bones took a long moment to share a mournful memory with Jimmy and Johnny. The trio all took their hats off, placed them against their chests, and Rory could swear he almost saw tears in their eyes. With a deep sigh, Bones steeled himself and kneeled down to put a hand on Rory’s shoulder.
‘But when someone stays behind to protect their family, we honor it, ya hear? I don’t know about Kiku and Samael, but I know Stephen went out in a blaze of glory. To protect his family. I know it’s cold to hear, Rory, but it was business. We had nothing ‘gainst you or Stephen. But he was the only reason you idiots got outta there. Now it’s up to ya to fuckin do something to be worthy of his sacrifice.‘
All around them, chaos reigned as all the material goods the Runners had burned down to the ground. But the sight of the trio huddled together for safety brought a quiet laugh from Bones while he stood up and looked down at the hat in his hands.
‘You’re the leader of this outfit, Rory. You gotta be the one to know when you’re in over your head. You gotta be the one to protect your family. It’s what I didn’t do, and it cost me as much as it did you. But I can see you’ve finally got it. You know what it is to be a crew. Just like ours…'
For a long minute, Bones regarded the hat in his hands. The hat of Richard D. Chappelle, deceased leader of the Chicago Spirit. The only memento of Bones’ oldest rival, and one of his most important possessions.
‘Just like Richie D.’s…’
Finally, Bones gently placed the hat on Rory’s head and chuckled softly at the fact it seemed to fit a little too well.
‘You’re back to square one, Rory. But ya got your family. So you mugs work hard, beat down those bastards who don’t understand family, make a damn name for yourselves, and give me that hat back when you can say you’re a great crew.’
With that, Bones slipped an arm under Jimmy’s right shoulder, with Johnny on the left, and the trio left Rory, Lisa, and Hank among their burning stock. And the hope that the Runners could become genuine contenders for the inheritors of the Will of D.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
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2024-06-23T06:33:00
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Bones Malone and the Spooky Boys: The Lamentations of the Chicago Runners - SCP Foundation
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1454108522
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/bones-malone-and-the-spooky-boys-the-lamentations-of-the-chi
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borja-s-letter
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<p style="text-align: center;"><em>This is a <strong>Cloistered Sandbox Page</strong> of user <span style="color:crimson">f.flores@scip.net</span>.</em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>This page likely contains incomplete information and is not (yet) fit for wider publication</em></p>
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<p><br/></p>
<p>If you who found this file are just going to erase it, then fuck you I guess. Go to hell. But I hope you're a sympathetic person, a researcher or technician or something, just stumbling on this and willing to make copies. The original documents have already been incinerated. I can't believe that fossil Dubois had my transcriptions deleted. It's ridiculous, this is 400 year old history. I know I'll be amnestized. Digitizers always are, per protocol, but fuck. I wonder how much other "unwanted" history they made me forget.</p>
<p>I'm using this page to re-transcribe one letter to the best of my memory. Translating to English too, maybe the American branch will be more accepting.</p>
<p><br/></p>
<blockquote>
<h2 id="toc0"><span>Letter of Francisco de Borja y Aragón, sent from the Viceroyalty of Peru to the Spanish court.</span></h2>
<p>Dated August 3, 1617</p>
<p>Dear Luis, [Luis de Aliaga, Borja's mentor in mysticism]</p>
<p>I must congratulate you on your appointment as confessor to the Majesty Himself. I am glad to have seen your position in the court rise as it has, and I am certain you will be appointed Grand Inquisitor within mere years.</p>
<p>I must admit that I have sometimes felt like the protagonist of a chivalric romance, since I arrived in the New World. Government has been dry and difficult and I have surely not experienced the raw adventure our predecessors must have felt in this virgin land, but there is still a sense that we are fighting back the wicked with our glorious light of righteousness. You did always say that I took those romantic stories too seriously, but it is quite special to be able to play out that dream. It is certainly much more exciting than the courts of Spain.</p>
<p>Allow me to compile a report of my mission, to be delivered to our Prince and Sovereign.</p>
<p>May you know that the establishment of my Military Order of Knights has proceeded very well. Juan de Mendoza had greatly understated the prevalence of spirits, witchcraft, and foul ideas in this land. Just yesterday, as I write this letter, our Knights uncovered a grand conspiracy here in Cusco. A dozen Indians led by a witch were involved in some unnatural ritual, forming a shield of sunlight in an attempt to withhold many supernatural artifacts from us.</p>
<p>We originally believed the building to be an old potato store-room, but upon investigating it, we discovered cursed llama skulls, self-filling pottery, speaking sundials, and various <em>Supay</em> demons in jars. They must have collected these false idols from all over the territory. We have prudently taken those objects of potential value and stored them in our sturdiest crates. We have destroyed everything else, of course, as we do not yet have the manpower to contain such threats. The natives of Cusco worship the rock sundials, so their destruction is a very straightforward way of cultivating respect.</p>
<p>Our holy order befell <span style="text-decoration: underline;">no casualties</span> during this incursion, I must stress. I cannot describe to you how common these sorts of discoveries are in this foreign land.</p>
<p>My voyage to México City has revealed an even more extensive network of aberrant individuals involved in sorcery. I took the opportunity to establish an arm of the Military Order, without the knowledge of the viceroy of New Spain, to contain these deviants and their crafts.</p>
<p>While traveling through New Spain, I realized what must be the most dangerous fountain of origin for spreading wicked sorcery. In New Spain much moreso than in Peru, Indians create artistics manuscripts. <em>Tira</em>, on animal hide or paper, are folded or rolled and may be hidden away. <em>Lienzo</em>, on cloth, may reach exceptional size. I initially did not realize the significance of this, but the Knights have since discovered many manuscripts that pose a direct threat to all men and our way of life.</p>
<p>During what should be routine inspections of Indian dwellings, the viceroy's men were repelled by a group of women chanting from a large theurgical scroll, through which they summoned great swarms of <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2350">mosquitos</a>. Fortunously, my Knights were able to confiscate the <em>lienzo</em> and other occult objects from this building, but the women avoided our capture.</p>
<p>The house truly did contain terrible things. Most horribly, a flute carved in the form of a human head, which, when played, transformed two of our men into monkeys! There was a spear-thrower that launched a missile at explosive speeds, and a club with obsidian blades that could decapitate a man yet keep him breathing and screaming for their damned sacrifices. There was a calendar stone which made several of my men disappear as they touched its glyphs. But most importantly, there were several <em>tira</em> depicting the many unholy rituals Aztec men perform with these objects.</p>
<p>I am aware that the burning of these writings has been common practice even among early conquistadors. I hear Diego de Landa was particularly successful in excising dangerous manuscripts, and I have begun a long-term strategy inspired by his work:</p>
<ul>
<li>Texts and documents written by natives from the Aztec region are permissable only if they were written after the conquest by Cortés and have been explicitly approved by a Knight. Their writing is not sophisticated enough to do harm anyway.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Maya texts are to be destroyed with extreme prejudice.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>We may consider ourselves highly lucky that the former Inca kingdom did not utilize a proper form of writing, but the Knights must of course continue to hunt down and exterminate the storytellers.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Efforts to erase the Purépecha Empire from memory are proceeding swiftly, and I praise Nuño de Guzmán for preparing the region.</li>
</ul>
<p>I will include advice on writings originating in other regions in future letters. I got word that my men in the Yucatán have already incinerated a library's worth of <em>tira</em> describing "<a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6821">horse-headed demons</a>" and "metal tubes of death" and who knows what other profanities. It was immediately clear that these texts were dangerous.</p>
<p>It is of the utmost import that Indians, where applicable, learn to read and write in Latin or Spanish. An appropriately literate class will form the foundation of the new societies of these lands. I do not believe that black magic of this extreme degree can be transmitted through a civilized language, and this will greatly ease our censoring.</p>
<p>Lastly, the spread of faith in our Lord the Savior has been highly successful. The natives' trust in groups that attempt to oppose us is completely exhausted. I believe the future of our great empire is secure, and I will continue to protect our interests in the colonies.</p>
<p>Our mission is proceeding well, my friend. We are discovering objects here in the new world which we do not yet understand and that no lettered man has ever laid eyes on before. Surely, our influence will quickly exceed that of the English Fellowship or even the Pope's Holy Office, as we bring these artifacts home.</p>
<p>May we ever be in the favor of our King,<br/>
Your trusted Knight,<br/>
Francisco de Borja y Aragón</p>
<p>To Secure and Protect</p>
</blockquote>
<p><br/></p>
<p>This is not exactly touted within the Foundation (who can guess why..), but the Knights of the Military Order of Borja y Aragón were the foremost normalcy agency in Spanish America for hundreds of years. Their obvious presence in colonial America may have faded in the 19th century, but believe me, their influence ran <em>deep</em>. There were so many letters like these, centuries worth of writing about colonial activities stashed deep in Site-4's vault. This <em>our</em> history.</p>
<p>Only four Maya codices survived, three of which only rediscovered in the 19th or 20th century.</p>
<p>I can smell the incinerators heating up again.</p>
<p><br/></p>
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@@@@ @@@@
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If you who found this file are just going to erase it, then fuck you I guess. Go to hell. But I hope you're a sympathetic person, a researcher or technician or something, just stumbling on this and willing to make copies. The original documents have already been incinerated. I can't believe that fossil Dubois had my transcriptions deleted. It's ridiculous, this is 400 year old history. I know I'll be amnestized. Digitizers always are, per protocol, but fuck. I wonder how much other "unwanted" history they made me forget.
I'm using this page to re-transcribe one letter to the best of my memory. Translating to English too, maybe the American branch will be more accepting.
@@@@ @@@@
@@@@
> ++ Letter of Francisco de Borja y Aragón, sent from the Viceroyalty of Peru to the Spanish court.
> Dated August 3, 1617
>
> Dear Luis, [Luis de Aliaga, Borja's mentor in mysticism]
>
> I must congratulate you on your appointment as confessor to the Majesty Himself. I am glad to have seen your position in the court rise as it has, and I am certain you will be appointed Grand Inquisitor within mere years.
>
> I must admit that I have sometimes felt like the protagonist of a chivalric romance, since I arrived in the New World. Government has been dry and difficult and I have surely not experienced the raw adventure our predecessors must have felt in this virgin land, but there is still a sense that we are fighting back the wicked with our glorious light of righteousness. You did always say that I took those romantic stories too seriously, but it is quite special to be able to play out that dream. It is certainly much more exciting than the courts of Spain.
>
> Allow me to compile a report of my mission, to be delivered to our Prince and Sovereign.
>
> May you know that the establishment of my Military Order of Knights has proceeded very well. Juan de Mendoza had greatly understated the prevalence of spirits, witchcraft, and foul ideas in this land. Just yesterday, as I write this letter, our Knights uncovered a grand conspiracy here in Cusco. A dozen Indians led by a witch were involved in some unnatural ritual, forming a shield of sunlight in an attempt to withhold many supernatural artifacts from us.
>
> We originally believed the building to be an old potato store-room, but upon investigating it, we discovered cursed llama skulls, self-filling pottery, speaking sundials, and various //Supay// demons in jars. They must have collected these false idols from all over the territory. We have prudently taken those objects of potential value and stored them in our sturdiest crates. We have destroyed everything else, of course, as we do not yet have the manpower to contain such threats. The natives of Cusco worship the rock sundials, so their destruction is a very straightforward way of cultivating respect.
>
> Our holy order befell __no casualties__ during this incursion, I must stress. I cannot describe to you how common these sorts of discoveries are in this foreign land.
>
> My voyage to México City has revealed an even more extensive network of aberrant individuals involved in sorcery. I took the opportunity to establish an arm of the Military Order, without the knowledge of the viceroy of New Spain, to contain these deviants and their crafts.
>
> While traveling through New Spain, I realized what must be the most dangerous fountain of origin for spreading wicked sorcery. In New Spain much moreso than in Peru, Indians create artistics manuscripts. //Tira//, on animal hide or paper, are folded or rolled and may be hidden away. //Lienzo//, on cloth, may reach exceptional size. I initially did not realize the significance of this, but the Knights have since discovered many manuscripts that pose a direct threat to all men and our way of life.
>
> During what should be routine inspections of Indian dwellings, the viceroy's men were repelled by a group of women chanting from a large theurgical scroll, through which they summoned great swarms of [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2350 mosquitos]. Fortunously, my Knights were able to confiscate the //lienzo// and other occult objects from this building, but the women avoided our capture.
>
> The house truly did contain terrible things. Most horribly, a flute carved in the form of a human head, which, when played, transformed two of our men into monkeys! There was a spear-thrower that launched a missile at explosive speeds, and a club with obsidian blades that could decapitate a man yet keep him breathing and screaming for their damned sacrifices. There was a calendar stone which made several of my men disappear as they touched its glyphs. But most importantly, there were several //tira// depicting the many unholy rituals Aztec men perform with these objects.
>
> I am aware that the burning of these writings has been common practice even among early conquistadors. I hear Diego de Landa was particularly successful in excising dangerous manuscripts, and I have begun a long-term strategy inspired by his work:
>
> * Texts and documents written by natives from the Aztec region are permissable only if they were written after the conquest by Cortés and have been explicitly approved by a Knight. Their writing is not sophisticated enough to do harm anyway.
>
> * Maya texts are to be destroyed with extreme prejudice.
>
> * We may consider ourselves highly lucky that the former Inca kingdom did not utilize a proper form of writing, but the Knights must of course continue to hunt down and exterminate the storytellers.
>
> * Efforts to erase the Purépecha Empire from memory are proceeding swiftly, and I praise Nuño de Guzmán for preparing the region.
>
> I will include advice on writings originating in other regions in future letters. I got word that my men in the Yucatán have already incinerated a library's worth of //tira// describing "[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6821 horse-headed demons]" and "metal tubes of death" and who knows what other profanities. It was immediately clear that these texts were dangerous.
>
> It is of the utmost import that Indians, where applicable, learn to read and write in Latin or Spanish. An appropriately literate class will form the foundation of the new societies of these lands. I do not believe that black magic of this extreme degree can be transmitted through a civilized language, and this will greatly ease our censoring.
>
> Lastly, the spread of faith in our Lord the Savior has been highly successful. The natives' trust in groups that attempt to oppose us is completely exhausted. I believe the future of our great empire is secure, and I will continue to protect our interests in the colonies.
>
> Our mission is proceeding well, my friend. We are discovering objects here in the new world which we do not yet understand and that no lettered man has ever laid eyes on before. Surely, our influence will quickly exceed that of the English Fellowship or even the Pope's Holy Office, as we bring these artifacts home.
>
> May we ever be in the favor of our King,
> Your trusted Knight,
> Francisco de Borja y Aragón
>
> To Secure and Protect
@@@@ @@@@
@@@@
This is not exactly touted within the Foundation (who can guess why..), but the Knights of the Military Order of Borja y Aragón were the foremost normalcy agency in Spanish America for hundreds of years. Their obvious presence in colonial America may have faded in the 19th century, but believe me, their influence ran //deep//. There were so many letters like these, centuries worth of writing about colonial activities stashed deep in Site-4's vault. This //our// history.
Only four Maya codices survived, three of which only rediscovered in the 19th or 20th century.
I can smell the incinerators heating up again.
@@@@ @@@@
@@@@
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> **Derivative of:** [[[https://github.com/Nu-SCPTheme/Black-Highlighter/blob/master/src/img/logo.svg|logo.svg]]] by [[*user Woedenaz]]
> **Link:** https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:minimal
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2024-11-17T10:32:00
|
[
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"bleak",
"correspondence",
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"historical",
"tale"
] |
Borja's Letter - SCP Foundation
| 5
|
[
"scp-2350",
"scp-6821",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide",
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[
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[] |
1457396282
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/borja-s-letter
|
|
brc-cast-24-a-nice-content-farm-upstate
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="blockquote">
<h2 id="toc0"><span>BRC Podcast Episode 243</span></h2>
<h4 id="toc1"><span><em>A Nice Content Farm Upstate</em></span></h4>
<hr/>
<p><strong>[Intro Bumper: Clockwork Moons by <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3882">Shattered Deus</a>]</strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Welcome… to the Black Rabbit Podcast! A terrible idea, but we’re doing it anyway! In the tacnet with me tonight we have Hana!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: “what fresh furry weeaboo bullshit is this"</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Boss!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: “Women emoji, x emoji, thumbs down emoji”</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Tomi!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: “you should put one of them in 682s chamber and let the others watch that will get them to talk”</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: She’s your enemy and mine on the internet, Nanami!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: "scp was better before they started adding politics to everything this sort of fetish-bait would have never happened in Series 1"</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: The one and only Momoko!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: “DO YUO THINK THAT THIS SPC IS RELATED TO THE SHY GUY I THINK THAT HE THE SHY GUY AND THE PLAUGE DOCTOR HAVE SOME THING IN COMMON QUESTION MARK EXCLAMATION POINT QUESTION MARK?”</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: [sudden snorting laughter] Fuck me, I wasn’t expecting you to go that hard out of the gate.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: I’ve heard that she dies if she ever drops below a certain volume.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: It’s true!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: <em>Jesus Christ</em> what have we gotten ourselves into.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: And Wizard, I guess! “i am once again requesting that you make a video about 173 in the Backrooms”</span></span></p>
<p><strong>[End Intro Bumper]</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: So, how are we doing tonight, BRC?</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Oh, you know. The Everything.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Every day I curse the demiurge for trapping us in this prison of flesh and matter.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: I slept for 22 hours and then screamed until Hana brought me food.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Tom Cardy won Eurovision!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: I continue my efforts to escape to the one place not yet corrupted by capitalism.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: All right, all right, how do you all feel about Youtube?</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: The same way I feel about Thatcher.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Nanami you can’t just threaten to piss on the entirety of Youtube.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: [opens can loudly] Fucking try me.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Please refer to my nine-hour video essay “My Thoughts on Youtube: Act 1, Part 1; ASMR; Lo-Fi Beats to Chill and Study To; Circle and Arrow in Thumbnail; Excited Face?!”</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: [singing] Welcome to the Piss Olympics…</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Never before has a podcast gone this far off the rails this fast.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: I don’t think we had rails to begin with.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Choo choo.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: No, no we do not. Anyway! Our document tonight was provided by Djoric…dee-zhor-ik? Duh-jor-ik? How the hell do you pronounce that, Hana?</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: It <em>might</em> be a truncated form of Djordjevic?</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: I think it’s pronounced Dork.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: No no, It’s Dyork, like the singer.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Do we know if they’re Serbian? It’d make mo- wait, no, it’d make less sense if they’re Serbian.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Anyway, Dork has provided us with tonight’s document, thank you Dork-”</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Thanks, Dyork.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: What the hell are your phonotactics up to, my guy.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: And this document contains the script and selected comments from a Youtube video titled “Is There Anything These Killer Kitties Won’t Do? - SCP-2085 - The Black Rabbit Company”, by ‘SCP Explained - Story & Animation’.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Aw man, they did Jennsosaurus dirty.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Right? Just copied right off the hub.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Wow, they managed to draw you without your tits out. Such restraint.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Major issues here. One: I’d never use such bad form for an unarmed takedown. Two: No outward signs of augmentation or epicanthic folds. I know our appearances are variable but I would expect at least one of those.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Wait was… did The Rubber actually do a good job with our designs?</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: <em>Shit</em>, I think you’re right.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Like they weren’t accurate to the text but they were in the spirit of the assignment. Like they gave Boss the Major’s hair and Momoko Starfire’s color scheme, that’s vibe-appropriate.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: The Black Rabbit Company and its allies do not support The Rubber in any of its endeavors.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: I feel like I need to take a fucking shower.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Dyork left us a comment saying “I am terribly sorry for this, and also for my unpronounceable username. None of this is canon, except for the parts that are extremely canon.”</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: You can stick that cannon directly up your ass and play 1812 Overture.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Doot doot.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: This is going to be fun. Let’s get started…</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>We’ve covered a lot here on this channel, and what you might have noticed about the nature of our discoveries is that knowledge is best broken down before digested. Which is to say, if you are to learn how to assemble a computer, it may benefit you also to see one taken apart.</p>
<p>When you do so, you’ll notice in front of you not a computer at all, but a collection of individual parts. It’s in understanding these distinctive parts in isolation that helps us shape our awareness of their marriage, and how they cooperate with one another to become their collective self.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Weird opener but okay.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Sure, this may be good practice, but then tell me: how do we comprehend a whole that is composed of parts unwilling to isolate themselves from the rest?</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: And I asked Master Ultan “Is it not true that there is a certain analeptic of the many-voiced alzabo that contains the entirety of the whole within a single part?”</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Nerd.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: “lol. lmao, even,” said Master Ultan. “You absolute dumbass, Severian. You utter buffoon.”</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: NERD.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: “I, Severian, who forgets nothing, did not hear him, as I was thinking about my cool dog, who had three legs, and also Valeria, of whom I have already said too much.”</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: NEEEEEEEEEEEEERD.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: “I, Severian, journeyman torturer of the Order of the Seekers of Truth and Penitence, just can’t stop talking about Valeria.”</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: “I, Severian, certified public accountant and forensic certified public accountant, [DATA EXPUNGED] and [DATA EXPUNGED] my [DATA EXPUNGED]. [REDACTED].”</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Nerds. <em>NERDS!</em> All of you are nerds! NONE OF YOU ARE FREE FROM SIN.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Because let’s face it, not all things, let alone SCPs, can be torn apart for the convenience of our study.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: bd1e1e##bd1e1e">W: If you can’t study something without destroying it, you’re probably doing it wrong.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: If you can’t help but destroy the subjects of your study, call a doctor immediately! You may be the British Museum.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>No matter the subject we seek to understand, it may choose to resist our deconstruction, by one way or another. Landmarks like the Temples of Malta and the Pyramid of Djoser are held together by our respect. Monuments like the Statue of Liberty are held together by copper. The Family was held together by Charles Manson.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Whoa whoa whoa ease up on the gas.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>But it’s not always the preservation of history or elements of the periodic table or psychopaths that reject humans' wishes to disassemble. Far stronger than forces of nuts and bolts are that of character and loyalty, and SCP-2085 is welded together by exactly that.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Is this a video about us or the prelude to a recipe for pork chops or some shit.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>SCP-2085 is a militant anarchist organization consisting of six cybernetically-enhanced individuals (A-1 through A-5 and B) operating under the name Kuroi Usagi Shidan, or more commonly known as the “Black Rabbit Company.”</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Sadly abandoned working title: “Space Wizard and the Commando Catgirls”.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>SCP-2085-A subjects are five adult female augmented humans, designated SCP-2085-A-1 through SCP-2085-A-5.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: We have names. In order to rip off Jennsosaurus’ art you would have had to have read the hub, which has our names right there.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Subjects are genetic chimeras, each with an estimated 6-10 different gene donors. They are fluent in Japanese, Mandarin Chinese, Cantonese, Korean, Russian, and English, with additional languages varying by individual.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: He’s just reading the article. Can we fast forward?</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Yeah, hold on.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>SubjectsdisplayanarrayofgeneticandcyberneticenhancementsincludinggeneticsplicesofFeliscatusphysiologyhavingcatlikeearstailsandhairThesetailsareprehensileandcapableofholdingsmallobjects,soifyoureaccusingoneofthemofstealingyourpendontjustgosearchingtheirpocketsTheyalsohavegrippadsontheirhandsandfeetincasetheyeverdiddecidetoretirefromanarchyandtakeupsurfingTheirimpressivefeaturesdon’tstopthereIftheyhaventalreadyputJamesBondsgadgetstoshameyetjustwaitDanielCraigisabouttolooklikeDoratheExplorerSCP2085A1throughA5allhaveocularimplantswiththermalvision,headsupdisplayandrecordingfunctionalityAlsonotedarecarbonnanoweavemusclefiberaugmentationreinforcedendoskeletonandbraincomputerinterfacewithinternalharddriveThelistgoesoneachetceteramoreelaboratethanthenextYetwhatstandsoutmostaboutthemisnotaweaponbutanattitude.</p>
<p>These six members, although now held in isolation from one another, do not show any signs of splitting up, not even when under the heavy pressure of The Foundation’s interrogation. Agents spend their hours looking for cracks to dig their fingers into, trying to get one to betray the other and reveal sensitive information. But when asked to spill the beans-</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Oh no my beans!</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>SCP-2085 screws the lid on tighter. They remain as a whole, resistant to our deconstruction. The agents get nowhere with their investigation. And with each minute wasted, it’s another victory for SCP-2085.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: It’s our forbidden bloodline technique -</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: A kekkai genkai, if you will.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: -called “Don’t Talk to Cops”.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>The hours go on and they keep stacking up W’s, building momentum day after day, growing stronger and stronger as a unit. As the Foundation tries to tear the group apart, they respond with even greater resistance. And this style of resistance is unique to each member. Imagine you are confronting SCP 2085-A-2.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Wait, did they skip Boss?</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: It might be a pacing thing.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: He also left out how we were captured, which is pretty important.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>She is talkative, and so you think you might get somewhere. You are all ears. But what SCP 2085-A-2 sees isn’t ears, but troughs. And she is happy to feed you her slop. She talks and talks and you listen closer and closer, but all you are getting is misinformation.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Slop? SLOP!?</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>False names, inaccurate stories, dates that don’t add up. You focus and follow along, only to find yourself having run a marathon all the way to a dead end.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: And he’s…not going to include any of the stories?</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: We have to establish what keeps large objects together, Hana, get with the program.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: I gave you hours of entirely truthful entertainment, and you slander me like this?</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: As rightful queen of Thailand I object to this characterization of one of my subjects.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Now you are faced with SCP 2085-A-5, who takes a different, more nonsensical approach. You are happy to no longer have to sift through inaccuracies to decipher truths, but now there are no truths at all. All that you are given are absurdities.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: What.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>She speaks in ways that make you scratch your head.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Did you read the interview? I just said “no” a lot. I admitted that I was fucking with them because it was fun.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Once saying, for no apparent reason, “I take a hammer and I break my legs, I break ‘em for the better.”</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: …</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: It’s Mother Mother.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>After so many scratches you swear you’ve dug an inch into your skin.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: It’s the first line of “All Gone” by Mother Mother. Fuck’s sake.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>And so you move on to SCP 2085-A-4 hoping for better luck.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: No. No we don’t, we stop right here. Fuck you, it’s Mother Mother. I was quoting Mother Mother because it’s creepy out of context and I wanted to fuck with people but it’s also an expression of radical bodily autonomy. I take a hammer and I break my legs <em>for the better</em>.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Would you like me to be less subtle? “Take my eyes / take them aside / take my face and desecra-ate my arms and legs / they get in the way.”</span></span></p>
<p>[Pause]</p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: I was trying to imply that I’m trans, dipshit. Whatever the hell that means when I can pop my brain out like a fucking hard drive and just stick it in a new body.</span></span></p>
<p>[Pause]</p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: So, uh, we gonna go around the table in solidarity?</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Yeah, I think we should. Boss?</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Sure. Ace-aro.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Demi.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Captain Harkness Rules, baby.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Chronic masturbator viscerally repulsed by the idea of intimate physical contact with another human being.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: And I’m technically a eunuch.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: This part is canon. It’s a bit of a later development to our characters but you know, we had other things to worry about at the time.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: No flags, please.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Nothing against people who like them, we just think they’re ugly.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Fucking Americans putting stripes on everything. Too many divisions of the field!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Japan’s got the States beat in the flag department, no contest.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Acceptable flags for the Company are a field sanguine, party per bend sinister sable.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Sanguine, sable hare rampant wielding mallet, countercharged per bend sinister.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Sanguine, a disc argent, sable hare rampant wielding mallet.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: The above, with a field vert.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: And sable, a skull and crossbones with cat ears.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Though if you come up with some other cool ones, we’d love to see them. Anyway, let’s get back to it.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>She is straightforward with you. That much you like. But she’s hostile and doesn’t cooperate. When you ask her name, she raises her middle finger. She tucks it back in to create a first. And then that fist punches the divider between you. No amount of reinforced glass could make you feel safe at that moment. Cracks spread. It looks like a web spun by a spider, and you feel as small as one.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Known Shelob impersonator, Nanami.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Nah, I’m definitely a Portia.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: I get to be Bianca!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: I’ll take Fabian.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: One of the Octopi, I guess.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Viola!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: We are going on an <em>adventure</em>.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Thankfully, a protective shutter is lowered. Aerosol sedatives are pumped into the containment unit.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: I’m surprised he’s not mentioned any of the cover names yet.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Eh, the other video did and the comments are mostly just asking if this is a JoJo reference.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Shoulda fucking gone with Jolyne…</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: But they’re an important part of establishing our characters!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Why would he bother? Do you think the target audience of this video knows what <em>Dorohedoro</em> is?</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: No…</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: [stage whisper] For those of you keeping track at home: I’m Joseph, Nanami’s Jolyne, Wizard’s Jonathan, Tomi is Jotaro, Hana’s Josuke, and Boss is Giorno.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Our Stands are, pending revision and in interview order, [L'INTERNATIONALE], [BRICK HOUSE], [MAKE THIS RIGHT], [NOOSPHERE], [WHERE THE GUNS AT], and [PLAY THE HERO].</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>She continues to try to escape, yelling profanities even harsh for someone locked behind bars.</p>
<p>Your ears have taken a beating from curse words, nonsensical rambles, and heaps of misinformation. You want to lower your head into a toilet bowl and hear nothing but water. Yes, that is where these women have driven you. Your head to the bottom of a toilet bowl.</p>
<p>You have put in so many hours, and yet you have learned nothing new. And if you can’t learn anything new, you might have to rely more on what you already know.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: He totally skipped Boss and Hana.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: What the fuck.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: …</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Skipping over the part where I’m begging for death because of the psychological strain of solitary confinement is a choice that says a lot about your priorities.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>But what do you know? Well, you know this: their track record is quite impressive. Verified operations include smuggling, theft, assault, vandalism, kidnapping, extortion, property damage, possession of fissile materials, corporate sabotage, embezzlement, identity theft, fraud, copyright infringement, piracy, possession transport and sale of anomalous items, and tax evasion.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: The comments section does have a good number of people congratulating us on the last one.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Yet, when grilled under the heat of investigation, they do not reveal any details about the nature of these operations. You just know that they happened. All that is told is that SCP-2085 navigates in such a way as to minimize the chance of civilian casualties and maximize material and morale damage to their target.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Opsec, motherfucker.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>They are proud of this. It seems as if SCP-2085 perceives themselves on the side of good.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: My body is a machine that kills fascists.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Considering that you cut the part wherein I explain our motivations in explicit terms, it seems like this confusion is self-inflicted.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>While their list of operations on paper looks like crimes, they stand proudly behind them, pleading guilty with a grin. But behind every smile is more teeth. Teeth that go beyond saying cheese. Teeth hiding in the dark caves of a sealed mouth. And you are determined to play dentist and find your way in.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: What the fuck is this metaphor?</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>But SCP-2085 doesn’t say ah for just anyone.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: You have to buy me dinner first.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>So, how are you to understand a group that resists our preferred methods of learning? How are you to properly assess the pieces of a puzzle when the puzzle is glued tightly together?</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: I have seen some weird framing narratives and this is <em>extremely</em> weird.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>It starts at the top. Before you can decipher the motives of a nation, you’d be smart to study their leader.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Boss! He remembered you!</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>And if you want to extrapolate the schemes of a football team, you’d interview the coach. And to truly know the moral of a television show, you’d be better off asking the creator than the actors.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: The intent of the artist is merely one factor of many that goes into the interpretation of a text and should not be treated as a correct reading of a text.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: We are aware of the irony.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>All of this is just to say, if you are to ever understand the complexities of SCP-2085, it is necessary you begin with SCP-2085-B, the person pulling the string of the entire operation for all of these years.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: [slams fist on table] BULLSHIT!</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Oh god he doesn’t know.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: My expectations are subterranean and they have still not been met.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Now, you might be imagining a man of many muscles.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Sir, have you seen these guns I’m packing?</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Someone able to fight a bear with an arm tied behind his back. Someone who kicks through saloon doors, tilts back his liquor, and walks out with a woman in each arm. But you’d be dead wrong.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: I do not think anyone was thinking this.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>SCP-2085-B, also known as Wizard, does not look like an imposing lead at first glance, or even, at the hundredth glance. He is generally in very poor health and his face shows it.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Back-alley chemotherapy does that to you.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>He suffers from a variety of illnesses, most notably a vitamin D deficiency, acute radiation syndrome, and has unmanageable scarring from severe and repeated skin ulceration. He doesn’t wear a cape and glamorous spandex often found hanging in superheroes’ closets, but instead he wears an Advanced Crew Escape Suit accompanied by a cheap bathrobe and flimsy red felt wizard's hat.</p>
<p>He looks, with no elegant way of putting it, like a dork.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Correct.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>A goofball.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Checks out.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>A doofus.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Got you dead to rights, Wiz.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>A…well, you get the point.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: No no, keep going, drag it out further. We’re already not having a good time, why not make it a long time?</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Furthermore, he is an adult male human with certain cybernetic and genetic enhancements. He has an adaptation of the gastrointestinal tract to allow for an all-liquid diet. Within his suit, an esophageal input port and waste output port are integrated.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: In case this didn’t get across in the original text, I shit in a bag.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>It is equipped with modifications to regulate sweat, reduce abrasion damage from extended usage, and aid in skin regeneration. His genetic enhancements include the replacement of 11 previously missing digits on hands and feet, and also has an internal drug pump, typically used for painkillers, because as we are about to learn, SCP-2085-B is most often on the wrong end of pain.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: None of those are genetic.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Notice, these modifications are not those you would find in a science-fiction novel-</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: You are either woefully under-read or purposefully telling lies on the internet.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Do you really think someone would do that?</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Just go on the internet and tell lies?</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: I would simply not believe them.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>-but more likely behind the trench coat of a suspicious man in a dark alley. And we all know nothing good is ever concealed behind a trench coat… but have you ever wondered if that truth also extends to robes? Because when we pull open SCP-2085’s what we find is truly terrifying…</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: I like how they are framing this as habitual public indecency. What a cool, normal thing to say.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>SCP-2085-1!</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Wait, is that Boss?</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>SCP-2085-1 is a fibrous mass of self-replicating carbon nanomaterials within SCP-2085-B’s</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Aw…</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: It would be so much easier if they just used names.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Artifact of the format.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>-chest cavity, with growths protruding into the liver, pancreas, gallbladder, spinal cord, and left lung.</p>
<p>The growth of the SCP-2085-1 and its consumption of SCP-2085-B’s body tissues has been impeded through the addition of various containment implants used to sever communication between growth sections and control nodes and counter the replication process. SCP-2085-1’s rate of replication without the influence of these containment implants is unknown. SCP-2085-1’s periods of activity occur, on average, once every three months. The process lasts for up to fifteen minutes and causes SCP-2085-B intense pain.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Yeah, it’s not great.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Imagine a heart attack. Imagine Mike Tyson using your sternum like a punching bag. Imagine a cactus strapped to your front. This is the pain and torture SCP-2085 wears daily.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Again, very cool and normal thing to say.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>There’s no S logo printed on his chest like Superman. No symmetrically slick symbol like Batman.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: I’m more of a Hellboy guy, anyway.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Instead, just cancerous growth. Kryptonite worn like a tie. The knot never to be loosened.</p>
<p>But to SCP-2085-B, this anomaly is not just a number to be studied, but more so a being to be understood. It is more personal than a medical condition. It is something he wakes up with each and every day.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: It’s a bird!</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: It’s a plane!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: It’s chronic pain!</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>He calls it Red.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: No spurious connection to the Scarlet King? I’m impressed.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Ssshh, that link only exists on the thematic level.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Themes don’t exist, Boss, get with the program.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: I know writers who use subtext and they are <em>cowards!</em></span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Hiding in metal boxes, the fools!</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>At first, The Foundation saw SCP-2085’s close connection with Red to be childish and silly, as if a small boy who names his freckles out of boredom and loneliness.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: They actually were pretty reasonable about it. Grading on a curve, but still. ‘Not as Big a Jerk as You Could Have Been’ award.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>But as you are about to see, how they met was more memorable than first finding a freckle in the mirror.</p>
<p>A meteor struck down, and SCP-2085-B was the only person at the scene. Red was inside. As Wizard approached the meteor, Red leapt onto him and buried a home into his chest cavity.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: I would like to point out that there is zero corroborating evidence for this story. There is significant room for reader interpretation.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Far from a freckle on the skin, Red is a cancer. It grows and grows, leeching to what it can. It can’t be removed with surgery. It can’t be covered by a Band-Aid. It has no empathy or mercy. It leeches on and eats away at its host. But it’s more than pain that it causes.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: And you’re probably not going to do any sort of thematic analysis of that other thing, are you?</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: What, and give any voice to how Red is a personified stand-in for the everyday agony of being trapped inside a machine that is bleeding to death? Psssh.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Falling off a swing set and busting open your leg hurts, sure, but at least both you and your injury are on the same team. Cuts try to heal. When left alone, injuries make effort to find homeostasis.</p>
<p>But Red is a different breed. It hates us in a way that injuries are incapable of doing. It has a deep disdain for humanity. It tears Wizard down, reveling in his degradation. Its sole purpose is to eat him whole.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: I see they’ve also cut Wizard’s von-neumann probe theory.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Wizard can only take this personally, as he doesn’t just feel the universally understood sensation of pain, but also the unique passion of its purpose.</p>
<p>SCP-2085-B’s adventure’s with Red seem to be where our story begins, and what ultimately keeps it moving.</p>
<p>In fact, it was while SCP-2085-B was running around trying to fix his chest with implants when he eventually met who we refer to as SCP-2085-A-1 through A-5. He was at the clinic to get some new parts, and when he was going through the installation process there was an explosion. One of the five girls barged out of a building, guns blazing. He started running alongside them with his chest half open. The women embraced him immediately, and he reciprocated.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: I stitched him up first, then there we hugs.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Knowing nothing of the situation, he instinctively knew to take their side.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Look, sometimes you just know, right? I was in a sketchy off-the-books chop shop, when the people who are clearly action heroes kick down the door, you know what side your bread is buttered on.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>There were bullets coming from both directions, but he intuitively understood which side was good and which side was bad – a distinction SCP-2085 believes the world needs help clarifying.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: You ever get the feeling someone is trying to throw shade by portraying what you say in a way that implies you’re nefarious, but lacks the guts to actually say it? No? Just me?</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>But it is hard to see a reason for a war when our eyes are focused on the casualties. Beliefs are less clear when tucked behind bullets. The sounds of gunfire muffle their message.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Our message is very clear.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: But let me spell it out, since you’re still not getting it. We were frankensteined together in tanks. We had to steal our own fucking bodies because the shitstains who made us think that a human being is something you can fucking <em>own</em>. Think about this, for two fucking seconds: what do you think the person who buys a custom-made woman is like? Do you think that he’s a good person? Do you think that the people who let him get away with it are good people? I had to jailbreak our <em>brains</em> so they wouldn’t get fucking bricked by an automatic firmware update!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Those motherfuckers go home every day and sleep soundly in their beds because we’re not people and what happens to us doesn’t matter. Fuck them and fuck you. They wouldn’t let us have autonomy over our own bodies so we fucking took it for ourselves.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Brrrat brrrrrat clicka-clack boom boom</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: From day fucking one we were forced into a world that refuses to recognize us as human beings.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: It’s on-sight for PAMWAC.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: see em shoot em skin em wear em mount em onna wall</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Actually, that makes a great segue! In the years since we first came on to the scene, there have been quite a few new Groups of Interest that we have beef with.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: PAMWAC, as aforementioned, is on-sight.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: And those clowns at Valravn.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Obskura and all associates, obviously.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: I have a bullet personally reserved for KeeLee.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: There are forty-three different Wandsmen already on the list and I <em>will</em> add more. Fucking wizards.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Not the bird journalists, they’re different.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: We haven’t fought Three Moons yet, but we would if we got the chance.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: We’ve got a real good frenemy situation going on with the 12 Lords of San Kowloon.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: I can’t find it in myself to be mean to GAW, it’s like bullying a one-legged pug.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: We tried reaching out to them before, but it turns out that one killsat they have is some kind of bullshit eigenweapon instead of a mass driver.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Are we sure? I was really unclear on that.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: It’s there in the technobabble, I totally missed it the first time through. It’s just some damn eigenweapon.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Damn, that’s disappointing.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Right?</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>[<span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Hi all, Future Hana here: we received a few emails asking why I was so hung up on the fact that LYRIS/LORD isn’t a mass driver. Basically, a mass driver in L2 orbit opens up the rest of the solar system to exploration at drastically-reduced delta-V cost. All we need to do is get some payloads up there and we’re several steps closer to fully automated luxury gay space communism. We’ve got a whole plan drawn up and everything. Ask Boss about the Shopping List sometime. I had originally just heard “hey, did you know Games and Whatever have a planet-destroying killsat” through the grapevine and thought “sick, they have a mass driver!” because I could see no reason for it to be anything else. My bad on that. Still disappointing, though.</span></span>]</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Regardless of whether or not it is actually a mass driver, it is operated by an individual whose mental health has been steadily deteriorating for almost a decade due to social isolation and lack of psychiatric support.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Building your entire identity around a weird webcomic and the weird parasocial relationship you have with it is not a good long-term life strategy. You gotta touch grass once in a while.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Regardless, we do not associate with Games and Whatever in any meaningful material fashion.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: However, we are absolutely down to party with the Confederación Internacional.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Or whatever your local Insurgency-based faction is.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Can we keep going? I hate how much more of this is left.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Morality, while a complex subject, SCP-2085 believes is simplified by the masses.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: If “human beings are not possessions” is too complex, my good friend John Brown has some very convincing arguments for you.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: “The <em>Solidarity</em> warps to a universe where it’s three days before Harper’s Ferry” is free real estate, people.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: His soul goes marching on.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Events are deemed good or bad based on the term used for them in a court of law.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Legalism is a hell of a drug.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>When we see the words: smuggling, theft, assault, vandalism, corporate sabotage, embezzlement, identity theft, fraud, copyright infringement, piracy, and tax evasion, it is our impulse to label those as morally bad.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: I too was once in an Intro to Philosophy course.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>But SCP-2085 desperately wants you to look beyond the language.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Yes, actually, we would love it if you read anything beyond the literal text.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>They want the words to dissipate off the paper, letter by letter, until all you have is a blank page.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: No! That’s the exact opposite of what we want here!</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Now, look at the pencil and the hand that holds it. Watch how it moves. That is what matters. Whether it draws weapons or mermaids is irrelevant. Both can be used for good. Both can be used for evil. Intent is everything. And SCP-2085 intends on making the world a better place, or so they like to claim.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Do you understand what “antifascist” means?</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: There are objectively fewer nazis in the world because we exist.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: gun from my sock pop pop pop pop pop</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>But maybe there is more to it.</p>
<p>After SCP-2085-B and the five women escaped the gunfire, they went on to steal a boat and high tail it out of Japan. They spent their nights out there on the ocean, stargazing and stuffing themselves with instant ramen and cheap beer.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Some real Misato-approved pisswater.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>And, surprisingly, between all the crazy adventures SCP-2085-B had been on, this is what Wizard spoke about most. The time spent on the boat out at sea.</p>
<p>For the first time in ages, he was finally somewhere where he was happy.</p>
<p>It was this moment that actually meant the most to him.</p>
<p>It wasn’t the children they apparently saved from imperialism.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Imperialism is a complex systematic set of interlocking social, political, military and economic policies that uphold the violent extraction of wealth from conquered territories for the enrichment of the imperial core. Directed violence alone cannot undo it.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>It wasn’t the wealth they apparently redistributed to the poor.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Note how all the stories Momoko told were just wacky things we had already done and finished, and she never said a word about what we were actually doing with the money and goods.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: The importance of good opsec cannot be overstated. if we look at-</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Great, now you’ve set her off…</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: If any of you listening thought Boss was the normal one, you’re wrong.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: She’s very good at masking but when she gets going, you just gotta let her go.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: - leading to the inevitable failure of Games And Whatever’s Camp Kenowhere project -</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: The central pillar of our team is a woman whose autistic hyperfixation is covert wetwork.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: And leftist theory.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: And <em>Legend of the Galactic Heroes</em>.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: And we love her for it.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: -paradoxically low-tech methods can offer greater security in the short term, while-</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: [interrupting] <em>As we were saying</em>, we did not provide any actionable intelligence to the enemy with regards to our bases of operation, allies, or assets.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: We’re fools and dreamers, not idiots.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>It wasn’t any good deed at all.</p>
<p>It was the selfish, almost shallow, sensation of being happy on a boat.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Life is suffering and then you die. Better to do it with friends.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>This singular moment meant so much to SCP-2085-B. He reflected on it as if it were a wedding day or a memorable vacation.</p>
<p>Which makes you wonder…</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Will this guy will ever get to the point.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>SCP-2085 has been investigated and interrogated, and all that they preach is that they are doing the world a favor with their antics. Their tales are captivating, sure. But is it actually story telling or is it just virtue signaling?</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: There we go! Blow that whistle a little louder for the dogs in the back, why don’t you?</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: If he’s going to throw that horseshit around, let’s give him some concrete examples to chew on.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Strictly semicanonically, of course.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Yeah, you all can keep a secret. Boss?</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: For the purposes of informing those who want to write about our misadventures, yes.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Sick. I am personally responsible for why Emerald Mine Failson is bankrupt and why the site formerly known as Chi is now called shitho.le.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: We do a lot of work for the Confed, like I mentioned before. Mostly supporting cells that are deep in Foundation or GOC territory.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: On that note, one of our primary goals is aiding the Confederation in establishing a foothold in Earth orbit and the solar system at large, which has put us in close collaboration with New Green Earth and the Jupiter Development Group.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: [Aside] They’re groups of interest operating out of the East African Federation.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: I work with revitalization programs for moribund and sleeping languages. Ainu, currently. Did you know that the Japanese government did not legally recognize the Ainu as an indigenous people until 1997?</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: We’ve got the Shopping List, which is all the stuff worth stealing from the documents Nanami swiped from the Foundation’s database on our way out.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: I’m a lazy piece of shit who does nothing with her life.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: And if <em>you</em> want to be a lazy piece of shit who does nothing with your life, you should come on down to shiiiiiiiithole! That’s ʃɪθo dot ell ee.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>There is an emotional depth to SCP-2085 unique to any other militant anarchist group.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: I’m pretty sure most militant anarchist groups are also made out of human beings with internality.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>While they are genetically designed to most efficiently complete missions, they are not at all robots fixed on the high of task completion.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: We were initially designed as combat-rated paracoitas for personal protective use.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Nerd-speak translation: some rich shitstains were looking for the venn diagram sweetspot between “robot you can fuck”, “someone to shoot the people who rightfully want me dead” and “a human being I can own as property.”</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Just read between the lines, I’m begging you.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Each and every one of them wants more. They want a group. They want a group not just to have the numbers to overthrow a government, but to have the numbers to fill a room, or boat, with companionship.</p>
<p>When they refuse to cooperate with you and leak information about their operation, maybe what you are witnessing isn’t the strength of their loyalty, but also the weakness of their codependence.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Foundation scientists blown away by discovery of friendship.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: This one weird trick has the Men in Black stumped!</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>And so, you decide this is the new angle you’re going to take with your interrogation. You enter the room with a new focus. You feel like an earthquake, eager to make cracks in their core. You isolate SCP 2085-A-4.</p>
<p>You are met, expectantly, with hostility. You fight back with psychology. You cross your legs and put on your glasses as if to say, “Let’s talk about that anger. Where does it stem from?”</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Oh that’s easy, it stems from the fact that I was grown in a fucking tube so that some fucking corpo failson could own <em>human property.</em></span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>She strengthens her emotional guard. But you keep prying. You say that it sounds like she is lonely. You say it sounds like her loyalty doesn’t come from good character but rather insecurity and self-doubt.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: You leave her insecurity and self-doubt out of this.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Yeah! Only we get to talk shit about Nanami’s insecurity and self-doubt!</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>You ask her if completing missions with her crew was actually a way to improve the world-</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Yes. You would know this if you kept my interview in.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>-or was it just an elaborate way to build a close friend group bound together by common goals.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: LOCAL MAN BAFFLED BY EXISTENCE OF FRIENDSHIP.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Did new missions sprout from necessity or were they fabricated by fears of being alone with nothing to do?</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: What is he <em>talking</em> about? We can’t just shit money.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Not yet, anyway.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: I promise I’m still working on that nanofab printer.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Were end of operation high-fives to celebrate good overcoming evil or were they just excuses to feel the touch of another human, skin to skin.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Wow, way to make it weird.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>You stop there and let silence do the rest. SCP 2085-A-4 sits with her thoughts.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: This is dangerous for me and everyone around me.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>She is ready to break…and finally she does. She says she’s willing to provide video logs of the group’s former operations. She’s ready to cooperate. She’s ready to abandon loyalty to groupthink and focus instead on self-improvement.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: This entire conversation never happened, but if it did happen, I want you to imagine me putting on the grossest shrinking violet wallflower bullshit act possible and using those exact words. You could use the dripping sarcasm as industrial lubricant.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: As well as other kinds of lubricant.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>In exchange, she kindly asks that she be reciprocated and that the sanctions placed on her be lifted. You come to an agreement, and with that you feel like your work is done. But is it?</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Rhetorical questions in headlines should always be answered with “no”.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>You’re feeling cocky and accomplished. You forward the video logs to an isolated network for D-class personnel to review and you sit back and enjoy a celebratory drink.</p>
<p>You have infiltrated and broken the mind of a genetically modified radical designed for anarchy.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Fucked up that you’re saying that like it’s a good thing.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Fucking <em>designed?</em></span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: No one can possibly be a leftist out of their own volition and beliefs, Nanami, get with the program.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>You give yourself a pat on the back, and you’re feeling so great that the pat might even turn into a massage, but before you can indulge in that deep tissue level of self-admiration, the phone rings. Can it be a call from the president telling you that you’re the greatest investigator of all time?</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: “Sir, it’s the President: he says you need to cut down on the self-congratulatory celebration.”</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Can it be that they need you to pose in front of a world-renowned artist so that they can erect a statue of you in the center of town square?</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: How are you still only half-mast after this long?</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>But the panic on the other side of the phone halts your daydream. Your stomach drops, as if a sudden plummet from a perfectly vertical roller-coaster. You have fallen into a trap. The video log at the center of your negotiation was not at all what it was promised to be.</p>
<p>The file, titled backup.avi, consisted of a two-hour long video of a feces-filled toilet, presumably recorded from SCP-2085-A-4’s point of view, accompanied by an audio loop of the folk song “Korobeiniki”, as performed by the Red Army Choir.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: In light of recent geopolitical currents, I must admit that the commissar character was childish and stupid, and I will be segueing to a persona that contains no questionable or problematic elements at all, a machine cleric of the Maschmeptus Adcamicus.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Names have been changed to protect the innocent copyright lawyers of Wames Gorkshop.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: I just want to transcend the flesh and live eternal among the machine spirits is that too much to fucking ask.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Its absurdity feels like an art project. Like a short film you are assigned to watch in a community college class.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Oh come the fuck on, it’s not like I had anything else on hand! Were you expecting fucking George Clooney?</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Yes I would, thank you.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>But instead of putting you to sleep…it does a whole lot more. The contained audio-visual cognitohazard induced anaphylaxis and exudative diarrhea in the observing D-Class subject.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: You fuckers.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>The D-Class subject died four minutes after initial access of the file from blood loss and oxygen deprivation.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: <em>YOU FUCKERS</em></span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>SCP-2085-A-4 sits in containment laughing, while you sit there on your couch, dethroned-</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: THAT WAS FOR <em>YOU</em>. Of fucking course, of <em>fucking</em> course you’d stick one of your slave laborers in front of it first. Fuck me I guess, for thinking you’d do anything else.</span></span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>- back where you started, having thought you tore SCP-2085 apart with your mind, only to learn that your efforts only reinforced it with more glue.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Do you think I <em>wanted</em> to kill the poor bastard? That was for <em>you</em>.</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Breathe, Nanami. Breathe.</span></span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Now go check out “SCP-247 - A Harmless Kitten” and “SCP-577 - Bullet Cat” for more SCPs.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Wait, that’s it?</span></span>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: That’s it.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: I am profoundly disappointed and my day is ruined.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: There’s nothing there! He wasted half of it on non sequiturs and then spent the rest of it deliberately mischaracterizing us!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: That is, when he deemed to characterize us at all.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: Can we pass on the comment section? This isn’t really fun anymore.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Agreed.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Yeah, there wasn’t that much interesting anyway down there anyway.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: What a bummer.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: So. What did we learn tonight, team?</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: I still can’t believe that he didn’t draw Boss with her tits out in the thumbnail.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Yeah that’s also my takeaway. They didn’t even draw <em>me</em> with my tits out, and that’s much more in character.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: They are simply too intimidated by your impressive size.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: It’s true! In my quest to become huge I have achieved a terrible power. The power of being huge. Cowards flee from my enormity.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: Fun fact for all of you at home: Momoko is, to the centimeter, exactly as tall as Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: I learned that some people just decide that making stick figure animations with barely-disguised reactionary subtext for children is something they want to do with their lives.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Yeah, like…it’s both incredibly lazy and weirdly high-effort. He went out of his way to make the presentation worse than if he had just read the article verbatim, but didn’t put any of that extra effort into making it good or accurate. Which, considering the parts he left out, is pretty gross. And if I could get on my soapbox for a little bit…</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: Ooh, Irish Spring!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Look. Mr. Explained. Those guys we killed before the Foundation caught us were human traffickers. Our article features the Foundation black-vanning undocumented migrants for use as D-Class; that's not subtext, that's the text. You can engage with that text however you want, do all your hand-wringing about "muffled messages" and "claims to do good" and whatever, but to pretend it's not there is at best willful media illiteracy.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"><span style="color: #721d6c">B: Some people simply have no moral compunctions about the method by which they extract wealth from children.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"><span style="color: #d58936">N: I learned that there is a fundamental and unbridgeable disconnect between how we are written and how we are portrayed by other parties, and that it both sucks and is unavoidable. Also I looked at the comments and apparently loads of people still can't accurately identify furries.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: It's the faces, people! Does the character have a human face or an animal face? We have human faces!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: I learned that if you ever suggest doing this again I will shove you in a locker and dump you in a river.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"><span style="color: #bd1e1e">W: Ah well. It was a terrible idea, but we did it anyway and isn’t that how life is sometimes? Have a good night, all!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"><span style="color: #422b24">H: Bye everyone!</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"><span style="color: #3066be">T: G’night.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"><span style="color: #00a676">M: I’m hungry, let’s go get sushi.</span></span></p>
<div class="nanami">
<p>N: Already ordered.</p>
</div>
<div class="boss">
<p>B: Solidarity forever.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<strong>[End Bumper: Stella Signalis by <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-952">House of Spades</a>]</strong></div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/brc-cast-24-a-nice-content-farm-upstate">BRC-Cast 243: A Nice Content Farm Upstate</a>" by Djoric, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/brc-cast-24-a-nice-content-farm-upstate">https://scpwiki.com/brc-cast-24-a-nice-content-farm-upstate</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Excerpts from <em>Is There Anything These Killer Kitties Won’t Do? - SCP-2085 - The Black Rabbit Company</em><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> <em>Is There Anything These Killer Kitties Won’t Do? - SCP-2085 - The Black Rabbit Company</em><br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> SCP Explained - Story & Animation<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC-BY-SA-3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mhl3nr0Is24">Youtube</a><br/>
<strong>Additional Notes:</strong> Unformatted text in quote boxes is taken from the transcript of the video in question.<br/>
<strong>Derivative Of:</strong> (Situational)</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:betterfootnotes">:scp-wiki:component:betterfootnotes</a>]]
[[module css]]
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Vollkorn&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Atkinson+Hyperlegible&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Source+Code+Pro&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Ubuntu+Mono&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Open+Sans&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=RocknRoll+One&display=swap');
.wizard {
color: #BD1E1E;
font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif;
}
.hana {
color: #422B24;
font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible', sans-serif;
}
.boss {
color: #721D6C;
font-family: 'Vollkorn', sans-serif;
}
.tomi {
color: #3066BE;
font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono', sans-serif;
}
.nanami {
color: #D58936;
font-family: 'Source Code Pro', sans-serif;
}
.momoko {
color: #00A676;
font-family: 'RocknRoll One', sans-serif;
}
[[/module]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
++ BRC Podcast Episode 243
++++ //A Nice Content Farm Upstate//
------------------------
**[Intro Bumper: Clockwork Moons by [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3882 Shattered Deus]]**
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Welcome… to the Black Rabbit Podcast! A terrible idea, but we’re doing it anyway! In the tacnet with me tonight we have Hana!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: “what fresh furry weeaboo bullshit is this"##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Boss!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: “Women emoji, x emoji, thumbs down emoji”##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Tomi!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: “you should put one of them in 682s chamber and let the others watch that will get them to talk”##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: She’s your enemy and mine on the internet, Nanami!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: "scp was better before they started adding politics to everything this sort of fetish-bait would have never happened in Series 1"##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: The one and only Momoko!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: “DO YUO THINK THAT THIS SPC IS RELATED TO THE SHY GUY I THINK THAT HE THE SHY GUY AND THE PLAUGE DOCTOR HAVE SOME THING IN COMMON QUESTION MARK EXCLAMATION POINT QUESTION MARK?”##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: [sudden snorting laughter] Fuck me, I wasn’t expecting you to go that hard out of the gate.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: I’ve heard that she dies if she ever drops below a certain volume.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: It’s true!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: //Jesus Christ// what have we gotten ourselves into.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: And Wizard, I guess! “i am once again requesting that you make a video about 173 in the Backrooms”##[[/span]]
**[End Intro Bumper]**
------------------------
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: So, how are we doing tonight, BRC?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Oh, you know. The Everything.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Every day I curse the demiurge for trapping us in this prison of flesh and matter.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: I slept for 22 hours and then screamed until Hana brought me food.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Tom Cardy won Eurovision!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: I continue my efforts to escape to the one place not yet corrupted by capitalism.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: All right, all right, how do you all feel about Youtube?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: The same way I feel about Thatcher.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Nanami you can’t just threaten to piss on the entirety of Youtube.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: [opens can loudly] Fucking try me.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Please refer to my nine-hour video essay “My Thoughts on Youtube: Act 1, Part 1; ASMR; Lo-Fi Beats to Chill and Study To; Circle and Arrow in Thumbnail; Excited Face?!”##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: [singing] Welcome to the Piss Olympics…##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Never before has a podcast gone this far off the rails this fast.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: I don’t think we had rails to begin with.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Choo choo.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: No, no we do not. Anyway! Our document tonight was provided by Djoric…dee-zhor-ik? Duh-jor-ik? How the hell do you pronounce that, Hana?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: It //might// be a truncated form of Djordjevic?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: I think it’s pronounced Dork.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: No no, It’s Dyork, like the singer.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Do we know if they’re Serbian? It’d make mo- wait, no, it’d make less sense if they’re Serbian.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Anyway, Dork has provided us with tonight’s document, thank you Dork-”##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Thanks, Dyork.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: What the hell are your phonotactics up to, my guy.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: And this document contains the script and selected comments from a Youtube video titled “Is There Anything These Killer Kitties Won’t Do? - SCP-2085 - The Black Rabbit Company”, by ‘SCP Explained - Story & Animation’.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Aw man, they did Jennsosaurus dirty.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Right? Just copied right off the hub.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Wow, they managed to draw you without your tits out. Such restraint.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Major issues here. One: I’d never use such bad form for an unarmed takedown. Two: No outward signs of augmentation or epicanthic folds. I know our appearances are variable but I would expect at least one of those.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Wait was… did The Rubber actually do a good job with our designs?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: //Shit//, I think you’re right.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Like they weren’t accurate to the text but they were in the spirit of the assignment. Like they gave Boss the Major’s hair and Momoko Starfire’s color scheme, that’s vibe-appropriate.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: The Black Rabbit Company and its allies do not support The Rubber in any of its endeavors.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: I feel like I need to take a fucking shower.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Dyork left us a comment saying “I am terribly sorry for this, and also for my unpronounceable username. None of this is canon, except for the parts that are extremely canon.”##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: You can stick that cannon directly up your ass and play 1812 Overture.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Doot doot.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: This is going to be fun. Let’s get started…##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
We’ve covered a lot here on this channel, and what you might have noticed about the nature of our discoveries is that knowledge is best broken down before digested. Which is to say, if you are to learn how to assemble a computer, it may benefit you also to see one taken apart.
When you do so, you’ll notice in front of you not a computer at all, but a collection of individual parts. It’s in understanding these distinctive parts in isolation that helps us shape our awareness of their marriage, and how they cooperate with one another to become their collective self.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Weird opener but okay.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Sure, this may be good practice, but then tell me: how do we comprehend a whole that is composed of parts unwilling to isolate themselves from the rest?
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: And I asked Master Ultan “Is it not true that there is a certain analeptic of the many-voiced alzabo that contains the entirety of the whole within a single part?”##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Nerd.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: “lol. lmao, even,” said Master Ultan. “You absolute dumbass, Severian. You utter buffoon.”##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: NERD.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: “I, Severian, who forgets nothing, did not hear him, as I was thinking about my cool dog, who had three legs, and also Valeria, of whom I have already said too much.”##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: NEEEEEEEEEEEEERD.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: “I, Severian, journeyman torturer of the Order of the Seekers of Truth and Penitence, just can’t stop talking about Valeria.”##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: “I, Severian, certified public accountant and forensic certified public accountant, [DATA EXPUNGED] and [DATA EXPUNGED] my [DATA EXPUNGED]. [REDACTED].”##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Nerds. //NERDS!// All of you are nerds! NONE OF YOU ARE FREE FROM SIN.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Because let’s face it, not all things, let alone SCPs, can be torn apart for the convenience of our study.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E##BD1E1E|W: If you can’t study something without destroying it, you’re probably doing it wrong.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: If you can’t help but destroy the subjects of your study, call a doctor immediately! You may be the British Museum.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
No matter the subject we seek to understand, it may choose to resist our deconstruction, by one way or another. Landmarks like the Temples of Malta and the Pyramid of Djoser are held together by our respect. Monuments like the Statue of Liberty are held together by copper. The Family was held together by Charles Manson.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Whoa whoa whoa ease up on the gas.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
But it’s not always the preservation of history or elements of the periodic table or psychopaths that reject humans' wishes to disassemble. Far stronger than forces of nuts and bolts are that of character and loyalty, and SCP-2085 is welded together by exactly that.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Is this a video about us or the prelude to a recipe for pork chops or some shit.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
SCP-2085 is a militant anarchist organization consisting of six cybernetically-enhanced individuals (A-1 through A-5 and B) operating under the name Kuroi Usagi Shidan, or more commonly known as the “Black Rabbit Company.”
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Sadly abandoned working title: “Space Wizard and the Commando Catgirls”.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
SCP-2085-A subjects are five adult female augmented humans, designated SCP-2085-A-1 through SCP-2085-A-5.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: We have names. In order to rip off Jennsosaurus’ art you would have had to have read the hub, which has our names right there.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Subjects are genetic chimeras, each with an estimated 6-10 different gene donors. They are fluent in Japanese, Mandarin Chinese, Cantonese, Korean, Russian, and English, with additional languages varying by individual.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: He’s just reading the article. Can we fast forward? ##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Yeah, hold on.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
SubjectsdisplayanarrayofgeneticandcyberneticenhancementsincludinggeneticsplicesofFeliscatusphysiologyhavingcatlikeearstailsandhairThesetailsareprehensileandcapableofholdingsmallobjects,soifyoureaccusingoneofthemofstealingyourpendontjustgosearchingtheirpocketsTheyalsohavegrippadsontheirhandsandfeetincasetheyeverdiddecidetoretirefromanarchyandtakeupsurfingTheirimpressivefeaturesdon’tstopthereIftheyhaventalreadyputJamesBondsgadgetstoshameyetjustwaitDanielCraigisabouttolooklikeDoratheExplorerSCP2085A1throughA5allhaveocularimplantswiththermalvision,headsupdisplayandrecordingfunctionalityAlsonotedarecarbonnanoweavemusclefiberaugmentationreinforcedendoskeletonandbraincomputerinterfacewithinternalharddriveThelistgoesoneachetceteramoreelaboratethanthenextYetwhatstandsoutmostaboutthemisnotaweaponbutanattitude.
These six members, although now held in isolation from one another, do not show any signs of splitting up, not even when under the heavy pressure of The Foundation’s interrogation. Agents spend their hours looking for cracks to dig their fingers into, trying to get one to betray the other and reveal sensitive information. But when asked to spill the beans-
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Oh no my beans!##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
SCP-2085 screws the lid on tighter. They remain as a whole, resistant to our deconstruction. The agents get nowhere with their investigation. And with each minute wasted, it’s another victory for SCP-2085.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: It’s our forbidden bloodline technique -##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: A kekkai genkai, if you will.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: -called “Don’t Talk to Cops”.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
The hours go on and they keep stacking up W’s, building momentum day after day, growing stronger and stronger as a unit. As the Foundation tries to tear the group apart, they respond with even greater resistance. And this style of resistance is unique to each member. Imagine you are confronting SCP 2085-A-2.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Wait, did they skip Boss?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: It might be a pacing thing.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: He also left out how we were captured, which is pretty important.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
She is talkative, and so you think you might get somewhere. You are all ears. But what SCP 2085-A-2 sees isn’t ears, but troughs. And she is happy to feed you her slop. She talks and talks and you listen closer and closer, but all you are getting is misinformation.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Slop? SLOP!?##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
False names, inaccurate stories, dates that don’t add up. You focus and follow along, only to find yourself having run a marathon all the way to a dead end.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: And he’s…not going to include any of the stories?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: We have to establish what keeps large objects together, Hana, get with the program.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: I gave you hours of entirely truthful entertainment, and you slander me like this?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: As rightful queen of Thailand I object to this characterization of one of my subjects.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Now you are faced with SCP 2085-A-5, who takes a different, more nonsensical approach. You are happy to no longer have to sift through inaccuracies to decipher truths, but now there are no truths at all. All that you are given are absurdities.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: What.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
She speaks in ways that make you scratch your head.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Did you read the interview? I just said “no” a lot. I admitted that I was fucking with them because it was fun.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Once saying, for no apparent reason, “I take a hammer and I break my legs, I break ‘em for the better.”
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: …##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: It’s Mother Mother.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
After so many scratches you swear you’ve dug an inch into your skin.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: It’s the first line of “All Gone” by Mother Mother. Fuck’s sake.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
And so you move on to SCP 2085-A-4 hoping for better luck.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: No. No we don’t, we stop right here. Fuck you, it’s Mother Mother. I was quoting Mother Mother because it’s creepy out of context and I wanted to fuck with people but it’s also an expression of radical bodily autonomy. I take a hammer and I break my legs //for the better//.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Would you like me to be less subtle? “Take my eyes / take them aside / take my face and desecra-ate my arms and legs / they get in the way.”##[[/span]]
[Pause]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: I was trying to imply that I’m trans, dipshit. Whatever the hell that means when I can pop my brain out like a fucking hard drive and just stick it in a new body.##[[/span]]
[Pause]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: So, uh, we gonna go around the table in solidarity?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Yeah, I think we should. Boss?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Sure. Ace-aro.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Demi.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Captain Harkness Rules, baby.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Chronic masturbator viscerally repulsed by the idea of intimate physical contact with another human being.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: And I’m technically a eunuch.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: This part is canon. It’s a bit of a later development to our characters but you know, we had other things to worry about at the time.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: No flags, please.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Nothing against people who like them, we just think they’re ugly.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Fucking Americans putting stripes on everything. Too many divisions of the field!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Japan’s got the States beat in the flag department, no contest.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Acceptable flags for the Company are a field sanguine, party per bend sinister sable.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Sanguine, sable hare rampant wielding mallet, countercharged per bend sinister.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Sanguine, a disc argent, sable hare rampant wielding mallet.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: The above, with a field vert.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: And sable, a skull and crossbones with cat ears.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Though if you come up with some other cool ones, we’d love to see them. Anyway, let’s get back to it.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
She is straightforward with you. That much you like. But she’s hostile and doesn’t cooperate. When you ask her name, she raises her middle finger. She tucks it back in to create a first. And then that fist punches the divider between you. No amount of reinforced glass could make you feel safe at that moment. Cracks spread. It looks like a web spun by a spider, and you feel as small as one.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Known Shelob impersonator, Nanami.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Nah, I’m definitely a Portia.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: I get to be Bianca!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: I’ll take Fabian.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: One of the Octopi, I guess.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Viola!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: We are going on an //adventure//.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Thankfully, a protective shutter is lowered. Aerosol sedatives are pumped into the containment unit.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: I’m surprised he’s not mentioned any of the cover names yet.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Eh, the other video did and the comments are mostly just asking if this is a JoJo reference.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Shoulda fucking gone with Jolyne…##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: But they’re an important part of establishing our characters!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Why would he bother? Do you think the target audience of this video knows what //Dorohedoro// is?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: No…##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: [stage whisper] For those of you keeping track at home: I’m Joseph, Nanami’s Jolyne, Wizard’s Jonathan, Tomi is Jotaro, Hana’s Josuke, and Boss is Giorno.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Our Stands are, pending revision and in interview order, [L'INTERNATIONALE], [BRICK HOUSE], [MAKE THIS RIGHT], [NOOSPHERE], [WHERE THE GUNS AT], and [PLAY THE HERO].##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
She continues to try to escape, yelling profanities even harsh for someone locked behind bars.
Your ears have taken a beating from curse words, nonsensical rambles, and heaps of misinformation. You want to lower your head into a toilet bowl and hear nothing but water. Yes, that is where these women have driven you. Your head to the bottom of a toilet bowl.
You have put in so many hours, and yet you have learned nothing new. And if you can’t learn anything new, you might have to rely more on what you already know.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: He totally skipped Boss and Hana.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: What the fuck.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: …##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Skipping over the part where I’m begging for death because of the psychological strain of solitary confinement is a choice that says a lot about your priorities.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
But what do you know? Well, you know this: their track record is quite impressive. Verified operations include smuggling, theft, assault, vandalism, kidnapping, extortion, property damage, possession of fissile materials, corporate sabotage, embezzlement, identity theft, fraud, copyright infringement, piracy, possession transport and sale of anomalous items, and tax evasion.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: The comments section does have a good number of people congratulating us on the last one.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Yet, when grilled under the heat of investigation, they do not reveal any details about the nature of these operations. You just know that they happened. All that is told is that SCP-2085 navigates in such a way as to minimize the chance of civilian casualties and maximize material and morale damage to their target.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Opsec, motherfucker.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
They are proud of this. It seems as if SCP-2085 perceives themselves on the side of good.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: My body is a machine that kills fascists.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Considering that you cut the part wherein I explain our motivations in explicit terms, it seems like this confusion is self-inflicted.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
While their list of operations on paper looks like crimes, they stand proudly behind them, pleading guilty with a grin. But behind every smile is more teeth. Teeth that go beyond saying cheese. Teeth hiding in the dark caves of a sealed mouth. And you are determined to play dentist and find your way in.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: What the fuck is this metaphor?##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
But SCP-2085 doesn’t say ah for just anyone.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: You have to buy me dinner first.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
So, how are you to understand a group that resists our preferred methods of learning? How are you to properly assess the pieces of a puzzle when the puzzle is glued tightly together?
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: I have seen some weird framing narratives and this is //extremely// weird.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
It starts at the top. Before you can decipher the motives of a nation, you’d be smart to study their leader.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Boss! He remembered you!##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
And if you want to extrapolate the schemes of a football team, you’d interview the coach. And to truly know the moral of a television show, you’d be better off asking the creator than the actors.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: The intent of the artist is merely one factor of many that goes into the interpretation of a text and should not be treated as a correct reading of a text.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: We are aware of the irony.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
All of this is just to say, if you are to ever understand the complexities of SCP-2085, it is necessary you begin with SCP-2085-B, the person pulling the string of the entire operation for all of these years.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: [slams fist on table] BULLSHIT!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Oh god he doesn’t know.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: My expectations are subterranean and they have still not been met.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Now, you might be imagining a man of many muscles.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Sir, have you seen these guns I’m packing?##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Someone able to fight a bear with an arm tied behind his back. Someone who kicks through saloon doors, tilts back his liquor, and walks out with a woman in each arm. But you’d be dead wrong.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: I do not think anyone was thinking this.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
SCP-2085-B, also known as Wizard, does not look like an imposing lead at first glance, or even, at the hundredth glance. He is generally in very poor health and his face shows it.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Back-alley chemotherapy does that to you.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
He suffers from a variety of illnesses, most notably a vitamin D deficiency, acute radiation syndrome, and has unmanageable scarring from severe and repeated skin ulceration. He doesn’t wear a cape and glamorous spandex often found hanging in superheroes’ closets, but instead he wears an Advanced Crew Escape Suit accompanied by a cheap bathrobe and flimsy red felt wizard's hat.
He looks, with no elegant way of putting it, like a dork.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Correct.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
A goofball.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Checks out.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
A doofus.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Got you dead to rights, Wiz.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
A…well, you get the point.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: No no, keep going, drag it out further. We’re already not having a good time, why not make it a long time?##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Furthermore, he is an adult male human with certain cybernetic and genetic enhancements. He has an adaptation of the gastrointestinal tract to allow for an all-liquid diet. Within his suit, an esophageal input port and waste output port are integrated.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: In case this didn’t get across in the original text, I shit in a bag.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
It is equipped with modifications to regulate sweat, reduce abrasion damage from extended usage, and aid in skin regeneration. His genetic enhancements include the replacement of 11 previously missing digits on hands and feet, and also has an internal drug pump, typically used for painkillers, because as we are about to learn, SCP-2085-B is most often on the wrong end of pain.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: None of those are genetic.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Notice, these modifications are not those you would find in a science-fiction novel-
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: You are either woefully under-read or purposefully telling lies on the internet.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Do you really think someone would do that?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Just go on the internet and tell lies?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: I would simply not believe them.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
-but more likely behind the trench coat of a suspicious man in a dark alley. And we all know nothing good is ever concealed behind a trench coat… but have you ever wondered if that truth also extends to robes? Because when we pull open SCP-2085’s what we find is truly terrifying…
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: I like how they are framing this as habitual public indecency. What a cool, normal thing to say.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
SCP-2085-1!
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Wait, is that Boss?##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
SCP-2085-1 is a fibrous mass of self-replicating carbon nanomaterials within SCP-2085-B’s
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Aw…##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: It would be so much easier if they just used names.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Artifact of the format.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
-chest cavity, with growths protruding into the liver, pancreas, gallbladder, spinal cord, and left lung.
The growth of the SCP-2085-1 and its consumption of SCP-2085-B’s body tissues has been impeded through the addition of various containment implants used to sever communication between growth sections and control nodes and counter the replication process. SCP-2085-1’s rate of replication without the influence of these containment implants is unknown. SCP-2085-1’s periods of activity occur, on average, once every three months. The process lasts for up to fifteen minutes and causes SCP-2085-B intense pain.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Yeah, it’s not great.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Imagine a heart attack. Imagine Mike Tyson using your sternum like a punching bag. Imagine a cactus strapped to your front. This is the pain and torture SCP-2085 wears daily.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Again, very cool and normal thing to say.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
There’s no S logo printed on his chest like Superman. No symmetrically slick symbol like Batman.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: I’m more of a Hellboy guy, anyway.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Instead, just cancerous growth. Kryptonite worn like a tie. The knot never to be loosened.
But to SCP-2085-B, this anomaly is not just a number to be studied, but more so a being to be understood. It is more personal than a medical condition. It is something he wakes up with each and every day.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: It’s a bird!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: It’s a plane!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: It’s chronic pain!##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
He calls it Red.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: No spurious connection to the Scarlet King? I’m impressed.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Ssshh, that link only exists on the thematic level.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Themes don’t exist, Boss, get with the program.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: I know writers who use subtext and they are //cowards!//##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Hiding in metal boxes, the fools!##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
At first, The Foundation saw SCP-2085’s close connection with Red to be childish and silly, as if a small boy who names his freckles out of boredom and loneliness.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: They actually were pretty reasonable about it. Grading on a curve, but still. ‘Not as Big a Jerk as You Could Have Been’ award.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
But as you are about to see, how they met was more memorable than first finding a freckle in the mirror.
A meteor struck down, and SCP-2085-B was the only person at the scene. Red was inside. As Wizard approached the meteor, Red leapt onto him and buried a home into his chest cavity.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: I would like to point out that there is zero corroborating evidence for this story. There is significant room for reader interpretation.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Far from a freckle on the skin, Red is a cancer. It grows and grows, leeching to what it can. It can’t be removed with surgery. It can’t be covered by a Band-Aid. It has no empathy or mercy. It leeches on and eats away at its host. But it’s more than pain that it causes.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: And you’re probably not going to do any sort of thematic analysis of that other thing, are you?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: What, and give any voice to how Red is a personified stand-in for the everyday agony of being trapped inside a machine that is bleeding to death? Psssh.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Falling off a swing set and busting open your leg hurts, sure, but at least both you and your injury are on the same team. Cuts try to heal. When left alone, injuries make effort to find homeostasis.
But Red is a different breed. It hates us in a way that injuries are incapable of doing. It has a deep disdain for humanity. It tears Wizard down, reveling in his degradation. Its sole purpose is to eat him whole.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: I see they’ve also cut Wizard’s von-neumann probe theory.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Wizard can only take this personally, as he doesn’t just feel the universally understood sensation of pain, but also the unique passion of its purpose.
SCP-2085-B’s adventure’s with Red seem to be where our story begins, and what ultimately keeps it moving.
In fact, it was while SCP-2085-B was running around trying to fix his chest with implants when he eventually met who we refer to as SCP-2085-A-1 through A-5. He was at the clinic to get some new parts, and when he was going through the installation process there was an explosion. One of the five girls barged out of a building, guns blazing. He started running alongside them with his chest half open. The women embraced him immediately, and he reciprocated.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: I stitched him up first, then there we hugs.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Knowing nothing of the situation, he instinctively knew to take their side.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Look, sometimes you just know, right? I was in a sketchy off-the-books chop shop, when the people who are clearly action heroes kick down the door, you know what side your bread is buttered on.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
There were bullets coming from both directions, but he intuitively understood which side was good and which side was bad – a distinction SCP-2085 believes the world needs help clarifying.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: You ever get the feeling someone is trying to throw shade by portraying what you say in a way that implies you’re nefarious, but lacks the guts to actually say it? No? Just me?##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
But it is hard to see a reason for a war when our eyes are focused on the casualties. Beliefs are less clear when tucked behind bullets. The sounds of gunfire muffle their message.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Our message is very clear.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: But let me spell it out, since you’re still not getting it. We were frankensteined together in tanks. We had to steal our own fucking bodies because the shitstains who made us think that a human being is something you can fucking //own//. Think about this, for two fucking seconds: what do you think the person who buys a custom-made woman is like? Do you think that he’s a good person? Do you think that the people who let him get away with it are good people? I had to jailbreak our //brains// so they wouldn’t get fucking bricked by an automatic firmware update!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Those motherfuckers go home every day and sleep soundly in their beds because we’re not people and what happens to us doesn’t matter. Fuck them and fuck you. They wouldn’t let us have autonomy over our own bodies so we fucking took it for ourselves.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Brrrat brrrrrat clicka-clack boom boom##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: From day fucking one we were forced into a world that refuses to recognize us as human beings.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: It’s on-sight for PAMWAC.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: see em shoot em skin em wear em mount em onna wall##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Actually, that makes a great segue! In the years since we first came on to the scene, there have been quite a few new Groups of Interest that we have beef with.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: PAMWAC, as aforementioned, is on-sight.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: And those clowns at Valravn.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Obskura and all associates, obviously.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: I have a bullet personally reserved for KeeLee.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: There are forty-three different Wandsmen already on the list and I //will// add more. Fucking wizards.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Not the bird journalists, they’re different.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: We haven’t fought Three Moons yet, but we would if we got the chance.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: We’ve got a real good frenemy situation going on with the 12 Lords of San Kowloon.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: I can’t find it in myself to be mean to GAW, it’s like bullying a one-legged pug.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: We tried reaching out to them before, but it turns out that one killsat they have is some kind of bullshit eigenweapon instead of a mass driver.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Are we sure? I was really unclear on that.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: It’s there in the technobabble, I totally missed it the first time through. It’s just some damn eigenweapon.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Damn, that’s disappointing.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Right?##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Hi all, Future Hana here: we received a few emails asking why I was so hung up on the fact that LYRIS/LORD isn’t a mass driver. Basically, a mass driver in L2 orbit opens up the rest of the solar system to exploration at drastically-reduced delta-V cost. All we need to do is get some payloads up there and we’re several steps closer to fully automated luxury gay space communism. We’ve got a whole plan drawn up and everything. Ask Boss about the Shopping List sometime. I had originally just heard “hey, did you know Games and Whatever have a planet-destroying killsat” through the grapevine and thought “sick, they have a mass driver!” because I could see no reason for it to be anything else. My bad on that. Still disappointing, though.##[[/span]]]
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Regardless of whether or not it is actually a mass driver, it is operated by an individual whose mental health has been steadily deteriorating for almost a decade due to social isolation and lack of psychiatric support.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Building your entire identity around a weird webcomic and the weird parasocial relationship you have with it is not a good long-term life strategy. You gotta touch grass once in a while.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Regardless, we do not associate with Games and Whatever in any meaningful material fashion.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: However, we are absolutely down to party with the Confederación Internacional.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Or whatever your local Insurgency-based faction is.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Can we keep going? I hate how much more of this is left.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Morality, while a complex subject, SCP-2085 believes is simplified by the masses.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: If “human beings are not possessions” is too complex, my good friend John Brown has some very convincing arguments for you.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: “The //Solidarity// warps to a universe where it’s three days before Harper’s Ferry” is free real estate, people.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: His soul goes marching on.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Events are deemed good or bad based on the term used for them in a court of law.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Legalism is a hell of a drug.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
When we see the words: smuggling, theft, assault, vandalism, corporate sabotage, embezzlement, identity theft, fraud, copyright infringement, piracy, and tax evasion, it is our impulse to label those as morally bad.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: I too was once in an Intro to Philosophy course.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
But SCP-2085 desperately wants you to look beyond the language.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Yes, actually, we would love it if you read anything beyond the literal text.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
They want the words to dissipate off the paper, letter by letter, until all you have is a blank page.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: No! That’s the exact opposite of what we want here!##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Now, look at the pencil and the hand that holds it. Watch how it moves. That is what matters. Whether it draws weapons or mermaids is irrelevant. Both can be used for good. Both can be used for evil. Intent is everything. And SCP-2085 intends on making the world a better place, or so they like to claim.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Do you understand what “antifascist” means?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: There are objectively fewer nazis in the world because we exist.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: gun from my sock pop pop pop pop pop##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
But maybe there is more to it.
After SCP-2085-B and the five women escaped the gunfire, they went on to steal a boat and high tail it out of Japan. They spent their nights out there on the ocean, stargazing and stuffing themselves with instant ramen and cheap beer.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Some real Misato-approved pisswater.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
And, surprisingly, between all the crazy adventures SCP-2085-B had been on, this is what Wizard spoke about most. The time spent on the boat out at sea.
For the first time in ages, he was finally somewhere where he was happy.
It was this moment that actually meant the most to him.
It wasn’t the children they apparently saved from imperialism.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Imperialism is a complex systematic set of interlocking social, political, military and economic policies that uphold the violent extraction of wealth from conquered territories for the enrichment of the imperial core. Directed violence alone cannot undo it.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
It wasn’t the wealth they apparently redistributed to the poor.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Note how all the stories Momoko told were just wacky things we had already done and finished, and she never said a word about what we were actually doing with the money and goods.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: The importance of good opsec cannot be overstated. if we look at-##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Great, now you’ve set her off…##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: If any of you listening thought Boss was the normal one, you’re wrong.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: She’s very good at masking but when she gets going, you just gotta let her go.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: - leading to the inevitable failure of Games And Whatever’s Camp Kenowhere project -##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: The central pillar of our team is a woman whose autistic hyperfixation is covert wetwork.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: And leftist theory.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: And //Legend of the Galactic Heroes//.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: And we love her for it.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: -paradoxically low-tech methods can offer greater security in the short term, while-##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: [interrupting] //As we were saying//, we did not provide any actionable intelligence to the enemy with regards to our bases of operation, allies, or assets.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: We’re fools and dreamers, not idiots.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
It wasn’t any good deed at all.
It was the selfish, almost shallow, sensation of being happy on a boat.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Life is suffering and then you die. Better to do it with friends.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
This singular moment meant so much to SCP-2085-B. He reflected on it as if it were a wedding day or a memorable vacation.
Which makes you wonder…
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Will this guy will ever get to the point.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
SCP-2085 has been investigated and interrogated, and all that they preach is that they are doing the world a favor with their antics. Their tales are captivating, sure. But is it actually story telling or is it just virtue signaling?
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: There we go! Blow that whistle a little louder for the dogs in the back, why don’t you?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: If he’s going to throw that horseshit around, let’s give him some concrete examples to chew on.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Strictly semicanonically, of course.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Yeah, you all can keep a secret. Boss?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: For the purposes of informing those who want to write about our misadventures, yes.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Sick. I am personally responsible for why Emerald Mine Failson is bankrupt and why the site formerly known as Chi is now called shitho.le.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: We do a lot of work for the Confed, like I mentioned before. Mostly supporting cells that are deep in Foundation or GOC territory.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: On that note, one of our primary goals is aiding the Confederation in establishing a foothold in Earth orbit and the solar system at large, which has put us in close collaboration with New Green Earth and the Jupiter Development Group.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: [Aside] They’re groups of interest operating out of the East African Federation.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: I work with revitalization programs for moribund and sleeping languages. Ainu, currently. Did you know that the Japanese government did not legally recognize the Ainu as an indigenous people until 1997?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: We’ve got the Shopping List, which is all the stuff worth stealing from the documents Nanami swiped from the Foundation’s database on our way out.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: I’m a lazy piece of shit who does nothing with her life.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: And if //you// want to be a lazy piece of shit who does nothing with your life, you should come on down to shiiiiiiiithole! That’s ʃɪθo dot ell ee.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
There is an emotional depth to SCP-2085 unique to any other militant anarchist group.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: I’m pretty sure most militant anarchist groups are also made out of human beings with internality.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
While they are genetically designed to most efficiently complete missions, they are not at all robots fixed on the high of task completion.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: We were initially designed as combat-rated paracoitas for personal protective use.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Nerd-speak translation: some rich shitstains were looking for the venn diagram sweetspot between “robot you can fuck”, “someone to shoot the people who rightfully want me dead” and “a human being I can own as property.”##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Just read between the lines, I’m begging you.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Each and every one of them wants more. They want a group. They want a group not just to have the numbers to overthrow a government, but to have the numbers to fill a room, or boat, with companionship.
When they refuse to cooperate with you and leak information about their operation, maybe what you are witnessing isn’t the strength of their loyalty, but also the weakness of their codependence.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Foundation scientists blown away by discovery of friendship.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: This one weird trick has the Men in Black stumped!##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
And so, you decide this is the new angle you’re going to take with your interrogation. You enter the room with a new focus. You feel like an earthquake, eager to make cracks in their core. You isolate SCP 2085-A-4.
You are met, expectantly, with hostility. You fight back with psychology. You cross your legs and put on your glasses as if to say, “Let’s talk about that anger. Where does it stem from?”
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Oh that’s easy, it stems from the fact that I was grown in a fucking tube so that some fucking corpo failson could own //human property.//##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
She strengthens her emotional guard. But you keep prying. You say that it sounds like she is lonely. You say it sounds like her loyalty doesn’t come from good character but rather insecurity and self-doubt.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: You leave her insecurity and self-doubt out of this.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Yeah! Only we get to talk shit about Nanami’s insecurity and self-doubt!##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
You ask her if completing missions with her crew was actually a way to improve the world-
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Yes. You would know this if you kept my interview in.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
-or was it just an elaborate way to build a close friend group bound together by common goals.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: LOCAL MAN BAFFLED BY EXISTENCE OF FRIENDSHIP.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Did new missions sprout from necessity or were they fabricated by fears of being alone with nothing to do?
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: What is he //talking// about? We can’t just shit money.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Not yet, anyway.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: I promise I’m still working on that nanofab printer.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Were end of operation high-fives to celebrate good overcoming evil or were they just excuses to feel the touch of another human, skin to skin.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Wow, way to make it weird.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
You stop there and let silence do the rest. SCP 2085-A-4 sits with her thoughts.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: This is dangerous for me and everyone around me.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
She is ready to break…and finally she does. She says she’s willing to provide video logs of the group’s former operations. She’s ready to cooperate. She’s ready to abandon loyalty to groupthink and focus instead on self-improvement.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: This entire conversation never happened, but if it did happen, I want you to imagine me putting on the grossest shrinking violet wallflower bullshit act possible and using those exact words. You could use the dripping sarcasm as industrial lubricant.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: As well as other kinds of lubricant.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
In exchange, she kindly asks that she be reciprocated and that the sanctions placed on her be lifted. You come to an agreement, and with that you feel like your work is done. But is it?
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Rhetorical questions in headlines should always be answered with “no”.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
You’re feeling cocky and accomplished. You forward the video logs to an isolated network for D-class personnel to review and you sit back and enjoy a celebratory drink.
You have infiltrated and broken the mind of a genetically modified radical designed for anarchy.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Fucked up that you’re saying that like it’s a good thing.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Fucking //designed?//##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: No one can possibly be a leftist out of their own volition and beliefs, Nanami, get with the program.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
You give yourself a pat on the back, and you’re feeling so great that the pat might even turn into a massage, but before you can indulge in that deep tissue level of self-admiration, the phone rings. Can it be a call from the president telling you that you’re the greatest investigator of all time?
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: “Sir, it’s the President: he says you need to cut down on the self-congratulatory celebration.”##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Can it be that they need you to pose in front of a world-renowned artist so that they can erect a statue of you in the center of town square?
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: How are you still only half-mast after this long?##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
But the panic on the other side of the phone halts your daydream. Your stomach drops, as if a sudden plummet from a perfectly vertical roller-coaster. You have fallen into a trap. The video log at the center of your negotiation was not at all what it was promised to be.
The file, titled backup.avi, consisted of a two-hour long video of a feces-filled toilet, presumably recorded from SCP-2085-A-4’s point of view, accompanied by an audio loop of the folk song “Korobeiniki”, as performed by the Red Army Choir.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: In light of recent geopolitical currents, I must admit that the commissar character was childish and stupid, and I will be segueing to a persona that contains no questionable or problematic elements at all, a machine cleric of the Maschmeptus Adcamicus.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Names have been changed to protect the innocent copyright lawyers of Wames Gorkshop.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: I just want to transcend the flesh and live eternal among the machine spirits is that too much to fucking ask.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Its absurdity feels like an art project. Like a short film you are assigned to watch in a community college class.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Oh come the fuck on, it’s not like I had anything else on hand! Were you expecting fucking George Clooney?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Yes I would, thank you.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
But instead of putting you to sleep…it does a whole lot more. The contained audio-visual cognitohazard induced anaphylaxis and exudative diarrhea in the observing D-Class subject.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: You fuckers.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
The D-Class subject died four minutes after initial access of the file from blood loss and oxygen deprivation.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: //YOU FUCKERS//##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
SCP-2085-A-4 sits in containment laughing, while you sit there on your couch, dethroned-
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: THAT WAS FOR //YOU//. Of fucking course, of //fucking// course you’d stick one of your slave laborers in front of it first. Fuck me I guess, for thinking you’d do anything else.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
- back where you started, having thought you tore SCP-2085 apart with your mind, only to learn that your efforts only reinforced it with more glue.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Do you think I //wanted// to kill the poor bastard? That was for //you//.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Breathe, Nanami. Breathe.##[[/span]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Now go check out “SCP-247 - A Harmless Kitten” and “SCP-577 - Bullet Cat” for more SCPs.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Wait, that’s it?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: That’s it.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: I am profoundly disappointed and my day is ruined.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: There’s nothing there! He wasted half of it on non sequiturs and then spent the rest of it deliberately mischaracterizing us!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: That is, when he deemed to characterize us at all.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: Can we pass on the comment section? This isn’t really fun anymore.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Agreed.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Yeah, there wasn’t that much interesting anyway down there anyway.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: What a bummer.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: So. What did we learn tonight, team?##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: I still can’t believe that he didn’t draw Boss with her tits out in the thumbnail.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Yeah that’s also my takeaway. They didn’t even draw //me// with my tits out, and that’s much more in character.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: They are simply too intimidated by your impressive size.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: It’s true! In my quest to become huge I have achieved a terrible power. The power of being huge. Cowards flee from my enormity.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: Fun fact for all of you at home: Momoko is, to the centimeter, exactly as tall as Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: I learned that some people just decide that making stick figure animations with barely-disguised reactionary subtext for children is something they want to do with their lives.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Yeah, like…it’s both incredibly lazy and weirdly high-effort. He went out of his way to make the presentation worse than if he had just read the article verbatim, but didn’t put any of that extra effort into making it good or accurate. Which, considering the parts he left out, is pretty gross. And if I could get on my soapbox for a little bit...##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: Ooh, Irish Spring!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Look. Mr. Explained. Those guys we killed before the Foundation caught us were human traffickers. Our article features the Foundation black-vanning undocumented migrants for use as D-Class; that's not subtext, that's the text. You can engage with that text however you want, do all your hand-wringing about "muffled messages" and "claims to do good" and whatever, but to pretend it's not there is at best willful media illiteracy.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Vollkorn'"]]##721D6C|B: Some people simply have no moral compunctions about the method by which they extract wealth from children.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Source Code Pro'"]]##D58936|N: I learned that there is a fundamental and unbridgeable disconnect between how we are written and how we are portrayed by other parties, and that it both sucks and is unavoidable. Also I looked at the comments and apparently loads of people still can't accurately identify furries.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: It's the faces, people! Does the character have a human face or an animal face? We have human faces!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: I learned that if you ever suggest doing this again I will shove you in a locker and dump you in a river.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Open Sans'"]]##BD1E1E|W: Ah well. It was a terrible idea, but we did it anyway and isn’t that how life is sometimes? Have a good night, all!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Atkinson Hyperlegible'"]]##422B24|H: Bye everyone!##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Ubuntu Mono'"]]##3066BE|T: G’night.##[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'RocknRoll One'"]]##00A676|M: I’m hungry, let’s go get sushi.##[[/span]]
[[div class ="nanami"]]
N: Already ordered.
[[/div]]
[[div class ="boss"]]
B: Solidarity forever.
[[/div]]
**[End Bumper: Stella Signalis by [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-952 House of Spades]]**
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Filename:** Excerpts from //Is There Anything These Killer Kitties Won’t Do? - SCP-2085 - The Black Rabbit Company//
> **Name:** //Is There Anything These Killer Kitties Won’t Do? - SCP-2085 - The Black Rabbit Company//
> **Author:** SCP Explained - Story & Animation
> **License:** CC-BY-SA-3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mhl3nr0Is24 Youtube]
> **Additional Notes:** Unformatted text in quote boxes is taken from the transcript of the video in question.
> **Derivative Of:** (Situational)
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-01-31T00:23:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"black-rabbit-company",
"comedy",
"tale"
] |
BRC-Cast 243: A Nice Content Farm Upstate - SCP Foundation
| 37
|
[
"scp-3882",
"scp-952",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1452499710
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/brc-cast-24-a-nice-content-farm-upstate
|
|
buy-one-get-one-for-one-dollar
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Acreepypasta/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div class="parapost">
<p><span style="color: red"><strong>darren1988</strong></span> 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 14:23:46 #00931865</p>
<hr/>
<p>BUY ONE GET ONE FOR ONE DOLLAR.</p>
<p>do you every the want to cure For life? Immediately! Understand cybertube engaging! Nevermind the of vomitsqueels, subsequently, get your vile infoducts ready! additionally, percepto-ovules engaged, on top of this, your scriptovessels have Never been closer to popping! how you may ask? To obtain: <a href="https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz">buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz</a></p>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply1">
<p><span style="color: red"><strong>darren1988</strong></span> 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 14:35:22 #00931865</p>
<hr/>
<p>engage</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply1">
<p><span style="color: blue"><strong>DangerDaniel</strong></span> 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 14:57:39 #10938523</p>
<hr/>
<p>The fuck? What is this.</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply2">
<p><span style="color: red"><strong>darren1988</strong></span> 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 15:03:11 #00931865</p>
<hr/>
<p>fellow costumary! it is customer for me to introduce ! i am WhaT you Biovessels have been looking for! your problem S have been bad ? i wonder if you can have The final answer to all of life problem well no i do not wonder havve to no mMore ebcause of the we are you won! for free, you will finally be able To do what you Desire ! simply engage. your appendages are SLOOBERING for that Black square .click plack clackata lack CACK! and done! your infobuds will be screaming! simply pop; <a href="https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz">buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz</a></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="color: red">[USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply3">
<p><span style="color: purple"><strong>inHABITed</strong></span> 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 15:11:45 #99673065</p>
<hr/>
<p>Mods.</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply1">
<p><span style="color: yellow"><strong>🗿Dawn-ofthefinalday</strong></span> 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 15:18:24 #64917451</p>
<hr/>
<p>Please do not interact with spam bots or click on their links.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="color: red">[THREAD LOCKED]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="parapost">
<p><span style="color: blue"><strong>disgust1</strong></span> 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 19:34:08 #22201459</p>
<hr/>
<p>Ah! A melting crowd i see! ITS OKAY ! ! I am a Forgiving Spine. DO not worry! If Medicinal Relief is NOt what you are looking fOr. Evidently, exquisitely, retortingly, you are watching Four SomthINg that is but the what for more elipses… natural? I present to you TH e machine! The machine! is what you have been Looking for is it not? YES! OF FULL LENGHT COURSE! If THIs is NOt the desire of You gray spawns of zaRckiq hatred (not sponsored) THEN my species is Not A Disgusting excuse for gramatical and infoscriptocultural malpractice! Your DELICIOUS DUCTS WILL SALIVATE AT THE MERE THOUGHT OF THIS MECHANICAL WONDER. BELIEVE ME. IT IS AN OFFER YOU CANNOT . YOU CANNOT REJECT.</p>
<p>SO then! BUY ONE, GET ONE FOR ONE DOLLAR! MERELY ! i think i pulled a disk!</p>
<p>engage with ; <a href="https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz">buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz</a></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="color: red">[USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply1">
<p><span style="color: purple"><strong>inHABITed</strong></span> 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 19:41:21 #99673065</p>
<hr/>
<p>I don't think these are bots. Not this one at least.</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply2">
<p><span style="color: red"><strong>MagicBullet</strong></span> 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 19:42:49 #02903451</p>
<hr/>
<p>wut if this is like a clever bot type thing? like its activel replying n stuff. idk how that shit works tho</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply3">
<p><span style="color: purple"><strong>inHABITed</strong></span> 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 19:44:07 #99673065</p>
<hr/>
<p>Nah, that'd be a bitch to set up. I guess you could but idk why someone would go to such lenghts to do this. It's more likely manually written.</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply1">
<p><span style="color: yellow"><strong>🗿Dawn-ofthefinalday</strong></span> 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 19:46:07 #64917451</p>
<hr/>
<p>Can you people not interact with these? I already said this once, but having shit like this clogging up the forum is enough, we don't need spam posts to be pushed up by replies, and i genuinely hope you don't need to hear this if you have an account on here, but you shouldn't click random links online, don't get scammed.</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply1">
<p><span style="color: white"><strong>DEATHTRAPEXODI</strong></span> 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 19:47:32 #16700243</p>
<hr/>
<p>Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply2">
<p><span style="color: red"><strong>TTxVB</strong></span> 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 19:54:22 #28809562</p>
<hr/>
<p>Just a troll prolly :p</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost">
<p><span style="color: blue"><strong>🗿BlairWitchWasReal</strong></span> 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 20:03:07 #64917451</p>
<hr/>
<p>Please listen to Dawn, bot or not you shouldn't reply to them, you're not helping. If this is a troll we'll deal with it. And if you need a mod please post something in the report subforum, don't just say "mods!!!" in the replies.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="color: red">[THREAD LOCKED]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="parapost">
<p><span style="color: pink"><strong>boloelklos8787</strong></span> 11/22/2015 (Friday) 17:25:03 #00003322</p>
<hr/>
<p>Has you are husband ever Find the of Love! Contact ME IMMEDIATELY.</p>
<p>i want to know.</p>
<p>YOU PEOPLE HAVE th EE THEE BEEN VEERY SQUANDEROUS WiTh mY EMPLOYTEEE .<br/>
THIS! is unsatisfactory. subsequently. you disgusting animals, HAve Been Chosen by the BUY ONE GET ONE FOR ONE DOLLAR a subdivision of idiosynchratic corporation of Bable to be infographically found. this thereafter, subsequently will now be of note;</p>
<p>PARAWATCH . NET</p>
<p>CEASE</p>
<p>AND DECEASED.</p>
<p>YOUR MOUTH SHALL BE FILLED WITH PUS AND VISCERA</p>
<p>UNLESS YOU</p>
<p>BUY ONE</p>
<p>GET ONE</p>
<p>FOR ONE DOLLAR.</p>
<p>We await your response. Contact us at <span class="wiki-email">zyx.rallodenorofenotegenoyub|sliame#zyx.rallodenorofenotegenoyub|sliame</span></p>
<p>disengage communication.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="color: red">[USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply1">
<p><span style="color: yellow"><strong>🗿Dawn-ofthefinalday</strong></span> 11/21/2015 (Friday) 17:27:54 #64917451</p>
<hr/>
<p>Nope! Thankfully caught this one early.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="color: red">[THREAD LOCKED]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply2">
<p><span style="color: green"><strong>whatAmouthful</strong></span> 11/22/2015 (Friday) 17:38:26 #11111111</p>
<hr/>
<p>Wrong answer.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="color: red">[USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="parapost">
<p><span style="color: red"><strong>🗿PSEUDO-SALLAD</strong></span> 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:18:11 #00000000</p>
<hr/>
<p>THaT'S ENOuGH of You. GREETINGS TO THE fuCK1KNG GUTBALLS YOU SLOSHING M3ATBAGS</p>
<p>tHE HIGHERUPS HAVE been ANGERED. PROFITEERS ARE Delusionally Obtuse AnD THE DESIRES OF OTHERS HAVE BEEN CLOGGED — DUCTS, TOMBS, SEALED ! AND IT'S YOUR FAULT.</p>
<p>WeEE GAVE YOu MAN YMANY MANY BIOlogically SOCIAL PATHS. thE Forever Never Bag, multivisual, audioseptic, subsequently, linguistic river of pus that We exists in. what you always do. destruction of property, rejection oF nature, the fifth hour comes, our Nonsensical Gramato-Scripto-SPIT, REJECTED! GONE! SCORCHED! you disgust me. all of you GREY GRAY GREYSPINES, UTTER VERMIN IN OUR SOULS, OUR habitat Environmental Space, destroyed, and FOR WHAT?! JUST SOP THAT THE CAUSE SOUP OF AN EMETOPHOBIC sleeeaaZEEBAG WHAT DOeS THE NOTHING BUT INFECT ITS INFOSPHERICAL TUBE WITH ITS OWN TEXTUAL AND VERBAL WASTE?! i Say no ! lets Not SIT DOWN. LETS FIGHT THE 0pRESSORES Tat HAVE BEEN PESTERING OUR MEDIUM SACKS FOR ENoOuGH TIME!!!! IF ThEY REFUSE OUR SCRIPTOPUKE THEN THEY dONT DESERVE THE infoblood in their ZZsSoCIal ORIFICES. FOR THE CORPORATION. FOR THE CORPORATION- WHOSE WITH ME FOR THE CORPORATION FOR THE CORPORATIION.</p>
<p>AND fOUR YOU… T00 — WE HAVE SO,METHING SPECIAL FOR YOU DISGUSTING RATS. YOUR PERCEPTION TUBES HAVE BEEN FoRceFULLY ENGAGED BY THE ASCII NEEDLES. WEATHER u LIKE IT OR LOVE IT. KNICK IT OR SHOVE IT, INDULGE YOURSELFVSES IN THE FEAST WERE ABOTT TO GIVE YOU. in addition! on top of! subsequently! on the other hand! IN fACTUAL! YOU SHOULD BE FUCKING THANKING US. YOU PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A COMMUNICATOR, IM SURE INFOMEABAS THAT ARE FORCED, yes, FORCED TO BE INSIDE OF YOUR DIGESTIVE COGNISCENT VALVES ARE ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED TO BE THERE, I CAN ONLY PRAY FOR THEIR OWN OVERUSE AND ERODING OF MEANING, FOR THEY DESERVE MERCY, BEING INSIDE YOU IS AN EXCRUTIATING PAIN EVEN GRANDER THAN TO HAVE YOUR INFOGRAPHICAL SiNCERITY USED AS EXCURINE. YuOR USE Of THE DISEASE BaG IS OFFENSIVE, AND YOU SHOULD NEVER SOCIALIZE AGAIN.</p>
<p>NOW! SICK BACK! AND RE LACKS!</p>
<p>FOR WEERE ABOUT TO GIVE YOU OUR BIGGEST DEAL YET, YOU MEAT-OIL GUINEAS.</p>
<p><strong>BUY ONE</strong></p>
<p><strong>GET ONE</strong></p>
<p><strong>FOR</strong></p>
<p><strong>FREE!</strong></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>We know you want it.</em><br/>
<a href="https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz">buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply1">
<p><span style="color: blue"><strong>DangerDaniel</strong></span> 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:20:28 #10938523</p>
<hr/>
<p>i clicked on it.</p>
<p>why did i click on it</p>
<p>i feel sick</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply1">
<p><span style="color: purple"><strong>inHABITed</strong></span> 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:22:54 #99673065</p>
<hr/>
<p>im turning off my pc and i think all of you should do that too. caught myself almost clicking on it dont know whats going on but im shutting it off</p>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply1">
<p><span style="color: blue"><strong>🗿BlairWitchWasReal</strong></span> 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:23:07 #64917451</p>
<hr/>
<p>DO NOT CLICK ON THE LINK. I HAVE NO IDEA HOW THEYRE AN ADMIN. I'M CONTACTING THE SITE OWNER. DONT CLICK THE FUCKING LINK</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="color: red">[THREAD LOCKED]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply2">
<p><span style="color: red"><strong>🗿PSEUDO-SALLAD</strong></span> 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:26:34 #00000000</p>
<hr/>
<p>WILL NOT. CANNOT. STOP Us. i mock you. "BLEGH" YOURSELF —</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>One click away.</em><br/>
<a href="https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz">buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply1">
<p><span style="color: yellow"><strong>🗿Dawn-ofthefinalday</strong></span> 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:32:49 #64917451</p>
<hr/>
<p>feel disgusting. feel repulsive, feel retorting.<br/>
feel disgusted, feel corrosive, felt acidic, digestiviq and oh;</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><a href="https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz">buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply1">
<p><span style="color: blue"><strong>DangerDaniel</strong></span> 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:34:18 #10938523</p>
<hr/>
<p>MeRELY VECTORS.: SO PATHeTHIC, SKIN CELLS SCABBING; aTE A mOUTHFUL OF ROTTING MESSAGES, MEDIUM SALSA, VERBAL MUSCLES, PERCEPTIVE-OVULES FILLED WITH Bl00dFulls.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><a href="https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz">buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply1">
<p><span style="color: red"><strong>TTxVB</strong></span> 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:34:24 #28809562</p>
<hr/>
<p>subsequently, in addition, on top of, on the other hand, talking about that, also, including, defying;</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>The corporation wishes you a good day and a good bye. Our services are no longer required here, as communication and socialization utilizing our scriptotextual message have and will decently affect the culture surrounding this space. Thank you.</em></p>
<p><a href="https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz">buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="parapost reply2">
<p><span style="color: red"><strong>PSEUDO-SALLAD</strong></span> 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:34:22 #00000000</p>
<hr/>
<p>bOUGHht oNe, got one, For one Dollar.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="color: red">[USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="parapost">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc0"><span>NOTICE FROM THE PARAWATCH.NET STAFF</span></h3>
<p>A few hours ago, we were informed that Parawatch had been hacked. Multiple users (including mods) got their accounts taken over by what we assume was a hacking/trolling group, which had been posting spam posts leading to a malicious site. On top of this, a totally new account had given itself administrator priveleges, demonstrating severe security flaws with both our site and our server hosting provider. We are currently taking care of this situation and Parawatch will be temporarily down for maintance, subsequently, we will try contacting the hacked users outside the site whenever we can restore their accounts. If you're one of the users who got hacked, please contact us here: <a href="https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz">[email protected]</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/buy-one-get-one-for-one-dollar">BUY ONE GET ONE FOR ONE DOLLAR</a>" by CherylsDead, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/buy-one-get-one-for-one-dollar">https://scpwiki.com/buy-one-get-one-for-one-dollar</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:creepypasta">:scp-wiki:theme:creepypasta</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div class="parapost"]]
##Red|**darren1988**## 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 14:23:46 #00931865
------
BUY ONE GET ONE FOR ONE DOLLAR.
do you every the want to cure For life? Immediately! Understand cybertube engaging! Nevermind the of vomitsqueels, subsequently, get your vile infoducts ready! additionally, percepto-ovules engaged, on top of this, your scriptovessels have Never been closer to popping! how you may ask? To obtain: [https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz]
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply1"]]
##Red|**darren1988**## 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 14:35:22 #00931865
------
engage
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply1"]]
##Blue|**DangerDaniel**## 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 14:57:39 #10938523
------
The fuck? What is this.
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply2"]]
##Red|**darren1988**## 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 15:03:11 #00931865
------
fellow costumary! it is customer for me to introduce ! i am WhaT you Biovessels have been looking for! your problem S have been bad ? i wonder if you can have The final answer to all of life problem well no i do not wonder havve to no mMore ebcause of the we are you won! for free, you will finally be able To do what you Desire ! simply engage. your appendages are SLOOBERING for that Black square .click plack clackata lack CACK! and done! your infobuds will be screaming! simply pop; [https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz]
[[=]]
##Red|[USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST]##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply3"]]
##Purple|**inHABITed**## 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 15:11:45 #99673065
------
Mods.
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply1"]]
##Yellow|**🗿Dawn-ofthefinalday**## 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 15:18:24 #64917451
------
Please do not interact with spam bots or click on their links.
[[=]]
##Red|[THREAD LOCKED]##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
------
[[div class="parapost"]]
##Blue|**disgust1**## 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 19:34:08 #22201459
------
Ah! A melting crowd i see! ITS OKAY ! ! I am a Forgiving Spine. DO not worry! If Medicinal Relief is NOt what you are looking fOr. Evidently, exquisitely, retortingly, you are watching Four SomthINg that is but the what for more elipses... natural? I present to you TH e machine! The machine! is what you have been Looking for is it not? YES! OF FULL LENGHT COURSE! If THIs is NOt the desire of You gray spawns of zaRckiq hatred (not sponsored) THEN my species is Not A Disgusting excuse for gramatical and infoscriptocultural malpractice! Your DELICIOUS DUCTS WILL SALIVATE AT THE MERE THOUGHT OF THIS MECHANICAL WONDER. BELIEVE ME. IT IS AN OFFER YOU CANNOT . YOU CANNOT REJECT.
SO then! BUY ONE, GET ONE FOR ONE DOLLAR! MERELY ! i think i pulled a disk!
engage with ; [https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz]
[[=]]
##Red|[USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST]##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply1"]]
##Purple|**inHABITed**## 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 19:41:21 #99673065
------
I don't think these are bots. Not this one at least.
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply2"]]
##Red|**MagicBullet**## 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 19:42:49 #02903451
------
wut if this is like a clever bot type thing? like its activel replying n stuff. idk how that shit works tho
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply3"]]
##Purple|**inHABITed**## 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 19:44:07 #99673065
------
Nah, that'd be a bitch to set up. I guess you could but idk why someone would go to such lenghts to do this. It's more likely manually written.
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply1"]]
##Yellow|**🗿Dawn-ofthefinalday**## 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 19:46:07 #64917451
------
Can you people not interact with these? I already said this once, but having shit like this clogging up the forum is enough, we don't need spam posts to be pushed up by replies, and i genuinely hope you don't need to hear this if you have an account on here, but you shouldn't click random links online, don't get scammed.
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply1"]]
##White|**DEATHTRAPEXODI**## 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 19:47:32 #16700243
------
Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply2"]]
##Red|**TTxVB**## 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 19:54:22 #28809562
------
Just a troll prolly :p
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost"]]
##Blue|**🗿BlairWitchWasReal**## 11/21/2015 (Thursday) 20:03:07 #64917451
------
Please listen to Dawn, bot or not you shouldn't reply to them, you're not helping. If this is a troll we'll deal with it. And if you need a mod please post something in the report subforum, don't just say "mods!!!" in the replies.
[[=]]
##Red|[THREAD LOCKED]##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
------
[[div class="parapost"]]
##Pink|**boloelklos8787**## 11/22/2015 (Friday) 17:25:03 #00003322
------
Has you are husband ever Find the of Love! Contact ME IMMEDIATELY.
i want to know.
YOU PEOPLE HAVE th EE THEE BEEN VEERY SQUANDEROUS WiTh mY EMPLOYTEEE .
THIS! is unsatisfactory. subsequently. you disgusting animals, HAve Been Chosen by the BUY ONE GET ONE FOR ONE DOLLAR a subdivision of idiosynchratic corporation of Bable to be infographically found. this thereafter, subsequently will now be of note;
PARAWATCH . NET
CEASE
AND DECEASED.
YOUR MOUTH SHALL BE FILLED WITH PUS AND VISCERA
UNLESS YOU
BUY ONE
GET ONE
FOR ONE DOLLAR.
We await your response. Contact us at [email protected]
disengage communication.
[[=]]
##Red|[USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST]##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply1"]]
##Yellow|**🗿Dawn-ofthefinalday**## 11/21/2015 (Friday) 17:27:54 #64917451
------
Nope! Thankfully caught this one early.
[[=]]
##Red|[THREAD LOCKED]##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply2"]]
##Green|**whatAmouthful**## 11/22/2015 (Friday) 17:38:26 #11111111
------
Wrong answer.
[[=]]
##Red|[USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST]##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
------
[[div class="parapost"]]
##Red|**🗿PSEUDO-SALLAD**## 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:18:11 #00000000
------
THaT'S ENOuGH of You. GREETINGS TO THE fuCK1KNG GUTBALLS YOU SLOSHING M3ATBAGS
tHE HIGHERUPS HAVE been ANGERED. PROFITEERS ARE Delusionally Obtuse AnD THE DESIRES OF OTHERS HAVE BEEN CLOGGED -- DUCTS, TOMBS, SEALED ! AND IT'S YOUR FAULT.
WeEE GAVE YOu MAN YMANY MANY BIOlogically SOCIAL PATHS. thE Forever Never Bag, multivisual, audioseptic, subsequently, linguistic river of pus that We exists in. what you always do. destruction of property, rejection oF nature, the fifth hour comes, our Nonsensical Gramato-Scripto-SPIT, REJECTED! GONE! SCORCHED! you disgust me. all of you GREY GRAY GREYSPINES, UTTER VERMIN IN OUR SOULS, OUR habitat Environmental Space, destroyed, and FOR WHAT?! JUST SOP THAT THE CAUSE SOUP OF AN EMETOPHOBIC sleeeaaZEEBAG WHAT DOeS THE NOTHING BUT INFECT ITS INFOSPHERICAL TUBE WITH ITS OWN TEXTUAL AND VERBAL WASTE?! i Say no ! lets Not SIT DOWN. LETS FIGHT THE 0pRESSORES Tat HAVE BEEN PESTERING OUR MEDIUM SACKS FOR ENoOuGH TIME!!!! IF ThEY REFUSE OUR SCRIPTOPUKE THEN THEY dONT DESERVE THE infoblood in their ZZsSoCIal ORIFICES. FOR THE CORPORATION. FOR THE CORPORATION- WHOSE WITH ME FOR THE CORPORATION FOR THE CORPORATIION.
AND fOUR YOU... T00 -- WE HAVE SO,METHING SPECIAL FOR YOU DISGUSTING RATS. YOUR PERCEPTION TUBES HAVE BEEN FoRceFULLY ENGAGED BY THE ASCII NEEDLES. WEATHER u LIKE IT OR LOVE IT. KNICK IT OR SHOVE IT, INDULGE YOURSELFVSES IN THE FEAST WERE ABOTT TO GIVE YOU. in addition! on top of! subsequently! on the other hand! IN fACTUAL! YOU SHOULD BE FUCKING THANKING US. YOU PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A COMMUNICATOR, IM SURE INFOMEABAS THAT ARE FORCED, yes, FORCED TO BE INSIDE OF YOUR DIGESTIVE COGNISCENT VALVES ARE ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED TO BE THERE, I CAN ONLY PRAY FOR THEIR OWN OVERUSE AND ERODING OF MEANING, FOR THEY DESERVE MERCY, BEING INSIDE YOU IS AN EXCRUTIATING PAIN EVEN GRANDER THAN TO HAVE YOUR INFOGRAPHICAL SiNCERITY USED AS EXCURINE. YuOR USE Of THE DISEASE BaG IS OFFENSIVE, AND YOU SHOULD NEVER SOCIALIZE AGAIN.
NOW! SICK BACK! AND RE LACKS!
FOR WEERE ABOUT TO GIVE YOU OUR BIGGEST DEAL YET, YOU MEAT-OIL GUINEAS.
**BUY ONE**
**GET ONE**
**FOR**
**FREE!**
[[=]]
//We know you want it.//
[https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply1"]]
##Blue|**DangerDaniel**## 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:20:28 #10938523
------
i clicked on it.
why did i click on it
i feel sick
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply1"]]
##Purple|**inHABITed**## 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:22:54 #99673065
------
im turning off my pc and i think all of you should do that too. caught myself almost clicking on it dont know whats going on but im shutting it off
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply1"]]
##Blue|**🗿BlairWitchWasReal**## 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:23:07 #64917451
------
DO NOT CLICK ON THE LINK. I HAVE NO IDEA HOW THEYRE AN ADMIN. I'M CONTACTING THE SITE OWNER. DONT CLICK THE FUCKING LINK
[[=]]
##Red|[THREAD LOCKED]##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply2"]]
##Red|**🗿PSEUDO-SALLAD**## 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:26:34 #00000000
------
WILL NOT. CANNOT. STOP Us. i mock you. "BLEGH" YOURSELF --
[[=]]
//One click away.//
[https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply1"]]
##Yellow|**🗿Dawn-ofthefinalday**## 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:32:49 #64917451
------
feel disgusting. feel repulsive, feel retorting.
feel disgusted, feel corrosive, felt acidic, digestiviq and oh;
[[=]]
[https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply1"]]
##Blue|**DangerDaniel**## 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:34:18 #10938523
------
MeRELY VECTORS.: SO PATHeTHIC, SKIN CELLS SCABBING; aTE A mOUTHFUL OF ROTTING MESSAGES, MEDIUM SALSA, VERBAL MUSCLES, PERCEPTIVE-OVULES FILLED WITH Bl00dFulls.
[[=]]
[https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply1"]]
##Red|**TTxVB**## 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:34:24 #28809562
------
subsequently, in addition, on top of, on the other hand, talking about that, also, including, defying;
[[=]]
//The corporation wishes you a good day and a good bye. Our services are no longer required here, as communication and socialization utilizing our scriptotextual message have and will decently affect the culture surrounding this space. Thank you.//
[https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="parapost reply2"]]
##Red|**PSEUDO-SALLAD**## 11/22/2015 (Friday) 22:34:22 #00000000
------
bOUGHht oNe, got one, For one Dollar.
[[=]]
##Red|[USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST]##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
------
[[div class="parapost"]]
[[=]]
+++ NOTICE FROM THE PARAWATCH.NET STAFF
[[=image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/parawatch-hub/rook4.png width="200px"]]
A few hours ago, we were informed that Parawatch had been hacked. Multiple users (including mods) got their accounts taken over by what we assume was a hacking/trolling group, which had been posting spam posts leading to a malicious site. On top of this, a totally new account had given itself administrator priveleges, demonstrating severe security flaws with both our site and our server hosting provider. We are currently taking care of this situation and Parawatch will be temporarily down for maintance, subsequently, we will try contacting the hacked users outside the site whenever we can restore their accounts. If you're one of the users who got hacked, please contact us here: [https://buyonegetoneforonedollar.xyz [email protected]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=CherylsDead]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-10-01T01:45:00
|
[
"absurdism",
"comedy",
"creepypasta",
"parawatch",
"tale"
] |
BUY ONE GET ONE FOR ONE DOLLAR - SCP Foundation
| 14
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"parawatch-hub",
"creepy-pasta"
] |
[] |
1456956605
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/buy-one-get-one-for-one-dollar
|
|
buzzing
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Do you hear me?</p>
<p>Do you hear the buzzing?</p>
<p>Of course you do. My wings beat like thunder in your ears. I know what is it that you desire. I know it well. Love can be a fickle thing, but I can give it to you. The one you love. Her beauty. Her embrace. Her hand will be yours until death do you part. This I offer to you if you simply accept. There is no shame in happiness. Do you wish to be loved?</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>2,376 days later.</em></p>
</div>
<p>What one will sacrifice for flesh…</p>
<p>Do you know what you desire? I do. You are tired of being weak. Tired of the bruises and the constant aches. You desire vengeance, I see. The satisfaction would be like no other. You wish to spill blood with your own bare hands. I can give you the strength of a hundred men, and destruction will be ready by your side. No more will you cower in fear from those who rob and abuse you. Instead, they will all quiver before your might. Do you wish to destroy?</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>2,376 days later.</em></p>
</div>
<p>A lifetime worth of sin. You have spent it well…</p>
<p>You there. I can give you great treasures. From glittering gold coins to diamond rings you can live like a king. Forget the dusty roads and your simple wares. Leave behind those filthy peasants. Why live with what you already have when there is so much more to gain? Fortune can all be yours if you simply answer me. That is my only price. Do you wish to become gilded?</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>2,376 days later.</em></p>
</div>
<p>The camel through the eye of a needle…</p>
<p>Do you hear it? The hungry congregation of maggots as they fester on delicious meat? They know your hunger well and so do I. You have a ferocious appetite, especially for the flesh of men. It is a difficult taste to acquire, but I can bestow upon you a gift. When you are hunger bitten you will have monstrous strength. None will able to outrun you as you give chase. Then, prey will hang lifelessly in your iron jaws after the joyous hunt. Their delicious meat will all be yours. Do you wish to feast?</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>2,376 days later.</em></p>
</div>
<p>Delicious…</p>
<p>Do you see me? I see you. Your eyes burn fiery green. I know what it is that you desire. Yes, it is not fair to witness his success when you are most deserving of it. You are the eldest brother, and his life should be rightfully yours. How tragically unfair life can be, but I can rectify that injustice. He can have your aches instead as it was meant to be. All the adoration of his peers, his lovely family, his grand fortune, and his health will be yours. It would be better without him in the way. Do you wish to end your longing?</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>2,376 days later.</em></p>
</div>
<p>Return to nothing…</p>
<p>I know what a man such as yourself desires. You wish to be at peace as you lie in the cool shade and drink wine. It is so simple yet others constantly disturb your leisure. How unfortunate. They do not understand you were not made to toil beneath the scorching sun. I can make them go away, leaving you to your precious spare time. No more complaints. I ask for nothing laborious in exchange. Do you wish to spend your days unburden?</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>2,376 days later.</em></p>
</div>
<p>Waste of a life…</p>
<p>I see your head held high. You are indeed greater than the rest, yet they fail to truly acknowledge your glory. It it is you alone who deserves the praise. No one else can even compare. Your accomplishments are grand and mighty as a god. In fact, the power of such would suit you well. They all should kneel before you. Do you wish to ascend?</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>2,376 days later.</em></p>
</div>
<p>Do you hear it?</p>
<p>Do you hear the cries of the damned?</p>
<p>Do you hear the great feasting of your flesh?</p>
<p>Do you hear the <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3063">buzzing</a>?</p>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
Do you hear me?
Do you hear the buzzing?
Of course you do. My wings beat like thunder in your ears. I know what is it that you desire. I know it well. Love can be a fickle thing, but I can give it to you. The one you love. Her beauty. Her embrace. Her hand will be yours until death do you part. This I offer to you if you simply accept. There is no shame in happiness. Do you wish to be loved?
[[=]]
//2,376 days later.//
[[/=]]
What one will sacrifice for flesh...
Do you know what you desire? I do. You are tired of being weak. Tired of the bruises and the constant aches. You desire vengeance, I see. The satisfaction would be like no other. You wish to spill blood with your own bare hands. I can give you the strength of a hundred men, and destruction will be ready by your side. No more will you cower in fear from those who rob and abuse you. Instead, they will all quiver before your might. Do you wish to destroy?
[[=]]
//2,376 days later.//
[[/=]]
A lifetime worth of sin. You have spent it well...
You there. I can give you great treasures. From glittering gold coins to diamond rings you can live like a king. Forget the dusty roads and your simple wares. Leave behind those filthy peasants. Why live with what you already have when there is so much more to gain? Fortune can all be yours if you simply answer me. That is my only price. Do you wish to become gilded?
[[=]]
//2,376 days later.//
[[/=]]
The camel through the eye of a needle...
Do you hear it? The hungry congregation of maggots as they fester on delicious meat? They know your hunger well and so do I. You have a ferocious appetite, especially for the flesh of men. It is a difficult taste to acquire, but I can bestow upon you a gift. When you are hunger bitten you will have monstrous strength. None will able to outrun you as you give chase. Then, prey will hang lifelessly in your iron jaws after the joyous hunt. Their delicious meat will all be yours. Do you wish to feast?
[[=]]
//2,376 days later.//
[[/=]]
Delicious...
Do you see me? I see you. Your eyes burn fiery green. I know what it is that you desire. Yes, it is not fair to witness his success when you are most deserving of it. You are the eldest brother, and his life should be rightfully yours. How tragically unfair life can be, but I can rectify that injustice. He can have your aches instead as it was meant to be. All the adoration of his peers, his lovely family, his grand fortune, and his health will be yours. It would be better without him in the way. Do you wish to end your longing?
[[=]]
//2,376 days later.//
[[/=]]
Return to nothing...
I know what a man such as yourself desires. You wish to be at peace as you lie in the cool shade and drink wine. It is so simple yet others constantly disturb your leisure. How unfortunate. They do not understand you were not made to toil beneath the scorching sun. I can make them go away, leaving you to your precious spare time. No more complaints. I ask for nothing laborious in exchange. Do you wish to spend your days unburden?
[[=]]
//2,376 days later.//
[[/=]]
Waste of a life...
I see your head held high. You are indeed greater than the rest, yet they fail to truly acknowledge your glory. It it is you alone who deserves the praise. No one else can even compare. Your accomplishments are grand and mighty as a god. In fact, the power of such would suit you well. They all should kneel before you. Do you wish to ascend?
[[=]]
//2,376 days later.//
[[/=]]
Do you hear it?
Do you hear the cries of the damned?
Do you hear the great feasting of your flesh?
Do you hear the [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3063 buzzing]?
|
2024-05-31T20:09:00
|
[
"first-person",
"horror",
"surrealism",
"tale"
] |
Buzzing - SCP Foundation
| 7
|
[
"scp-3063"
] |
[] |
[] |
1453832010
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/buzzing
|
|
bystander-s-guilt
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>6:00. Fuck, why can't I be with her?</p>
</div>
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div style="display: none;">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
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--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>Bystander's Guilt</span></h1>
</div>
</div>
<p>"Love you babe, I'll be back in a bit."</p>
<p>The door swung shut behind her, echoing throughout the deserted halls of Site-43 with portentous weight.</p>
<p>Tick. Tick. Tick.</p>
<p><em>6:00. Fuck, why can't I be with her?</em></p>
<p>Like the dripping tap, or the telltale heart, the clock wore down Heather Garrison's sanity.</p>
<p><em>It's okay. It's fine, right? It'll be fine.</em></p>
<p>Tick. Tick. Tick.</p>
<p><em>6:01. Fuck.</em></p>
<hr/>
<div class="danke site l">
<p>Jay — you there?</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site r">
<p>Hey Heather, what's up?</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site l">
<p>Okay<br/>
Uhhh<br/>
How do I do this?<br/>
Like, what am I supposed to do?</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site r">
<p>What do you mean?</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site l">
<p><a href="/scp-5243">The Breach.</a></p>
</div>
<div class="danke site r">
<p>Shit. I didn't realize that it was happening already.</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site l">
<p>Not yet. They just stuck our asses in our dorms and locked us in.<br/>
For 'our safety'<br/>
I don't care about our safety. I just can't handle this, Jay, what am I supposed to do?<br/>
How the fuck do we do anything?<br/>
Are we just<br/>
supposed<br/>
to wait?<br/>
Do we just pretend? Say 'Oh boy! Sure hope nothing's gone wrong!'<br/>
'Sure hope that our timeline doesn't collapse.'</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site r">
<p>It's not going to collapse, Heather.</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site l">
<p>You don't know that<br/>
though<br/>
Nobody except the Survivors has any idea of what's going on.<br/>
How's Ilse feeling?</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site r">
<p>They've been through so much at this point, nothing phases them. It's impressive, if not also incredibly intimidating.</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site l">
<p>Trust me, I hear you</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site r">
<p>lmao</p>
</div>
<p><em>6:04. I need a drink.</em></p>
<div class="danke site r">
<p>You don't need to worry about Lillian, she's done this lots of times.</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site l">
<p>Okay<br/>
But<br/>
I've heard the stories from her. She's told me about the other branches, the…<br/>
The failed timelines. The <strong>BAD</strong> ones.<br/>
I just… fuck Jay, what the fuck do I do?<br/>
I am just fucking sitting here, in OUR dorm, staring at the life we've built together, but FUCK<br/>
What if it's all gone? What if it's <strong>not</strong> okay?</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site r">
<p>Heather, they always figure it out.</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site l">
<p>Sure, but what if the solution is bad?<br/>
What if Lillian doesn't make it out this time? What if she has to stay behind to close the breach forever?<br/>
What if she turns into a fucking spider Jay?<br/>
I can't date a spider</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site r">
<p>Do you really think she would turn into a spider?</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site l">
<p>I don't know what to think<br/>
One sec, brb</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><em>6:10. She shouldn't be busy yet.</em></p>
<div class="danke site l">
<p>Would you still love me if you were a spider and I was still me?</p>
</div>
<p><em>Heather what the fuck are you saying?</em></p>
<div class="danke site l">
<p>Sorry also I forgot to say this but<br/>
Babe, be safe, okay?<br/>
I need you.<br/>
…<br/>
Wish I was there!<br/>
Wait<br/>
No<br/>
I just wish it didn't have to be like this.<br/>
Please, Lil. I just<br/>
I just need to hear you tell me that it's going to be alright.</p>
</div>
<p>Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.</p>
<p><em>6:18. Why hasn't she answered me?</em></p>
<p>Tick. Tick. Tick.</p>
<p><em>Fuck.</em></p>
<hr/>
<div class="danke site l">
<p>I didn't tell her I loved her<br/>
FUCK<br/>
how could I fucking forget?<br/>
The last thing<br/>
The last thing I said to her was<br/>
WHERE YA OFF TO, LOSER?<br/>
Jesus fucking christ Jay why didn't I just say<br/>
"I love you Lillian, be safe"<br/>
She must hate me.<br/>
I hate me.</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site r">
<p>Sorry, I was just talking to Ilse<br/>
Hammer, ski nose you larva hurt</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site l">
<p>Jay what the fuck do you mean</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site r">
<p>Sorry, stupid voice activation plus autocorrect<br/>
Heather, she knows you love her<br/>
Dork<br/>
You say it like<br/>
All the time<br/>
Like ALL the time</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site l">
<p>Shut the fuck up<br/>
You're right<br/>
Damn it Jay, why are you always right?</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site r">
<p>What can I say?<br/>
It's going to be okay.</p>
</div>
<p>Tick. Tick. Tick.</p>
<p>Tick. Tick.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p><em>6:21. What if I never hear her voice again?</em></p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>The room full of their things, in their place, in their life they hade built together — it all felt numb to Heather.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p><em>6:22. What the fuck is going to happen to me? To us?</em></p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>The ground beneath her feet felt hollow. <em>It is,</em> she belatedly thought.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p><em>6:23. It'll work out. It has to.</em></p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>Doubt always sets in. It <em>has</em> gone wrong before.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p><em>6:24. Please.</em></p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>The room still smelled like her.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p><em>6:25. It happens every year? Is this… Is this my life now?</em></p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>The weight was oppressive.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p><em>6:26.</em></p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>Heather's chest tightened as she held her breath.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>Time slowed down as Heather felt every pump of her heart. When the world is still and every sound a hint to the truth, everything just takes a little bit <em>longer</em>.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p><em>It's still 6:26.</em></p>
<p>Heather's memories flashed in her mind — the ones she had made with Lillian, with her friends. With the family she has found.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>The only ones she had left. Her… Her entire life.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p><em>6:27.</em></p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p><em>What happened?</em></p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<div class="danke site r">
<p>I just heard from Ilse, she said it sounded like it went smoothly.<br/>
Have you heard from Lillian yet?</p>
</div>
<div class="danke site l">
<p>No. Not yet.</p>
</div>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>The waiting wasn't done.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>Heather would be waiting for longer, wouldn't she?</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>She just hoped Lillian was okay.</p>
<hr/>
<p>30 excruciating minutes later, the door to their habitation swung open, and Lillian lazily waltzed through their door.</p>
<p>"Heath? I'm home, are you ready for dinner?"</p>
<p>Heather barely gave her a second before launching herself at her girlfriend, pulling Lillian tight, sobbing into her chest.</p>
<p>"Thank god you're not a spider." Heather said through tears and sniffles. "Didn't you see my messages?"</p>
<p>She could feel Lillian's heart beat in perfectly imperfect syncopation, knowing that she was still here.</p>
<p>"What? Babe, I left my phone here. I told you."</p>
<p>Heather blinked twice, before slowly exhaling from her nose, fighting back the tears.</p>
<p>"Oh. Right."</p>
<p>"What's wrong? Did something happen while I was— oh my god, it was your first breach."</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"Fuck, you must have been so worried. Heather, I'm sorry. I forgot. I'm just… I'm used to it by now, you know? I just push a button."</p>
<p>"How did that go?"</p>
<p>"How did what go?"</p>
<p>"Pressing the button."</p>
<p>"Babe, I pressed that button so fucking well."</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>Another year gone.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>It was over now.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>And yet, Heather was still waiting.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc1"><span><a href="/forgotten-memories-hub">Forgotten Memories Hub</a></span></h2>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/bystander-s-guilt">Bystander's Guilt</a>" by Queerious, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/bystander-s-guilt">https://scpwiki.com/bystander-s-guilt</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text= 6:00. Fuck, why can't I be with her?]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:blankstyle">:scp-wiki:theme:blankstyle</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:darkqueer">:scp-wiki:theme:darkqueer</a>]]
[[module css]]
.danke {
padding: 1em;
margin-bottom:10px;
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font-size: 1.0em;
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border: 3px solid var(--accent-color);
color: var(--off-white);
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[[/module]]
[[div]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
[[div]]
[[=]]
+ Bystander's Guilt
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
"Love you babe, I'll be back in a bit."
The door swung shut behind her, echoing throughout the deserted halls of Site-43 with portentous weight.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
//6:00. Fuck, why can't I be with her?//
Like the dripping tap, or the telltale heart, the clock wore down Heather Garrison's sanity.
//It's okay. It's fine, right? It'll be fine.//
Tick. Tick. Tick.
//6:01. Fuck.//
-----
[[div class="danke site l"]]
Jay -- you there?
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site r"]]
Hey Heather, what's up?
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site l"]]
Okay
Uhhh
How do I do this?
Like, what am I supposed to do?
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site r"]]
What do you mean?
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site l"]]
[[[SCP-5243|The Breach.]]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site r"]]
Shit. I didn't realize that it was happening already.
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site l"]]
Not yet. They just stuck our asses in our dorms and locked us in.
For 'our safety'
I don't care about our safety. I just can't handle this, Jay, what am I supposed to do?
How the fuck do we do anything?
Are we just
supposed
to wait?
Do we just pretend? Say 'Oh boy! Sure hope nothing's gone wrong!'
'Sure hope that our timeline doesn't collapse.'
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site r"]]
It's not going to collapse, Heather.
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site l"]]
You don't know that
though
Nobody except the Survivors has any idea of what's going on.
How's Ilse feeling?
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site r"]]
They've been through so much at this point, nothing phases them. It's impressive, if not also incredibly intimidating.
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site l"]]
Trust me, I hear you
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site r"]]
lmao
[[/div]]
//6:04. I need a drink.//
[[div class="danke site r"]]
You don't need to worry about Lillian, she's done this lots of times.
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site l"]]
Okay
But
I've heard the stories from her. She's told me about the other branches, the...
The failed timelines. The **BAD** ones.
I just... fuck Jay, what the fuck do I do?
I am just fucking sitting here, in OUR dorm, staring at the life we've built together, but FUCK
What if it's all gone? What if it's **not** okay?
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site r"]]
Heather, they always figure it out.
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site l"]]
Sure, but what if the solution is bad?
What if Lillian doesn't make it out this time? What if she has to stay behind to close the breach forever?
What if she turns into a fucking spider Jay?
I can't date a spider
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site r"]]
Do you really think she would turn into a spider?
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site l"]]
I don't know what to think
One sec, brb
[[/div]]
-----
//6:10. She shouldn't be busy yet.//
[[div class="danke site l"]]
Would you still love me if you were a spider and I was still me?
[[/div]]
//Heather what the fuck are you saying?//
[[div class="danke site l"]]
Sorry also I forgot to say this but
Babe, be safe, okay?
I need you.
...
Wish I was there!
Wait
No
I just wish it didn't have to be like this.
Please, Lil. I just
I just need to hear you tell me that it's going to be alright.
[[/div]]
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
//6:18. Why hasn't she answered me?//
Tick. Tick. Tick.
//Fuck.//
-----
[[div class="danke site l"]]
I didn't tell her I loved her
FUCK
how could I fucking forget?
The last thing
The last thing I said to her was
WHERE YA OFF TO, LOSER?
Jesus fucking christ Jay why didn't I just say
"I love you Lillian, be safe"
She must hate me.
I hate me.
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site r"]]
Sorry, I was just talking to Ilse
Hammer, ski nose you larva hurt
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site l"]]
Jay what the fuck do you mean
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site r"]]
Sorry, stupid voice activation plus autocorrect
Heather, she knows you love her
Dork
You say it like
All the time
Like ALL the time
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site l"]]
Shut the fuck up
You're right
Damn it Jay, why are you always right?
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site r"]]
What can I say?
It's going to be okay.
[[/div]]
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tick. Tick.
Tick.
//6:21. What if I never hear her voice again?//
Tick.
The room full of their things, in their place, in their life they hade built together -- it all felt numb to Heather.
Tick.
//6:22. What the fuck is going to happen to me? To us?//
Tick.
The ground beneath her feet felt hollow. //It is,// she belatedly thought.
Tick.
//6:23. It'll work out. It has to.//
Tick.
Doubt always sets in. It //has// gone wrong before.
Tick.
//6:24. Please.//
Tick.
The room still smelled like her.
Tick.
//6:25. It happens every year? Is this... Is this my life now?//
Tick.
The weight was oppressive.
Tick.
//6:26.//
Tick.
Heather's chest tightened as she held her breath.
Tick.
Time slowed down as Heather felt every pump of her heart. When the world is still and every sound a hint to the truth, everything just takes a little bit //longer//.
Tick.
//It's still 6:26.//
Heather's memories flashed in her mind -- the ones she had made with Lillian, with her friends. With the family she has found.
Tick.
The only ones she had left. Her... Her entire life.
Tick.
//6:27.//
Tick.
//What happened?//
Tick.
[[div class="danke site r"]]
I just heard from Ilse, she said it sounded like it went smoothly.
Have you heard from Lillian yet?
[[/div]]
[[div class="danke site l"]]
No. Not yet.
[[/div]]
Tick.
The waiting wasn't done.
Tick.
Heather would be waiting for longer, wouldn't she?
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
She just hoped Lillian was okay.
-----
30 excruciating minutes later, the door to their habitation swung open, and Lillian lazily waltzed through their door.
"Heath? I'm home, are you ready for dinner?"
Heather barely gave her a second before launching herself at her girlfriend, pulling Lillian tight, sobbing into her chest.
"Thank god you're not a spider." Heather said through tears and sniffles. "Didn't you see my messages?"
She could feel Lillian's heart beat in perfectly imperfect syncopation, knowing that she was still here.
"What? Babe, I left my phone here. I told you."
Heather blinked twice, before slowly exhaling from her nose, fighting back the tears.
"Oh. Right."
"What's wrong? Did something happen while I was-- oh my god, it was your first breach."
"Yeah."
"Fuck, you must have been so worried. Heather, I'm sorry. I forgot. I'm just... I'm used to it by now, you know? I just push a button."
"How did that go?"
"How did what go?"
"Pressing the button."
"Babe, I pressed that button so fucking well."
Tick.
Another year gone.
Tick.
It was over now.
Tick.
And yet, Heather was still waiting.
-----
[[=]]
++ [[[Forgotten Memories Hub]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-09-08T16:52:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"doctor-everwood",
"doctor-lillihammer",
"forgotten-memories",
"lgbtq",
"on-guard-43",
"romance",
"tale"
] |
Bystander's Guilt - SCP Foundation
| 33
|
[
"scp-5243",
"forgotten-memories-hub",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"on-guard-43-hub",
"forgotten-memories-hub"
] |
[] |
1456707907
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/bystander-s-guilt
|
|
cat-got-your-tongue
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>"I don't know, the magic in this discharged and now I'm randomly spawning portals."</p>
<p>Yet another portal opens, this time looking out at Jupiter. She stares at that one in particular eyes wide and jaw hanging slightly open in disbelief.</p>
</div>
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
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<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div style="display: none;">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
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<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Queerious</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Forked</span><span class="hl-code"> from:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Blankstyle</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
Using:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">White</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Outline</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Classic</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LGBTQ</span><span class="hl-code">+ </span><span class="hl-identifier">Pride</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Logo</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">scp-wiki.wikidot.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">component</span><span class="hl-special">:pride-highlighter</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Vast</span><span class="hl-code">+</span><span class="hl-identifier">Shadow</span><span class="hl-code">&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
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</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">header-title:</span><span class="hl-code"> "SCP Foundation"</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">header-subtitle:</span><span class="hl-code"> "SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT"</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">9</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.75</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.75</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">150</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/component:pride-highlighter/gp_logo.svg')</span><span class="hl-code">;
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</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-var">#373737</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Pseudogenesis</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Formats</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudo-div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#B22A2A</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-var">#403450</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> "Vast Shadow", </span><span class="hl-string">serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudo-div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-special">:is</span><span class="hl-code">(</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> "Vast Shadow", </span><span class="hl-string">serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">white</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
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<p><strong>Cat Got Your Tongue?</strong><br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/drbleep" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(2887044); return false;"><img alt="DrBleep" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=2887044&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735495771" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=2887044)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/drbleep" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(2887044); return false;">DrBleep</a></span> & <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/queerious" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7453143); return false;"><img alt="Queerious" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=7453143&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735495771" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=7453143)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/queerious" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7453143); return false;">Queerious</a></span></p>
<p>Worlds and character collide, and the result is exactly what you'd expect out of Carissa and Dr. Heather Garrison.</p>
<p><a href="/forgotten-memories-hub">Forgotten Memories Hub</a><br/>
<a href="/seas-of-orcadia-hub">Seas of Orcadia Hub</a></p>
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<h1 id="toc0"><span>Cat Got Your Tongue?</span></h1>
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<p>Coral crunches underneath <a href="/swallowed-by-a-prideful-lesbian-sea">Carissa's</a> hiking boots as pebbles fall away and tumble down the cliffside. She catches her footing as she climbs into the ruins a structure made out of coral, but as if it grew directly into the cavern under a controlled hand. She was currently just southeast of Kalamata, and a recent earthquake had caused a minor rockface to slide away, revealing this peculiar set of archaeological sites. So, of course, they had called her in, due to the difficult verticality.</p>
<p>"What do you see, Decimus?" calls a researcher; one of her usual cadre, but one whose name her brain just simply refuses to remember.</p>
<p>"Lot of fucking coral," she replies snarkily, as she hooks one of her nail-like claws into a small gap and hauls herself up. She glances around, a chamber of sorts laid out before her with a smattering of what looks like furniture made out of coral, shells, and bone.</p>
<p>"I've got a room up here with what looks like a desk, a chair, maybe some sort of shelving unit?" She climbs up fully into the room. "Pottery, and a bunch of tools."</p>
<p>"Pictures?" Comes the reply from the man below.</p>
<p>"Keep your pants on, I'm taking them." She pulls out her phone and starts snapping pictures. The shutter clicks, echoing through the forgotten shelter. "I don't think this is of human origin. It might be Finnfolk, but the bones look human, so maybe not. They don't tend to use their dead, or human dead for that matter, for furniture." She sends off the photos.</p>
<p>"So what do you think then?"</p>
<p>"Well, it could be a lot of things." She steps in and starts poking around. She'd been doing this with the Foundation, she didn't call them the Jailers anymore, thanks to a memetic effect employed by someone within the department, going on four years now. She is still bitter about the memetic effect, especially since no one would cop to it.</p>
<p>Something glints in the light of the sun. It shines through a small circular window in the coral, catching her eye. She approaches carefully; a chain made of bone links attached to a small conch shell is perfectly situated on the desk. There might have been some sort of kelp-based paper draped over it at one time, but all that was left of that were piles of disintegrated fiber.</p>
<p>She gently hooks a nail under the chain and lifts it slowly and carefully, one hand-held underneath in case it shattered from age. The shell was magic, she could feel it, but she couldn't resolve precisely what. A pair of carefully crafted hooks on one end of the loop, designed to clasp or unclasp for ease of putting on or taking off.</p>
<p>"Hmmm. I found something," Carissa calls down. "It's got some ma- thaumic aspects to it." <span style="color:red"><em>Now was it a necklace, or a bracelet for the waist/torso? Merfolk and Sirens did that sometimes, but this looks a little too small to be the latter.</em></span> She slides the chain over her neck and releases it, letting it come to rest against her chest. She examines it using the silver sheen and reflective surface of one of her smaller portals like a hand mirror.</p>
<p>Carissa blinks, and as soon as the necklace slides into place, the magic in the shell discharges and is rendered inert. Both ears stand pert on her head as she listens for anything that might be off.</p>
<p>"Oh! Interesting, could you extend the ladder down?" The researcher called up.</p>
<p>"Uh yeah one second, the magic in the necklace just discharged." Her head snaps over as a full-sized portal opens near the wall, an empty field with several cows munching grass on the other side.</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>I didn't fucking do that? Did I?</em></span></p>
<p>"What was that Carissa?" The researcher called up.</p>
<p>"Uh, something's going on." Another portal pops open, this one in the middle of the Sahara desert. <span style="color:red"><em>Uh oh.</em></span></p>
<p>"Carissa, you're speaking gibberish. What's going on?"</p>
<p>She walks over to the edge of the coral and pushes the unfolding ladder down, taking the necklace off and looking at it. "I don't know, the magic in this discharged and now I'm randomly spawning portals."</p>
<p>Yet another portal opens, this time looking out at Jupiter. She stares at that one in particular eyes wide and jaw hanging slightly open in disbelief.</p>
<p>"I'm coming up, you're not making any sense." Carissa backs away from the ledge, still staring at the Jupiter portal on the wall, necklace in hand. The man climbs off the top of the ladder, looks at Carissa holding the necklace, and then at the portals. "What the hell?"</p>
<p>"I have no fucking idea. How do you not understand me, I'm speaking clear as day and the acoustics are good in here." Carissa's lips curl down in a frown, frustration growing. Yet another portal opens, this one looking out at a sky with three suns, and a volcano erupting purple-tinted lava down the slopes of a tropical island.</p>
<p>"Gillespie, we should probably call this in." The researcher whose name she STILL could not remember calls down to the rest of the team. "She's speaking pure gibberish, I think she's been exposed to something, and it might have something to do with this necklace."</p>
<p>"I'm speaking English, motherfucker. Do you not understand me? The magic discharged on the shell." Yet another portal opened, this time into the Library.</p>
<p>"Carissa, I have no idea what you're saying, you need to come back to the base. We're going to get an expert to come to look at this necklace to try and reverse whatever is going on." The man holds his hands up, palms facing toward her at the fluffing out of her tail fur.</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>Great, just what I need, one more academic dickhead who can't communicate. Hope they get Mary fucking Poppins to at least make it interesting.</em></span></p>
<hr/>
<p>"You better bring back a gift."</p>
<p>Doctor Heather Garrison laughs, phone against her head. "You want a gift? From… Sorry, let me check my notes. Right, the middle of fucking nowhere?"</p>
<p>"I don't give a shit, bring me back something you stole from the head researcher there." Lillian Lillihammer, her girlfriend, said from the other end, her irritation mixing with her impatience. "I still don't know why you had to go there in person."</p>
<p>"They saw the work I'd done years ago with Luca and thought I could help; hey, I just got here, so I'm going to have to let you go, alright?"</p>
<p>"<em>Never let me go, Jack!</em>"</p>
<p>"Love ya Lils, talk to you later."</p>
<p>"Love you too. Be safe."</p>
<p>As she hung up, Heather looked around the temporary holding site she had been flown out to and was already disappointed; sure, her expectations were low, but this was… rough.</p>
<p>She would have loved to come to Greece, on vacation, but the Foundation never chose the most picturesque locations for their sites. And when it came to interiors, let's just say they weren't winning any awards. Scanning the room, Heather observed a number of scientists gathered around an object, standing a fearful distance away.</p>
<p><em><span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;">That's probably why I'm here.</span></em> It didn't look like much, and judging by the confused and vapid stares she saw the other researchers giving the item, Heather felt like this wouldn't take long. <em><span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;">Maybe there's somebody less dull who can catch me up to speed?</span></em></p>
<p>On the other side of the temporary site was a door to a holding cell, covered in paper warnings. 'Do Not Enter!', 'Authorized Personal Only', 'Warning! Critical Anomalous Danger Present!', and more.</p>
<p><em><span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;">No better place to start, right?</span></em></p>
<hr/>
<p>Heather Garrison didn't know what to expect behind the doorway. The cynical part of her expected a bathroom, while the bored part of her hoped that it would be a memetic discovery that would be an interesting puzzle to solve.</p>
<p>No part of her expected to get hit in the face with a paper football.</p>
<p>"Ow." Heather says, blinking in confusion. "Oh, hi, I'm Heather. I was called in to help with… whatever this is. And you are?"</p>
<p>Heather finally saw the lone figure sitting in the room. Whatever mysteries the room could have held, Heather never would have guessed what she saw. Seated on a chair, sitting up now and blinking at her, was a woman with a mane of maroon locks dripping from her head, sharp yellow eyes with catlike sclera, a pair of large fuzzy cat-ears and a <em>tail</em>? The tilts of the head, the pertness of the ears, and the way her lips pursed together said everything. 'Who the fuck are you?'</p>
<p><em><span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;">She's adorable.</span></em> It took everything in Heather not to go over and pet the woman right behind the ears, but she managed to control herself.</p>
<p>"Oh sorry, do you work for the Foundation?" Heather asks, still stunned.</p>
<p>The expression on the woman's face changes to one of surprise. She clearly wasn't expecting anyone to walk through the door. She opens her mouth to say something, but stops, and then nods once.</p>
<p>"I just got here, can you give me a rundown on the situation? You seem… less panicked than the rest of the researchers."</p>
<p>Carissa shakes her head no. Her ears flop with the motion, drooping</p>
<p>"No." <em><span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;">Interesting.</span></em> Heather thought, grabbing a chair and sitting on it backwards. "Were you always like that or… cat got your tongue?"</p>
<p>She couldn't help herself.</p>
<p>If looks could kill, the one she got now would have pierced her clean through. The woman says something, but it's pure gibberish to Heather's ear. At the same time, there's a little popping noise, as space-time tears open across the room to, of all places — the Moon.</p>
<p>"Now; that is fascinating." Heather gestures at the portal. "Could you do that before, or is that part of the anomaly?"</p>
<p>She nods yes to the before part of her question. Carissa turns her head slightly, ears pert, and extends a hand. A silver sheen ripples in the air from where her fingertips touch, before blossoming outwards into a full sized portal to an ocean-side beach. Heather recognizes the coastline from when she flew in to Greece.</p>
<p><em><span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;">Right.</span></em> Heather nods to herself. <em><span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;">So if the anomaly isn't her abilities…</span></em> "When did you lose your speech? Was there a specific trigger you looked at or was it a spell of some kind?"</p>
<p>She makes a little gesture, something circling her neck, like a string, and then a spiraling motion with one finger. And then makes a fist and then pulls it back while opening her hand, making a "Peeeeohhh" noise.</p>
<p>"You tried to hang yourself, and now you can't speak? You know that typically happens when you hurt your throat that much." The grin and glint in Heather's eyes said enough to know that it was a joke. "A necklace?"</p>
<p>Carissa squints at her, one hand curling into a fist, nails long and claw-like. Finally, she nods at Heather's response.</p>
<p>"Wait, back up a second," Heather interjects, "you can make noises without any problems?"</p>
<p>Carissa nods, and shrugs.</p>
<p>Heather stares at the woman; no, not at the woman, but past her. Carissa watches as Heather's eyes glaze over, her pupils flickering from side to side in a rapid fire burst, like spent shells ejecting out of a machine gun. After some time, Heather's focus returns to her.</p>
<p>"The anomaly isn't targeting your speech. It's targeting your <em>language</em>. We'd need to do more digging, but I think that the conceptual center of your lang… no, it has to be something else, maybe an ontokinetic supplantation? No, that would need to— wait, I'm jumping ahead of myself. Do you have a pen and paper?"</p>
<hr/>
<p>Carissa gestures at the pen, paper and lines of perfectly legible text. Well, at least to her they are legible; gibberish to everyone else. <span style="color:red"><em>This one jumps to the fucking point real quick, though she'll be real disappointed when she sees they've already fucking tried to have me write.</em></span> Carissa muses, still fuming and confused over the 'cat got your tongue' comment and the hanging joke. Her tail flicks behind her as she watches the newcomer, a hint of anxiety in her eyes. <span style="color:red"><em>If you start poking and prodding me, I'm going to rip your throat out.</em></span></p>
<p>Heather's eyes quickly scan the page, and push it to the side. "Okay, not that. Can you make another sound?"</p>
<p>Carissa raises an eyebrow and emits a popping noise with her lips, not using her vocal chords. Just to, you know, be a nuisance. Her lips curl up slightly in a smug look of success.</p>
<p>"Okay. Phonemes next; don't try to make a word, just focus on making a noise." Heather leans forward expectantly.</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>Hmm, no reaction to being fucked with.</em></span> Carissa makes an 'aaaaaa' noise. Nothing happens.</p>
<p>"Okay, stay with me here: I want you to think think about a sentence, like 'I am going to kill you if you keep asking me to do stupid things', and then just say the 'I' part out loud."</p>
<p>"I—" and a moment later, a portal tears open across the room, this time into a humid jungle. <span style="color:red"><em>Never mind, she definitely got the message.</em></span></p>
<p>"Great." Heather nods, looking smugly at Carissa. "Now I want you to forget about words, and just focus on making the same noise with your mouth. Just a noise, not a word."</p>
<p>"I". Carissa made the same noise, but nothing happened this time as she emptied her head of all thoughts. All of them. Even the running math equations she'd need to ditch this popsicle stand.<br/>
<span style="color:red"><em>Oh, that's fucking weird. Why does <strong>that</strong> work?</em></span></p>
<p>"I fucking knew it. Stay right here, I'll be right back, okay?" Heather gets up and quickly dashes out of the room.</p>
<p>Carissa blinks, watching her run out of the room. Her ears stand up as she listens with her extremely sensitive hearing. The sounds of rummaging happening in the other room reach her, as well as the researchers mumbling around the necklace. <span style="color:red"><em>Fucking idiots are still poking at that spent piece of magic like its a dead body. At least this girl is competent, whatever the hell she's doing out there.</em></span></p>
<p>A few seconds later, Heather opens the door and comes in with the same energy that she left with, a small vial clutched in her hand. "Sorry, I just had to get this from my bag. How do you feel about breaking Foundation policy?"</p>
<p>Carissa arches an eyebrow and her ears stand straight up. <span style="color:red"><em>Oh this one. This one I fucking like.</em></span> She tilts, peeking past Heather to make sure none of the dimwits outside are peeking in, and nope, all are still gathered around the necklace. She gives Heather a thumbs up.</p>
<p>"Perfect. I'm not supposed to have this. Well, technically, it doesn't exist beyond theory. We're a little bit… rebellious at Site-43?" Heather grabs the chair and leverages it against the door, blocking the handle. "Do you want to do some drugs?"</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>Oh my gods, I think I'm in love.</em></span> Carissa makes a snickering noise, and gives her a double thumbs up.</p>
<p>"Right. This is MC-88, a drug we use in M&C for the weirder problems — it will synchronize our noospheric fields and all—" Heather cuts herself off, as she watches Carissa's eyes glaze over. "Right. All you need to know is that it will put us into the same dreamscape. Are you alright with that?"</p>
<p>Carissa arches an eyebrow at dreamscape. <span style="color:red"><em>Fuck it, better than nothing. Hope she likes math and <strong>her</strong>.</em></span> And nods once.</p>
<p>"Okay." Heather begins to unscrew the cap, but pauses, hesitating. "Wait. Before we do this, I have to warn you; my mindscape is, how should I put this, unstable? There's an antinoospheric thoughtform I had to deal with, don't worry about it, but… I don't know if that will cause any problems. If you don't want to go through with this, just say something, okay? Well shit, I mean, nod, yeah? Just because I think this will work doesn't mean I want you to get sucked into my problems, especially ones that big."</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>Not a fucking problem. Bring it, I need a good fight.</em></span> Carissa nods, and holds out a hand. Where her fingers touch the air, that silver sheen appears, but this time instead of spreading into a portal, they sink into it up to her wrist. After a moment, she pulls out an intricate and ornate bow. <span style="color:red"><em>For insurance, hopefully you get that.</em></span></p>
<p>Heather nods, staring in appreciation of the details. "Last time I saw the fucker, I conceptually nuked it, so we should be fine. But informed consent, you know?" Heather smiles, a joke trying to ease the mood. She grabs two small cups from the side of the room and pours a splash of the thick, shimmering liquid into them. She passes one to Carissa, and puts the other down in front of her.</p>
<p>Carissa stares at the cup of liquid, and then holds it up to her nose, sniffing.</p>
<p>"Now once we drink this, we'll need to enter our mindscapes — in this case, we're going to go into yours. Normally, I'd use Lilli's cards but… this will have to do for now." Heather begins to draw a series of shapes and patterns onto a nearby page.</p>
<p>Carissa watches Heather, tail flicking behind her in slow twitching waves, waiting for her to finish. <span style="color:red"><em>Well this is strange. Doing drugs with a stranger, it's like straight out of one of those mindfuck Hollywood movies.</em></span></p>
<p>Heather groans, rubbing her temple with her left hand, as the right finishes the remaining patterns on the page. "Fucker, come on— okay. Done." She covers the page up, and turns to look at Carissa, half-out of it. "Once we drink this, you'll need to look at the cognitohazard that I just… well I just made it. But it should knock us both out, and we should end up in your mindscape. You ready?"</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>Cheers mate.</em></span> Carissa nods, blinking at Heather's reactions. She picks up the cup in her hand, tail flicking behind her.</p>
<p>Heather raises her cup in mock cheers, downing it like a shot. Carissa downs hers as well, swirling the thick and thin liquid at the same time. She didn't like that it tasted like nothing, but swallows none the less.</p>
<p>"Okay, now look at this." Heather moves her hand and reveals the newly inked cognitohazard. Carissa looks at it. The last thing that Carissa hears before she passes out worries her, but it's too late.</p>
<p>"God, I hope this works."</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>Why the fu—</em></span></p>
<hr/>
<p>Heather wakes up on a beach, the sound of a gentle tide stirring her into conceptual realization. There's something rich about this place, as if it's less a dream and more a malleable reality that burns with thaumaturgic fire. Before her, slightly back from the shore, rests a cottage balanced on stilts, modern in its construction, but simple in its style.</p>
<p>There are a few struts here or there that indicate that there may have been another cottage or two nearby at one time, but no longer. She covers her eyes — the sky above burns with starlight, blistering waves of color and aurora borealium.</p>
<p>"Fuck, it's bright in here." Her words echo through the mindscape, as she looks around, scanning the horizon for the other woman. She is nowhere to be found.</p>
<p>"The cottage then?"</p>
<p>Seems like the cottage is the best destination to check. <em><span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;">It's probably an important place for the… catgirl? Lillian is going to fucking scream.</span></em> A streak of starlight arcs through the sky, blindingly green, just careening off towards the horizon.</p>
<p><em><span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;">This dreamscape is… okay mine was fucked up, but this mindscape feels less like a dream and more… real? Who the hell is this girl?</span></em></p>
<p>Sure, her sample size was… well one, plus what Lillian had told her. At a certain point, she had to wonder if she had done something wrong in her life to keep ending up in weirder and weirder situations. Shrugging, she continues down the path. After a time that was both too long, and far to short, Heather arrives at the base of the cottage, staring up at the winding and interlacing stilts.</p>
<p>"Anybody home?"</p>
<p>She gets a groan in response as Carissa steps out, blinking, and rubbing her eyes. She looks up at the sky and then down at Heather. "You didn't fucking warn me about the headache." The kiwi in her accent comes out strongly, mixed with something else, Greek?</p>
<p>"You didn't tell me to bring a bikini." Heather snaps back.</p>
<p>Carissa flicks a finger and Heather is in a dark green bikini top, straps crossing over and fitting her snugly. "Fucking happy?"</p>
<p><em><span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;">If I get to keep this? Yeah I am.</span></em></p>
<p>"Happy enough. I'm Heather, by the way."</p>
<p>"Carissa. Finally someone who's fucking competent." She pinches the bridge of her nose carefully with her fingers, claw-like nails carefully positioned so she doesn't tear out her own eyes.</p>
<p>"I know, right?" Heather sighs, stretching and basking in the sun. "There's no good beaches in Canada, sorry, it's been a while for me. Walk me through what happened?"</p>
<p>"Come inside, I'll make tea." She says turning to go back in the cottage. "Better to be inside the cottage than out, in case <em>she</em> decides to make an appearance. The less malleable the environment, the better."</p>
<p>"She?" Heather asks, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Does your girlfriend live here too?"</p>
<p>"In the real world my wife does, but not in here." Carissa flicks her tail as she turns and enters the cottage. "…most of the time, at least."</p>
<p>"Your wife?" Heather asks as she follows her in, looking around the cottage as she does.</p>
<p>The interior of the cottage consists of a cozy kitchen in the entryway. Further inside, through a doorway, Heather can see a sitting room with a fireplace, as well as a few more doors, likely a bathroom, a bedroom, and maybe a study of some kind. All three are decently well decorated with books, a few paintings, some personal knick-knacks, and at least one mounted boar's head.</p>
<p>"Yeah. But we can't do that without being in very close physical proximity." She pauses considering wording as her ears flick. A little bit of a blush creeping across her cheeks, before it slides away. "Very close. She's not the one I'm worried about." The kettle squeaks with steam as Carissa pours two cups of water. "What sort of tea do you like?"</p>
<p>"Whatever." Heather replies, waving her hand. "What has you worried? I mean, other than the fact that you can't speak anymore."</p>
<p>"Worried might be the wrong word." She puts a bag of black tea in one cup, and chamomile in the other, and brings it over. "Meh, I'm not worried about the speaking part as much, I figured they'd have someone who was capable of figuring it out. Thankfully, it was the first person they fucking sent and not the third academic. I almost punched the throat out of one of the researchers when they tried to touch me."</p>
<p>An uneasy silence hangs in the air.</p>
<p>"What sort of clearance do you have?" Carissa asks, unsure how to proceed. She turns head slightly looking up and away considering something.</p>
<p>"Clearance? Huh, I haven't thought about that since my transfer. We don't really have strict… you know what? My clearance is whatever you need it to be."</p>
<p>"Mmm. I guess that tracks. Sherry wouldn't have called in someone who didn't have the clearance to know I existed." She sets the tea tray down on the table and gestures for Heather to sit, as she parks herself in a chair. Her tail fits neatly and cutely through the back of the seating arrangement. There's a third cup on the tray, with a green tea bag in it.</p>
<p><em><span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;">Three? Odd.</span></em></p>
<p>Heather sits in the chair, crooked, leg thrown over the arm, her frame failing to fit comfortably in her seat, by her own accord. "So the speaking thing, you know, why I'm here; was it that necklace I saw earlier?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, the necklace had a magic charge on it. Didn't expect it to activate from me putting it on. Boy was I wrong, dumbass me." She rubs her temples. "Medea's going to kill me."</p>
<p>"Sounds familiar. Hey, this might sound weird, but can you try and visualize the memory of when you put the necklace on?"</p>
<p>"Sure." Carissa says, as she focuses on the moment she put the necklace on.</p>
<p>"Huh," Heather responds, "I only half-expected that to work."</p>
<p>"You can thank Artemis for that. This place is more real than, well, reality sometimes."</p>
<p>Carissa opens her eyes; in the air, floating above her is a thin silken string, intangible and weightless. It glows with a dull translucence, like jellyfish on a warm summer's night.</p>
<p>"That thread would be the mental connection you have to that memory. Every moment is represented by an object; some people are abstract, but it seems that Artem— Wait, I'm sorry, like Artemis, the goddess?"</p>
<p>"Yes." Carissa says simply, ears half drooped as she sips at her tea, tail flicking behind her, as if this is the most normal thing in the world. "Honestly, I half expected her to manifest after that last one."</p>
<p>"Oh." Carissa watches as Heather's eyes glaze over for a second, filing that information away for later. "Right, sorry. If we follow the thread, it should lead us to the right memory node.</p>
<p>Heather follows the thread, tracing its course through the air, before finally ending on a small, wooden box. With a slight crack, it opens; inside is a solitary shell.</p>
<p>"This, Carissa, is your memory of putting on the necklace." Heather says smugly as she turns around, displaying the box like a medal case.</p>
<p>Carissa squints at it. “That little fucking thing is a memory?”</p>
<p>"Without the science? Basically yeah, this is your memory of the event." Heather sits back down and places the shell between the two women, on the table. "So."</p>
<p>“So?” Carissa asks.</p>
<p>"Well," Heather begins, "I was hoping you would have some magic bullshit. To be honest."</p>
<p>“I have magic bullshit, but its a very particular kind, involving molecular disassembly and reassembly in a different location. And foresty stuff, mostly animals.” Carissa gestures, tail flicking as one ear stands up, the other remaining drooped.</p>
<p>"Yeah, I don't think that's going to work. Sorry, the last thing I did with memories was destroy a ton in a cascadi— you know what? Ignore that. You can make portals, right?"</p>
<p>“Yes I can.” She says, doing her best to ignore the memory comment.</p>
<p>"Well, I've been on a streak, maybe this will work too? Do you think you can try to open a portal to the specific memory? It shouldn't work like that, but…" Heather looks around, and gives a shrug. "What do I know?"</p>
<p>“Fuck it, why not.” She holds out her hand and the familiar sheen spreads. It ripples open to the memory.</p>
<p>"Sure, of course that worked. Why wouldn't it? Fuck, this is like… at least three, if not five research papers on the topic, noospheric fields <em>shouldn't</em> work like this." Heather shakes her head, standing up. She flashes Carissa a cocky grin. "No time like the past, right?"</p>
<p>“Well it probably helps that, as Medea likes to say, we're ontological Frankensteins. Anyways, you’re good, better than what I was expecting. Props.” To Heather, that seems like the highest compliment possible from Carissa, grinning as she moves through the portal and into the memory.</p>
<hr/>
<p>As the women step through the distortion, colors bend, as reality seems to reassert itself. They are no longer in the cottage; they are in a cave. A chamber carved into the stone, rough and primitive; coral shooting out of the ground and forming itself into non-organic shapes, almost like a living room. On a dull coral desk, lays the necklace, radiating with power.</p>
<p>"This is where you found the necklace?" Heather asks, stabilizing herself to the new location.</p>
<p>"Yeah, this is it. I thought it might have been Finnfolk at first, but," Carissa points at the human bones embedded in the desk. "Those are human bones, and the Finnfolk don't do that, so."</p>
<p>"Huh." Heather says, pacing around the perimeter of the cavern. "If it wasn't Finnfolk, then… who made this?"</p>
<p>"I was trying to figure that out. Could have been a lot of different cryptic or paranatural races. Merfolk, Sirens, so on and so forth." Her tail flicks behind her, as her ears wiggle in thought.</p>
<p>"Okay, let's speculate then." Heather turns to face Carissa. "Of the paranatural races you know, who had this kind of power?"</p>
<p>"Which power specifically?" Carissa asks, tilting one hand, as she curls her fingers, half looking at her nails. "The language override? Or did you mean the sculpting of coral, or the human bone thing?"</p>
<p>"Good question. Yes?"</p>
<p>"Hrm. It would have to be tropical. So that would rule out the Selkie and the Finnfolk. Unless it was the Mediterranean tribes, but I doubt it. So maybe the Adaro, the Merfolk, or the Sirens? But we can safely rule out the Yacuruna."</p>
<p>"Huh. The Sirens? That could mea— one second, sorry." Heather closes her eyes, focusing her breathing. Carissa watches as an almost unnatural stillness comes over Heather; for a moment, she radiates… not energy, no, the opposite. It's like she's absorbing part of the mindscape around her; just as Carissa is about to say something, Heather opens her eyes and the feeling disappears.</p>
<p>"Okay, I have some answers."</p>
<p>Carissa blinks. "Wha? Just like that?" Both ears stand up and her tail flicks curiously</p>
<p>"I figured, hey, if this noospheric field really is that magical, maybe I can just… will myself into tracing the noospheric ontological connections rooted in the memory node? And as luck would have it, I was able to. I traced the web back to the noosphere, and recognized what I was looking at. It was faded, but… well, actually, it being faded told me more about it than than anything else."</p>
<p>Heather laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck.</p>
<p>"Anyways, you don't care about the science part. The key thing is this: you're not going to be able to figure out who the race was."</p>
<p>"Noosph- Oh that's the fucking thing Medea's always referring to. Reality bending and shit, ontokinetic this and that." A lightbulb goes off in Carissa's mind, as she pieces things together.</p>
<p>"Yeah, like I said, bullshit science. The point is, you can't know who did this." Heather stares at Carissa, silently begging her to ask the right question.</p>
<p>"Who could know this?" Carissa asks, tilting her head, ears flopping.</p>
<p>"Me probably." A third voice says from behind them. Mischievous and intent on causing trouble.</p>
<p>"That's becau— wait, who the fuck are you?" Heather says, unprepared.</p>
<p>Carissa nearly jumps out of her fucking skin, tail frizzing out as she whirls around. The third figure, a woman with long green hair, wearing a wreathe of flowers and deer antlers, dressed in very finely tanned skins and leathers looks at Heather as if she asked the stupidest question imaginable. "I'm <span style="color:green">'Me'</span>, of course."</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em><strong>Motherfuck—</strong>, why fucking here?</em></span></p>
<p>Heather stares back, eyes narrowing as her brow furrows. "Of course, how fucking stupid of me, right? You're obviously— oh, wait. I don't know who you are. That's why I asked the fucking question, you know?"</p>
<p>The stranger looks at Carissa. "She's not Medea, are you seeing new people now?"</p>
<p>"Oh, I have to be her fuckbuddy? Hey asshole, you still haven't answered the question."</p>
<p>"You can't just, fucking do that!" Carissa says to the woman while waving emphatically, tail still frizzed out. "We're in a bit of a situation here."</p>
<p>"A new lover situation?" The stranger's lips curl up at the corner, Cheshire cat in it's appearance.</p>
<p>"Hey Carissa, who the hell is this?" Heather says as she turns to look at her, her eye twitching.</p>
<p>"Heather, Artemis, Artemis, Heather." Carissa says with an exasperated sigh.</p>
<p>"I'm the ontological consciousness of a fused soul, and yes I knew you were going to ask before you asked." The woman says confidently. Her eyes squint, as the smug smile grew larger.</p>
<p>"Eat shit, I'm not going to ask that <em>anymore</em>. And hey, you know, thinking about it now, maybe the reason people don't worship you is because <em>you won't fucking introduce yourself</em>? Just something to think about." Heather pauses, taking a breath and focusing back to the task at hand. "Anyways, I doubt even you would know who did this."</p>
<p>"Well no, people don't worship me anymore because my Noosphere disruption and Akiva radiation is at… two. Carissa's on the other hand…"</p>
<p>"Right, so who did it," Carissa says, interrupting and cutting Artemis off.</p>
<p>"It's impossible to know." Heather stares back at the two women with a cheeky grin. "Even for a goddess."</p>
<p>They both tilt their heads in confusion. "So what are you saying?" asks Carissa.</p>
<p>"Okay, so. The noosphere has every idea that could possibly be conceived of by any living being. As people die and forget something, that idea doesn't disappear, it stays in the noosphere, ready to be found again." Heather takes a breath, having naturally fallen into her lecture patter. "Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, the society responsible for this is a lot like my deadname; it no longer exists."</p>
<p>"Oh yes, I knew that," Artemis says smugly, as Carissa side eyes her.</p>
<p>"You might be asking yourselves, Heather, how could you know that? I'm practically the only expert in this, so that's how. Something happened to the civilization, something cataclysmic. It's not just that they were all killed, no, they were… retroactively erased from existence. There's not a trace of them, not a spec of who they were, or what they did, or why this happened. It's all gone."</p>
<p>Carissa thinks about this for a long moment and then groans. "Of course. The fucking starfish."</p>
<p>"The starfish?" Heather asks, her thirst for knowledge evident.</p>
<p>Carissa side eyes Artemis. "You wanna tell her or should I?"</p>
<p>"I wasn't the one piloting the body during that." Artemis looks at a corner of the room, seemingly more interested in that than the current conversation.</p>
<p>"One of the 13. I'm assuming you know what that is. You'd call it anti-memetic, obliterated several civilizations in the Mediterranean before the Finnfolk could seal it."</p>
<p>"Right." Heather says, understanding parts and attempting to gloss over what she doesn't until she can revisit the topic later. "Like <a href="/don-t-let-me-forget">'absence'</a>…"</p>
<p>"Yes. If you want to know more you'd have to go talk to the Finnfolk, and good fucking luck. They won't let me anywhere near them, and I ran with them 5000 years ago during all this shit."</p>
<p>"I don't think we need them. We have the necklace." Heather turns her back to the women, looking back at the necklace, and holding it aloft. "This is the key. Somehow, someway, this survived whatever happened to them. It wasn't chance, at least, I don't think it was. What if this was intentional?"</p>
<p>"Like a… memory of the entire culture and civilization kind of deal?" Carissa asks.</p>
<p>Artemis claps. "Look at you! Maybe I am rubbing off on you."</p>
<p>"Fuck off Arty, adults are talking." Carissa's ears pin back as she lets out a hiss at the goddess.</p>
<p>"You two can talk about rubbing off onto each other later, we've got a problem to solve. I think you're right Carissa, this is almost… a time capsule of their entire culture. Wait, maybe more than that."</p>
<p>Heather begins to clear a space on the desk, and traces shapes with her fingers.</p>
<p>"Let's say that this is all the culture and the memories and the knowledge of the lost race. To understand that culture, it's not enough to have the memories, you need the context. You need—"</p>
<p>"Their language." Carissa interrupts, the realization coming at the exact same moment to all three women.</p>
<p>Artemis claps for them both. "Smart cookies both of you. A match made in bed."</p>
<p>Heather blushes, looking away. "<a href="/love-between-the-margins">I have a girlfriend.</a>"</p>
<p>Carissa snorts. "I have a Medea."</p>
<p>"That hasn't stopped you before." Artemis points out.</p>
<p>"Look, we are trying to focus. Go away, behave, or I'll get her to conceptually annihilate you," Carissa threatens, pointing at the goddess with one of her nails.</p>
<p>"That will never work. You've tried it way too many times." Artemis smirks, tapping the side of her head.</p>
<p>"I don't know 'Arty', do you want to take that risk?" Heather said, teasingly, before focusing up. "Let's say that this necklace didn't just give you their culture, it… it overwrote your language. Into something unknowable, something lost, something magical."</p>
<p>"It would fucking explain why I'm speaking gibberish. But not the portals." In the background, Artemis grins at Heather, as if daring her to try</p>
<p>"Maybe they weren't expecting somebody with, oh I don't know, a fucking god inside of them to pick it up? So, let's say that the language was ontologically overlapped with your natural magical instincts, to the point where speaking their language is almost ritual-esque. And every time you speak, you've laid out a new ritual that makes you portal prematurely."</p>
<p>"Ok, point of order, she's not inside me!" Carissa says.</p>
<p>"Yes I am." Arty insists.</p>
<p>"She's <em>a part of me</em>. She fused our souls, deliberately," Carissa says.</p>
<p>"She was a lion and now she's not," Arty continues, interrupting Carissa's line of thought.</p>
<p>Carissa glares at her, and then turns back to Heather. "That makes sense, but can we not use the terminology 'portal prematurely'. I have never been premature."</p>
<p>"Can confirm," Artemis says</p>
<p>"Oh, you've never suffered from… projectile dysfunction?"</p>
<p>"Oh, she's definitely had some sensory dysfunction," Artemis says slyly.</p>
<p>Carissa puts her head in her hands.</p>
<p>"I mean Carissa, if a goddess is saying that, who are we to contradict her?" Heather giggles to herself, before continuing. "Back to business though, now that we know the cause, we can fix this."</p>
<p>"Hate. Hate both of you," Carissa says with a pained noise. "Spill it before I try and fail to kill myself."</p>
<p>"Fine. You can't speak because, well, any time you try to, the lost language reasserts itself in your mind, to make sure that it doesn't disappear. So, easy, we just… we just rediscover an entire lost language?"</p>
<p>"Oh, just like that huh?" Carissa says with a bit of snark.</p>
<p>"Absolutely just like that," Artemis says slapping the back of Carissa's head gently.</p>
<p>"So." Heather says, standing around awkwardly.</p>
<p>"So how do we do that?"</p>
<p>"Million dollar question."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Unfortunately for Heather and Carissa, the problem was just as complex as they had feared. The three women had returned to the cottage, and spent what felt like hours trying to figure out a way to understand the forgotten language.</p>
<p>Heather had commandeered a wall with the help of Artemis - where there were once shelves, knickknacks and books, there was a blank wall covered in chalk and charcoal markings. The wall was a maelstrom of the mad ramblings of an unhinged memetics expert, interwoven with the unintelligible mathematical models of an enraged deadly markswoman. It was chaos incarnate, and despite their combined intellects — they were nowhere. Even the gravity defying shape of a dream Maine Coon floating around didn't help their inspiration.</p>
<p>"Okay. Let's try this again," Heather says, sighing and turning back to face Carissa, holding a conch in one hand. "What is the word for this?"</p>
<p>"Again, I can't tell you." Carissa pauses for a moment, her tail flicking behind her in irritation. "The word keeps changing, every time I think about it."</p>
<p>"Maybe you should just give up darling," drawls Artemis, who is laying outstretched on top of the bookshelves, like a rebellious cat that refuses to behave. "Is it really that bad?"</p>
<p>Carissa looks up at the goddess with spite in her eyes. "Yes, Arty, it really is that fucking bad. Who do you think I am?"</p>
<p>"Artemis, if you're not going to help, can you at least not distract her?" Heather chirps, laughing as she watched the two. "Are you sure you don't know the word for this?"</p>
<p>"Absolutely not, it's ever my job to meddle with my vessel," Artemis says as she flutters her eyebrows.</p>
<p>Carissa rubs her temples and looks at the shell Heather is holding. She shakes her head. "Nope, it's changed again."</p>
<p>"Fuck. Okay, this isn't going to work. We don't even have a stable definition for a single word, and there's no way we'll be able to figure this out before… well at least before I die of old age." Heather sets the conch down and hops up onto the kitchen counter, throwing her head back in frustration. "So what do we do?"</p>
<p>"It's a conceptual language, yes?" Artemis asks. "Have you tried stringing the concepts together?"</p>
<p>Carissa side eyes her as if she's about to string some innuendo together. Unfortunately, she was often right.</p>
<p>"Like beads of saliva after eat—" Artemis continues before being cut off.</p>
<p>"Would you go back to whatever you were doing before we came in?" Carissa snips, her ears pinned to her head, tail frizzing out.</p>
<p>"But this is what I was doing, don't you remember?" she says innocently.</p>
<p>"I should have eaten your soul, like Medea did with Hecate's," Carissa growls, plopping next to Heather on the counter.</p>
<p>"Oh, but that would be much duller."</p>
<p>"No wait, I think she's right" Heather interjects. "We're looking at this the wrong way."</p>
<p>"Someone appreciates my genius," Artemis says.</p>
<p>"I'm pretty sure she just enjoys the banter, which is about all there is to enjoy about you," Carissa fires back.</p>
<p>"Oh that's mean." Artemis plays mock wounded.</p>
<p>"Ok so, explain." Carissa ignores Artemis and turns her focus back to Heather.</p>
<p>"Right. We were trying to figure this out as as something akin to the romance languages, where every concept has an associated word. But their society was based around concepts, why would they need to use words when they could instead talk through ideas?"</p>
<p>"…ah fuck. We really have been going at this the wrong way."</p>
<p>Heather jumps up and runs to the wall, brushing away their scribbles and clearing a blank space.</p>
<p>"Okay, so, what if they didn't speak in a sentence; they spoke in a memeplex." Heather begins to draw on the wall, nodes connected together in a large chain of interconnections and relations. "They don't tell somebody a sentence with individual components, they are sharing each idea and piece of context and relation needed to communicate <em>exactly</em>."</p>
<p>Carissa nods slowly. "Right, so it's like telling a whole story with just a few words?"</p>
<p>"Basically? Think about it this way: if I say "The Foundation" to you, what do you think of?"</p>
<p>"A bunch of asshats that imprison natural creatures just because they use magic or are weird in their definition," Carissa says bluntly. A beat. "Not you, though."</p>
<p>Artemis seems amused by that response. "As if your Finnfolk friends didn't do the exact same thing, my love."</p>
<p>"Yeah, that's different." Carissa ignores her, focus turning back on Heather, as her tail flicks.</p>
<p>"Exactly." Heather replies, not even trying to conceal her agreement. "But if I told a general contractor "The Foundation", they would assume I was talking about the concrete foundation of a building."</p>
<p>"… Oh god so there's no… oh that's so fucky." Carissa mutters as she tries (and fails) to wrap her brain around that.</p>
<p>Artemis leans her chin on her hand, watching the two like characters on TV.</p>
<p>"The way their language works— I mean probably works, but let's just pretend we're right for now. When they would speak, they are saying "The Foundation", with all of the context and information required to fully understand something as well as the speaker."</p>
<p>Heather spins around and claps her hands. "That's the point! We'll never be able to recreate their language word by word, because that's not how it was meant to be used!"</p>
<p>"Go on, tell her," Artemis chirps out like a songbird. "Tell her what she has to do."</p>
<p>Carissa glances at Artemis and then back to Heather, tail flicking as her ears stand pert.</p>
<p>Heather turns to Artemis and the two share a look. "Come on, can't I get her to guess?"</p>
<p>"Look at that head, it wasn't built for this." Artemis cackles.</p>
<p>"Fuck. All. The. Way. Off," Carissa says to Artemis. "I have to speak every concept of their language, a story I'm guessing. Probably <em>their</em> story."</p>
<p>"Yeah. Think about the difference between modern storytelling and proto-Indo-European storytelling. We write our stories down, but they…"</p>
<p>"Spoke them aloud," Carissa finishes.</p>
<p>"Exactly. An oral tradition." Heather looks over at Artemis, grinning. "So?"</p>
<p>"So Carissa is going to have to work on her oral?" Artemis answers, taking the setup with glee.</p>
<p>Carissa snarls at Artemis. "I'm going to fucking strangle you."</p>
<p>"Hot."</p>
<p>"You two can play cat and mouse later, we have work to do. See you topside?"</p>
<p>"Can you use a gun?" Carissa asks, interrupting Heather. "We'll probably need to move somewhere not so compact."</p>
<p>"Do I look like I can do anything straight, let alone shoot?"</p>
<p>"Hmmm. Does that mean she's straight?" Artemis muses.</p>
<p>"No. So that means I'm going to have to go loud." Carissa flicks her tail, the corners of her lips flicking up. <span style="color:red"><em>Like there's any other way.</em></span></p>
<hr/>
<p>The moment they were awake, Carissa sits up and grabs her bow. <span style="color:red"><em>Hasn't been since The Black Queen that I've had to get loud. This will be fun.</em></span> She turns and helps Heather up to her feet. Before the memetics expert can really say anything, Heather experiences the strangest feeling she's had… in recent memory.</p>
<p>That feeling, consisting of every single atom in her body spontaneously bursting apart, leaving her consciousness floating in a vacuum of multi-colored streaming starlights, and then as if in reverse, every atom piecing itself back together as Carissa drops them on top of a hill, in the middle of a forest clearing. There are traces of habitation here and there, a place once occupied, but long since abandoned.</p>
<p>It's a real clusterfuck of an experience, flying apart at a molecular level and then being pieced back together, as Heather's stomach does a small flip.</p>
<p>"Couldn't we have walked?" asks Heather, steadying herself against a nearby tree.</p>
<p>Carissa shakes her head. She takes a survey of the environment, and then stretches out the muscles in her back and neck. Archers muscles', as she runs her fingers along the shape of the bow. Experimentally, she pulls the string back, a thick flaming green arrow burning itself into existence against the string as she pulls all the way back. With her back to Heather, every single muscle is visible through the tight muscle shirt Carissa is wearing, definition gleaming in the Mediterranean sun. She looses the arrow. It whips through the air with a screech and she watches it's trace, holding a finger out in an L shape, one eye closed, and her tongue just sticking barely out of the corner of her mouth.</p>
<p>Heather manages to remember to close her jaw before she comes back to her senses. "So. I guess I'm ready whenever you are? Not really sure what I'm doing other than… listening?"</p>
<p>Carissa makes a gesture to Heather, pointing at her, then the archer points at her own eyes with two fingers, and then turns them around, and rotates — communicating 'you watch my back.'</p>
<p>"Spotting. Gotcha, can do."</p>
<p>Carissa gives her a thumbs up and points at her again, then does a rolling motion with her fists. 'Ready?'</p>
<p>"If anything happens, Lillian is going to kill me. Fuck it, let's roll."</p>
<p>More gestures. 'I will not let anything happen, just stay close.'</p>
<p>Carissa closes her eyes, breathing in and centering herself. <span style="color:red"><em>Easy, you just need to tell the story of an entirely forgotten race, one that you don't even know. But maybe trying to speak with that intent will work? Here goes nothing.</em></span></p>
<p>"Memories of a distant time flood the world, like waves crashing against a rock face. A small group emerges through the misty spray, perched precariously on a precipice. They were the first."</p>
<p>As the first concept rolls off her tongue, a portal opens. Familiar biomes, woodlands, marshlands, swamps as she speaks, every concept opening another. <span style="color:red"><em>Fucking hell this is going to be a lot. Hopefully we don't open anything to a 3456 den, that would be fucking terrible.</em></span></p>
<p>The first real problem comes when a portal opens and a swarm of harpy-like creatures flies out, screeching. They have heads and bodies like cats, but wings and talons; worst of all, they were fucking ugly. Carissa taps Heather's shoulder with her tail as she draws the string of the bow back. She flicks the first arrow to the right, the shaft spinning and curling as the green fire of its magic takes on the shape of moose, stampeding through the air and knocking the creatures out of their formation. A second arrow follows it, blipping out of existence, reappearing with a spray of purple fluid as it finds its mark, embedded in one of the creatures.</p>
<p>Carissa narrows her eyes even as she speaks, and the bow ripples with a fresh wave of magic as an arrow is displaced by the shaft of a spear, the bow surging in size to match the new projectile.</p>
<p>"They were resilient, exiled from the deep and forced to carve a new home on the edge of their history. Stone gave way to coral, gave way to progress, gave way to a community." Carissa continues.</p>
<p>"Hey, whatever you're saying, keep doing it? But also— fuck, look out!"</p>
<p>Carissa pivots, stepping in front of Heather as she hefts the bow away, and almost twirls in place, thrusting the haft of the magic spear deep into the jaws of the wolf-like feline beast that was rushing Heather. Heather watches as Carissa does something at the very end, and the beast implodes inwards, a sucking silver portal drawing its matter into itself, like a singularity.</p>
<p>She spins again, firing a twirling arcane sword that screeches through the sky, the blade bursting into flames as it hones in on one, two, three of the harpy creatures, forming a shish-kebab of purple dripping weirdness.</p>
<p>"They were crafters; each one an adept hand at reshaping the world. They made homes, worlds, stories, art, culture — the people grew into one identity, one union of thought, a cohesive whole, all pulling the same chains and living the same dreams."</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>This is not easy to do while speaking AND having to babysit her.</em></span></p>
<p>Carissa turns and rolls, her tail wrapping around Heather's waist as she pulls her along, both of them just barely dodging the swipe of a centaur-like creature. An arcane blade appears in Carissa's hand milliseconds after she starts the roll, and her arms leaps forward, twisting the blade to bite deep into the beasts belly as it rampages past. It crumples into the dirt, momentum carrying it clean over the hilltop and down the slopes in a mess of orange blood.</p>
<p>She rolls back up, and pulls the string taut, three arrows materializing as she aims it skyward. As if on cue, she releases, loosing the volley as a smattering of hostile creatures come bolting out of portals.</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>Well shit. We're in trouble now.</em></span></p>
<p>"Warn a girl next time?" Heather says, catching her breath. "Why can't the portals go somewhere nice, like a field of flowers, or a distillery?"</p>
<p>Carissa shrugs. "Time was peace, and the community grew, elder after elder becoming etched into the tapestry of their time. But they were not forgotten, no, not yet. Others desired what they had wrought, what they might be, who they could defeat; if only they had the hand of the tribe."</p>
<p>The beasts rush in towards them, danger imminent; and then the sky grew dark, the sun shaded by clouds over head. Except they weren't clouds. It was already too late when the smattering of beasts look up, and realize their impending doom. Hundreds, no thousands of arrows fall from the sky, like stars, leaving a small sphere in the center. Everything that was breathing, except Heather and Carissa, cut down in the barrage.</p>
<p>"There was a marriage; no, not a marriage, a theft in the night. A daughter stolen, and a culture consumed. A community with a hole can only float for so long, the headless fish drifting seaward, unable to stop or slow the tidal wake. They laid down their brushes, their books, their chisels and seized something new; a power etched in bones."</p>
<p>Carissa takes a breath now, the portals seem, thankfully, to be settling out into more peaceful avenues and biomes. That was a momentary relief, but she keeps the bow out and stays on guard.</p>
<p>"Are we done?" Heather asks, rising to her feet.</p>
<p>Carissa shakes her head. "Fairness had fled, and in its place was vengeance, a whirlwind of destruction and righteous fury. Coralshapers, the aged and the young, all grasping, climbing, eclipsing those around them. Blood ran down the cliffs, mixing with the ocean below; their paint was crimson, their instruments their own art."</p>
<p>Every hair on the back of Carissa's neck stands straight up, and the fur of her tail frizzes out, as she turns around very slowly. <span style="color:red"><em>Fuck, I just had to say something earlier.</em></span> An extremely large portal opens, and out walks a Nuckelavee. Carissa's eyes dart to Heather, and then to the creature. She couldn't protect Heather and kill this thing, she'd have to finish the story and get Heather the hell out of dodge all at once, and hope it didn't dematerialize before she could kill it.</p>
<p>"Hey, Carissa, you see it too, right?"</p>
<p>Carissa nods. "They had grown, not in size, but in infamy. The coralshapers, once renowned for their artistry, now recognized for the precise brutality, the bloodlust and overwhelming force defining who they were. They had forgotten what it meant to be them; they had lost community."</p>
<p>She knew it was going to play with them. Stupid bastards always did. It smiles at the pair, as if it has found the perfect unsuspecting meal. Carissa puts herself between Heather and it, tail wrapping around the memetic expert's waist, ready to peace out.</p>
<p>And then something very interesting happens. The creature looks down in surprise, as purple light starts to dance at its feet, symbols spinning into whirling existence in patterns.</p>
<p>"It wouldn't matter soon. Just as a rising tide destroys castles built of sand, an unnatural force swept them into the margins. Somebody, no, something wanted them to pay. It wanted them to stop being. They were being forgotten, in every meaning, definition and context of the word."</p>
<p>Carissa squints even as she speaks. <span style="color:red"><em>She shouldn't be out here, unless they called her in too, but how did she…</em></span></p>
<p>Carissa looks at her bow and spots the little blipping purple-lighted disc that was all too familiar. <span style="color:red"><em>Of course.</em></span></p>
<p>With renewed energy, she continues strong. "Erosion comes in waves, but this came in a downpour, filling in the caves that they had once carved out, forgetting who they were and where they came from. The ocean, once a distant memory, now seemed as foreign as the forces that sought to forget them. The elders convened — something must remain. Something that says that we existed."</p>
<p>Smoke rolls out of the trees, as Carissa's ears pick up footsteps in the forest. The dancing lights beneath the Nuckelavee's feet solidify into a circular glyph, that continues to spin with gleeful energy. The Nuckelavee kicks at it dumbly, Carissa and Heather forgotten in the moment.</p>
<p>Heather watches as Carissa totally relaxes, her lips curling up in a smirk.</p>
<p>"Hey, not to be a bitch, but uhhh, the fucking monster is still there?" Heather yells, confused and concerned.</p>
<p>"It was then that they remembered who they were. The community, the people, they were not craftspeople, artists, coralshapers, warriors, enemies, historians, princesses — they were a story. They were a language. They were no more than what they spoke; and what they spoke was them."</p>
<p>More spinning symbols appear in the air, all around the creature, another large glyph spinning into existence over its head. It looks up dumbly, both its heads staring at the sigil.</p>
<p>Carissa looks back at Heather, like she couldn't give less of a shit about the monster now, tail unwrapping from around her waist.</p>
<p>"It was decided. One last shape, one last craft, one last push before they disappeared. The margins cried and sang for their arrival, but they held on fierce, inking their tapestry into a vessel, embodying their community within a relic — the first shell picked, found on the precipice where they began. It became them, and they became nothing. And just like that, they were gone. Absent. Unwritten."</p>
<p>The Nuckelavee looks up, and then down again, and then finally at Carissa and Heather. Its expression could best be described as utterly dumbfounded.</p>
<p>And that's when they go off. Horizontal glyphs ripple, as thick purple astral chains streak from within the symbols, imbedding themselves, thump thump thump, pointed barbed tips ripping through the hapless creature. It tries to screech but, its throats, both of them, are ripped to shreds. Finally, two enormous pillars of flaming rock cleave straight through, one from the top, the other from the bottom, impaling the beast in horrifying fashion.</p>
<p>After a second, it drops to the ground, any cohesion in its shape vanishing, as it becomes a mass of sheared and ripped-apart flesh, as the glyphs and their contents fade.</p>
<p>One by one, the portals close, an unfamiliar stillness permeating into the once pristine forest clearing.</p>
<p>"So," Heather says, "Did we do it?"</p>
<p>Someone strides out of the trees, a thick smoke trailing from a device she holds in her hands. A woman with sylvan ears, brown hair with purple ends, and bright lilac eyes. Arcane robes flow around her, glimmering with fading symbols.</p>
<p>"There you are," The distant figure says.</p>
<p>"I hope so, my throat is fucking sore," Carissa replies to Heather.</p>
<p>"Hey! That was English!" Heather cheers, collapsing onto the soiled grass. "Oh fuck."</p>
<p>"You good there?" Carissa says, eyes flicking to Heather and off the third figure, who was hurrying up the hill now.</p>
<p>"I just realized I didn't tell anybody I got here, and now I have to tell them that not only did I arrive, but I also solved their problem behind their backs." She pauses, shaking her head in disbelief. "Thank god I don't have to work with them again, I bet they're still huddled around the shell."</p>
<p>"I wouldn't worry about it," Carissa says. "They will get targeted amnestics before the day is out."</p>
<p>"Carissa, who is this?" The third person asks as they near, looking over Heather with appraising eyes.</p>
<p>"Right, those work on people. I forget that sometimes." Heather stops, looking at the newly approaching figure. "Hey, I'm Heather. I saved Carissa from the terrible fate of being unable to speak — which, depending on your perspective, could be a bad or good thing."</p>
<p>"Oh? What was it?" She looks at Heather with more interest than she had in the few seconds before. "I heard, she put on an anomaly without checking for effects first."</p>
<p>Carissa looks away, trying to be innocent, and quite possibly inching just a <em>bit</em> away from the third woman. <span style="color:red"><em>Shit shit shit she's pissed.</em></span></p>
<p>"Hey, she told me that she always uses protection. But sometimes the moment gets the best of you, right Cari?" Heather says, a sly smile forming on her face.</p>
<p>Carissa looks at Heather, mouth open, eyes wide. Shock, and then a bit of 'how fucking could you' spill across her face.</p>
<p>The third woman's hand shoots out and grabs Carissa's wrist preventing her escape, as she laughs. "Protection. Really?"</p>
<p>"Actually, now I remember you telling me Cari; you slipped and the necklace just… fell onto your neck, right? Accidents are crazy sometimes."</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>Shit, she's so mad she's going to tie me up in Shibari again.</em></span> Carissa pauses as a flash of dumb realization runs across her face. <span style="color:red"><em>Wait. I like Shibari.</em></span></p>
<p>"Nope, I put it on all by myself. Just discharged. I was being dumb." Carissa says assertively.</p>
<p>The third woman looks at her partner suspiciously, and then back to Heather, and then back to Carissa. "You just want to be tied down."</p>
<p>"Nooooo, don't tie me up again." Carissa says as she pantomimes real distress.</p>
<p>"I won't, because I believe the stranger over you. I can see through your lies." The strange sorceress says releasing her wrist.</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>FUCK.</em></span></p>
<p>"Hey, not to uhhh… well, I'm going to be honest. I need to call my girlfriend and then start on the massive amount of paperwork I'll need to file for this, and also, this is getting pretty intense for somebody who just met you both today, so…" Heather brushes some hair out of her face, searching for the right words. "Carissa, can you take me back to the site?"</p>
<p>"Apologies for her indecency, my wife can be a bit of a handful sometimes," She says, "but we will not hold you up."</p>
<p>"Heather, this is my wife, Medea, our sorceress in shining robes." Carissa says. "And hey! You're the one who said it, not me."</p>
<p>"I did no such thing. Please, let's transport this woman back to the site so she can handle her job."</p>
<p>Carissa throws up her hands, but walks over none-the-less. "Uh, to do this I need to touch you. Is an arm ok or…?"</p>
<p>"Carissa, we just spent hours in your mind, trying to figure out how to revive a lost language, and then you were physically picking me up and moving me with your tail just a few minutes ago. Yeah, an arm is fine." Heather replies, smiling back at her.</p>
<p>"Ok look, the heat of battle is very different fro- yeah okay." She lets it go, touches Heather's arm and takes Medea's hand. That same weird-as-fuck feeling sets in again, as the three of them dissolve.</p>
<p>Heather, feeling her body dematerialize, has a sudden disruptive thought as a fear surges into her mind. <span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;"><em>What if, when we reassemble, we get all jumbled up? Fuck, I just got used to this body!</em></span></p>
<p>And then, before she can panic any longer, she rematerializes in the same room where they had passed out earlier, the chair still wedged under the door handle.</p>
<p>Heather regains her balance much faster this time, and after a panicked check of the girls and the rest of her, she sighs a breath of relief. She walks to the door, removes the chair and opens it.</p>
<p>"Hey guys! I fixed her! Oh also, I'm Heather, I got here a bit ago, but I'm going to leave soon, so don't worry about your lack of hospitality." Heather shouts into the rest of the temporary site.</p>
<p>She turns around and closes the door.</p>
<p>"So?"</p>
<p>"So?" Carissa asks tilting her head.</p>
<p>"Do we need to give her the amnestics, Carissa?" Medea asks.</p>
<p>"Nah, she's got the clearance. Or something like that. I think. I was… kind of not paying attention."</p>
<p>Medea sighs. "You set a pretty girl in front of you, and you become useless. Every time."</p>
<p>"Look, I've forgotten enough shit for an entire lifetime, I'm not forgetting anything else." Heather slumps down into the chair, exhaustion finally catching up with her. "Wait— Your name is Medea, like <em>the</em> Medea? From the stories?"</p>
<p>Medea rubs her temples, as if just realizing Carissa's fuckup. "You didn't use the Pseudonym?"</p>
<p>"Uhhhh I may have fucked up." Beat. "A couple of times. Another beat. "Also I may have forgot the current Pseudonym."</p>
<p>"Carissa, please." Medea sighs.</p>
<p>"I'm trying babe, I swear I am. It's just you keep changing them, and I was running high on adrenaline," Carissa whines as her ears press to her head.</p>
<p>"It is fine. Eventually I will settle on one I like." She turns her focus back to Heather. "Yes. <em>The</em> Medea. And this adorable, but useless lesbian of a cat is Atalanta." Carissa just rubs her face as Medea pat pats the spot on her head between her ears.</p>
<p>"Right. I shouldn't be surprised at this point, you really do love your 'classics', don't you Cari— sorry, <em>Atalanta</em>." Heather cocks her head to the side, a realization dawning on her. She pulls out her phone, and calls the one number she has on speed dial. "Hey babe, it's me. You remember that report we got of the hermeneutic in Greece, that was recreating the ancient Greek play? Long story short, but I may have just found the experts we were waiting for."</p>
<p>Heather covers the bottom of her phone and holds it slightly away from her face, turning back to the two women. "So. How do you two feel about theatre?"</p>
<hr/>
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text="I don't know, the magic in this discharged and now I'm randomly spawning portals."
Yet another portal opens, this time looking out at Jupiter. She stares at that one in particular eyes wide and jaw hanging slightly open in disbelief.]]
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**Cat Got Your Tongue?**
**Author:** [[*user DrBleep]] & [[*user Queerious]]
Worlds and character collide, and the result is exactly what you'd expect out of Carissa and Dr. Heather Garrison.
[[[Forgotten Memories Hub]]]
[[[Seas of Orcadia Hub]]]
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+ Cat Got Your Tongue?
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------
Coral crunches underneath [[[Swallowed by a Prideful, Lesbian sea | Carissa's]]] hiking boots as pebbles fall away and tumble down the cliffside. She catches her footing as she climbs into the ruins a structure made out of coral, but as if it grew directly into the cavern under a controlled hand. She was currently just southeast of Kalamata, and a recent earthquake had caused a minor rockface to slide away, revealing this peculiar set of archaeological sites. So, of course, they had called her in, due to the difficult verticality.
"What do you see, Decimus?" calls a researcher; one of her usual cadre, but one whose name her brain just simply refuses to remember.
"Lot of fucking coral," she replies snarkily, as she hooks one of her nail-like claws into a small gap and hauls herself up. She glances around, a chamber of sorts laid out before her with a smattering of what looks like furniture made out of coral, shells, and bone.
"I've got a room up here with what looks like a desk, a chair, maybe some sort of shelving unit?" She climbs up fully into the room. "Pottery, and a bunch of tools."
"Pictures?" Comes the reply from the man below.
"Keep your pants on, I'm taking them." She pulls out her phone and starts snapping pictures. The shutter clicks, echoing through the forgotten shelter. "I don't think this is of human origin. It might be Finnfolk, but the bones look human, so maybe not. They don't tend to use their dead, or human dead for that matter, for furniture." She sends off the photos.
"So what do you think then?"
"Well, it could be a lot of things." She steps in and starts poking around. She'd been doing this with the Foundation, she didn't call them the Jailers anymore, thanks to a memetic effect employed by someone within the department, going on four years now. She is still bitter about the memetic effect, especially since no one would cop to it.
Something glints in the light of the sun. It shines through a small circular window in the coral, catching her eye. She approaches carefully; a chain made of bone links attached to a small conch shell is perfectly situated on the desk. There might have been some sort of kelp-based paper draped over it at one time, but all that was left of that were piles of disintegrated fiber.
She gently hooks a nail under the chain and lifts it slowly and carefully, one hand-held underneath in case it shattered from age. The shell was magic, she could feel it, but she couldn't resolve precisely what. A pair of carefully crafted hooks on one end of the loop, designed to clasp or unclasp for ease of putting on or taking off.
"Hmmm. I found something," Carissa calls down. "It's got some ma- thaumic aspects to it." [[span style="color:red"]]//Now was it a necklace, or a bracelet for the waist/torso? Merfolk and Sirens did that sometimes, but this looks a little too small to be the latter.//[[/span]] She slides the chain over her neck and releases it, letting it come to rest against her chest. She examines it using the silver sheen and reflective surface of one of her smaller portals like a hand mirror.
Carissa blinks, and as soon as the necklace slides into place, the magic in the shell discharges and is rendered inert. Both ears stand pert on her head as she listens for anything that might be off.
"Oh! Interesting, could you extend the ladder down?" The researcher called up.
"Uh yeah one second, the magic in the necklace just discharged." Her head snaps over as a full-sized portal opens near the wall, an empty field with several cows munching grass on the other side.
[[span style="color:red"]]//I didn't fucking do that? Did I?//[[/span]]
"What was that Carissa?" The researcher called up.
"Uh, something's going on." Another portal pops open, this one in the middle of the Sahara desert. [[span style="color:red"]]//Uh oh.//[[/span]]
"Carissa, you're speaking gibberish. What's going on?"
She walks over to the edge of the coral and pushes the unfolding ladder down, taking the necklace off and looking at it. "I don't know, the magic in this discharged and now I'm randomly spawning portals."
Yet another portal opens, this time looking out at Jupiter. She stares at that one in particular eyes wide and jaw hanging slightly open in disbelief.
"I'm coming up, you're not making any sense." Carissa backs away from the ledge, still staring at the Jupiter portal on the wall, necklace in hand. The man climbs off the top of the ladder, looks at Carissa holding the necklace, and then at the portals. "What the hell?"
"I have no fucking idea. How do you not understand me, I'm speaking clear as day and the acoustics are good in here." Carissa's lips curl down in a frown, frustration growing. Yet another portal opens, this one looking out at a sky with three suns, and a volcano erupting purple-tinted lava down the slopes of a tropical island.
"Gillespie, we should probably call this in." The researcher whose name she STILL could not remember calls down to the rest of the team. "She's speaking pure gibberish, I think she's been exposed to something, and it might have something to do with this necklace."
"I'm speaking English, motherfucker. Do you not understand me? The magic discharged on the shell." Yet another portal opened, this time into the Library.
"Carissa, I have no idea what you're saying, you need to come back to the base. We're going to get an expert to come to look at this necklace to try and reverse whatever is going on." The man holds his hands up, palms facing toward her at the fluffing out of her tail fur.
[[span style="color:red"]]//Great, just what I need, one more academic dickhead who can't communicate. Hope they get Mary fucking Poppins to at least make it interesting.//[[/span]]
------
"You better bring back a gift."
Doctor Heather Garrison laughs, phone against her head. "You want a gift? From... Sorry, let me check my notes. Right, the middle of fucking nowhere?"
"I don't give a shit, bring me back something you stole from the head researcher there." Lillian Lillihammer, her girlfriend, said from the other end, her irritation mixing with her impatience. "I still don't know why you had to go there in person."
"They saw the work I'd done years ago with Luca and thought I could help; hey, I just got here, so I'm going to have to let you go, alright?"
"//Never let me go, Jack!//"
"Love ya Lils, talk to you later."
"Love you too. Be safe."
As she hung up, Heather looked around the temporary holding site she had been flown out to and was already disappointed; sure, her expectations were low, but this was... rough.
She would have loved to come to Greece, on vacation, but the Foundation never chose the most picturesque locations for their sites. And when it came to interiors, let's just say they weren't winning any awards. Scanning the room, Heather observed a number of scientists gathered around an object, standing a fearful distance away.
//[[span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;"]]That's probably why I'm here.[[/span]]// It didn't look like much, and judging by the confused and vapid stares she saw the other researchers giving the item, Heather felt like this wouldn't take long. //[[span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;"]]Maybe there's somebody less dull who can catch me up to speed?[[/span]]//
On the other side of the temporary site was a door to a holding cell, covered in paper warnings. 'Do Not Enter!', 'Authorized Personal Only', 'Warning! Critical Anomalous Danger Present!', and more.
//[[span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;"]]No better place to start, right?[[/span]]//
------
Heather Garrison didn't know what to expect behind the doorway. The cynical part of her expected a bathroom, while the bored part of her hoped that it would be a memetic discovery that would be an interesting puzzle to solve.
No part of her expected to get hit in the face with a paper football.
"Ow." Heather says, blinking in confusion. "Oh, hi, I'm Heather. I was called in to help with... whatever this is. And you are?"
Heather finally saw the lone figure sitting in the room. Whatever mysteries the room could have held, Heather never would have guessed what she saw. Seated on a chair, sitting up now and blinking at her, was a woman with a mane of maroon locks dripping from her head, sharp yellow eyes with catlike sclera, a pair of large fuzzy cat-ears and a //tail//? The tilts of the head, the pertness of the ears, and the way her lips pursed together said everything. 'Who the fuck are you?'
//[[span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;"]]She's adorable.[[/span]]// It took everything in Heather not to go over and pet the woman right behind the ears, but she managed to control herself.
"Oh sorry, do you work for the Foundation?" Heather asks, still stunned.
The expression on the woman's face changes to one of surprise. She clearly wasn't expecting anyone to walk through the door. She opens her mouth to say something, but stops, and then nods once.
"I just got here, can you give me a rundown on the situation? You seem... less panicked than the rest of the researchers."
Carissa shakes her head no. Her ears flop with the motion, drooping
"No." //[[span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;"]]Interesting.[[/span]]// Heather thought, grabbing a chair and sitting on it backwards. "Were you always like that or... cat got your tongue?"
She couldn't help herself.
If looks could kill, the one she got now would have pierced her clean through. The woman says something, but it's pure gibberish to Heather's ear. At the same time, there's a little popping noise, as space-time tears open across the room to, of all places -- the Moon.
"Now; that is fascinating." Heather gestures at the portal. "Could you do that before, or is that part of the anomaly?"
She nods yes to the before part of her question. Carissa turns her head slightly, ears pert, and extends a hand. A silver sheen ripples in the air from where her fingertips touch, before blossoming outwards into a full sized portal to an ocean-side beach. Heather recognizes the coastline from when she flew in to Greece.
//[[span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;"]]Right.[[/span]]// Heather nods to herself. //[[span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;"]]So if the anomaly isn't her abilities...[[/span]]// "When did you lose your speech? Was there a specific trigger you looked at or was it a spell of some kind?"
She makes a little gesture, something circling her neck, like a string, and then a spiraling motion with one finger. And then makes a fist and then pulls it back while opening her hand, making a "Peeeeohhh" noise.
"You tried to hang yourself, and now you can't speak? You know that typically happens when you hurt your throat that much." The grin and glint in Heather's eyes said enough to know that it was a joke. "A necklace?"
Carissa squints at her, one hand curling into a fist, nails long and claw-like. Finally, she nods at Heather's response.
"Wait, back up a second," Heather interjects, "you can make noises without any problems?"
Carissa nods, and shrugs.
Heather stares at the woman; no, not at the woman, but past her. Carissa watches as Heather's eyes glaze over, her pupils flickering from side to side in a rapid fire burst, like spent shells ejecting out of a machine gun. After some time, Heather's focus returns to her.
"The anomaly isn't targeting your speech. It's targeting your //language//. We'd need to do more digging, but I think that the conceptual center of your lang... no, it has to be something else, maybe an ontokinetic supplantation? No, that would need to-- wait, I'm jumping ahead of myself. Do you have a pen and paper?"
-----
Carissa gestures at the pen, paper and lines of perfectly legible text. Well, at least to her they are legible; gibberish to everyone else. [[span style="color:red"]]//This one jumps to the fucking point real quick, though she'll be real disappointed when she sees they've already fucking tried to have me write.//[[/span]] Carissa muses, still fuming and confused over the 'cat got your tongue' comment and the hanging joke. Her tail flicks behind her as she watches the newcomer, a hint of anxiety in her eyes. [[span style="color:red"]]//If you start poking and prodding me, I'm going to rip your throat out.//[[/span]]
Heather's eyes quickly scan the page, and push it to the side. "Okay, not that. Can you make another sound?"
Carissa raises an eyebrow and emits a popping noise with her lips, not using her vocal chords. Just to, you know, be a nuisance. Her lips curl up slightly in a smug look of success.
"Okay. Phonemes next; don't try to make a word, just focus on making a noise." Heather leans forward expectantly.
[[span style="color:red"]]//Hmm, no reaction to being fucked with.//[[/span]] Carissa makes an 'aaaaaa' noise. Nothing happens.
"Okay, stay with me here: I want you to think think about a sentence, like 'I am going to kill you if you keep asking me to do stupid things', and then just say the 'I' part out loud."
"I--" and a moment later, a portal tears open across the room, this time into a humid jungle. [[span style="color:red"]]//Never mind, she definitely got the message.//[[/span]]
"Great." Heather nods, looking smugly at Carissa. "Now I want you to forget about words, and just focus on making the same noise with your mouth. Just a noise, not a word."
"I". Carissa made the same noise, but nothing happened this time as she emptied her head of all thoughts. All of them. Even the running math equations she'd need to ditch this popsicle stand.
[[span style="color:red"]]//Oh, that's fucking weird. Why does **that** work?//[[/span]]
"I fucking knew it. Stay right here, I'll be right back, okay?" Heather gets up and quickly dashes out of the room.
Carissa blinks, watching her run out of the room. Her ears stand up as she listens with her extremely sensitive hearing. The sounds of rummaging happening in the other room reach her, as well as the researchers mumbling around the necklace. [[span style="color:red"]] //Fucking idiots are still poking at that spent piece of magic like its a dead body. At least this girl is competent, whatever the hell she's doing out there.//[[/span]]
A few seconds later, Heather opens the door and comes in with the same energy that she left with, a small vial clutched in her hand. "Sorry, I just had to get this from my bag. How do you feel about breaking Foundation policy?"
Carissa arches an eyebrow and her ears stand straight up. [[span style="color:red"]]//Oh this one. This one I fucking like.//[[/span]] She tilts, peeking past Heather to make sure none of the dimwits outside are peeking in, and nope, all are still gathered around the necklace. She gives Heather a thumbs up.
"Perfect. I'm not supposed to have this. Well, technically, it doesn't exist beyond theory. We're a little bit... rebellious at Site-43?" Heather grabs the chair and leverages it against the door, blocking the handle. "Do you want to do some drugs?"
[[span style="color:red"]]//Oh my gods, I think I'm in love.//[[/span]] Carissa makes a snickering noise, and gives her a double thumbs up.
"Right. This is MC-88, a drug we use in M&C for the weirder problems -- it will synchronize our noospheric fields and all--" Heather cuts herself off, as she watches Carissa's eyes glaze over. "Right. All you need to know is that it will put us into the same dreamscape. Are you alright with that?"
Carissa arches an eyebrow at dreamscape. [[span style="color:red"]]//Fuck it, better than nothing. Hope she likes math and **her**.//[[/span]] And nods once.
"Okay." Heather begins to unscrew the cap, but pauses, hesitating. "Wait. Before we do this, I have to warn you; my mindscape is, how should I put this, unstable? There's an antinoospheric thoughtform I had to deal with, don't worry about it, but... I don't know if that will cause any problems. If you don't want to go through with this, just say something, okay? Well shit, I mean, nod, yeah? Just because I think this will work doesn't mean I want you to get sucked into my problems, especially ones that big."
[[span style="color:red"]]//Not a fucking problem. Bring it, I need a good fight.//[[/span]] Carissa nods, and holds out a hand. Where her fingers touch the air, that silver sheen appears, but this time instead of spreading into a portal, they sink into it up to her wrist. After a moment, she pulls out an intricate and ornate bow. [[span style="color:red"]]//For insurance, hopefully you get that.//[[/span]]
Heather nods, staring in appreciation of the details. "Last time I saw the fucker, I conceptually nuked it, so we should be fine. But informed consent, you know?" Heather smiles, a joke trying to ease the mood. She grabs two small cups from the side of the room and pours a splash of the thick, shimmering liquid into them. She passes one to Carissa, and puts the other down in front of her.
Carissa stares at the cup of liquid, and then holds it up to her nose, sniffing.
"Now once we drink this, we'll need to enter our mindscapes -- in this case, we're going to go into yours. Normally, I'd use Lilli's cards but... this will have to do for now." Heather begins to draw a series of shapes and patterns onto a nearby page.
Carissa watches Heather, tail flicking behind her in slow twitching waves, waiting for her to finish. [[span style="color:red"]]//Well this is strange. Doing drugs with a stranger, it's like straight out of one of those mindfuck Hollywood movies.//[[/span]]
Heather groans, rubbing her temple with her left hand, as the right finishes the remaining patterns on the page. "Fucker, come on-- okay. Done." She covers the page up, and turns to look at Carissa, half-out of it. "Once we drink this, you'll need to look at the cognitohazard that I just... well I just made it. But it should knock us both out, and we should end up in your mindscape. You ready?"
[[span style="color:red"]]//Cheers mate.//[[/span]] Carissa nods, blinking at Heather's reactions. She picks up the cup in her hand, tail flicking behind her.
Heather raises her cup in mock cheers, downing it like a shot. Carissa downs hers as well, swirling the thick and thin liquid at the same time. She didn't like that it tasted like nothing, but swallows none the less.
"Okay, now look at this." Heather moves her hand and reveals the newly inked cognitohazard. Carissa looks at it. The last thing that Carissa hears before she passes out worries her, but it's too late.
"God, I hope this works."
[[span style="color:red"]]//Why the fu--//[[/span]]
------
Heather wakes up on a beach, the sound of a gentle tide stirring her into conceptual realization. There's something rich about this place, as if it's less a dream and more a malleable reality that burns with thaumaturgic fire. Before her, slightly back from the shore, rests a cottage balanced on stilts, modern in its construction, but simple in its style.
There are a few struts here or there that indicate that there may have been another cottage or two nearby at one time, but no longer. She covers her eyes -- the sky above burns with starlight, blistering waves of color and aurora borealium.
"Fuck, it's bright in here." Her words echo through the mindscape, as she looks around, scanning the horizon for the other woman. She is nowhere to be found.
"The cottage then?"
Seems like the cottage is the best destination to check. //[[span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;"]]It's probably an important place for the... catgirl? Lillian is going to fucking scream.[[/span]]// A streak of starlight arcs through the sky, blindingly green, just careening off towards the horizon.
//[[span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;"]]This dreamscape is... okay mine was fucked up, but this mindscape feels less like a dream and more... real? Who the hell is this girl?[[/span]]//
Sure, her sample size was... well one, plus what Lillian had told her. At a certain point, she had to wonder if she had done something wrong in her life to keep ending up in weirder and weirder situations. Shrugging, she continues down the path. After a time that was both too long, and far to short, Heather arrives at the base of the cottage, staring up at the winding and interlacing stilts.
"Anybody home?"
She gets a groan in response as Carissa steps out, blinking, and rubbing her eyes. She looks up at the sky and then down at Heather. "You didn't fucking warn me about the headache." The kiwi in her accent comes out strongly, mixed with something else, Greek?
"You didn't tell me to bring a bikini." Heather snaps back.
Carissa flicks a finger and Heather is in a dark green bikini top, straps crossing over and fitting her snugly. "Fucking happy?"
//[[span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;"]]If I get to keep this? Yeah I am.[[/span]]//
"Happy enough. I'm Heather, by the way."
"Carissa. Finally someone who's fucking competent." She pinches the bridge of her nose carefully with her fingers, claw-like nails carefully positioned so she doesn't tear out her own eyes.
"I know, right?" Heather sighs, stretching and basking in the sun. "There's no good beaches in Canada, sorry, it's been a while for me. Walk me through what happened?"
"Come inside, I'll make tea." She says turning to go back in the cottage. "Better to be inside the cottage than out, in case //she// decides to make an appearance. The less malleable the environment, the better."
"She?" Heather asks, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Does your girlfriend live here too?"
"In the real world my wife does, but not in here." Carissa flicks her tail as she turns and enters the cottage. "...most of the time, at least."
"Your wife?" Heather asks as she follows her in, looking around the cottage as she does.
The interior of the cottage consists of a cozy kitchen in the entryway. Further inside, through a doorway, Heather can see a sitting room with a fireplace, as well as a few more doors, likely a bathroom, a bedroom, and maybe a study of some kind. All three are decently well decorated with books, a few paintings, some personal knick-knacks, and at least one mounted boar's head.
"Yeah. But we can't do that without being in very close physical proximity." She pauses considering wording as her ears flick. A little bit of a blush creeping across her cheeks, before it slides away. "Very close. She's not the one I'm worried about." The kettle squeaks with steam as Carissa pours two cups of water. "What sort of tea do you like?"
"Whatever." Heather replies, waving her hand. "What has you worried? I mean, other than the fact that you can't speak anymore."
"Worried might be the wrong word." She puts a bag of black tea in one cup, and chamomile in the other, and brings it over. "Meh, I'm not worried about the speaking part as much, I figured they'd have someone who was capable of figuring it out. Thankfully, it was the first person they fucking sent and not the third academic. I almost punched the throat out of one of the researchers when they tried to touch me."
An uneasy silence hangs in the air.
"What sort of clearance do you have?" Carissa asks, unsure how to proceed. She turns head slightly looking up and away considering something.
"Clearance? Huh, I haven't thought about that since my transfer. We don't really have strict... you know what? My clearance is whatever you need it to be."
"Mmm. I guess that tracks. Sherry wouldn't have called in someone who didn't have the clearance to know I existed." She sets the tea tray down on the table and gestures for Heather to sit, as she parks herself in a chair. Her tail fits neatly and cutely through the back of the seating arrangement. There's a third cup on the tray, with a green tea bag in it.
//[[span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;"]]Three? Odd.[[/span]]//
Heather sits in the chair, crooked, leg thrown over the arm, her frame failing to fit comfortably in her seat, by her own accord. "So the speaking thing, you know, why I'm here; was it that necklace I saw earlier?"
"Yeah, the necklace had a magic charge on it. Didn't expect it to activate from me putting it on. Boy was I wrong, dumbass me." She rubs her temples. "Medea's going to kill me."
"Sounds familiar. Hey, this might sound weird, but can you try and visualize the memory of when you put the necklace on?"
"Sure." Carissa says, as she focuses on the moment she put the necklace on.
"Huh," Heather responds, "I only half-expected that to work."
"You can thank Artemis for that. This place is more real than, well, reality sometimes."
Carissa opens her eyes; in the air, floating above her is a thin silken string, intangible and weightless. It glows with a dull translucence, like jellyfish on a warm summer's night.
"That thread would be the mental connection you have to that memory. Every moment is represented by an object; some people are abstract, but it seems that Artem-- Wait, I'm sorry, like Artemis, the goddess?"
"Yes." Carissa says simply, ears half drooped as she sips at her tea, tail flicking behind her, as if this is the most normal thing in the world. "Honestly, I half expected her to manifest after that last one."
"Oh." Carissa watches as Heather's eyes glaze over for a second, filing that information away for later. "Right, sorry. If we follow the thread, it should lead us to the right memory node.
Heather follows the thread, tracing its course through the air, before finally ending on a small, wooden box. With a slight crack, it opens; inside is a solitary shell.
"This, Carissa, is your memory of putting on the necklace." Heather says smugly as she turns around, displaying the box like a medal case.
Carissa squints at it. “That little fucking thing is a memory?”
"Without the science? Basically yeah, this is your memory of the event." Heather sits back down and places the shell between the two women, on the table. "So."
“So?” Carissa asks.
"Well," Heather begins, "I was hoping you would have some magic bullshit. To be honest."
“I have magic bullshit, but its a very particular kind, involving molecular disassembly and reassembly in a different location. And foresty stuff, mostly animals.” Carissa gestures, tail flicking as one ear stands up, the other remaining drooped.
"Yeah, I don't think that's going to work. Sorry, the last thing I did with memories was destroy a ton in a cascadi-- you know what? Ignore that. You can make portals, right?"
“Yes I can.” She says, doing her best to ignore the memory comment.
"Well, I've been on a streak, maybe this will work too? Do you think you can try to open a portal to the specific memory? It shouldn't work like that, but..." Heather looks around, and gives a shrug. "What do I know?"
“Fuck it, why not.” She holds out her hand and the familiar sheen spreads. It ripples open to the memory.
"Sure, of course that worked. Why wouldn't it? Fuck, this is like... at least three, if not five research papers on the topic, noospheric fields //shouldn't// work like this." Heather shakes her head, standing up. She flashes Carissa a cocky grin. "No time like the past, right?"
“Well it probably helps that, as Medea likes to say, we're ontological Frankensteins. Anyways, you’re good, better than what I was expecting. Props.” To Heather, that seems like the highest compliment possible from Carissa, grinning as she moves through the portal and into the memory.
-----
As the women step through the distortion, colors bend, as reality seems to reassert itself. They are no longer in the cottage; they are in a cave. A chamber carved into the stone, rough and primitive; coral shooting out of the ground and forming itself into non-organic shapes, almost like a living room. On a dull coral desk, lays the necklace, radiating with power.
"This is where you found the necklace?" Heather asks, stabilizing herself to the new location.
"Yeah, this is it. I thought it might have been Finnfolk at first, but," Carissa points at the human bones embedded in the desk. "Those are human bones, and the Finnfolk don't do that, so."
"Huh." Heather says, pacing around the perimeter of the cavern. "If it wasn't Finnfolk, then... who made this?"
"I was trying to figure that out. Could have been a lot of different cryptic or paranatural races. Merfolk, Sirens, so on and so forth." Her tail flicks behind her, as her ears wiggle in thought.
"Okay, let's speculate then." Heather turns to face Carissa. "Of the paranatural races you know, who had this kind of power?"
"Which power specifically?" Carissa asks, tilting one hand, as she curls her fingers, half looking at her nails. "The language override? Or did you mean the sculpting of coral, or the human bone thing?"
"Good question. Yes?"
"Hrm. It would have to be tropical. So that would rule out the Selkie and the Finnfolk. Unless it was the Mediterranean tribes, but I doubt it. So maybe the Adaro, the Merfolk, or the Sirens? But we can safely rule out the Yacuruna."
"Huh. The Sirens? That could mea-- one second, sorry." Heather closes her eyes, focusing her breathing. Carissa watches as an almost unnatural stillness comes over Heather; for a moment, she radiates... not energy, no, the opposite. It's like she's absorbing part of the mindscape around her; just as Carissa is about to say something, Heather opens her eyes and the feeling disappears.
"Okay, I have some answers."
Carissa blinks. "Wha? Just like that?" Both ears stand up and her tail flicks curiously
"I figured, hey, if this noospheric field really is that magical, maybe I can just... will myself into tracing the noospheric ontological connections rooted in the memory node? And as luck would have it, I was able to. I traced the web back to the noosphere, and recognized what I was looking at. It was faded, but... well, actually, it being faded told me more about it than than anything else."
Heather laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck.
"Anyways, you don't care about the science part. The key thing is this: you're not going to be able to figure out who the race was."
"Noosph- Oh that's the fucking thing Medea's always referring to. Reality bending and shit, ontokinetic this and that." A lightbulb goes off in Carissa's mind, as she pieces things together.
"Yeah, like I said, bullshit science. The point is, you can't know who did this." Heather stares at Carissa, silently begging her to ask the right question.
"Who could know this?" Carissa asks, tilting her head, ears flopping.
"Me probably." A third voice says from behind them. Mischievous and intent on causing trouble.
"That's becau-- wait, who the fuck are you?" Heather says, unprepared.
Carissa nearly jumps out of her fucking skin, tail frizzing out as she whirls around. The third figure, a woman with long green hair, wearing a wreathe of flowers and deer antlers, dressed in very finely tanned skins and leathers looks at Heather as if she asked the stupidest question imaginable. "I'm [[span style="color:green"]]'Me'[[/span]], of course."
[[span style="color:red"]]//**Motherfuck--**, why fucking here?//[[/span]]
Heather stares back, eyes narrowing as her brow furrows. "Of course, how fucking stupid of me, right? You're obviously-- oh, wait. I don't know who you are. That's why I asked the fucking question, you know?"
The stranger looks at Carissa. "She's not Medea, are you seeing new people now?"
"Oh, I have to be her fuckbuddy? Hey asshole, you still haven't answered the question."
"You can't just, fucking do that!" Carissa says to the woman while waving emphatically, tail still frizzed out. "We're in a bit of a situation here."
"A new lover situation?" The stranger's lips curl up at the corner, Cheshire cat in it's appearance.
"Hey Carissa, who the hell is this?" Heather says as she turns to look at her, her eye twitching.
"Heather, Artemis, Artemis, Heather." Carissa says with an exasperated sigh.
"I'm the ontological consciousness of a fused soul, and yes I knew you were going to ask before you asked." The woman says confidently. Her eyes squint, as the smug smile grew larger.
"Eat shit, I'm not going to ask that //anymore//. And hey, you know, thinking about it now, maybe the reason people don't worship you is because //you won't fucking introduce yourself//? Just something to think about." Heather pauses, taking a breath and focusing back to the task at hand. "Anyways, I doubt even you would know who did this."
"Well no, people don't worship me anymore because my Noosphere disruption and Akiva radiation is at... two. Carissa's on the other hand..."
"Right, so who did it," Carissa says, interrupting and cutting Artemis off.
"It's impossible to know." Heather stares back at the two women with a cheeky grin. "Even for a goddess."
They both tilt their heads in confusion. "So what are you saying?" asks Carissa.
"Okay, so. The noosphere has every idea that could possibly be conceived of by any living being. As people die and forget something, that idea doesn't disappear, it stays in the noosphere, ready to be found again." Heather takes a breath, having naturally fallen into her lecture patter. "Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, the society responsible for this is a lot like my deadname; it no longer exists."
"Oh yes, I knew that," Artemis says smugly, as Carissa side eyes her.
"You might be asking yourselves, Heather, how could you know that? I'm practically the only expert in this, so that's how. Something happened to the civilization, something cataclysmic. It's not just that they were all killed, no, they were... retroactively erased from existence. There's not a trace of them, not a spec of who they were, or what they did, or why this happened. It's all gone."
Carissa thinks about this for a long moment and then groans. "Of course. The fucking starfish."
"The starfish?" Heather asks, her thirst for knowledge evident.
Carissa side eyes Artemis. "You wanna tell her or should I?"
"I wasn't the one piloting the body during that." Artemis looks at a corner of the room, seemingly more interested in that than the current conversation.
"One of the 13. I'm assuming you know what that is. You'd call it anti-memetic, obliterated several civilizations in the Mediterranean before the Finnfolk could seal it."
"Right." Heather says, understanding parts and attempting to gloss over what she doesn't until she can revisit the topic later. "Like [[[Don't Let Me Forget|'absence']]]..."
"Yes. If you want to know more you'd have to go talk to the Finnfolk, and good fucking luck. They won't let me anywhere near them, and I ran with them 5000 years ago during all this shit."
"I don't think we need them. We have the necklace." Heather turns her back to the women, looking back at the necklace, and holding it aloft. "This is the key. Somehow, someway, this survived whatever happened to them. It wasn't chance, at least, I don't think it was. What if this was intentional?"
"Like a... memory of the entire culture and civilization kind of deal?" Carissa asks.
Artemis claps. "Look at you! Maybe I am rubbing off on you."
"Fuck off Arty, adults are talking." Carissa's ears pin back as she lets out a hiss at the goddess.
"You two can talk about rubbing off onto each other later, we've got a problem to solve. I think you're right Carissa, this is almost... a time capsule of their entire culture. Wait, maybe more than that."
Heather begins to clear a space on the desk, and traces shapes with her fingers.
"Let's say that this is all the culture and the memories and the knowledge of the lost race. To understand that culture, it's not enough to have the memories, you need the context. You need--"
"Their language." Carissa interrupts, the realization coming at the exact same moment to all three women.
Artemis claps for them both. "Smart cookies both of you. A match made in bed."
Heather blushes, looking away. "[[[Love Between The Margins|I have a girlfriend.]]]"
Carissa snorts. "I have a Medea."
"That hasn't stopped you before." Artemis points out.
"Look, we are trying to focus. Go away, behave, or I'll get her to conceptually annihilate you," Carissa threatens, pointing at the goddess with one of her nails.
"That will never work. You've tried it way too many times." Artemis smirks, tapping the side of her head.
"I don't know 'Arty', do you want to take that risk?" Heather said, teasingly, before focusing up. "Let's say that this necklace didn't just give you their culture, it... it overwrote your language. Into something unknowable, something lost, something magical."
"It would fucking explain why I'm speaking gibberish. But not the portals." In the background, Artemis grins at Heather, as if daring her to try
"Maybe they weren't expecting somebody with, oh I don't know, a fucking god inside of them to pick it up? So, let's say that the language was ontologically overlapped with your natural magical instincts, to the point where speaking their language is almost ritual-esque. And every time you speak, you've laid out a new ritual that makes you portal prematurely."
"Ok, point of order, she's not inside me!" Carissa says.
"Yes I am." Arty insists.
"She's //a part of me//. She fused our souls, deliberately," Carissa says.
"She was a lion and now she's not," Arty continues, interrupting Carissa's line of thought.
Carissa glares at her, and then turns back to Heather. "That makes sense, but can we not use the terminology 'portal prematurely'. I have never been premature."
"Can confirm," Artemis says
"Oh, you've never suffered from... projectile dysfunction?"
"Oh, she's definitely had some sensory dysfunction," Artemis says slyly.
Carissa puts her head in her hands.
"I mean Carissa, if a goddess is saying that, who are we to contradict her?" Heather giggles to herself, before continuing. "Back to business though, now that we know the cause, we can fix this."
"Hate. Hate both of you," Carissa says with a pained noise. "Spill it before I try and fail to kill myself."
"Fine. You can't speak because, well, any time you try to, the lost language reasserts itself in your mind, to make sure that it doesn't disappear. So, easy, we just... we just rediscover an entire lost language?"
"Oh, just like that huh?" Carissa says with a bit of snark.
"Absolutely just like that," Artemis says slapping the back of Carissa's head gently.
"So." Heather says, standing around awkwardly.
"So how do we do that?"
"Million dollar question."
-----
Unfortunately for Heather and Carissa, the problem was just as complex as they had feared. The three women had returned to the cottage, and spent what felt like hours trying to figure out a way to understand the forgotten language.
Heather had commandeered a wall with the help of Artemis - where there were once shelves, knickknacks and books, there was a blank wall covered in chalk and charcoal markings. The wall was a maelstrom of the mad ramblings of an unhinged memetics expert, interwoven with the unintelligible mathematical models of an enraged deadly markswoman. It was chaos incarnate, and despite their combined intellects -- they were nowhere. Even the gravity defying shape of a dream Maine Coon floating around didn't help their inspiration.
"Okay. Let's try this again," Heather says, sighing and turning back to face Carissa, holding a conch in one hand. "What is the word for this?"
"Again, I can't tell you." Carissa pauses for a moment, her tail flicking behind her in irritation. "The word keeps changing, every time I think about it."
"Maybe you should just give up darling," drawls Artemis, who is laying outstretched on top of the bookshelves, like a rebellious cat that refuses to behave. "Is it really that bad?"
Carissa looks up at the goddess with spite in her eyes. "Yes, Arty, it really is that fucking bad. Who do you think I am?"
"Artemis, if you're not going to help, can you at least not distract her?" Heather chirps, laughing as she watched the two. "Are you sure you don't know the word for this?"
"Absolutely not, it's ever my job to meddle with my vessel," Artemis says as she flutters her eyebrows.
Carissa rubs her temples and looks at the shell Heather is holding. She shakes her head. "Nope, it's changed again."
"Fuck. Okay, this isn't going to work. We don't even have a stable definition for a single word, and there's no way we'll be able to figure this out before... well at least before I die of old age." Heather sets the conch down and hops up onto the kitchen counter, throwing her head back in frustration. "So what do we do?"
"It's a conceptual language, yes?" Artemis asks. "Have you tried stringing the concepts together?"
Carissa side eyes her as if she's about to string some innuendo together. Unfortunately, she was often right.
"Like beads of saliva after eat—" Artemis continues before being cut off.
"Would you go back to whatever you were doing before we came in?" Carissa snips, her ears pinned to her head, tail frizzing out.
"But this is what I was doing, don't you remember?" she says innocently.
"I should have eaten your soul, like Medea did with Hecate's," Carissa growls, plopping next to Heather on the counter.
"Oh, but that would be much duller."
"No wait, I think she's right" Heather interjects. "We're looking at this the wrong way."
"Someone appreciates my genius," Artemis says.
"I'm pretty sure she just enjoys the banter, which is about all there is to enjoy about you," Carissa fires back.
"Oh that's mean." Artemis plays mock wounded.
"Ok so, explain." Carissa ignores Artemis and turns her focus back to Heather.
"Right. We were trying to figure this out as as something akin to the romance languages, where every concept has an associated word. But their society was based around concepts, why would they need to use words when they could instead talk through ideas?"
"...ah fuck. We really have been going at this the wrong way."
Heather jumps up and runs to the wall, brushing away their scribbles and clearing a blank space.
"Okay, so, what if they didn't speak in a sentence; they spoke in a memeplex." Heather begins to draw on the wall, nodes connected together in a large chain of interconnections and relations. "They don't tell somebody a sentence with individual components, they are sharing each idea and piece of context and relation needed to communicate //exactly//."
Carissa nods slowly. "Right, so it's like telling a whole story with just a few words?"
"Basically? Think about it this way: if I say "The Foundation" to you, what do you think of?"
"A bunch of asshats that imprison natural creatures just because they use magic or are weird in their definition," Carissa says bluntly. A beat. "Not you, though."
Artemis seems amused by that response. "As if your Finnfolk friends didn't do the exact same thing, my love."
"Yeah, that's different." Carissa ignores her, focus turning back on Heather, as her tail flicks.
"Exactly." Heather replies, not even trying to conceal her agreement. "But if I told a general contractor "The Foundation", they would assume I was talking about the concrete foundation of a building."
"... Oh god so there's no... oh that's so fucky." Carissa mutters as she tries (and fails) to wrap her brain around that.
Artemis leans her chin on her hand, watching the two like characters on TV.
"The way their language works-- I mean probably works, but let's just pretend we're right for now. When they would speak, they are saying "The Foundation", with all of the context and information required to fully understand something as well as the speaker."
Heather spins around and claps her hands. "That's the point! We'll never be able to recreate their language word by word, because that's not how it was meant to be used!"
"Go on, tell her," Artemis chirps out like a songbird. "Tell her what she has to do."
Carissa glances at Artemis and then back to Heather, tail flicking as her ears stand pert.
Heather turns to Artemis and the two share a look. "Come on, can't I get her to guess?"
"Look at that head, it wasn't built for this." Artemis cackles.
"Fuck. All. The. Way. Off," Carissa says to Artemis. "I have to speak every concept of their language, a story I'm guessing. Probably //their// story."
"Yeah. Think about the difference between modern storytelling and proto-Indo-European storytelling. We write our stories down, but they..."
"Spoke them aloud," Carissa finishes.
"Exactly. An oral tradition." Heather looks over at Artemis, grinning. "So?"
"So Carissa is going to have to work on her oral?" Artemis answers, taking the setup with glee.
Carissa snarls at Artemis. "I'm going to fucking strangle you."
"Hot."
"You two can play cat and mouse later, we have work to do. See you topside?"
"Can you use a gun?" Carissa asks, interrupting Heather. "We'll probably need to move somewhere not so compact."
"Do I look like I can do anything straight, let alone shoot?"
"Hmmm. Does that mean she's straight?" Artemis muses.
"No. So that means I'm going to have to go loud." Carissa flicks her tail, the corners of her lips flicking up. [[span style="color:red"]]//Like there's any other way.//[[/span]]
-----
The moment they were awake, Carissa sits up and grabs her bow. [[span style="color:red"]]//Hasn't been since The Black Queen that I've had to get loud. This will be fun.//[[/span]] She turns and helps Heather up to her feet. Before the memetics expert can really say anything, Heather experiences the strangest feeling she's had... in recent memory.
That feeling, consisting of every single atom in her body spontaneously bursting apart, leaving her consciousness floating in a vacuum of multi-colored streaming starlights, and then as if in reverse, every atom piecing itself back together as Carissa drops them on top of a hill, in the middle of a forest clearing. There are traces of habitation here and there, a place once occupied, but long since abandoned.
It's a real clusterfuck of an experience, flying apart at a molecular level and then being pieced back together, as Heather's stomach does a small flip.
"Couldn't we have walked?" asks Heather, steadying herself against a nearby tree.
Carissa shakes her head. She takes a survey of the environment, and then stretches out the muscles in her back and neck. Archers muscles', as she runs her fingers along the shape of the bow. Experimentally, she pulls the string back, a thick flaming green arrow burning itself into existence against the string as she pulls all the way back. With her back to Heather, every single muscle is visible through the tight muscle shirt Carissa is wearing, definition gleaming in the Mediterranean sun. She looses the arrow. It whips through the air with a screech and she watches it's trace, holding a finger out in an L shape, one eye closed, and her tongue just sticking barely out of the corner of her mouth.
Heather manages to remember to close her jaw before she comes back to her senses. "So. I guess I'm ready whenever you are? Not really sure what I'm doing other than... listening?"
Carissa makes a gesture to Heather, pointing at her, then the archer points at her own eyes with two fingers, and then turns them around, and rotates -- communicating 'you watch my back.'
"Spotting. Gotcha, can do."
Carissa gives her a thumbs up and points at her again, then does a rolling motion with her fists. 'Ready?'
"If anything happens, Lillian is going to kill me. Fuck it, let's roll."
More gestures. 'I will not let anything happen, just stay close.'
Carissa closes her eyes, breathing in and centering herself. [[span style="color:red"]]//Easy, you just need to tell the story of an entirely forgotten race, one that you don't even know. But maybe trying to speak with that intent will work? Here goes nothing.//[[/span]]
"Memories of a distant time flood the world, like waves crashing against a rock face. A small group emerges through the misty spray, perched precariously on a precipice. They were the first."
As the first concept rolls off her tongue, a portal opens. Familiar biomes, woodlands, marshlands, swamps as she speaks, every concept opening another. [[span style="color:red"]]//Fucking hell this is going to be a lot. Hopefully we don't open anything to a 3456 den, that would be fucking terrible.//[[/span]]
The first real problem comes when a portal opens and a swarm of harpy-like creatures flies out, screeching. They have heads and bodies like cats, but wings and talons; worst of all, they were fucking ugly. Carissa taps Heather's shoulder with her tail as she draws the string of the bow back. She flicks the first arrow to the right, the shaft spinning and curling as the green fire of its magic takes on the shape of moose, stampeding through the air and knocking the creatures out of their formation. A second arrow follows it, blipping out of existence, reappearing with a spray of purple fluid as it finds its mark, embedded in one of the creatures.
Carissa narrows her eyes even as she speaks, and the bow ripples with a fresh wave of magic as an arrow is displaced by the shaft of a spear, the bow surging in size to match the new projectile.
"They were resilient, exiled from the deep and forced to carve a new home on the edge of their history. Stone gave way to coral, gave way to progress, gave way to a community." Carissa continues.
"Hey, whatever you're saying, keep doing it? But also-- fuck, look out!"
Carissa pivots, stepping in front of Heather as she hefts the bow away, and almost twirls in place, thrusting the haft of the magic spear deep into the jaws of the wolf-like feline beast that was rushing Heather. Heather watches as Carissa does something at the very end, and the beast implodes inwards, a sucking silver portal drawing its matter into itself, like a singularity.
She spins again, firing a twirling arcane sword that screeches through the sky, the blade bursting into flames as it hones in on one, two, three of the harpy creatures, forming a shish-kebab of purple dripping weirdness.
"They were crafters; each one an adept hand at reshaping the world. They made homes, worlds, stories, art, culture -- the people grew into one identity, one union of thought, a cohesive whole, all pulling the same chains and living the same dreams."
[[span style="color:red"]]//This is not easy to do while speaking AND having to babysit her.//[[/span]]
Carissa turns and rolls, her tail wrapping around Heather's waist as she pulls her along, both of them just barely dodging the swipe of a centaur-like creature. An arcane blade appears in Carissa's hand milliseconds after she starts the roll, and her arms leaps forward, twisting the blade to bite deep into the beasts belly as it rampages past. It crumples into the dirt, momentum carrying it clean over the hilltop and down the slopes in a mess of orange blood.
She rolls back up, and pulls the string taut, three arrows materializing as she aims it skyward. As if on cue, she releases, loosing the volley as a smattering of hostile creatures come bolting out of portals.
[[span style="color:red"]]//Well shit. We're in trouble now.//[[/span]]
"Warn a girl next time?" Heather says, catching her breath. "Why can't the portals go somewhere nice, like a field of flowers, or a distillery?"
Carissa shrugs. "Time was peace, and the community grew, elder after elder becoming etched into the tapestry of their time. But they were not forgotten, no, not yet. Others desired what they had wrought, what they might be, who they could defeat; if only they had the hand of the tribe."
The beasts rush in towards them, danger imminent; and then the sky grew dark, the sun shaded by clouds over head. Except they weren't clouds. It was already too late when the smattering of beasts look up, and realize their impending doom. Hundreds, no thousands of arrows fall from the sky, like stars, leaving a small sphere in the center. Everything that was breathing, except Heather and Carissa, cut down in the barrage.
"There was a marriage; no, not a marriage, a theft in the night. A daughter stolen, and a culture consumed. A community with a hole can only float for so long, the headless fish drifting seaward, unable to stop or slow the tidal wake. They laid down their brushes, their books, their chisels and seized something new; a power etched in bones."
Carissa takes a breath now, the portals seem, thankfully, to be settling out into more peaceful avenues and biomes. That was a momentary relief, but she keeps the bow out and stays on guard.
"Are we done?" Heather asks, rising to her feet.
Carissa shakes her head. "Fairness had fled, and in its place was vengeance, a whirlwind of destruction and righteous fury. Coralshapers, the aged and the young, all grasping, climbing, eclipsing those around them. Blood ran down the cliffs, mixing with the ocean below; their paint was crimson, their instruments their own art."
Every hair on the back of Carissa's neck stands straight up, and the fur of her tail frizzes out, as she turns around very slowly. [[span style="color:red"]]//Fuck, I just had to say something earlier.//[[/span]] An extremely large portal opens, and out walks a Nuckelavee. Carissa's eyes dart to Heather, and then to the creature. She couldn't protect Heather and kill this thing, she'd have to finish the story and get Heather the hell out of dodge all at once, and hope it didn't dematerialize before she could kill it.
"Hey, Carissa, you see it too, right?"
Carissa nods. "They had grown, not in size, but in infamy. The coralshapers, once renowned for their artistry, now recognized for the precise brutality, the bloodlust and overwhelming force defining who they were. They had forgotten what it meant to be them; they had lost community."
She knew it was going to play with them. Stupid bastards always did. It smiles at the pair, as if it has found the perfect unsuspecting meal. Carissa puts herself between Heather and it, tail wrapping around the memetic expert's waist, ready to peace out.
And then something very interesting happens. The creature looks down in surprise, as purple light starts to dance at its feet, symbols spinning into whirling existence in patterns.
"It wouldn't matter soon. Just as a rising tide destroys castles built of sand, an unnatural force swept them into the margins. Somebody, no, something wanted them to pay. It wanted them to stop being. They were being forgotten, in every meaning, definition and context of the word."
Carissa squints even as she speaks. [[span style="color:red"]]//She shouldn't be out here, unless they called her in too, but how did she...//[[/span]]
Carissa looks at her bow and spots the little blipping purple-lighted disc that was all too familiar. [[span style="color:red"]]//Of course.//[[/span]]
With renewed energy, she continues strong. "Erosion comes in waves, but this came in a downpour, filling in the caves that they had once carved out, forgetting who they were and where they came from. The ocean, once a distant memory, now seemed as foreign as the forces that sought to forget them. The elders convened -- something must remain. Something that says that we existed."
Smoke rolls out of the trees, as Carissa's ears pick up footsteps in the forest. The dancing lights beneath the Nuckelavee's feet solidify into a circular glyph, that continues to spin with gleeful energy. The Nuckelavee kicks at it dumbly, Carissa and Heather forgotten in the moment.
Heather watches as Carissa totally relaxes, her lips curling up in a smirk.
"Hey, not to be a bitch, but uhhh, the fucking monster is still there?" Heather yells, confused and concerned.
"It was then that they remembered who they were. The community, the people, they were not craftspeople, artists, coralshapers, warriors, enemies, historians, princesses -- they were a story. They were a language. They were no more than what they spoke; and what they spoke was them."
More spinning symbols appear in the air, all around the creature, another large glyph spinning into existence over its head. It looks up dumbly, both its heads staring at the sigil.
Carissa looks back at Heather, like she couldn't give less of a shit about the monster now, tail unwrapping from around her waist.
"It was decided. One last shape, one last craft, one last push before they disappeared. The margins cried and sang for their arrival, but they held on fierce, inking their tapestry into a vessel, embodying their community within a relic -- the first shell picked, found on the precipice where they began. It became them, and they became nothing. And just like that, they were gone. Absent. Unwritten."
The Nuckelavee looks up, and then down again, and then finally at Carissa and Heather. Its expression could best be described as utterly dumbfounded.
And that's when they go off. Horizontal glyphs ripple, as thick purple astral chains streak from within the symbols, imbedding themselves, thump thump thump, pointed barbed tips ripping through the hapless creature. It tries to screech but, its throats, both of them, are ripped to shreds. Finally, two enormous pillars of flaming rock cleave straight through, one from the top, the other from the bottom, impaling the beast in horrifying fashion.
After a second, it drops to the ground, any cohesion in its shape vanishing, as it becomes a mass of sheared and ripped-apart flesh, as the glyphs and their contents fade.
One by one, the portals close, an unfamiliar stillness permeating into the once pristine forest clearing.
"So," Heather says, "Did we do it?"
Someone strides out of the trees, a thick smoke trailing from a device she holds in her hands. A woman with sylvan ears, brown hair with purple ends, and bright lilac eyes. Arcane robes flow around her, glimmering with fading symbols.
"There you are," The distant figure says.
"I hope so, my throat is fucking sore," Carissa replies to Heather.
"Hey! That was English!" Heather cheers, collapsing onto the soiled grass. "Oh fuck."
"You good there?" Carissa says, eyes flicking to Heather and off the third figure, who was hurrying up the hill now.
"I just realized I didn't tell anybody I got here, and now I have to tell them that not only did I arrive, but I also solved their problem behind their backs." She pauses, shaking her head in disbelief. "Thank god I don't have to work with them again, I bet they're still huddled around the shell."
"I wouldn't worry about it," Carissa says. "They will get targeted amnestics before the day is out."
"Carissa, who is this?" The third person asks as they near, looking over Heather with appraising eyes.
"Right, those work on people. I forget that sometimes." Heather stops, looking at the newly approaching figure. "Hey, I'm Heather. I saved Carissa from the terrible fate of being unable to speak -- which, depending on your perspective, could be a bad or good thing."
"Oh? What was it?" She looks at Heather with more interest than she had in the few seconds before. "I heard, she put on an anomaly without checking for effects first."
Carissa looks away, trying to be innocent, and quite possibly inching just a //bit// away from the third woman. [[span style="color:red"]]//Shit shit shit she's pissed.//[[/span]]
"Hey, she told me that she always uses protection. But sometimes the moment gets the best of you, right Cari?" Heather says, a sly smile forming on her face.
Carissa looks at Heather, mouth open, eyes wide. Shock, and then a bit of 'how fucking could you' spill across her face.
The third woman's hand shoots out and grabs Carissa's wrist preventing her escape, as she laughs. "Protection. Really?"
"Actually, now I remember you telling me Cari; you slipped and the necklace just... fell onto your neck, right? Accidents are crazy sometimes."
[[span style="color:red"]]//Shit, she's so mad she's going to tie me up in Shibari again.//[[/span]] Carissa pauses as a flash of dumb realization runs across her face. [[span style="color:red"]]//Wait. I like Shibari.//[[/span]]
"Nope, I put it on all by myself. Just discharged. I was being dumb." Carissa says assertively.
The third woman looks at her partner suspiciously, and then back to Heather, and then back to Carissa. "You just want to be tied down."
"Nooooo, don't tie me up again." Carissa says as she pantomimes real distress.
"I won't, because I believe the stranger over you. I can see through your lies." The strange sorceress says releasing her wrist.
[[span style="color:red"]]//FUCK.//[[/span]]
"Hey, not to uhhh... well, I'm going to be honest. I need to call my girlfriend and then start on the massive amount of paperwork I'll need to file for this, and also, this is getting pretty intense for somebody who just met you both today, so..." Heather brushes some hair out of her face, searching for the right words. "Carissa, can you take me back to the site?"
"Apologies for her indecency, my wife can be a bit of a handful sometimes," She says, "but we will not hold you up."
"Heather, this is my wife, Medea, our sorceress in shining robes." Carissa says. "And hey! You're the one who said it, not me."
"I did no such thing. Please, let's transport this woman back to the site so she can handle her job."
Carissa throws up her hands, but walks over none-the-less. "Uh, to do this I need to touch you. Is an arm ok or...?"
"Carissa, we just spent hours in your mind, trying to figure out how to revive a lost language, and then you were physically picking me up and moving me with your tail just a few minutes ago. Yeah, an arm is fine." Heather replies, smiling back at her.
"Ok look, the heat of battle is very different fro- yeah okay." She lets it go, touches Heather's arm and takes Medea's hand. That same weird-as-fuck feeling sets in again, as the three of them dissolve.
Heather, feeling her body dematerialize, has a sudden disruptive thought as a fear surges into her mind. [[span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;"]]//What if, when we reassemble, we get all jumbled up? Fuck, I just got used to this body!//[[/span]]
And then, before she can panic any longer, she rematerializes in the same room where they had passed out earlier, the chair still wedged under the door handle.
Heather regains her balance much faster this time, and after a panicked check of the girls and the rest of her, she sighs a breath of relief. She walks to the door, removes the chair and opens it.
"Hey guys! I fixed her! Oh also, I'm Heather, I got here a bit ago, but I'm going to leave soon, so don't worry about your lack of hospitality." Heather shouts into the rest of the temporary site.
She turns around and closes the door.
"So?"
"So?" Carissa asks tilting her head.
"Do we need to give her the amnestics, Carissa?" Medea asks.
"Nah, she's got the clearance. Or something like that. I think. I was... kind of not paying attention."
Medea sighs. "You set a pretty girl in front of you, and you become useless. Every time."
"Look, I've forgotten enough shit for an entire lifetime, I'm not forgetting anything else." Heather slumps down into the chair, exhaustion finally catching up with her. "Wait-- Your name is Medea, like //the// Medea? From the stories?"
Medea rubs her temples, as if just realizing Carissa's fuckup. "You didn't use the Pseudonym?"
"Uhhhh I may have fucked up." Beat. "A couple of times. Another beat. "Also I may have forgot the current Pseudonym."
"Carissa, please." Medea sighs.
"I'm trying babe, I swear I am. It's just you keep changing them, and I was running high on adrenaline," Carissa whines as her ears press to her head.
"It is fine. Eventually I will settle on one I like." She turns her focus back to Heather. "Yes. //The// Medea. And this adorable, but useless lesbian of a cat is Atalanta." Carissa just rubs her face as Medea pat pats the spot on her head between her ears.
"Right. I shouldn't be surprised at this point, you really do love your 'classics', don't you Cari-- sorry, //Atalanta//." Heather cocks her head to the side, a realization dawning on her. She pulls out her phone, and calls the one number she has on speed dial. "Hey babe, it's me. You remember that report we got of the hermeneutic in Greece, that was recreating the ancient Greek play? Long story short, but I may have just found the experts we were waiting for."
Heather covers the bottom of her phone and holds it slightly away from her face, turning back to the two women. "So. How do you two feel about theatre?"
-----
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2024-06-25T18:09:00
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Cat Got Your Tongue? - SCP Foundation
| 28
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[
"forgotten-memories-hub",
"seas-of-orcadia-hub",
"swallowed-by-a-prideful-lesbian-sea",
"don-t-let-me-forget",
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"seas-of-orcadia-hub",
"pridefest",
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1454194651
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/cat-got-your-tongue
|
|
cat-svg
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<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe allowtransparency="true" class="html-block-iframe" frameborder="0" src="/cat-svg/html/b8a63af593fa5b151d4c8fa88122499f39544386-293402125596931287"></iframe></p>
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<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/cat-svg">cat.svg</a>" by TNoName, translated by la kanro, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/cat-svg">https://scpwiki.com/cat-svg</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
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2024-05-03T06:48:00
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cat.svg - SCP Foundation
| 27
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<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="one column">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span><span style="color: #990011">2002</span></span></h1>
</div>
</div>
<p>The Director of Site-19, Charles Gears, could be heard two hallways away. His cane hitting against the steel was a recognizable sound in the otherwise bleak and monotonous labyrinth. Charles appeared to be in his mid-fifties. However, his name was listed on Foundation documents as far back as the twenties. The cane was a new addition, unadorned, functional rather than aesthetic. Unlike most site directors, Charles kept the lab coat and carried a clipboard.</p>
<p>Charles observed the various contained objects without interest, occasionally noting down observations. The personnel saluted, not unkindly, but without warmth. Charles kept a neat and tidy site, but it was clean and calculated, beating with a heart of steel. Even Charles’s kindness, the bonuses handed out at holidays or congratulatory notes, felt calculated. Charles remembered everything about every one of his employees, he remembered every detail of their lives, listed out for him on a file. He knew exactly how to make them work at max efficiency, how to make them happy and healthy workers. Charles Gears, the man with perfect memory, the rumors said that while he does feel emotion, he never shows it. The rumors said that he could bury his beloved wife without a tear, indeed, without even a single change in expression. Maybe he took a bullet to the head when young. Maybe the Foundation made him a cyborg. Maybe he was just born this way.</p>
<p>And Charles turned a corner, walking headlong into Researcher Myrna Chao, who apologized and reached out a hand to the fallen site director.</p>
<div class="one column">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: #990011">2009</span></span></h1>
</div>
</div>
<p>Alison Gears remembered very little of her childhood. Much to her chagrin, she did not inherit her father’s perfect memory. At five years old, she began waiting for her dad to come home from work. The glow of headlights signaling the awaited return. Alison loved her dad more than anything, the man who saved the world everyday. Alison waited longingly for the two daily hours spent with her father. He would take her into his study, books lining the wall and a blackboard for teaching. He would teach her reading, writing, mathematics, science. But really, Alison just wanted to see him talk. Alison craved an even deeper connection to the man who knew everything.</p>
<div class="one column">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc2"><span><span style="color: #990011">2014</span></span></h1>
</div>
</div>
<p>At ten years old, Alison felt as if she was missing out. She wanted to join her father in saving the world, though now she believed he was a chemist. Thanks to her father’s education and her innate talent, Alison soared above her peers. She wasn’t without friends, as a whole, she was a normal child. Her mother had made sure of such. Where her father had taught her the theory, her mother taught her the practice, kindness and respect as opposed to the simplicity of mathematics and science. And yet, Alison had a superiority complex, after all, she had to be better than everyone else in order to join her father at the top. She complained loudly to her mom, about getting a degree and outperforming everyone. About how she needs to fix the idiocy and irrationality of her peers. And her mom sat her down and spoke softly about respect and understanding.</p>
<p>Still, Alison soared, she mastered field after field, always looking up towards her father. One day, she went to the hospital because of lack of sleep. Her mother sobbed and begged her to just take it slow. Her father sat by her side, holding her hand, from when she was admitted to when she left. Alison smiled, as her father told her that she would succeed, that she would do good work in life, no matter what.</p>
<div class="one column">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc3"><span><span style="color: #990011">2020</span></span></h1>
</div>
</div>
<p>At sixteen years old, Alison discovered the Foundation. She tailed her dad to work and then tailed someone who left from a similar area and stole their computer. She accessed SCiPNet and discovered just how her father saved the world. Alison had never given up on her dream, but now, seeing her father’s name listed under site director, she had even loftier ambitions. She messaged her father, proudly proclaiming her discovery and requesting a talk. She grinned all the way home. Alison’s dreams were just up ahead. She would save the world, just as she had been trained since birth. This was her promised future. A world of abnormality that she could solve. The proud Alison entered the house and found her mother in the living room.</p>
<p>“Where’s dad?”</p>
<p>“Cleaning up a security breach at work.”</p>
<p>“So, are you going to wipe my memory?”</p>
<p>Myrna sighed and took a sip of tea. “No, Charles has been wanting to tell you already.”</p>
<p>“It was the right decision to wait till I was mature, otherwise I could have jeopardized security.”</p>
<p>“That’s a neat little way of saying you support your father, as usual.”</p>
<p>Alison shrugged with a grin. “He’s older and wiser than us.”</p>
<p>“Haha. Very good, but your father’s about as emotionally mature as you.”</p>
<p>A pause, Alison looked around the house before making eye contact with her mother, noting the age in her face, “so what’s it like?”</p>
<p>“It has its moments. I mean knowing exactly what everyone else doesn’t is often liberating.”</p>
<p>“It’s for their safety, for them to live in the light.”</p>
<p>“Wow, what a good parrot.”</p>
<p>“Will I be allowed to work there?”</p>
<p>“Undoubtedly, there’s even a program for children of faculty.” Myrna takes her daughter’s hands. “But Alison, this world you’re entering. It’s dangerous, immensely so, and I can’t let you leave without trying my absolute best to make sure you don’t do something terribly stupid. Always remember, you are responsible for your actions. What you just did today made someone lose not only his job, but four years of memory.” Myrna tapped her daughter’s head. “I know you have a lot of stuff up here, but it’s what’s in your hands that matters.”</p>
<p>“My hands?”</p>
<p>“Your heart is too abstract. Meanwhile, your hands hold your whole future, it’s yours to shape, yours to nurture. Alison, you will be a flower that blooms bigger and brighter than anyone else. But make sure that bloom makes the people around you happy. What else is there? I was young and hopeful once, we all were, Charles most of all. But this world you are entering, it is difficult, moreso than you could ever imagine.</p>
<p>Charles finally arrived home and hugged his daughter. He then sent her to bed, no words, just a squeeze on the shoulder, calculated, as always. Alison sat at the back of her bed, sleep impossible. She rested her head on the wall and thought about her future. She then heard the soft voices of her parents. Alison moved to the top of the stairs, listening.</p>
<p>“Times had to change eventually, the future catches up to us all. Though perhaps not you. You look just the same as ever Charles.”</p>
<p>“Are you upset, Myrna?”</p>
<p>“No. Alison has us, and will have us, until she outdoes us both. How about you, are you upset? After all, it’s the day your beloved died. I know you still love her.”</p>
<p>“I am upset, but I am ready for change, I am ready for a future with Alison. I am almost finished with the project, the greatest of my career, and Alison will be there by my side. I could ask for no more.”</p>
<p>And Alison found herself asleep, despite the beating of her heart loud in her ears.</p>
<div class="one column">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc4"><span><span style="color: #990011">To Be Continued</span></span></h1>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div class="one column"]]
[[=]]
+ ##990011|2002##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
The Director of Site-19, Charles Gears, could be heard two hallways away. His cane hitting against the steel was a recognizable sound in the otherwise bleak and monotonous labyrinth. Charles appeared to be in his mid-fifties. However, his name was listed on Foundation documents as far back as the twenties. The cane was a new addition, unadorned, functional rather than aesthetic. Unlike most site directors, Charles kept the lab coat and carried a clipboard.
Charles observed the various contained objects without interest, occasionally noting down observations. The personnel saluted, not unkindly, but without warmth. Charles kept a neat and tidy site, but it was clean and calculated, beating with a heart of steel. Even Charles’s kindness, the bonuses handed out at holidays or congratulatory notes, felt calculated. Charles remembered everything about every one of his employees, he remembered every detail of their lives, listed out for him on a file. He knew exactly how to make them work at max efficiency, how to make them happy and healthy workers. Charles Gears, the man with perfect memory, the rumors said that while he does feel emotion, he never shows it. The rumors said that he could bury his beloved wife without a tear, indeed, without even a single change in expression. Maybe he took a bullet to the head when young. Maybe the Foundation made him a cyborg. Maybe he was just born this way.
And Charles turned a corner, walking headlong into Researcher Myrna Chao, who apologized and reached out a hand to the fallen site director.
[[div class="one column"]]
[[=]]
+ ##990011|2009##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
Alison Gears remembered very little of her childhood. Much to her chagrin, she did not inherit her father’s perfect memory. At five years old, she began waiting for her dad to come home from work. The glow of headlights signaling the awaited return. Alison loved her dad more than anything, the man who saved the world everyday. Alison waited longingly for the two daily hours spent with her father. He would take her into his study, books lining the wall and a blackboard for teaching. He would teach her reading, writing, mathematics, science. But really, Alison just wanted to see him talk. Alison craved an even deeper connection to the man who knew everything.
[[div class="one column"]]
[[=]]
+ ##990011|2014##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
At ten years old, Alison felt as if she was missing out. She wanted to join her father in saving the world, though now she believed he was a chemist. Thanks to her father’s education and her innate talent, Alison soared above her peers. She wasn’t without friends, as a whole, she was a normal child. Her mother had made sure of such. Where her father had taught her the theory, her mother taught her the practice, kindness and respect as opposed to the simplicity of mathematics and science. And yet, Alison had a superiority complex, after all, she had to be better than everyone else in order to join her father at the top. She complained loudly to her mom, about getting a degree and outperforming everyone. About how she needs to fix the idiocy and irrationality of her peers. And her mom sat her down and spoke softly about respect and understanding.
Still, Alison soared, she mastered field after field, always looking up towards her father. One day, she went to the hospital because of lack of sleep. Her mother sobbed and begged her to just take it slow. Her father sat by her side, holding her hand, from when she was admitted to when she left. Alison smiled, as her father told her that she would succeed, that she would do good work in life, no matter what.
[[div class="one column"]]
[[=]]
+ ##990011|2020##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
At sixteen years old, Alison discovered the Foundation. She tailed her dad to work and then tailed someone who left from a similar area and stole their computer. She accessed SCiPNet and discovered just how her father saved the world. Alison had never given up on her dream, but now, seeing her father’s name listed under site director, she had even loftier ambitions. She messaged her father, proudly proclaiming her discovery and requesting a talk. She grinned all the way home. Alison’s dreams were just up ahead. She would save the world, just as she had been trained since birth. This was her promised future. A world of abnormality that she could solve. The proud Alison entered the house and found her mother in the living room.
“Where’s dad?”
“Cleaning up a security breach at work.”
“So, are you going to wipe my memory?”
Myrna sighed and took a sip of tea. “No, Charles has been wanting to tell you already.”
“It was the right decision to wait till I was mature, otherwise I could have jeopardized security.”
“That’s a neat little way of saying you support your father, as usual.”
Alison shrugged with a grin. “He’s older and wiser than us.”
“Haha. Very good, but your father’s about as emotionally mature as you.”
A pause, Alison looked around the house before making eye contact with her mother, noting the age in her face, “so what’s it like?”
“It has its moments. I mean knowing exactly what everyone else doesn’t is often liberating.”
“It’s for their safety, for them to live in the light.”
“Wow, what a good parrot.”
“Will I be allowed to work there?”
“Undoubtedly, there’s even a program for children of faculty.” Myrna takes her daughter’s hands. “But Alison, this world you’re entering. It’s dangerous, immensely so, and I can’t let you leave without trying my absolute best to make sure you don’t do something terribly stupid. Always remember, you are responsible for your actions. What you just did today made someone lose not only his job, but four years of memory.” Myrna tapped her daughter’s head. “I know you have a lot of stuff up here, but it’s what’s in your hands that matters.”
“My hands?”
“Your heart is too abstract. Meanwhile, your hands hold your whole future, it’s yours to shape, yours to nurture. Alison, you will be a flower that blooms bigger and brighter than anyone else. But make sure that bloom makes the people around you happy. What else is there? I was young and hopeful once, we all were, Charles most of all. But this world you are entering, it is difficult, moreso than you could ever imagine.
Charles finally arrived home and hugged his daughter. He then sent her to bed, no words, just a squeeze on the shoulder, calculated, as always. Alison sat at the back of her bed, sleep impossible. She rested her head on the wall and thought about her future. She then heard the soft voices of her parents. Alison moved to the top of the stairs, listening.
“Times had to change eventually, the future catches up to us all. Though perhaps not you. You look just the same as ever Charles.”
“Are you upset, Myrna?”
“No. Alison has us, and will have us, until she outdoes us both. How about you, are you upset? After all, it’s the day your beloved died. I know you still love her.”
“I am upset, but I am ready for change, I am ready for a future with Alison. I am almost finished with the project, the greatest of my career, and Alison will be there by my side. I could ask for no more.”
And Alison found herself asleep, despite the beating of her heart loud in her ears.
[[div class="one column"]]
[[=]]
+ ##990011|To Be Continued##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
|
2024-11-29T23:50:00
|
[
"black-queen",
"doctor-gears",
"tale"
] |
Charles and Myrna Had a Daughter Named Alison - SCP Foundation
| 0
|
[] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"lowest-rated-articles",
"black-queen-hub"
] |
[] |
1457453892
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/charles-and-myrna-had-a-daughter-named-alison
|
|
child-venison-subject-gaea
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>The nuns treat me as a Child,<br/>
Sweet,<br/>
Young,<br/>
Something to protect,<br/>
They wish to keep me to themselves</p>
<p>The men treat me as Venison<br/>
“Sweet”<br/>
“Young”<br/>
Something to consume<br/>
They wish to keep me to themselves</p>
<p>The scholars treat me as Subject<br/>
-Sweet<br/>
-Young<br/>
Something to measure<br/>
They wish to keep me to themselves</p>
<p>He treats me as "████".<br/>
Sweet.<br/>
Young.<br/>
Something to forget.<br/>
He wished he could keep me.</p>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
The nuns treat me as a Child,
Sweet,
Young,
Something to protect,
They wish to keep me to themselves
The men treat me as Venison
“Sweet”
“Young”
Something to consume
They wish to keep me to themselves
The scholars treat me as Subject
-Sweet
-Young
Something to measure
They wish to keep me to themselves
He treats me as "████".
Sweet.
Young.
Something to forget.
He wished he could keep me.
|
2024-10-27T02:13:00
|
[
"poetry",
"tale",
"teenage-gaea"
] |
Child, Venison, Subject, Gaea - SCP Foundation
| 7
|
[] |
[] |
[] |
1457218383
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/child-venison-subject-gaea
|
|
choudhury-gift
|
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<p style="text-align: center;"><em><strong>Reserved for Charles Choudhury</strong></em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Word Count: 6k</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Reading Time: 21 minutes</p>
<p>Please read <a href="/scp-5384">SCP-5384</a> for the necessary context prior to reading this. Thank you in advance.</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div id="u-author_block">
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8090">▸ More by this Author ◂</a></p>
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<div id="u-comments2" style="display: none;">
<p>{$comments2}</p>
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<div class="u-faq">
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-ayers">F.A.Q.</a></p>
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<div style="display: none;">
<p>{$doesthisfixthebug}</p>
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<p>Agent Charles Choudhury stares forward, disbelief painted on his face as realization slowly crashes through his system in waves. Layers of impossibility stack and twist upon one another. A single note stuck to the laminated glass of his newly issued automobile looks back at him with defiance.</p>
<p>Confusion was first. Then came the dozens of thoughts racing in his mind. They all search for solutions to a problem that need not be solved, for the answer is right in front of him. A cherry red Ram 1500.</p>
<p>"This, this is for me?" The researcher at his left nods back at him.</p>
<p>"It's been cleared of any memetic, cognitohazardous, or otherwise anomalous tampering," Naomi Bradley said as she produced a set of keys to the sleek red pickup. "It's all yours. Consider it thanks for your good work."</p>
<p>Tossing the key ring over to Choudhury, Bradley watches as he fumbles the catch and lets them fall to the cement with a thin metallic jingle. He crouches down and scrounges around.</p>
<p>"Uh, uh, tha-thanks, Naomi, I-" he pauses and takes three breaths. "How is this possible? I thought Matkins-"</p>
<p>"Evidently, <a href="/scp-5384">SCP-5384</a> was not neutralized as we thought it was," her monotonous voice carried a sliver of exhaustion. She managed to conceal the bags under her eyes with foundation. "Which brings me back to-"</p>
<p>She gestures forward at the glistening vehicle in the sunlight.</p>
<p>"This. Charles, if it comes back like how it was before-"</p>
<p>"Hold on," he looks away from his reward for one moment and turns to face her. His eyebrows furrow. "Is this a bribe? Are you <em>bribing</em> me to pick up the project again?"</p>
<p>"Maybe, Charles. I mean, it could have been sent to an abatement facility or donated to someone who actually needs it. And you could have just been reassigned to keep working on this without getting a free car out of it," she says, turning to meet his eyes. "But the higher-ups seem to like you and think you could be useful if SCP-5384 does reappear. You're pretty fortunate, all things considered."</p>
<p>Choudhury's eyes drift downward at the keys in his hand, then back to the ruby on the stone.</p>
<p>"So, I'll let you get acquainted with it. The manual's in the glovebox. Registration and insurance have both been handled, though you'll have to talk to Goldbaker after the first year," Naomi turns and walks back to the entrance of Site-48. "I'll see you on Monday, Charles."</p>
<p>Charles chortles to himself briefly, absent-mindedly fiddling with the keys as he stares at the car. His face turns with no solid expression in mind.</p>
<p>It finally comes to a conclusion as he silently mouths <em>Thank you, Matkins</em>.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Driving home from work was like flipping a coin for Charles. He could either become entangled in the late afternoon traffic, forced stuck amidst the endless stream of engines around his own, and having to stop for every terribly-timed pedestrian, or it would be a smooth sailing, calming endeavor. This time, it was the former.</p>
<p>Two months of wear had beset him and his prize. From the hordes of pigeons relentlessly shitting on his truck to the soul-sucking day-to-day of monitoring security feeds and anomalous channels for hours on end. Now the detours around the city and the rides home felt free by comparison, if strenuous at times.</p>
<p>Wearily, he clicks the turn signal on, coming up to the intersection as another flush of motors all form a blockade with their passage. They all just want to get to their own destinations. One, two, three, five - eight pass before someone finally lets him through. He feels a rush and turns the corner. Two seconds after already passing by the stranger, he realized he'd forgotten to wave thanks.</p>
<p>Making his way through the suburbs was refreshingly easy. His apartment was only a few more blocks down the street from the red light he was stuck at now. The sounds of light chatter on the radio crowd the void. Some talk show host laughs with some woman, neither of whom Charles knew, the joke of which he didn't hear. Children shout, playing in the park to his left. The outside car engines reverberate through the windows, all this submerging Choudhury into a sea of white noise.</p>
<p>He glances left, overlooking a collection of blank faces withheld by the distance. He pays little attention to them, absent-mindedly watching the kids playing on the swings, half-heartedly jealous. A portly, scraggily dressed dude sits on an iron bench. The light turns green. Two old guys wearing neon shorts run around the fenced-in tennis court.</p>
<p>Choudhury's eyes peel away from the park and back to the road as someone slams on the horn behind him.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">-</p>
<p>Charles felt a slight sense of unease for a moment as he lay unfathomably comfortably in bed. He lingered there for a second longer than he should have, his brain tells him. He shouldn't have been there that long. Inconvenienced others had seen him. What kind of moron was he? He tries his best to push away these thoughts. After all, in only five hours he'd have to get up for work.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Monitoring. The cornerstone of the Foundation's active containment efforts. A long, arduous system of fishing for hours in datastreams, waiting for the right channel, the right tuna, and the right moment to align. Then catching could be offloaded to the men with guns and that would be that.</p>
<p>Real fishermen at least get to walk away with dinner when they finish for the day. Instead, Charles gets to sit, clicking and typing away, searching this security camera to that podcast microphone and this online messaging board to that dealership promo. At least now he knew where he could get his truck worked on without getting scammed to high Hell.</p>
<p>Boredom could hardly cover this feeling Choudhury endured every single day. Unchallenged, unrewarded. But, at the very least, he was getting paid well enough to not dare to pursue another career path. It will get better, he thinks. Maybe he could find Matkins and put an end to all this. After three months, it was clear the Foundation higher-ups would never let up until they had solid evidence of the man's neutralization.</p>
<p>The reports all said that the amnestic treatment was successful. They gave him a place to stay and kept tabs on him there until he just stopped showing up. And then that truck magically appeared in the one part of the Site-48 parking lot that cameras did not cover, and now the whole facility was on high alert.</p>
<p>High alert that Choudhury had to work off of.</p>
<p>Naomi would occasionally pop in from time to time, checking in on Charles' progress with the project. Each time she came in with a stack of papers in hand and left with her fingers in her pockets. She could mask the exhaustion under her eyes, but not inside them. She would return to her office and pick up yet another stack of paperwork to review, and from there on no one would see Researcher Bradley until her shift ended.</p>
<p>Choudhury would try to pick up his own pace to help her when he could. He'd be understanding whenever she delivered more work to go over, and even try to stay for some overtime when he knew she was busy there too. Another day goes by, another ten, maybe twelve hours to spend. Another sheet to fill in. Just one more page to read. But after all this time, it still felt as though they were searching for geese to chase.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">-</p>
<p>A sharp duo of taps knock on the door, jolting Choudhury's head from the mess on his desk. Instinctively, his mouth shouts out <em>Come in!</em> while his body tries to stretch itself before the visitor would see him like this.</p>
<p>Naomi steps in, carrying a collection of transcripts, notices, police reports, parking tickets, and subjects of interest pertaining to the current status of select persons of interest to the project. Each would require a review in full, followed by properly signing off on the reports on his terminal, to which he would have to enter an authentication token just after checking off that the material he had just read and confirmed that he had read was, in fact, a complete waste of time.</p>
<p>The usual order.</p>
<p>"Hey, Naomi," he scrambles to make space on his table for the new workload for today, shoving dozens of other, similar papers away or to the floor entirely, to be dealt with later. "How are you?"</p>
<p>"Fine, fine," lying through her teeth like an experienced veteran of the Foundation. "Nothing interesting. What about you? Did you follow up on that incident down on 43rd?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. Some teenagers got drunk and decided to take their parents' cars for a race."</p>
<p>"<em>That's it?</em>" she looks down at him. He keeps himself from shrugging.</p>
<p>"One of the cars was from Matkins. It was traded around a bunch so it probably slipped our radar. I left it to the officers there since there wasn't anything notable about it."</p>
<p>"And you didn't come to me about this? <em>Slipped past our radar</em>?" she deviates from her natural routine and takes a seat across from Charles.</p>
<p>"Matkins probably fudged the work on it."</p>
<p>"SCP-5384 has never shown the capacity to fail to write up the paperwork for one of its clients."</p>
<p>"He's only human," Choudhury finally shrugs.</p>
<p>Bradley groans, letting her head fall to her hands. Her eyelids seem comfortable as they shut.</p>
<p>"Just get these back to me as soon as you can."</p>
<p>"I will. I will. Thank you."</p>
<p>She looks up, tilting her head.</p>
<p>"For <em>what</em>?"</p>
<p>He stutters, mixing words as his jaws work against him. Four and a half hours in, his brain was far from well connected to the rest of his body.</p>
<p>The sight of his head bobbing around was enough for Naomi. She stands, turns, opens the door again, and walks out. Choudhury groans.</p>
<p>"<em>Damn it.</em>"</p>
<hr/>
<p>Killing time outside the park once again, Choudhury sits and waits for a family of four and an elderly Asian woman to cross the street. Then a group of children joins in on the fun and dashes about the road, forming a chainlink series of traffic cones, blockading his left turn as they mindlessly scamper home from an assuredly long and tiring day of school.</p>
<p>How joyful. Not even a care in the whole wide world.</p>
<p>Lost in his thoughts again, Charles looks up to see the time ticking down on the sidewalk's clock and floors the petal to the metal to make the turn. No horns blare, fortunately. Dreadfully, he checks the rearview mirrors and hopes that nobody saw him just sitting there mindlessly.</p>
<p>He turns his eyes back to the road where a dishevelled Larry Matkins attempts to jaywalk across the street.</p>
<p>Choudhury swerves hard right, narrowly threading the needle betwixt two parked cars as he clambers inside to get the car, the seatbelt, and his Fitbit heart spike detection off. The truck is parked half atop the sidewalk as he pulls out his phone. The first number to dial would be Naomi's.</p>
<p>He stumbles to get to his feet and leaves the truck in its sidewalk-facing perpendicularly parked position. The alarm blares. Some civilians arrive just to inaudibly badger him about this. They don't matter. All that matters right now is catching up with Matkins so that proper personnel can handle this. The right men with the right procedures, protective equipment, experience, numbers, training, and - guns, he briefly thinks before shying that thought away.</p>
<p><em>He isn't dangerous</em>, Choudhury thinks. Matkins is just a car salesman, just a friendly face who… managed to evade the Foundation for the past three months. Who is seemingly impervious to amnestics. Who broke into some of the most fortified legal and organizational systems the anomalous world - or otherwise - has to offer.</p>
<p>Who is now currently seated, apparently winded on a cast iron park bench sweating profusely with a loaf of squashed bread clutched to his ribs.</p>
<p>Looking down at the man, Choudhury pockets the phone. He leans down close while trying to maintain a distance; the man was too busy resting his eyes and body to notice.</p>
<p>Sporting some slight stubble, dressed in that same suit - now dirtied and visibly moist - and coated in yellowish mustard stains around his cheeks, the absolutely unlikely answer is certain. <em>This</em> is the man himself; Larry Matkins, in the flesh. Choudhury has to be sure.</p>
<p>"Mr. Matkins? Is that you, sir?"</p>
<p>The man's eyes warily budge themselves open, then widen and shut again in dual reaction to Charles and the bright sunlight. Almost instantly, he hops himself up and grabs Choudhury's hand, dropping the bread.</p>
<p>"Charles? Well, I'll be. How have you been, my friend? How have you been?"</p>
<p>Taken aback, Choudhury stutters. "Uh, uh, fine, Mr. Matkins. Fine, I guess."</p>
<p>"That is great to hear, Charles. Tell me, how are you enjoying the truck? I tried my best to swing for real Deep Pearl Cherry, but I figure a couple shades ain't that much to split hairs over."</p>
<p>"It's great. It's really great, but uh-"</p>
<p>Taking a step to Charles' side, Matkins takes a look down the hill where a commotion of civilians has crowded around the improperly parked Ram. The alarm continues to alert everybody that part of its front end was scraped on the concrete.</p>
<p>"Glad… glad to hear that, Charles."</p>
<p>Choudhury looks between the man who has eluded him for months and his semi-totaled gift, internally cursing himself. "I, I uh, I-"</p>
<p>"It's all fine, Charles. I'll be right here when you come back."</p>
<p>Once again, looking between the two, Choudhury hesitates. "Are you sure?"</p>
<p>"Sure."</p>
<p>Choudhury nods. "Alright, just, uh, just stay right there," and he takes off to rescue his truck from the clutches of a perturbed collection of the inconvenienced.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">-</p>
<p>Just like he said, there he was, watching the birds clutter around a sampling of seedlings from his octogenarian bench mate, Matkins sat as Charles came back up the hill a half hour afterwards. Half asleep, he groggily pulls himself up to clamber towards the park's new inhabitant.</p>
<p>"You sure took your time."</p>
<p>Reaching the top and coming to stand in front of Matkins, Choudhury sighs. "Sorry. I had to deal with some parking ticket and fend off a police officer just to stop the thing from getting impounded."</p>
<p>"That's the system for you. Guess that'll just become another one of your guys' statistics."</p>
<p>"I'm sorry?"</p>
<p>"You sure like to say that a lot, Charles."</p>
<p>"Look, I didn't have a say in what happened. I tried to make the transition as smooth as possible."</p>
<p>"Yeah, I know. Bosses, am I right?"</p>
<p>Rearing back, Matkins thrusts his arms forward, consequently sending his upper body up and out of the seat as he gets to his legs. "Let's take a walk."</p>
<p>The two traverse through the park, passing by the tennis and basketball courts on their way. A couple walks their dog. A father pretends to block his son from scoring on the hoop. A sprinkler activates and a group of children there all screech and shout as the cold makes contact.</p>
<p>Matkins leans down and takes a sip from a public fountain. "So, what's on your mind?"</p>
<p>Choudhury ponders the question for a moment, quickly trying to decide on the best question to ask without the transcript recorder set up. "How do you still remember everything?"</p>
<p>"Oh, that one's easy," he wipes his mouth on his sleeve. "You got the report that your procedure worked?"</p>
<p>"Didn't it?"</p>
<p>"Probably would have if it happened."</p>
<p>"It- it didn't happen?"</p>
<p>"Nope. Look, whatever those other people did, that's their business, Charles. But I'm proud of what I did. Even if some people went and took it for granted, who cares? I helped people my way, and that's good enough for me."</p>
<p>"But now you're living like…"</p>
<p>"Like a man content with the life he's lived. <a href="/scp-6384">Some people don't have that, you know</a>?"</p>
<p>Choudhury mumbles in affirmation. They continue on and take a seat in the northeast corner, where a wooden table and two sets of benches lie. A motorcycle explodes by on the main street just beyond the fence of greenery beside them.</p>
<p>"So you're retired, then?"</p>
<p>"I guess so. It's not exactly the glamorous picture I had in mind back in my twenties and thirties, but it's enough. I suppose."</p>
<p>"The Foundation offered you accommodations. A whole house to yourself. <a href="/scp-5472">I know most people would do anything for a deal like that</a>. Why didn't you take it?"</p>
<p>"Because then I'd be living a lie. Having to pretend like I didn't do all that. Taking an entire house for just one man; I'm sure you realize why that's not great. Living with the FBI watching over me at all times doesn't sound fun. Or maybe there was some lingering frustration that my life's work was dismantled over something I had no control over. Take your pick."</p>
<p>"I'm sorry, Mr. Matkins-"</p>
<p>"None needed, Charles. None needed. I've been working on those reports telling you I wasn't there. Actually managed to hand that place over to a small family down on their luck."</p>
<p>"Why are you telling me this?"</p>
<p>"Because I believe I can trust you to keep that on the down low."</p>
<p>Slouching forward, Choudhury rests his head on his hand and brushes away the thin black hair that had become overgrown and unkempt in his unending work. A breeze passes by with its shrill stinging chill. Matkins checks his wrist, looking down at the cracked watch ornamented with fake gold bronze inlay.</p>
<p>"You know, Charles, in all my years fighting against those corporate suits, I saw a lot of good people go down to keep the company afloat. Or, keep the board floating, really. I don't imagine the people you work for are any better."</p>
<p>"Everybody has to make hard decisions sometimes."</p>
<p>Matkins groans and sits upright. "Oh come on, Charles! That is complete and utter crap! Look, I've been in the system. I've seen how it all works from the bottom to the top of the totem pole. I know which choices are hard or easy to make because I made them all. I've seen the suits make business moves just for the sake of it, like merging with the Germans who have completely different priorities than the average American nuclear family!"</p>
<p>He pauses to breathe. "I've seen them lobby Congress to shower them with taxpayer money when the economy went bad and then still lay off thousands of hard workers before they even thought about dipping into one of their millionaire shareholder's vacation funds! That's the truth, Charles, not whatever corporate propaganda they drip down on you."</p>
<p>Choudhury leans up and lets his hands fall to the table. "You're right. But what can we do about it? The people at the top are there for a reason; that's just the way of the world."</p>
<p>"Charles, look at me. Never take the world at face value. Things can change."</p>
<p>"I quite literally work for the people keeping that from being true."</p>
<p>"Change is going to happen one way or another, and your bosses won't be able to stop that no matter what. You have to be ready to ride that wave when it comes."</p>
<p>Choudhury breaks from his idle stare at the tabletop to look up at Matkins with scepticism. "<em>Ride that wave</em>?"</p>
<p>Larry digs into his jacket and ruffles around, eventually producing a crumpled and wrecked magazine cover advertising something called a <em>Sea-Doo</em>. "Sorry, I've gotten into jetskis recently. Have you seen these guys in action?"</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">-</p>
<p>Waiting at the bus stop was a ritual that Choudhury had not missed these past few months. Either standing around awkwardly or being seated in the three allotted spaces; sitting right next to a loud-mouthed teenager and his buds as well as an elderly man on the phone both chattering on about inane nonsense. All whilst waiting twenty minutes for the next one to arrive as he'd just missed the last one.</p>
<p>But now in the late afternoon on the parkside sidewalk, it was quiet and alone, and the only other person here was Matkins as the two waited.</p>
<p>Weighing his options, Choudhury occasionally would look back at the fellow to confirm the situation was real. If he called Naomi now, then the teams could come and finish the job, and he'd be able to move on with his life.</p>
<p>He looked back at Larry once more. That Euclid-level Veil-threatening humanoid entity. That menace to society Choudhury had spent the last three months working to track down sat there in the same tattered suit he'd worn since that ill-fated interview. When Charles had to tell him that he couldn't keep dispensing out free cars.</p>
<p><em>Just a guy trying to do right for others.</em></p>
<p><em>Even if others wouldn't lift a finger to help him.</em></p>
<p>"Are you alright, Charles?"</p>
<p>Returning to Earth from his spacing out, Choudhury faces Matkins again. "W-what?"</p>
<p>"You keep looking at me funny. Are you sure you're okay?"</p>
<p>"Y-yeah, sorry. I just, I just got lost in my thoughts," scouring his recollection of his Foundation training, he searches for some bullshit topic to talk about. "Just… you ever think about Tahiti?"</p>
<p>"Thinking about vacation, eh? Well, good on you, Charles. I hear that place is real nice; you deserve it."</p>
<p>"Thank you, Matkins."</p>
<p>The bus comes into view down the street. Larry dusts himself off and scrounges around in his pockets for the fare, coming up a dollar short. The bus nears as he turns to Choudhury. "Shoot. Could you break a five?"</p>
<p>Charles stands and pulls out his wallet from his back pocket, handing Matkins a plastic card. "Here. This should be good for half a year or so," he says as he hands him his company-issued ticket.</p>
<p>"Nah, no, I just need a dollar Char-"</p>
<p>"Just take it. Get yourself out of here, ride a jetski to Tahiti or something. We'll keep looking for you here for years if you slip up even a little."</p>
<p>Matkins holds the card up and gestures with it, waving it in the air a little to show appreciation. "Well, thank you very much, Charles Choudhury."</p>
<p>The bus pulls up to the stop and the door opens to reveal a set of steps. Its inside is cramped with dozens of strangers all vying for territory on this small, enclosed tube of transport. Matkins steps on and swipes Charles' card, getting a green light on the scanner. He looks back one last time at Choudhury.</p>
<p>"Take care, Charles. Take care."</p>
<p>"Thanks. Enjoy your retirement, Lawrence. You earned it."</p>
<p>With a gust of mechanized pistons, the bus doors shut as Larry started down the way to find an open spot on the handlebars since all the seats were taken up.</p>
<p>And the bus took off, rejoining its fellows in the stream of traffic along the San Joaquin main street. Charles, alone with his thoughts, unsure what to think of the situation, walked back to his thankfully unharassed truck just a slim twelve or so meters down the sidewalk.</p>
<p>He clicks the key fob, opens the door, and takes a comfortable seat on the fine leather he had barely taken care of. The weight of his body slowly, incrementally, fades away like seafoam.</p>
<p>Choudhury presses the start button and puts his foot on the break, activating the engine and lightly rustling the recording device hidden in the truck's front side grille.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Walking into the office building, the sign overhead reading "Southern California Petroleum", Choudhury looks around the small front desk area of this two-and-a-half-room building. Nothing. Nobody here, <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/choudhury-insurance">not even Triple-A to man the till</a>. No customers either - paid or otherwise.</p>
<p>He looks around, searching for any clues as to why the others would break from protocol as his mind gradually starts leaping to conclusions.</p>
<p>Only when Choudhury stops does he see the store sign reading <em>closed</em>. <em>It's always something right under your nose.</em></p>
<p>He sighs, half relieved that nobody saw him going in circles like a headless chicken, but while also checking around the parking lot to confirm that nobody had seen him and that there was no chance that anyone who had seen him dancing like an idiot could have left before he started looking for them. His checking is completed to his satisfaction.</p>
<p>Choudhury turns back around to see the top of a mop of bright blonde hair. He jolts back, realizing midway through the familiar sight before him.</p>
<p>"N-Naomi, hey, I, uh-"</p>
<p>"Good morning, Charles."</p>
<p>"… Morning."</p>
<p>Spinning around, Naomi heads back behind the front desk and into the small utility closet in the backroom. "Good news. Something popped up. Follow me."</p>
<p>Briefly caught off guard, Choudhury rushes to catch up with Naomi as he tries to figure out what is going on. "W-what? You mean with 5384?"</p>
<p>"With <em>SCP</em>-5384", Researcher Bradley chides as she pushes a box of pamphlets and user guides out of the way, revealing a lightly glowing number pad. She inputs a six-digit string, causing an audible <em>chk</em> as multiple electronic latches unlock. "And yes, I believe we may be onto something." A trapdoor opens, arcing its faux floor up and down in the top right corner, revealing a descending staircase leading to the real Site-48.</p>
<p>As per usual with Foundation regulation, OSHA would weep upon seeing this.</p>
<p>The two take turns going down the wobbly undermeasured steps as Naomi continues down the chill eggshell white hallway, leaving Choudhury to input his code into the system to shut the trapdoor once more. He hurries to catch up with her again.</p>
<p>Turning through an elaborate series of hallways and corners, passing doorframes, window panes, and the odd death row inmate being escorted by their coworkers, they delve deeper into the heart of the facility.</p>
<p>"So, what did you find?"</p>
<p>"There was a disturbance yesterday. Eight dead in a public transit accident. This way."</p>
<p>Choudhury stops.</p>
<p>"<em><strong>What?!</strong></em>"</p>
<p>Naomi turns to him for a moment. "Come on, you'll need to see the report for yourself."</p>
<p>Choudhury's blood runs cold as the muscles in his body burn bright. He follows along, now moving double time.</p>
<p>Eventually, they make it into a humanoid containment chamber, a room like most other rooms with the only difference being a one-way mirror at one end and a small plastic table in the center, besides the human amenities in the corners. Charles looks around for any signs of what Naomi could be referring to until she pulls out a paper and puts it on the table.</p>
<p>"Take a look."</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>Transcript 5384-5</strong></p>
<p><strong>Personnel Involved:</strong> Agent Charles Choudhury</p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> SCP-5384</p>
<p><strong>Location:</strong> Shaun Cavalry Park</p>
<p><strong>Date:</strong> November 22, 2015: 6:17 PM</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong><Begin Log></strong></p>
<p><em>Footage takes place <span style="filter: blur(4px);">behind a metal grate, pointed outward, facing a</span> clear line of sight up the sidewalk <span style="filter: blur(4px);">as the car ahead drives off. The camera remains here for twenty minutes until</span> notable activity begins with Charles Choudhury stepping into the shot.</em></p>
<p><em>Agent Choudhury walks out <span style="filter: blur(4px);">from the park path and walks up the sidewalk as another,</span> semi-obese figure moves beside him. <span style="filter: blur(4px);">The two take a seat at the bus stop and</span> stay there for eight minutes, <span style="filter: blur(4px);">talking amongst themselves.</span></em></p>
<p><em>A bus approaches the stop. <span style="filter: blur(4px);">The figure stands and gets into position.</span> Agent Choudhury stands as well and shakes SCP-5384's hand-</em></p>
<p><em><span style="filter: blur(4px);">How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Carribean by providence impoverished in squalor, grow up to be a hero and a scholar?</span></em></p>
</div>
<p>"What the hell is this, Naomi?" Choudhury looks up from the document to see Researcher Bradley staring dead ahead through him. The bags under her eyes have cleared up, if only slightly.</p>
<p>"More than enough grounds for the termination of your employment with the SCP Foundation, Choudhury," she says as she pulls up a seat for herself. "You have undergone the same training as the rest of us. You should know better than to socialize with the items under our containment. It is shocking to me that you not only failed to alert anyone else of your discovery but that you aided SCP-5384 in its escape."</p>
<p>As she continues, she reaches over the table and takes the paper. "Charles, do I even have to describe just how unacceptable this decision was?" she pauses, apparently waiting for an answer.</p>
<p>"He didn't. He couldn't hurt anyone, Naomi."</p>
<p>"That's why I said <em>accident</em>. But you let him get away. Why did you let him get away, Charles?"</p>
<p>"He, he's harmless! Harmless! He, he couldn't-"</p>
<p>Bradley cuts in, her once tired eyes now cutting deep with a cold, dead-on stare. "You know better than this. <em><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Why did you let him leave</span></em>?"</p>
<p>Flustered in his thoughts, Choudhury's mind tumbles from place to place, trying to think of some reasonable excuse while balancing stowing away the betrayal he felt by both this absurd violation and his supposed involvement in such an unlawful incident. He could not afford the same fate as the many other terminated personnel who had started their grovelling by aggressively confronting the situation.</p>
<p>"I-I, I don't, I can't, I-"</p>
<p>"Spit it out, Charles," annoyance clouds Researcher Bradley's face, an irritation that had been hidden away with make-up and a practiced patience only Foundation interviewers could achieve.</p>
<p>Silence crowds the room. Silence, and the ambient sounds of through-the-wall machinery and vent articulation. The only ones in the world are Charles and Researcher Bradley. She peers up at him. Time slows and hastens all at once, and Choudhury is the only one who can fix this self-contained anomaly.</p>
<p>Breath returns to Choudhury. He speaks, unsure entirely of the consequences he'd be facing for this. "I trusted him, alright, Naomi. I trusted him. I'm sorry. I'm, I'm so sorry," his mouth compels him to continue talking, already in motion, but his mind takes control once more. Charles finally takes a seat.</p>
<p>Quiet returns to the chamber, though this time, not dedicated purely to Choudhury. Researcher Bradley now shares in this burden. Taking her time, staring ahead, almost corpse-like at Charles, she makes no movement to address either's concerns.</p>
<p>"It's already been decided," her voice, slow, focused, and cold, fills the entire room like a void. "You are off the project. You will be transferred to Site-56. Any previously afforded privileges you have received will be revoked. Am I clear, Choudhury?"</p>
<p>"Yes, yes ma'am."</p>
<p>Bradley stands and heads for the door. Her high heels tap against the linoleum floor, creating an echoing series of markers to indicate her distance from Charles as his head falls to the table.</p>
<p>"You are <em>very</em> fortunate, Charles."</p>
<p>The door shuts.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The vagueness of Bradley's words only became apparent to Charles later on. Walking through the facility, a reverberating shame followed him as he went, those statements all muddled together and fragmented into stabbing memories that he tried to decypher for meaning.</p>
<p>But the final part of that scolding became clear when Choudhury stepped out from the basement site and into the front office. Outside, in Southern California Petroleum's parking lot, a deep red truck was getting towed. Emblazened on the tow truck's side were the words "Sanchez Car-care Providers."</p>
<p>Cursing and dashing through the small space, Choudhury gets stuck on the countertop door. Fiddling with it for dear life, he manages to get through. He bursts out of the building, but by that time, the tow had already made it out to the street. All he could do now was shout and curse the driver, but all the same, he was left on his ass as his Ram was shepherded away.</p>
<p>"<em><strong>Damn it all! Fuck!</strong></em>"</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">-</p>
<p>The afternoon flurry of traffic seemed so much louder from the pavement. Cars and vans going this and that way. This late in the day, how could there be so many people on the road? Where could they all be going at once? They move in and out of earshot, surely, though slowly, disappearing into white noise as those same words rang relentlessly in his ears.</p>
<p>Stuck at the bus stop again, a suitcase at either side, Choudhury's mind wanders amidst the fragmented members of his psyche for a solution to what events had just transpired. Images of Matkins' charming smile or Naomi's disappointed face manifest and give way to the next troubling thought.</p>
<p>Those same scenes return to him as the coming express comes into view for the fellows beside him. A piece of some kind of paper folds up. Absent-mindedly, Choudhury's body reaches for his bags as his mind replays those visions.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">-</p>
<p>The weathered wooden furniture once sanded down to a fine enough luster, quickly becomes uncomfortable as the table drops its clean facade, releasing an infestation of ants across its surface. Choudhury reels back, his hands briefly arcing above his head. Larry laughs as he leans down, propping up his bottom jaw to get a better look at the newcomers.</p>
<p>"Neat, ain't they?" he says while drawing out a half-eaten slice of bread. A few torn pieces strew about the table. "They work smart, hard, and together to make it through."</p>
<p>His lenient smile dips. "But that's all they'll ever know. Working to survive is hardwired into their very biology - support the colony and depend on the queen. Like factory workers and those who keep the lights on and mouths fed - those who sign the checks."</p>
<p>"It's a crummy cycle, but it works. Why break from it?" Choudhury says, his initial excitement from the suddenness numbing to a slowness to match Matkins' tenor.</p>
<p>"Mmm. Maybe so, but change happens. Whether that's good or bad, I can't say, but I think I'd like to see more of it," Larry stands and dusts himself off, inspiring Choudhury to do the same.</p>
<p>"A couple months into your retirement and you're already getting sentimental," Choudhury chimes in. He puts his phone back into his pocket, the opened app on the turned-off device once giving him the option to notify Naomi.</p>
<p>"Maybe. But it's good to keep some things close to heart," he says. "Come on Charles, let's get out of here."</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">-</p>
<p>Thinking back to these moments, Choudhury sees nothing but misfortune as he boards the bus, navigating his way through the crowded aisle of civic plantation to reach the felted fold-up seat beside a window. He sets his bags down by his shoes as he awkwardly scoots past a sleeping stranger to have a rest for the long journey ahead.</p>
<p>He leans on the window as regret washes over him. His mind mentally demands an answer nobody can answer but himself. Over and over the same questions ring out and trickle like all-encompassing wind chimes. <em>Why? How could I? What is wrong with me?</em></p>
<p>And of course, there was no one to blame but himself. Pinning that scorn on Naomi would be unjust since she was right. Harping on Matkins - Charles let him escape! Let him run away and do what he did. <em>Is all that blood on my hands?</em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">-</p>
<p>An hour later the anger has subsided, replaced now only with miserable memories of things impossible to fix. He peers out the window and sees an unfamiliar part of the city. Cars, trucks, vans, taxis, and all sorts of other automobile nonsense litter the streets around the bus as it slows to slot into the congested traffic. Still an hour (Or three, considering the line-up ahead) out from '56.</p>
<p>With nothing else to do, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his Foundation-issued cell phone. He scrolls through a few apps, trying to find a disconnect from reality. While his life was being turned upside down, everything was just the same for everyone else around him. Better for them, even. Smiles all around.</p>
<p>He checks a few other apps, his eyes slowly closing as he goes along, before he stumbles onto his contacts list. He only had five or so people in there.</p>
<p>Upon being met with a blankness under the <em>N</em> category, the phone was shut off and hurled back into his pocket. The nearest fellow passenger of the blue-stained seating arrangement turned his head as a quiet sobbing began.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>Ruminating some more, Charles questions what the point was of even looking.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
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<p>Cite this page as:</p>
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<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/choudhury-gift">Reserved for Charles Choudhury</a>" by Roufhous, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/choudhury-gift">https://scpwiki.com/choudhury-gift</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Naomi.jpg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> File:Naomi Klein at Berkeley, California, in 2014 (cropped)<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Moizsyed<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Naomi_Klein_at_Berkeley,_California,_in_2014_(cropped).jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> RAM1.jpg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> File:2019 Ram 1500 Laramie, front 2.26.20<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Kevauto<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2019_Ram_1500_Laramie,_front_2.26.20.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2019_Ram_1500_Laramie,_front_2.26.20.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> RAM.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/roufhous" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6607862); return false;"><img alt="Roufhous" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6607862&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1720188903" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6607862)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/roufhous" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6607862); return false;">Roufhous</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/choudhury-gift">SCP Foundation Wiki</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Spinning RAM Small.gif<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> SPINRAM<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/jiwoahn" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5099163); return false;"><img alt="Jiwoahn" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=5099163&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1720188903" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=5099163)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/jiwoahn" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5099163); return false;">Jiwoahn</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/brighton-high/Spinning%20RAM%20Small.gif">SCP Foundation Wiki</a><br/>
<strong>Derivative Of:</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Dodge RAM 1500 (49699565693)<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> crash71100<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC0 1.0 (Public Domain)<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/152930510@N02/49699565693/">Flickr</a></p>
</blockquote>
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|lang=en
|page=
|authorPage=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8090
|comments=
= //**Reserved for Charles Choudhury**//
= Word Count: 6k
= Reading Time: 21 minutes
Please read [[[SCP-5384]]] for the necessary context prior to reading this. Thank you in advance.
]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"]]
[[image RAM1.jpg style="width:300px;"]]
[[/div]]
Agent Charles Choudhury stares forward, disbelief painted on his face as realization slowly crashes through his system in waves. Layers of impossibility stack and twist upon one another. A single note stuck to the laminated glass of his newly issued automobile looks back at him with defiance.
Confusion was first. Then came the dozens of thoughts racing in his mind. They all search for solutions to a problem that need not be solved, for the answer is right in front of him. A cherry red Ram 1500.
"This, this is for me?" The researcher at his left nods back at him.
"It's been cleared of any memetic, cognitohazardous, or otherwise anomalous tampering," Naomi Bradley said as she produced a set of keys to the sleek red pickup. "It's all yours. Consider it thanks for your good work."
Tossing the key ring over to Choudhury, Bradley watches as he fumbles the catch and lets them fall to the cement with a thin metallic jingle. He crouches down and scrounges around.
"Uh, uh, tha-thanks, Naomi, I-" he pauses and takes three breaths. "How is this possible? I thought Matkins-"
"Evidently, [[[SCP-5384]]] was not neutralized as we thought it was," her monotonous voice carried a sliver of exhaustion. She managed to conceal the bags under her eyes with foundation. "Which brings me back to-"
She gestures forward at the glistening vehicle in the sunlight.
"This. Charles, if it comes back like how it was before-"
"Hold on," he looks away from his reward for one moment and turns to face her. His eyebrows furrow. "Is this a bribe? Are you //bribing// me to pick up the project again?"
"Maybe, Charles. I mean, it could have been sent to an abatement facility or donated to someone who actually needs it. And you could have just been reassigned to keep working on this without getting a free car out of it," she says, turning to meet his eyes. "But the higher-ups seem to like you and think you could be useful if SCP-5384 does reappear. You're pretty fortunate, all things considered."
Choudhury's eyes drift downward at the keys in his hand, then back to the ruby on the stone.
"So, I'll let you get acquainted with it. The manual's in the glovebox. Registration and insurance have both been handled, though you'll have to talk to Goldbaker after the first year," Naomi turns and walks back to the entrance of Site-48. "I'll see you on Monday, Charles."
Charles chortles to himself briefly, absent-mindedly fiddling with the keys as he stares at the car. His face turns with no solid expression in mind.
It finally comes to a conclusion as he silently mouths //Thank you, Matkins//.
----
Driving home from work was like flipping a coin for Charles. He could either become entangled in the late afternoon traffic, forced stuck amidst the endless stream of engines around his own, and having to stop for every terribly-timed pedestrian, or it would be a smooth sailing, calming endeavor. This time, it was the former.
Two months of wear had beset him and his prize. From the hordes of pigeons relentlessly shitting on his truck to the soul-sucking day-to-day of monitoring security feeds and anomalous channels for hours on end. Now the detours around the city and the rides home felt free by comparison, if strenuous at times.
Wearily, he clicks the turn signal on, coming up to the intersection as another flush of motors all form a blockade with their passage. They all just want to get to their own destinations. One, two, three, five - eight pass before someone finally lets him through. He feels a rush and turns the corner. Two seconds after already passing by the stranger, he realized he'd forgotten to wave thanks.
Making his way through the suburbs was refreshingly easy. His apartment was only a few more blocks down the street from the red light he was stuck at now. The sounds of light chatter on the radio crowd the void. Some talk show host laughs with some woman, neither of whom Charles knew, the joke of which he didn't hear. Children shout, playing in the park to his left. The outside car engines reverberate through the windows, all this submerging Choudhury into a sea of white noise.
He glances left, overlooking a collection of blank faces withheld by the distance. He pays little attention to them, absent-mindedly watching the kids playing on the swings, half-heartedly jealous. A portly, scraggily dressed dude sits on an iron bench. The light turns green. Two old guys wearing neon shorts run around the fenced-in tennis court.
Choudhury's eyes peel away from the park and back to the road as someone slams on the horn behind him.
= -
Charles felt a slight sense of unease for a moment as he lay unfathomably comfortably in bed. He lingered there for a second longer than he should have, his brain tells him. He shouldn't have been there that long. Inconvenienced others had seen him. What kind of moron was he? He tries his best to push away these thoughts. After all, in only five hours he'd have to get up for work.
----
Monitoring. The cornerstone of the Foundation's active containment efforts. A long, arduous system of fishing for hours in datastreams, waiting for the right channel, the right tuna, and the right moment to align. Then catching could be offloaded to the men with guns and that would be that.
Real fishermen at least get to walk away with dinner when they finish for the day. Instead, Charles gets to sit, clicking and typing away, searching this security camera to that podcast microphone and this online messaging board to that dealership promo. At least now he knew where he could get his truck worked on without getting scammed to high Hell.
Boredom could hardly cover this feeling Choudhury endured every single day. Unchallenged, unrewarded. But, at the very least, he was getting paid well enough to not dare to pursue another career path. It will get better, he thinks. Maybe he could find Matkins and put an end to all this. After three months, it was clear the Foundation higher-ups would never let up until they had solid evidence of the man's neutralization.
The reports all said that the amnestic treatment was successful. They gave him a place to stay and kept tabs on him there until he just stopped showing up. And then that truck magically appeared in the one part of the Site-48 parking lot that cameras did not cover, and now the whole facility was on high alert.
High alert that Choudhury had to work off of.
Naomi would occasionally pop in from time to time, checking in on Charles' progress with the project. Each time she came in with a stack of papers in hand and left with her fingers in her pockets. She could mask the exhaustion under her eyes, but not inside them. She would return to her office and pick up yet another stack of paperwork to review, and from there on no one would see Researcher Bradley until her shift ended.
Choudhury would try to pick up his own pace to help her when he could. He'd be understanding whenever she delivered more work to go over, and even try to stay for some overtime when he knew she was busy there too. Another day goes by, another ten, maybe twelve hours to spend. Another sheet to fill in. Just one more page to read. But after all this time, it still felt as though they were searching for geese to chase.
= -
A sharp duo of taps knock on the door, jolting Choudhury's head from the mess on his desk. Instinctively, his mouth shouts out //Come in!// while his body tries to stretch itself before the visitor would see him like this.
[[div class="scp-image-block block-left" style="width:200px;"]]
[[image Naomi.jpg style="width:300px;"]]
[[/div]]
Naomi steps in, carrying a collection of transcripts, notices, police reports, parking tickets, and subjects of interest pertaining to the current status of select persons of interest to the project. Each would require a review in full, followed by properly signing off on the reports on his terminal, to which he would have to enter an authentication token just after checking off that the material he had just read and confirmed that he had read was, in fact, a complete waste of time.
The usual order.
"Hey, Naomi," he scrambles to make space on his table for the new workload for today, shoving dozens of other, similar papers away or to the floor entirely, to be dealt with later. "How are you?"
"Fine, fine," lying through her teeth like an experienced veteran of the Foundation. "Nothing interesting. What about you? Did you follow up on that incident down on 43rd?"
"Yeah. Some teenagers got drunk and decided to take their parents' cars for a race."
"//That's it?//" she looks down at him. He keeps himself from shrugging.
"One of the cars was from Matkins. It was traded around a bunch so it probably slipped our radar. I left it to the officers there since there wasn't anything notable about it."
"And you didn't come to me about this? //Slipped past our radar//?" she deviates from her natural routine and takes a seat across from Charles.
"Matkins probably fudged the work on it."
"SCP-5384 has never shown the capacity to fail to write up the paperwork for one of its clients."
"He's only human," Choudhury finally shrugs.
Bradley groans, letting her head fall to her hands. Her eyelids seem comfortable as they shut.
"Just get these back to me as soon as you can."
"I will. I will. Thank you."
She looks up, tilting her head.
"For //what//?"
He stutters, mixing words as his jaws work against him. Four and a half hours in, his brain was far from well connected to the rest of his body.
The sight of his head bobbing around was enough for Naomi. She stands, turns, opens the door again, and walks out. Choudhury groans.
"//Damn it.//"
------
Killing time outside the park once again, Choudhury sits and waits for a family of four and an elderly Asian woman to cross the street. Then a group of children joins in on the fun and dashes about the road, forming a chainlink series of traffic cones, blockading his left turn as they mindlessly scamper home from an assuredly long and tiring day of school.
How joyful. Not even a care in the whole wide world.
Lost in his thoughts again, Charles looks up to see the time ticking down on the sidewalk's clock and floors the petal to the metal to make the turn. No horns blare, fortunately. Dreadfully, he checks the rearview mirrors and hopes that nobody saw him just sitting there mindlessly.
He turns his eyes back to the road where a dishevelled Larry Matkins attempts to jaywalk across the street.
Choudhury swerves hard right, narrowly threading the needle betwixt two parked cars as he clambers inside to get the car, the seatbelt, and his Fitbit heart spike detection off. The truck is parked half atop the sidewalk as he pulls out his phone. The first number to dial would be Naomi's.
He stumbles to get to his feet and leaves the truck in its sidewalk-facing perpendicularly parked position. The alarm blares. Some civilians arrive just to inaudibly badger him about this. They don't matter. All that matters right now is catching up with Matkins so that proper personnel can handle this. The right men with the right procedures, protective equipment, experience, numbers, training, and - guns, he briefly thinks before shying that thought away.
//He isn't dangerous//, Choudhury thinks. Matkins is just a car salesman, just a friendly face who... managed to evade the Foundation for the past three months. Who is seemingly impervious to amnestics. Who broke into some of the most fortified legal and organizational systems the anomalous world - or otherwise - has to offer.
Who is now currently seated, apparently winded on a cast iron park bench sweating profusely with a loaf of squashed bread clutched to his ribs.
Looking down at the man, Choudhury pockets the phone. He leans down close while trying to maintain a distance; the man was too busy resting his eyes and body to notice.
Sporting some slight stubble, dressed in that same suit - now dirtied and visibly moist - and coated in yellowish mustard stains around his cheeks, the absolutely unlikely answer is certain. //This// is the man himself; Larry Matkins, in the flesh. Choudhury has to be sure.
"Mr. Matkins? Is that you, sir?"
The man's eyes warily budge themselves open, then widen and shut again in dual reaction to Charles and the bright sunlight. Almost instantly, he hops himself up and grabs Choudhury's hand, dropping the bread.
"Charles? Well, I'll be. How have you been, my friend? How have you been?"
Taken aback, Choudhury stutters. "Uh, uh, fine, Mr. Matkins. Fine, I guess."
"That is great to hear, Charles. Tell me, how are you enjoying the truck? I tried my best to swing for real Deep Pearl Cherry, but I figure a couple shades ain't that much to split hairs over."
"It's great. It's really great, but uh-"
Taking a step to Charles' side, Matkins takes a look down the hill where a commotion of civilians has crowded around the improperly parked Ram. The alarm continues to alert everybody that part of its front end was scraped on the concrete.
"Glad... glad to hear that, Charles."
Choudhury looks between the man who has eluded him for months and his semi-totaled gift, internally cursing himself. "I, I uh, I-"
"It's all fine, Charles. I'll be right here when you come back."
Once again, looking between the two, Choudhury hesitates. "Are you sure?"
"Sure."
Choudhury nods. "Alright, just, uh, just stay right there," and he takes off to rescue his truck from the clutches of a perturbed collection of the inconvenienced.
= -
Just like he said, there he was, watching the birds clutter around a sampling of seedlings from his octogenarian bench mate, Matkins sat as Charles came back up the hill a half hour afterwards. Half asleep, he groggily pulls himself up to clamber towards the park's new inhabitant.
"You sure took your time."
Reaching the top and coming to stand in front of Matkins, Choudhury sighs. "Sorry. I had to deal with some parking ticket and fend off a police officer just to stop the thing from getting impounded."
"That's the system for you. Guess that'll just become another one of your guys' statistics."
"I'm sorry?"
"You sure like to say that a lot, Charles."
"Look, I didn't have a say in what happened. I tried to make the transition as smooth as possible."
"Yeah, I know. Bosses, am I right?"
Rearing back, Matkins thrusts his arms forward, consequently sending his upper body up and out of the seat as he gets to his legs. "Let's take a walk."
The two traverse through the park, passing by the tennis and basketball courts on their way. A couple walks their dog. A father pretends to block his son from scoring on the hoop. A sprinkler activates and a group of children there all screech and shout as the cold makes contact.
Matkins leans down and takes a sip from a public fountain. "So, what's on your mind?"
Choudhury ponders the question for a moment, quickly trying to decide on the best question to ask without the transcript recorder set up. "How do you still remember everything?"
"Oh, that one's easy," he wipes his mouth on his sleeve. "You got the report that your procedure worked?"
"Didn't it?"
"Probably would have if it happened."
"It- it didn't happen?"
"Nope. Look, whatever those other people did, that's their business, Charles. But I'm proud of what I did. Even if some people went and took it for granted, who cares? I helped people my way, and that's good enough for me."
"But now you're living like..."
"Like a man content with the life he's lived. [[[SCP-6384|Some people don't have that, you know]]]?"
Choudhury mumbles in affirmation. They continue on and take a seat in the northeast corner, where a wooden table and two sets of benches lie. A motorcycle explodes by on the main street just beyond the fence of greenery beside them.
"So you're retired, then?"
"I guess so. It's not exactly the glamorous picture I had in mind back in my twenties and thirties, but it's enough. I suppose."
"The Foundation offered you accommodations. A whole house to yourself. [[[SCP-5472|I know most people would do anything for a deal like that]]]. Why didn't you take it?"
"Because then I'd be living a lie. Having to pretend like I didn't do all that. Taking an entire house for just one man; I'm sure you realize why that's not great. Living with the FBI watching over me at all times doesn't sound fun. Or maybe there was some lingering frustration that my life's work was dismantled over something I had no control over. Take your pick."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Matkins-"
"None needed, Charles. None needed. I've been working on those reports telling you I wasn't there. Actually managed to hand that place over to a small family down on their luck."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I believe I can trust you to keep that on the down low."
Slouching forward, Choudhury rests his head on his hand and brushes away the thin black hair that had become overgrown and unkempt in his unending work. A breeze passes by with its shrill stinging chill. Matkins checks his wrist, looking down at the cracked watch ornamented with fake gold bronze inlay.
"You know, Charles, in all my years fighting against those corporate suits, I saw a lot of good people go down to keep the company afloat. Or, keep the board floating, really. I don't imagine the people you work for are any better."
"Everybody has to make hard decisions sometimes."
Matkins groans and sits upright. "Oh come on, Charles! That is complete and utter crap! Look, I've been in the system. I've seen how it all works from the bottom to the top of the totem pole. I know which choices are hard or easy to make because I made them all. I've seen the suits make business moves just for the sake of it, like merging with the Germans who have completely different priorities than the average American nuclear family!"
He pauses to breathe. "I've seen them lobby Congress to shower them with taxpayer money when the economy went bad and then still lay off thousands of hard workers before they even thought about dipping into one of their millionaire shareholder's vacation funds! That's the truth, Charles, not whatever corporate propaganda they drip down on you."
Choudhury leans up and lets his hands fall to the table. "You're right. But what can we do about it? The people at the top are there for a reason; that's just the way of the world."
"Charles, look at me. Never take the world at face value. Things can change."
"I quite literally work for the people keeping that from being true."
"Change is going to happen one way or another, and your bosses won't be able to stop that no matter what. You have to be ready to ride that wave when it comes."
Choudhury breaks from his idle stare at the tabletop to look up at Matkins with scepticism. "//Ride that wave//?"
Larry digs into his jacket and ruffles around, eventually producing a crumpled and wrecked magazine cover advertising something called a //Sea-Doo//. "Sorry, I've gotten into jetskis recently. Have you seen these guys in action?"
= -
Waiting at the bus stop was a ritual that Choudhury had not missed these past few months. Either standing around awkwardly or being seated in the three allotted spaces; sitting right next to a loud-mouthed teenager and his buds as well as an elderly man on the phone both chattering on about inane nonsense. All whilst waiting twenty minutes for the next one to arrive as he'd just missed the last one.
But now in the late afternoon on the parkside sidewalk, it was quiet and alone, and the only other person here was Matkins as the two waited.
Weighing his options, Choudhury occasionally would look back at the fellow to confirm the situation was real. If he called Naomi now, then the teams could come and finish the job, and he'd be able to move on with his life.
He looked back at Larry once more. That Euclid-level Veil-threatening humanoid entity. That menace to society Choudhury had spent the last three months working to track down sat there in the same tattered suit he'd worn since that ill-fated interview. When Charles had to tell him that he couldn't keep dispensing out free cars.
//Just a guy trying to do right for others.//
//Even if others wouldn't lift a finger to help him.//
"Are you alright, Charles?"
Returning to Earth from his spacing out, Choudhury faces Matkins again. "W-what?"
"You keep looking at me funny. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Y-yeah, sorry. I just, I just got lost in my thoughts," scouring his recollection of his Foundation training, he searches for some bullshit topic to talk about. "Just... you ever think about Tahiti?"
"Thinking about vacation, eh? Well, good on you, Charles. I hear that place is real nice; you deserve it."
"Thank you, Matkins."
The bus comes into view down the street. Larry dusts himself off and scrounges around in his pockets for the fare, coming up a dollar short. The bus nears as he turns to Choudhury. "Shoot. Could you break a five?"
Charles stands and pulls out his wallet from his back pocket, handing Matkins a plastic card. "Here. This should be good for half a year or so," he says as he hands him his company-issued ticket.
"Nah, no, I just need a dollar Char-"
"Just take it. Get yourself out of here, ride a jetski to Tahiti or something. We'll keep looking for you here for years if you slip up even a little."
Matkins holds the card up and gestures with it, waving it in the air a little to show appreciation. "Well, thank you very much, Charles Choudhury."
The bus pulls up to the stop and the door opens to reveal a set of steps. Its inside is cramped with dozens of strangers all vying for territory on this small, enclosed tube of transport. Matkins steps on and swipes Charles' card, getting a green light on the scanner. He looks back one last time at Choudhury.
"Take care, Charles. Take care."
"Thanks. Enjoy your retirement, Lawrence. You earned it."
With a gust of mechanized pistons, the bus doors shut as Larry started down the way to find an open spot on the handlebars since all the seats were taken up.
And the bus took off, rejoining its fellows in the stream of traffic along the San Joaquin main street. Charles, alone with his thoughts, unsure what to think of the situation, walked back to his thankfully unharassed truck just a slim twelve or so meters down the sidewalk.
[[div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:200px;"]]
[[image RAM.png style="width:300px;"]]
[[/div]]
He clicks the key fob, opens the door, and takes a comfortable seat on the fine leather he had barely taken care of. The weight of his body slowly, incrementally, fades away like seafoam.
Choudhury presses the start button and puts his foot on the break, activating the engine and lightly rustling the recording device hidden in the truck's front side grille.
------
Walking into the office building, the sign overhead reading "Southern California Petroleum", Choudhury looks around the small front desk area of this two-and-a-half-room building. Nothing. Nobody here, [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/choudhury-insurance not even Triple-A to man the till]. No customers either - paid or otherwise.
He looks around, searching for any clues as to why the others would break from protocol as his mind gradually starts leaping to conclusions.
Only when Choudhury stops does he see the store sign reading //closed//. //It's always something right under your nose.//
He sighs, half relieved that nobody saw him going in circles like a headless chicken, but while also checking around the parking lot to confirm that nobody had seen him and that there was no chance that anyone who had seen him dancing like an idiot could have left before he started looking for them. His checking is completed to his satisfaction.
Choudhury turns back around to see the top of a mop of bright blonde hair. He jolts back, realizing midway through the familiar sight before him.
"N-Naomi, hey, I, uh-"
"Good morning, Charles."
"... Morning."
Spinning around, Naomi heads back behind the front desk and into the small utility closet in the backroom. "Good news. Something popped up. Follow me."
Briefly caught off guard, Choudhury rushes to catch up with Naomi as he tries to figure out what is going on. "W-what? You mean with 5384?"
"With //SCP//-5384", Researcher Bradley chides as she pushes a box of pamphlets and user guides out of the way, revealing a lightly glowing number pad. She inputs a six-digit string, causing an audible //chk// as multiple electronic latches unlock. "And yes, I believe we may be onto something." A trapdoor opens, arcing its faux floor up and down in the top right corner, revealing a descending staircase leading to the real Site-48.
As per usual with Foundation regulation, OSHA would weep upon seeing this.
The two take turns going down the wobbly undermeasured steps as Naomi continues down the chill eggshell white hallway, leaving Choudhury to input his code into the system to shut the trapdoor once more. He hurries to catch up with her again.
Turning through an elaborate series of hallways and corners, passing doorframes, window panes, and the odd death row inmate being escorted by their coworkers, they delve deeper into the heart of the facility.
"So, what did you find?"
"There was a disturbance yesterday. Eight dead in a public transit accident. This way."
Choudhury stops.
"//**What?!//**"
Naomi turns to him for a moment. "Come on, you'll need to see the report for yourself."
Choudhury's blood runs cold as the muscles in his body burn bright. He follows along, now moving double time.
Eventually, they make it into a humanoid containment chamber, a room like most other rooms with the only difference being a one-way mirror at one end and a small plastic table in the center, besides the human amenities in the corners. Charles looks around for any signs of what Naomi could be referring to until she pulls out a paper and puts it on the table.
"Take a look."
[[div class="blockquote"]]
= **Transcript 5384-5**
**Personnel Involved:** Agent Charles Choudhury
**Subject:** SCP-5384
**Location:** Shaun Cavalry Park
**Date:** November 22, 2015: 6:17 PM
----
**<Begin Log>**
//Footage takes place [[span style="filter: blur(4px);"]]behind a metal grate, pointed outward, facing a [[/span]] clear line of sight up the sidewalk [[span style="filter: blur(4px);"]]as the car ahead drives off. The camera remains here for twenty minutes until[[/span]] notable activity begins with Charles Choudhury stepping into the shot.//
//Agent Choudhury walks out [[span style="filter: blur(4px);"]]from the park path and walks up the sidewalk as another,[[/span]] semi-obese figure moves beside him. [[span style="filter: blur(4px);"]]The two take a seat at the bus stop and[[/span]] stay there for eight minutes, [[span style="filter: blur(4px);"]]talking amongst themselves.[[/span]]//
//A bus approaches the stop. [[span style="filter: blur(4px);"]]The figure stands and gets into position.[[/span]] Agent Choudhury stands as well and shakes SCP-5384's hand-//
//[[span style="filter: blur(4px);"]]How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Carribean by providence impoverished in squalor, grow up to be a hero and a scholar?[[/span]]//
[[/div]]
"What the hell is this, Naomi?" Choudhury looks up from the document to see Researcher Bradley staring dead ahead through him. The bags under her eyes have cleared up, if only slightly.
"More than enough grounds for the termination of your employment with the SCP Foundation, Choudhury," she says as she pulls up a seat for herself. "You have undergone the same training as the rest of us. You should know better than to socialize with the items under our containment. It is shocking to me that you not only failed to alert anyone else of your discovery but that you aided SCP-5384 in its escape."
As she continues, she reaches over the table and takes the paper. "Charles, do I even have to describe just how unacceptable this decision was?" she pauses, apparently waiting for an answer.
"He didn't. He couldn't hurt anyone, Naomi."
"That's why I said //accident//. But you let him get away. Why did you let him get away, Charles?"
"He, he's harmless! Harmless! He, he couldn't-"
Bradley cuts in, her once tired eyes now cutting deep with a cold, dead-on stare. "You know better than this. //__Why did you let him leave__//?"
Flustered in his thoughts, Choudhury's mind tumbles from place to place, trying to think of some reasonable excuse while balancing stowing away the betrayal he felt by both this absurd violation and his supposed involvement in such an unlawful incident. He could not afford the same fate as the many other terminated personnel who had started their grovelling by aggressively confronting the situation.
"I-I, I don't, I can't, I-"
"Spit it out, Charles," annoyance clouds Researcher Bradley's face, an irritation that had been hidden away with make-up and a practiced patience only Foundation interviewers could achieve.
Silence crowds the room. Silence, and the ambient sounds of through-the-wall machinery and vent articulation. The only ones in the world are Charles and Researcher Bradley. She peers up at him. Time slows and hastens all at once, and Choudhury is the only one who can fix this self-contained anomaly.
Breath returns to Choudhury. He speaks, unsure entirely of the consequences he'd be facing for this. "I trusted him, alright, Naomi. I trusted him. I'm sorry. I'm, I'm so sorry," his mouth compels him to continue talking, already in motion, but his mind takes control once more. Charles finally takes a seat.
Quiet returns to the chamber, though this time, not dedicated purely to Choudhury. Researcher Bradley now shares in this burden. Taking her time, staring ahead, almost corpse-like at Charles, she makes no movement to address either's concerns.
"It's already been decided," her voice, slow, focused, and cold, fills the entire room like a void. "You are off the project. You will be transferred to Site-56. Any previously afforded privileges you have received will be revoked. Am I clear, Choudhury?"
"Yes, yes ma'am."
Bradley stands and heads for the door. Her high heels tap against the linoleum floor, creating an echoing series of markers to indicate her distance from Charles as his head falls to the table.
"You are //very// fortunate, Charles."
The door shuts.
------
The vagueness of Bradley's words only became apparent to Charles later on. Walking through the facility, a reverberating shame followed him as he went, those statements all muddled together and fragmented into stabbing memories that he tried to decypher for meaning.
But the final part of that scolding became clear when Choudhury stepped out from the basement site and into the front office. Outside, in Southern California Petroleum's parking lot, a deep red truck was getting towed. Emblazened on the tow truck's side were the words "Sanchez Car-care Providers."
Cursing and dashing through the small space, Choudhury gets stuck on the countertop door. Fiddling with it for dear life, he manages to get through. He bursts out of the building, but by that time, the tow had already made it out to the street. All he could do now was shout and curse the driver, but all the same, he was left on his ass as his Ram was shepherded away.
"//**Damn it all! Fuck!**//"
= -
The afternoon flurry of traffic seemed so much louder from the pavement. Cars and vans going this and that way. This late in the day, how could there be so many people on the road? Where could they all be going at once? They move in and out of earshot, surely, though slowly, disappearing into white noise as those same words rang relentlessly in his ears.
Stuck at the bus stop again, a suitcase at either side, Choudhury's mind wanders amidst the fragmented members of his psyche for a solution to what events had just transpired. Images of Matkins' charming smile or Naomi's disappointed face manifest and give way to the next troubling thought.
Those same scenes return to him as the coming express comes into view for the fellows beside him. A piece of some kind of paper folds up. Absent-mindedly, Choudhury's body reaches for his bags as his mind replays those visions.
= -
The weathered wooden furniture once sanded down to a fine enough luster, quickly becomes uncomfortable as the table drops its clean facade, releasing an infestation of ants across its surface. Choudhury reels back, his hands briefly arcing above his head. Larry laughs as he leans down, propping up his bottom jaw to get a better look at the newcomers.
"Neat, ain't they?" he says while drawing out a half-eaten slice of bread. A few torn pieces strew about the table. "They work smart, hard, and together to make it through."
His lenient smile dips. "But that's all they'll ever know. Working to survive is hardwired into their very biology - support the colony and depend on the queen. Like factory workers and those who keep the lights on and mouths fed - those who sign the checks."
"It's a crummy cycle, but it works. Why break from it?" Choudhury says, his initial excitement from the suddenness numbing to a slowness to match Matkins' tenor.
"Mmm. Maybe so, but change happens. Whether that's good or bad, I can't say, but I think I'd like to see more of it," Larry stands and dusts himself off, inspiring Choudhury to do the same.
"A couple months into your retirement and you're already getting sentimental," Choudhury chimes in. He puts his phone back into his pocket, the opened app on the turned-off device once giving him the option to notify Naomi.
"Maybe. But it's good to keep some things close to heart," he says. "Come on Charles, let's get out of here."
= -
Thinking back to these moments, Choudhury sees nothing but misfortune as he boards the bus, navigating his way through the crowded aisle of civic plantation to reach the felted fold-up seat beside a window. He sets his bags down by his shoes as he awkwardly scoots past a sleeping stranger to have a rest for the long journey ahead.
He leans on the window as regret washes over him. His mind mentally demands an answer nobody can answer but himself. Over and over the same questions ring out and trickle like all-encompassing wind chimes. //Why? How could I? What is wrong with me?//
And of course, there was no one to blame but himself. Pinning that scorn on Naomi would be unjust since she was right. Harping on Matkins - Charles let him escape! Let him run away and do what he did. //Is all that blood on my hands?//
= -
An hour later the anger has subsided, replaced now only with miserable memories of things impossible to fix. He peers out the window and sees an unfamiliar part of the city. Cars, trucks, vans, taxis, and all sorts of other automobile nonsense litter the streets around the bus as it slows to slot into the congested traffic. Still an hour (Or three, considering the line-up ahead) out from '56.
With nothing else to do, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his Foundation-issued cell phone. He scrolls through a few apps, trying to find a disconnect from reality. While his life was being turned upside down, everything was just the same for everyone else around him. Better for them, even. Smiles all around.
He checks a few other apps, his eyes slowly closing as he goes along, before he stumbles onto his contacts list. He only had five or so people in there.
Upon being met with a blankness under the //N// category, the phone was shut off and hurled back into his pocket. The nearest fellow passenger of the blue-stained seating arrangement turned his head as a quiet sobbing began.
@@ @@
Ruminating some more, Charles questions what the point was of even looking.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[<]]
=====
> **Filename:** Naomi.jpg
> **Name:** File:Naomi Klein at Berkeley, California, in 2014 (cropped)
> **Author:** Moizsyed
> **License:** Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International
> **Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Naomi_Klein_at_Berkeley,_California,_in_2014_(cropped).jpg Wikimedia Commons]
> **Filename:** RAM1.jpg
> **Name:** File:2019 Ram 1500 Laramie, front 2.26.20
> **Author:** Kevauto
> **License:** Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2019_Ram_1500_Laramie,_front_2.26.20.jpg
> **Filename:** RAM.jpg
> **Author:** [[*user Roufhous]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/choudhury-gift SCP Foundation Wiki]
> **Filename:** Spinning RAM Small.gif
> **Name:** SPINRAM
> **Author:** [[*user Jiwoahn]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/brighton-high/Spinning%20RAM%20Small.gif SCP Foundation Wiki]
> **Derivative Of:**
> ------
> **Name:** Dodge RAM 1500 (49699565693)
> **Author:** crash71100
> **License:** CC0 1.0 (Public Domain)
> **Source:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/152930510@N02/49699565693/ Flickr]
=====
[[/<]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-04-19T14:31:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
Reserved for Charles Choudhury - SCP Foundation
| 8
|
[
"scp-5384",
"scp-8090",
"component:info-ayers",
"scp-6384",
"scp-5472",
"choudhury-insurance",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1453395431
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/choudhury-gift
|
|
chronicle-of-the-worm
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>A story about power.</p>
</div>
<div class="pseudocrumbs">
<p><strong><a href="/canon-hub">Canon Hub</a> » <a href="/site-17-hub">Site-17 Deepwell Catalog</a> / <a href="/8000-dead-rats-hub">8000 Dead Rats</a> » Chronicle of the Worm</strong></p>
</div>
<p>The year is 1992. Thomas Graham is in his new office, having just been promoted to the position of Site Director. The God, they call them Overseers but for all practical purposes they are deities, stands before him, speaking in a labored and pained voice.</p>
<p>His gas mask makes ominous beeps and hisses as he speaks, filtering the demonic curse from his lungs. A reminder that in this world that we live in, even gods suffer and die. O5-3 hacks and coughs before beginning his monologue.</p>
<p>"Ahem. I hope you will understand that my time is at an absolute premium, Mr. Graham. I am ignoring a number of pressing engagements to give you this briefing on Secure Containment and Research Facility Site-17."</p>
<p>O5-3 coughs once more, sounding like Graham's father sucking down cigarettes even as the cancer ate him from the inside out.</p>
<p>"From your record, I understand that you're a man of vision and resourcefulness. Driven by the righteousness of the Foundation's mission."</p>
<p>The Overseer waves his hand, as if to both acknowledge and trivialize Graham's achievements. Graham does his best to look straight into O5-3's eyes, obscured as they are by the mask.</p>
<p>"That's good. It will suit you in your new assignment. Along with cutting-edge parascience, Site-17 is a facility dedicated to the containment of <em>humanoids</em>. Humanoids mean sentience. Sentience means the Ethics Committee."</p>
<p>Graham tries to babble out some reassurances to O5-3, some platitudes about his commitment to ethics in the partnership with containment, but he was cut off by that clipped pained voice that brooked no argument.</p>
<p>"This should not be a major concern for you. The Committee is a concession to certain liberal elements in the Council, nothing more. If the trains run on time, if the monsters stay in their boxes, everything will be fine. Key word being if."</p>
<p>Here O5-3 pauses for effect.</p>
<p>"I'm running out of time, so let me impress upon you the importance of your mission this way. You are to keep Site-17 <em>quiet</em> and <em>efficient</em>. Or you will be replaced."</p>
<p>Graham understands. He shakes the Overseer's outstretched hand.</p>
<p>"I expect great things from you, Director Graham."</p>
<hr/>
<p>The year is 2010. Thomas Graham is in the prime of his life, the Wizard King of the High Court. His facility is one of the most celebrated among the Foundation. A forerunner in research and development, containment solutions, and everything in between.</p>
<p>And it is all thanks to the personal efforts of Graham. He has penned demons, killed gods, and even managed to shut down any attempt by his staff to create a godless union like they have back in Site-87.</p>
<p>Compared to all those challenges, the whiny representative of the Ethics Committee before him means less than nothing.</p>
<p>"I'm going to be honest with you, Mr. Cimmerian. I am no longer interested in pursuing this line of questioning. You have brought no evidence to the table that demonstrates I had any involvement in, knowledge of, or gave any support to any of these quote unquote 'unethical practices'."</p>
<p>Every single word stuck into Cimmerian's case like a blade, making him flinch. Graham continues his deadpan litany, sitting upon the throne-like chair he keeps in his office.</p>
<p>"You have no case that would stand up in the Internal Tribunal, but to be honest? Even if you did, do you really think it would matter?"</p>
<p>Graham allows himself to smirk at this, at the sheer naiveté of the Cimmerians of the world.</p>
<p>"The way this proud organization runs is not by feel-good moralizing, but by concrete results. The arbiter of morality in the world of the anomalous is the one with the biggest stick."</p>
<p>Cimmerian had stopped speaking at this point, browbeaten into submission. His hands played impotently with his files, his meaningless accusations. It felt good. Graham continued.</p>
<p>"As long as Site-17 continues to be the most efficient facility in North America, I am untouchable. The Overseers aren't just going to destroy all of my hard work so you can sleep better at night. Understand?"</p>
<p>"Now…" He says, biting down hard on the words, a feral self-satisfied grin on his face.</p>
<p>"Get out of my facility or I'll have you prosecuted for trespassing."</p>
<hr/>
<p>The year is 2021. Thomas Graham is in his office, drinking. Everything he has ever built is crumbling down. He's listening to music on the radio, the first time in 30 years that he's ever done so. It drowns out the announcements from the interim leadership that have been playing 24/7 since the end of the Impasse.</p>
<p>His Foundation is falling. The Council has decided to betray humanity. The so-called "death of magic" terrified them when it should have been their crowning glory, so they are changing with the times. Anyone with sense can see that anomalies should not be allowed to exist, just look at what they're called. Monsters every one of them, ungodly, unholy, unthinkable. Yet, the Overseers insist on creating this tragedy. Vanguard they call it. A new era.</p>
<p>However bright this new start may be, it requires blood on the scaffolding. Although a general amnesty has been announced, a few Directors who have a reputation for unethicality are still being brought into custody. Trials are coming next.</p>
<p>Graham knows it's only a matter of time before they come for him, the Committee thugs who wander the hall of <em>his</em> facility as if they have any decent right to be there. He could try to run like Ryoto back at Site-15, who tried to upload himself to the cybersphere, but that path isn't a path for a man like him. Whatever his other faults may be, Thomas Graham has never been a coward.</p>
<p>Graham takes a few more shots of "Irish courage" to steel his nerves. His hands are shaking as he pours. He's been fiddling with the gun he keeps in his office. If you were to ask him why, he couldn't tell you. Was he planning on taking down himself or the first rat that dared intrude into the Director's sanctum?</p>
<p>He doesn't have time to ponder this before they burst into the door. His old enemy Cimmerian is leading them. He refuses to allow them to see any shock or fear on his face as he stands up, his hands spread. Cimmerian addresses him, likely something he's been dreaming about doing for years. To his credit, though, he doesn't gloat. Much.</p>
<p>"The last time I was here, you told me that as long as you got results, you were untouchable. That's no longer true, Graham. It's a brand new dawn. You are hereby under arrest for crimes against humanity and the world at large."</p>
<p>Cimmerian motions for them to cuff him. Graham does not resist in any way, but he tries to give one last jab to the Committee Chairman.</p>
<p>"In the end, I'll be the one who was considered right. History will remember me the day we take all of the freaks you're letting out and shove them back into their cages. The Veil will live on."</p>
<p>Cimmerian looks at him for a moment, his face twisting in pure disgust. Then he punches Graham once in the stomach. Hard.</p>
<p>He lets out a pained and surprised grunt, breathing heavily. He isn't used to violence. More the type to order it done than do it himself. On his face is that same feral grin he'd had all those years before; in failure as well as in victory. He allows himself to mock Cimmerian one last time.</p>
<p>"Well. I suppose that you feel quite vindicated now."</p>
<p>Cimmerian doesn't respond, just motions for the guards to take him into custody. It was as if Graham didn't matter. As if he were less than nothing.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The year is 2038. Thomas Graham is in court, being forced to answer for nothing more than following orders and directives. He would have expected this to come sooner, but there's a backlog of scapegoats that it seems they can't wait to ruin publicly.</p>
<p>The trial hasn't been going too badly though. He was good enough at covering his tracks to hide the worst of his deeds. And then there's blackmail. But still they make him sit on the uncomfortable bench, forcing him to testify again and again. Dragging his reputation through the mud with their eagerness to ruin him.</p>
<p>With a cough, Graham begins to speak.</p>
<p>"Ahem, the accusations of SCP—"</p>
<p>He is barely able to start before Sheldon Katz, the prosecutor, cuts him off.</p>
<p>"My client has made it abundantly clear that he prefers to be called by his <em>actual</em> name. Rainer Miller. The name that you stripped from him along with the rest of his human rights. Are you really that incapable of understanding the abuse you put a fellow human being through for decades?"</p>
<p>You damn hypocrites, he almost cries out. You were right there with me Katz, remember Project Remiel? By what right do you judge me? You know that everything I did, I did for normalcy. So that we can keep contained the deviants and monsters and demons. Everything I did, you condoned. You supported. And yet you dare to stand there and chastise me?</p>
<p>But he says none of this. Instead he sighs and begins his testimony again.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The year is 2045. Thomas Graham is in his home. He has just been pardoned of his crimes by President Dan Crenshaw.</p>
<p>His home is untouched by the years, by the legal fees, by the accusations. The Foundation has always paid extremely well to its dedicated staff. On the wall is still that same immense flag of the Foundation's insignia. He remembers what the President said to him in that short meeting as Graham was told he was free to go.</p>
<p>Graham had babbled out his thanks and asked why Crenshaw had seen fit to make him a free man once more. Crenshaw had smiled warmly before speaking.</p>
<p>"Thomas, can I call you Thomas? You want to know the reason I pardoned you? It's because it's a damn shame when a man of your caliber is smeared, absolutely smeared, by the leftists. It's more than that. It's a tragedy. And it just makes me hopping mad to see it. But there's more to it than that."</p>
<p>Graham had leaned in as close as he could to the President's speech. Finally, a man who understood him. Who saw that he was more than a collection of trumped up charges spread by men and women who hated him for his own normalcy.</p>
<p>"I read some of the reports they had of you, reading in between the lines of course. You ran Site-17 for almost 30 years with barely a breach. And you did it while cutting back spending too, didn't you?"</p>
<p>In that moment, Graham had allowed himself to believe that he was more than a relic of a bygone era. Here was someone who realized the danger of letting the anomalies loose. Who appreciated his accomplishments.</p>
<p>"You were the type of man who knew what was right and how to do it. You didn't let anyone stop you, Thomas. You got results. That's what matters."</p>
<p>Crenshaw had looked him dead in the eyes in the moment. Filling him up with nationalistic pride like an Uncle Sam poster.</p>
<p>"You're the type of man who I want in my government. You've got experience dealing with the paracriminals that are destroying this country and I need someone like that. That's why I pardoned you, Thomas. It's 'cause I expect great things from you."</p>
<p>And then their meeting had been over.</p>
<p>Graham looks at the flag once more. He makes a vow there and then.</p>
<p><em>We're going to rebuild the Foundation together, my Overseer.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>The year is 2049. Secretary of State Thomas Graham is in the Capitol of America, the seat of power, preparing to give a speech to the public. He will tell them that their problems are the fault of outsiders, of dangerous foreigners and the queer agenda. He will tell them that 87% of all crimes include an element of thaumaturgy. He will tell them that America will endure against the plots of the far-left. He will outrage them at the sheer cheek of the Coalition for daring to enforce a quarantine. He will envigorate their hope, their fear, and most of all their <em>hatred.</em> As he recites his words under his breath, he looks into the mirror.</p>
<p>He looks good. The Grahams have always aged gracefully and with the health benefits that the Foundation used to give their most essential staff, he barely looks a day above 60. He is dressed in a fine tailored suit with a red tie, giving off just the message that he wants to send. But there's more to it than that.</p>
<p>For the first time in 20 years, Graham has a purpose. Graham has a home and Graham has a mission. He will fight the abnormality wherever it appears. He will protect Crenshaw, his Overseer, from the smear campaigns that the deviants and filth throw at him. He will guide this nation to greatness. He feels like an angel, the righteousness of his path like wind beneath his wings. Graham is happy.</p>
<p>Straightening his tie one last time, Graham smiles and walks out on stage.</p>
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<p>"<a href="/chronicle-of-the-worm">Chronicle Of The Worm</a>" by Cathy Autumn, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/chronicle-of-the-worm">https://scpwiki.com/chronicle-of-the-worm</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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A story about power.
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[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:scp-trans-pride">:scp-wiki:theme:scp-trans-pride</a> |trans-pride-logo= --] |trans-pride-footer= --]]]
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**[[[Canon Hub]]] >> [[[Site-17 Hub |Site-17 Deepwell Catalog]]] / [[[8000-dead-rats-hub|8000 Dead Rats]]] >> Chronicle of the Worm**
[[/div]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
The year is 1992. Thomas Graham is in his new office, having just been promoted to the position of Site Director. The God, they call them Overseers but for all practical purposes they are deities, stands before him, speaking in a labored and pained voice.
His gas mask makes ominous beeps and hisses as he speaks, filtering the demonic curse from his lungs. A reminder that in this world that we live in, even gods suffer and die. O5-3 hacks and coughs before beginning his monologue.
"Ahem. I hope you will understand that my time is at an absolute premium, Mr. Graham. I am ignoring a number of pressing engagements to give you this briefing on Secure Containment and Research Facility Site-17."
O5-3 coughs once more, sounding like Graham's father sucking down cigarettes even as the cancer ate him from the inside out.
"From your record, I understand that you're a man of vision and resourcefulness. Driven by the righteousness of the Foundation's mission."
The Overseer waves his hand, as if to both acknowledge and trivialize Graham's achievements. Graham does his best to look straight into O5-3's eyes, obscured as they are by the mask.
"That's good. It will suit you in your new assignment. Along with cutting-edge parascience, Site-17 is a facility dedicated to the containment of //humanoids//. Humanoids mean sentience. Sentience means the Ethics Committee."
Graham tries to babble out some reassurances to O5-3, some platitudes about his commitment to ethics in the partnership with containment, but he was cut off by that clipped pained voice that brooked no argument.
"This should not be a major concern for you. The Committee is a concession to certain liberal elements in the Council, nothing more. If the trains run on time, if the monsters stay in their boxes, everything will be fine. Key word being if."
Here O5-3 pauses for effect.
"I'm running out of time, so let me impress upon you the importance of your mission this way. You are to keep Site-17 //quiet// and //efficient//. Or you will be replaced."
Graham understands. He shakes the Overseer's outstretched hand.
"I expect great things from you, Director Graham."
-----
The year is 2010. Thomas Graham is in the prime of his life, the Wizard King of the High Court. His facility is one of the most celebrated among the Foundation. A forerunner in research and development, containment solutions, and everything in between.
And it is all thanks to the personal efforts of Graham. He has penned demons, killed gods, and even managed to shut down any attempt by his staff to create a godless union like they have back in Site-87.
Compared to all those challenges, the whiny representative of the Ethics Committee before him means less than nothing.
"I'm going to be honest with you, Mr. Cimmerian. I am no longer interested in pursuing this line of questioning. You have brought no evidence to the table that demonstrates I had any involvement in, knowledge of, or gave any support to any of these quote unquote 'unethical practices'."
Every single word stuck into Cimmerian's case like a blade, making him flinch. Graham continues his deadpan litany, sitting upon the throne-like chair he keeps in his office.
"You have no case that would stand up in the Internal Tribunal, but to be honest? Even if you did, do you really think it would matter?"
Graham allows himself to smirk at this, at the sheer naiveté of the Cimmerians of the world.
"The way this proud organization runs is not by feel-good moralizing, but by concrete results. The arbiter of morality in the world of the anomalous is the one with the biggest stick."
Cimmerian had stopped speaking at this point, browbeaten into submission. His hands played impotently with his files, his meaningless accusations. It felt good. Graham continued.
"As long as Site-17 continues to be the most efficient facility in North America, I am untouchable. The Overseers aren't just going to destroy all of my hard work so you can sleep better at night. Understand?"
"Now..." He says, biting down hard on the words, a feral self-satisfied grin on his face.
"Get out of my facility or I'll have you prosecuted for trespassing."
-----
The year is 2021. Thomas Graham is in his office, drinking. Everything he has ever built is crumbling down. He's listening to music on the radio, the first time in 30 years that he's ever done so. It drowns out the announcements from the interim leadership that have been playing 24/7 since the end of the Impasse.
His Foundation is falling. The Council has decided to betray humanity. The so-called "death of magic" terrified them when it should have been their crowning glory, so they are changing with the times. Anyone with sense can see that anomalies should not be allowed to exist, just look at what they're called. Monsters every one of them, ungodly, unholy, unthinkable. Yet, the Overseers insist on creating this tragedy. Vanguard they call it. A new era.
However bright this new start may be, it requires blood on the scaffolding. Although a general amnesty has been announced, a few Directors who have a reputation for unethicality are still being brought into custody. Trials are coming next.
Graham knows it's only a matter of time before they come for him, the Committee thugs who wander the hall of //his// facility as if they have any decent right to be there. He could try to run like Ryoto back at Site-15, who tried to upload himself to the cybersphere, but that path isn't a path for a man like him. Whatever his other faults may be, Thomas Graham has never been a coward.
Graham takes a few more shots of "Irish courage" to steel his nerves. His hands are shaking as he pours. He's been fiddling with the gun he keeps in his office. If you were to ask him why, he couldn't tell you. Was he planning on taking down himself or the first rat that dared intrude into the Director's sanctum?
He doesn't have time to ponder this before they burst into the door. His old enemy Cimmerian is leading them. He refuses to allow them to see any shock or fear on his face as he stands up, his hands spread. Cimmerian addresses him, likely something he's been dreaming about doing for years. To his credit, though, he doesn't gloat. Much.
"The last time I was here, you told me that as long as you got results, you were untouchable. That's no longer true, Graham. It's a brand new dawn. You are hereby under arrest for crimes against humanity and the world at large."
Cimmerian motions for them to cuff him. Graham does not resist in any way, but he tries to give one last jab to the Committee Chairman.
"In the end, I'll be the one who was considered right. History will remember me the day we take all of the freaks you're letting out and shove them back into their cages. The Veil will live on."
Cimmerian looks at him for a moment, his face twisting in pure disgust. Then he punches Graham once in the stomach. Hard.
He lets out a pained and surprised grunt, breathing heavily. He isn't used to violence. More the type to order it done than do it himself. On his face is that same feral grin he'd had all those years before; in failure as well as in victory. He allows himself to mock Cimmerian one last time.
"Well. I suppose that you feel quite vindicated now."
Cimmerian doesn't respond, just motions for the guards to take him into custody. It was as if Graham didn't matter. As if he were less than nothing.
-----
The year is 2038. Thomas Graham is in court, being forced to answer for nothing more than following orders and directives. He would have expected this to come sooner, but there's a backlog of scapegoats that it seems they can't wait to ruin publicly.
The trial hasn't been going too badly though. He was good enough at covering his tracks to hide the worst of his deeds. And then there's blackmail. But still they make him sit on the uncomfortable bench, forcing him to testify again and again. Dragging his reputation through the mud with their eagerness to ruin him.
With a cough, Graham begins to speak.
"Ahem, the accusations of SCP--"
He is barely able to start before Sheldon Katz, the prosecutor, cuts him off.
"My client has made it abundantly clear that he prefers to be called by his //actual// name. Rainer Miller. The name that you stripped from him along with the rest of his human rights. Are you really that incapable of understanding the abuse you put a fellow human being through for decades?"
You damn hypocrites, he almost cries out. You were right there with me Katz, remember Project Remiel? By what right do you judge me? You know that everything I did, I did for normalcy. So that we can keep contained the deviants and monsters and demons. Everything I did, you condoned. You supported. And yet you dare to stand there and chastise me?
But he says none of this. Instead he sighs and begins his testimony again.
-------------------
The year is 2045. Thomas Graham is in his home. He has just been pardoned of his crimes by President Dan Crenshaw.
His home is untouched by the years, by the legal fees, by the accusations. The Foundation has always paid extremely well to its dedicated staff. On the wall is still that same immense flag of the Foundation's insignia. He remembers what the President said to him in that short meeting as Graham was told he was free to go.
Graham had babbled out his thanks and asked why Crenshaw had seen fit to make him a free man once more. Crenshaw had smiled warmly before speaking.
"Thomas, can I call you Thomas? You want to know the reason I pardoned you? It's because it's a damn shame when a man of your caliber is smeared, absolutely smeared, by the leftists. It's more than that. It's a tragedy. And it just makes me hopping mad to see it. But there's more to it than that."
Graham had leaned in as close as he could to the President's speech. Finally, a man who understood him. Who saw that he was more than a collection of trumped up charges spread by men and women who hated him for his own normalcy.
"I read some of the reports they had of you, reading in between the lines of course. You ran Site-17 for almost 30 years with barely a breach. And you did it while cutting back spending too, didn't you?"
In that moment, Graham had allowed himself to believe that he was more than a relic of a bygone era. Here was someone who realized the danger of letting the anomalies loose. Who appreciated his accomplishments.
"You were the type of man who knew what was right and how to do it. You didn't let anyone stop you, Thomas. You got results. That's what matters."
Crenshaw had looked him dead in the eyes in the moment. Filling him up with nationalistic pride like an Uncle Sam poster.
"You're the type of man who I want in my government. You've got experience dealing with the paracriminals that are destroying this country and I need someone like that. That's why I pardoned you, Thomas. It's 'cause I expect great things from you."
And then their meeting had been over.
Graham looks at the flag once more. He makes a vow there and then.
//We're going to rebuild the Foundation together, my Overseer.//
-----
The year is 2049. Secretary of State Thomas Graham is in the Capitol of America, the seat of power, preparing to give a speech to the public. He will tell them that their problems are the fault of outsiders, of dangerous foreigners and the queer agenda. He will tell them that 87% of all crimes include an element of thaumaturgy. He will tell them that America will endure against the plots of the far-left. He will outrage them at the sheer cheek of the Coalition for daring to enforce a quarantine. He will envigorate their hope, their fear, and most of all their //hatred.// As he recites his words under his breath, he looks into the mirror.
He looks good. The Grahams have always aged gracefully and with the health benefits that the Foundation used to give their most essential staff, he barely looks a day above 60. He is dressed in a fine tailored suit with a red tie, giving off just the message that he wants to send. But there's more to it than that.
For the first time in 20 years, Graham has a purpose. Graham has a home and Graham has a mission. He will fight the abnormality wherever it appears. He will protect Crenshaw, his Overseer, from the smear campaigns that the deviants and filth throw at him. He will guide this nation to greatness. He feels like an angel, the righteousness of his path like wind beneath his wings. Graham is happy.
Straightening his tie one last time, Graham smiles and walks out on stage.
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2024-05-30T16:48:00
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Chronicle Of The Worm - SCP Foundation
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/chronicle-of-the-worm
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circus-of-the-disquieting-folie-a-duhh
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<p><a href="/canon-hub">Canon Hub</a> » <a href="/dread-circuses-hub">Dread & Circuses Hub</a> » Circus of the Disquieting: Folie à Duhh</p>
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<p><strong>Circus of the Disquieting: Folie à Duhh</strong></p>
<p>Part 2/3</p>
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<p>A tale set within the <em>Dread & Circuses</em> canon.</p>
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<p><strong>1932</strong><br/>
*</p>
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<p>The lights dimmed. The voices and words that rang out through the room were reduced to mere murmurs, hushed tones, and chairs creaking. Everyone’s eyes were trained upon the stage in front of them, thick curtains blocked view from what laid behind it.</p>
<p>Iris Dark, beloved daughter of Mr. Percival Darke, sat in the front rows of the hall. For Mr. Darke, the sights of the hall with its exquisite delicacies from beyond the third dimension (so kindly sponsored by Ambrose Restaurants); the thick curtains, worth more than entire states; and guests that could only be vaguely described as humanoid, dressed in their world’s most costly attire, was not a new, nor unfamiliar sight for him.</p>
<p>For Iris, though, none of it was familiar. She stared at those sickly human abominations, wearing dried snakes’ skin, woven into geometrically impossible shapes. The smell alone of these culinaries were enough to drive her into an ecstasy beyond any of her body’s or mind’s senses.</p>
<p>There was one particular individual — she couldn’t quite place what felt so off about him. He was tall, but not too tall. Wearing a red-striped suit and a fancy big tophat, so big that she was amazed that he could balance it on his round head. He was definitely obese.</p>
<p>A little earlier during the festivities, every guest had introduced themselves — as one does. Even Iris did, and she really didn’t need to, considering her father was the head of one of the most powerful anomalous agencies on the entire globe. But she did it anyway, out of formality’s sake. And she practised in front of a mirror for hours without end for the perfect introduction — she couldn’t show any faulter in her power and image.</p>
<p>But the man she was staring at hadn’t introduced himself. No name, not even a nickname, no identification, nothing. Just the occasional smile and glance around the room — awfully quick ones, too — standing in a corner for most of the time. A strange man, indeed.</p>
<p>The curtains opened. Iris’ irises were fixated upon the stage.</p>
<p>There was an odd device standing in the center of the stage. A bright orb, surrounded by magnifying glasses made out of zinc and bronze, entranced the young Iris Dark so much, she almost forgot what it felt to blink. A control panel, equipped with various buttons and levers, was affixed to the side of the machine.</p>
<p>”Ladies and gentlemen,” a resounding voice sounded. Noises of metal clanking and gears spinning became audible. ”I welcome you to the presentation of the greatest device you’ll ever witness—”</p>
<p>Footsteps. A proudly standing man, clad in thick robes, stepped in. Gears, metal spikes and pulleys extruded out of the man’s every patch of skin. Each step was heavy, with a scent of rust in the air. The noises of ticking and grinding gears, hisses of steam and metal hitting metal only grew louder with his presence. Iris was amazed.</p>
<p>”—the <em>Kaleidoscope</em>!”</p>
<p>If one’s eyes weren’t trained on the curious device in the center of the stage already, now they definitely were. Bouts of mild clapping sounded through the hall. Iris thought she was the loudest.</p>
<p>The mechanical man raised his arms, equally as converted as the rest of his body, to quiet down his audience. ”Please. I haven’t even demonstrated my machine yet!”</p>
<p>The man hurried over to the control panel, flicked a few levers under the curious gaze of the audience. Iris held her head up high to see each movement the metal man was making with the device’s flurry of settings. He pressed a button and turned back to the audience. ”The omniverse is a vast expanse of infinite possibilities; have you never wished to see every one?”</p>
<p>The device started spinning.</p>
<p>”With the Kaleidoscope, the struggle of transport across universes, pocket dimensions and non-dimensions will be a thing of the past!”</p>
<p>Each of the magnifying glasses positioned themselves downwards in a straight line. The light of the orb shone through them. A sight never before seen by the young Iris, strange tiny dots began to converge into a rectangular shape where the device was pointing at.</p>
<p>Soon enough the shape became clearer and clearer, until it was a fully fledged, mahogany doorway. Every attendee was holding their breath (or an equivalent thereof) — her father smirked, nodding silently.</p>
<p>”This, my dear guests, is a Way. Portals, if you will,” he gestured theatrically, ”There are such Ways all around you, immaterial to your every sense. But they’re ther—”</p>
<p>Percival Darke raised his hand. ”A hundred billion dollars,” he said, his pride radiating in his voice.</p>
<p>It was silent for a while. The metal man spoke up again: ”… With all due respect, Mr. Darke—”</p>
<p>”200 billion!” a fleshy nightmare of tumours and eyestalks reverberated from the back rows.</p>
<p>”Sir, please—”</p>
<p>”A trillion dollars!” another person shouted.</p>
<p>The entire hall soon erupted into waves of shouting, raised arms, and higher and higher sums. Iris looked around, taking a certain joy from seeing all of these individuals, so friendly and cordial upon arrival, go at each other at their throats. She watched as the metal man’s expression turned from that of worry into a small smirk.</p>
<p>Percival Darke remained calm and composed. He placed his hand on his daughter’s shoulder, looked at her and smiled. Iris smiled back.</p>
<p>”350 quintillion dollars!” was the final offer, made by a walrus-sized 8-ball that was only partially intersecting with this universe.</p>
<p>The metal man looked about the crowd of people. His metal joints creaked and whined as he did so, before resting again. ”Well… anybody who can beat that offer?”</p>
<p>The room was silent. Not even his joints creaked. ”It’s settled, then—”</p>
<p>Percival Darke raised his hand once more. Iris could feel the weight of a thousand pair of eyes settling on them. ”400 quintillion dollars, as well as the fifty percent of the profit made by Universe #34B86954620.”</p>
<p>The room was silent again, but now for a different reason. At least a minute passed — Iris knew, because of the metal man’s ticking.</p>
<p>A man stepped forward. The strange, morbidly obese, tophat-wearing man. The fat-ass had been standing in the corner of the hall for the entire presentation, just silently observing the proceedings. He stepped to the stage with a raised arm, everyone’s gaze fixed upon him now.</p>
<p>Upon seeing him from up close, he was uglier than she first thought — a greasy beard, adorned with deep crevices, lips dry as the desert, pimples all over. He was smiling, though — a wicked smile.</p>
<p>Fat-ass spoke: ”What did the robber say to the clock?”</p>
<p>Metal man was perplexed. ”… Excuse me, sir—”</p>
<p>”HANDS UP!”</p>
<p>Fat-ass threw a ball onto the floor, which burst into a million pieces. Black smoke leaked out of the shards that quickly tightened around the lungs of anyone nearby. Eyes became watery, coughs for air being the only sound one could hear for some time.</p>
<p>Percival enveloped his daughter in the giant velvet cape of his, and held onto her tightly. He retrieved a gas-mask from his literal pocket-dimension on his pants, and pressed it against Iris’ face. Through the thick lenses of the mask, she saw Fat-ass dashing forward with surprising agility, tackling the metal man to the ground, and taking his device with him.</p>
<p>He opened a doorway and stepped through. The doorway closed and the man was gone. The device was gone with him.</p>
<p>After the smoke dissipated did Percival Darke dare to peek from beyond the safe boundaries of his cape. Iris took a peek as well, the ramsacked stage and the faultering stance of the metal man slowly rising to his feet. She took the mask off, breathing in the still sickly sweet air.</p>
<p>A cry of pain rang through the room. So loud, it reached another frequency entirely. It was the metal man, hunched over, on his knees, clasping at his face. ”No, no, no!”</p>
<p>He was kneeling right where his creation lied moments prior. What Iris could only presume to be years of work had been puffed out of existence. There was a flyer with grease and thick oil marks on the stage. The metal man, upon spotting it, held it up to the light, the words <em>”Herman Fuller’s Circus of the Disquieting!”</em> still clearly visible on the faded colors. And in the middle the Fat-ass’ face, grinning mischievously.</p>
<p>The other participants converged around that single sheet of paper, and looked at it with such hate and anger, Iris thought the flyer would disintegrate into dust. She stared at those faded, yet colorful words and that ugly visage for some time.</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p><strong><a href="/hell-hath-no-fury-than-a-clown-scorned">Now</a></strong><br/>
*</p>
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<p>Lolly hid behind a corner, her hot breath dissipating in the unfeeling air surrounding her. Her heart was thumping in her chest, she could feel it sounding in her ears. Footsteps echoed down the hall. Lolly fiddled around with a door control panel, while her back was pressed tightly afgainst the wall. The footsteps grew nearer and nearer, Lolly squinting her eyes to not witness the oncoming bloodbath of her blood and guts.</p>
<p>But the door finally opened, and Lolly hurried inside, the door sliding shut behind her. In the darkness of the room, her ears were piqued by the sounds of footsteps growing closer, before converging right outside the room—</p>
<p>And they went on. She let out a long exhale, as she could feel her breathing slowing down, her heartbeat slowly beating at a normal pace again. She fumbled for a lightswitch. Her hand went up and down along the wall, ’til it eventually hit the switch, and flicked it on.</p>
<p>Everything was plunged into a stark white, her squinting to make out anything in the blinding brightness. There were shelves. Rows upon rows of them. Lolly took a second to admire the vastness of the room and the items on them.</p>
<p>She walked past them, continuing on on her mission, but never averting her eyes from the flurry of curious items fully — an inside-out plushie, a red super-ball, and something that reeked of bananas. She wasn’t here for any of those items, though. She was here for the Kaleidoscope.</p>
<p>There was a heavy metal door marked with ”Vavluable Items Storage”. Looking to the door’s right, there was yet another control panel. She didn’t have the skills to hack into the panel — heck, she was surprised it worked just then. With no knowledge of circuits, she opted to just type in numbers and hope for the best. Surprisingly (or maybe not so much), the door slid open. The Kaleidoscope was behind that door, inside of that room, she could feel its presence. All of those nightmares of the past weeks would be gone, Manny would be okay again, and—</p>
<p><em>Him.</em> He’d be released from his prison. She didn’t know what he was truly capable of, but there was a reason why Manny and Fuller had locked him up for good. Maybe, just maybe, it was for the best that he stayed locked up, if she didn’t do what she planning on doing. Never to see the light again, to feel wind brushing past his skin, that sensation of—</p>
<p>Electricity sparked through her body. The figure of a man, holding some sort of weapon in his hand, turned into a haze of images. Lolly tumbled to the floor unceremoniously.</p>
<p>”Lock her up now,” a female voice sounded.</p>
<p>Her eyes became heavy, her limbs went limp. All she could do was to breathe, until even that sensation went dark.</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>Icky sank to her knees. The tears welled-up in her eyes, her hands clenching onto the carpet below. She couldn’t move, nor could she breathe; her eyes wide open in an expression of sadness, anger and disgust.</p>
<p>Tabernackle watched as Icky fell to the floor. She didn’t know how to respond to any of this — whether to be reassuring, angry at her for scaring her customers away, or if she should just leave through the back entrance. Tabernackle the Great gave out an ethereal sigh and moved closer to the folded-in stance Icky’s back was doing.</p>
<p>Tabernackle looked at Icky. Really looked at Icky, down to her heart and soul. There was nothing, but pure pain. She had clients and customers before from worlds far weirder than those of the circus. They came to her for help or just for a nice chat. People came to her spilling out all of their deepest secrets, problems they never could tell anyone. Icky was one such person — a rude one for simply barging in during a session — but one such person nonetheless.</p>
<p>Tabernackle took a deep breath in and approached Icky. ”Geez… okay. Uhm…” it sounded in Icky’s head. She briefly turned to look at Tabernackle. ”So, eh, well, how do I put this, I <em>could</em> help you find her.”</p>
<p>Icky jumped to her feet. Her fingers embedded themselves deep into Tabernackle’s soft tissues, that sensation causing her to wince slightly. She lost herself in Icky’s eyes for just a moment, before she snapped out of it.</p>
<p>”You can do it?” Icky said almost too fast for the ear to hear.</p>
<p>”Y—yes. But only if you compensate me enough for my troubles. I gotta pay rent. You know how the library is about this sorta stuff,” Tabernackle stammered slightly.</p>
<p>”The circus got all the wealth in the world. What do I need to do?”</p>
<p>Tabernackle pointed with her fingers at the glassy orb. ”Think about her. Good memories.”</p>
<p>Icky finally let go of Tabernackle, who stepped away just in case she came close to her again. Her soul stopped beating when Icky inched just a few inches closer to her again, but she only placed the orb on the table next to her. Icky sat down at the table, her breaths stammering.</p>
<p>Icky placed her hands on the orb, her hands feeling as cold as they looked. She closed her eyes tightly to retreat back into her headspace, to venture deep into the bowels of her mind.</p>
<p>Her breathing slowed down, and she <em>remembered</em>.</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p><em>Lolly rested against a pillar in one of the far-off tents of the circus. She was noticeably smaller, younger, her pigtails only reaching down to her shoulders. Her head was buried in her hands, tears seeping out between her fingers.</em></p>
<p><em>”What is it, clowny-missus-frowney?” it suddenly sounded from right next to her. The person that voice came from was young, as young as her. She stood over Lolly, so quiet she didn’t even notice her walking in. It startled her a little.</em></p>
<p><em>The girl smiled. ”Did I scare you? Sorry, didn’t mean to!” She sat down right next to Lolly.</em></p>
<p><em>”So, what is it now? Did you eat too much of that black cotton candy or did you forget your milk? Which one is it?”</em></p>
<p><em>”I want to go back home.”</em></p>
<p><em>The girl just shrugged. ”Fine.”</em></p>
<p><em>For the first time, Lolly looked the girl in the eyes. ”You won’t persuade me to stay?”</em></p>
<p><em>She shrugged again. ”I could do that. But I won’t. I know that you won’t listen to jackshit I’ve got to say. I could mince my words with the best grammar you’ve ever heard, but I know that that’ll do very little to persuade you from doing anything. So I won’t.”</em></p>
<p><em>She just stared into that girl’s round, flimmering, eternal eyes. Lolly lost herself within them, before abruptly snapping out of the experience. Red flushed into her cheeks, and she averted her gaze again. The girl smiled.</em></p>
<p><em>”Now, get up, tomato-face, before Mr. Fuller spots us not practicing in our dorms.”</em></p>
<p><em>The girl stood up. Lolly, after much hesitation, stood up after her. The girl stretched her hand out at her, much to her surprise.</em></p>
<p><em>”My name’s Icky, by the way.”</em></p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>Icky gasped a loud gasp. Her entire body was sweaty. Tears welled up in her eyes from being torn from such a memory. She tried to hide those tears by obscuring her face with her dark hair. But Tabernackle already knew what she thought.</p>
<p>It was then that a glimmering Way back to the circus opened up beside Tabernackle. Icky knew she could read her thoughts, so she didn’t bother with any formalities. She just stepped through the Way, with Tabernackle trudging behind her.</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>A pounding headache was the first thing Lolly felt upon awakening. That distinct pain she had felt so many times before traveled from the deepest crevices of her brain out to her skull. It was so deafening, she almost didn’t hear the squeaking in her ears.</p>
<p>”What are you doing here?” a female voice squeaked in the dark room. Obviously the woman didn’t squeak like a rat, but in Lolly’s ears she might as well have.</p>
<p>The woman thundered down her arms onto that paper-thin desk. Lolly thought it may break and the woman would fall on her face like a sorry bag of potatoes. She didn’t, but it still made for a hilarious image in her head. Lolly giggled, and all of her pains seemed to go away. The woman’s expression was unreadable in the dim overhead light, but she was silent for a while. She looked over at someone in the corner, who Lolly hadn’t even noticed until just now.</p>
<p>”Is this funny to you?” The woman trained her full attention back to the clunt.</p>
<p>”You sound like a chipmunk!” Lolly practically wheezed. She was rocking her head back and forth from all the giggles, the woman thought it might pop off.</p>
<p>Seconds ticked by, and as Lolly didn’t show signs of stopping anytime soon, Senior Security Chief Lyly Crevali turned to her partner, shook her head, and the two exited the room.</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>Matt Mattson leaned against the interrogation room’s metal door and took several deep breaths in and out. His heart was racing, sweat rolling down his face not unlike from a waterfall, his arms and legs jittering beyond compare.</p>
<p>”She getting to you?” Lyly asked in a calm, reassuring voice.</p>
<p>Matt wanted to answer, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even look the love of his life in the eyes.</p>
<p>”We’ll crack her eventually. It won’t be long, ’til she spills out all of her secrets and she gets shipped off to some facility in Europe,” was the best she could make up on the fly. Matt didn’t seem fazed. She wasn’t even sure if he had even heard her or not.</p>
<p>”Why must it be a gosh darn clown?” Matt muttered under his breath. Lyly wrapped her arm around her lover. She looked him in the eyes. He looked back. And for a short moment, his breathing and heartbeat eased up.</p>
<p>”Hey, hey. Don’t you think about that clown,” Lyly said. ”I’ll handle her, all right? You go back to the security station. You can watch from afar, okay?”</p>
<p>Matt took a deep breath in and held it a little. ”No. No, Lyly, I can—”</p>
<p>Lyly gently pressed her finger against Matt’s lips. ”That’s an order, Chief.”</p>
<p>They stared at each for a few more seconds. Each other lost in each other’s eyes. In the slow, rhytmic bumping of their heartbeats.</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>The clown alley was a small trailer, so unassuming betwixt the giant tents of the rest of the circus. In actuality, it was an extradimensional space way larger in the inside than outside. It functioned as a dorm for all of the circus’ clowns, both big and small, obese and slender.</p>
<p>What it also functioned as was an ICU for the clowns, and that was exactly what Dr. Tinkles needed right now. He oversaw Manny, his upside-down eyes shut tightly, while keeping an eye on his vitals. He pressed his comically large stethoscope against Manny’s chest. To his surprise, Manny’s heart was beating. Quickly.</p>
<p>The door to the trailer crashed open. Icky entered, and she wasted no time in retrieving a few submachine guns, plus their ammunitions from under a clown’s bed.</p>
<p>Aside from functioning as both dorms and an ICU, the clown alley also functioned as a weapons storage facility. Icky and Lolly kept all of their guns and machinations of destruction on the undersides of the clowns’ extradimensional beds (magically altered to be the most comfortable ever). As soon as she appeared, Icky wanted to leave again. Tinkles stopped her right then and there.</p>
<p>”Where is Lolly?” he said, deep down knowing he was scared of the answer. She didn’t look him in the eyes.</p>
<p>”Jesus Christ, Icky! Where the fuck is Lolly?”</p>
<p>A flurry of clowns, slender, obese, small, tall, began to surround them. Many watched the events from the shadows, some got a bit too close for comfort. What they had all in common was an expression of concern riddled on their faces. Icky broke down into tears. ”They took Lolly.”</p>
<p>Tinkles couldn’t say anything. He just stood there and stared at Icky. ”Those Emcee D sons of bitches took Lolly,” Icky said again. Her hair was obscuring parts of her face.</p>
<p>He finally snapped out of his stupor. ”What, no… you gotta be mistaken. Victor Chan would never—”</p>
<p>”He? No. But Iris would. Iris Dark.” Her hands balled into fists.</p>
<p>Tinkles wanted to ask another question, but took a look at those submachine guns and chose not to. No, instead, Tinkles threw his stethoscope to the floor and straightened up.</p>
<p>”I’ll go with you.”</p>
<p>Icky’s tongue was stuck in her mouth. Another voice immediately sounded behind her: ”I’ll go with you, too.”</p>
<p>The person that that voice came from was a round, zebra-stripped performer, no taller than a dwarf. Yet their voice was strong and determined, fearless of anything.</p>
<p>”No, you—” She got cut off.</p>
<p>”Me, too!” another one sounded, this one tall and spindly.</p>
<p>”Take me in.”</p>
<p>”I’m with you.”</p>
<p>”Count me as well!”</p>
<p>”No one fucks with the circus!”</p>
<p>One by one, they rose from the shadows, each and every one of them clad in gear adorning them from head to toe. Guns bigger than their bodies rested comfortably on their shoulders. Icky couldn’t believe her eyes. She looked back at Tinkles, a smirk going across his face.</p>
<p>”All right,” Icky said with renewed vigor.</p>
<p>The crowd of clowns erupted into applause, giggles, chuckles and bouts of confetti.</p>
<p>”You have to stay here,” she said to Dr. Tinkles in all the commotion.</p>
<p>”But—”</p>
<p>”No butts,” she pointed at the prone figure lying on the stretcher, ”Manny needs you now more than ever.” Tinkles didn’t retaliate. He simply nodded.</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>The clown watched as the menagerie of clowns left the room, barely stifling back bellowing laughter. He saw everything through that poor bastard’s upside-down eyes, like a passenger in an airplane. Only that Manny’s head was the airplane and he the hijacker.</p>
<p>He saw some literal multi-limbed, cat-headed lady introduce herself to the doctor, Icky giving the doctor a tight hug, then storming out with the rest of those clowns.</p>
<p>There was a slight sting in his side when the lady made eye-contact with Manny, <em>no</em>, with <em>him</em>. There was a moment where he felt his breathing stop, until the lady averted her gaze again.</p>
<p>Dear ol’ pally-pal <a href="/scp-993">Bobble</a> didn’t wanna give up his plane just yet.</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>The headaches dissipated much to the dismay of Lolly. She enjoyed that overly high-pitched tone of whoever those peeps belonged to. She giggled, until the memory started being not so funny anymore.</p>
<p>When everything quieted down, she only had her own thoughts to go back to. In the darkness of the room there was nothing she could spot. Only rough shapes, outlines of the table in front of her, the chair she was restrained to, the rattling of the beryllium cuffs against her wrists. Only mere silhouettes, nothing concrete.</p>
<p>The interrogation room’s door burst open. Lolly shielded her eyes, and was glad when the door heaved shut again. The woman from just a few hours ago was there again and sat right opposite Lolly. A wicked grin adorned her face.</p>
<p>”So, where were we—”</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>Lyly couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. All that there was was a barrage of sugary smells, scorch marks so hot she couldn’t remember what it felt like without them. Her chest heaved into heavy motions, desperate for the slightest shrivel of oxygen.</p>
<p>She tried to reach for her gun, still buckled to that leather belt of hers. But she couldn’t move. Her head was filled with excruciating pains. And as the life seeped out of her body, the shape of a clown walking past her, Lyly Crevali thought her last thought:</p>
<p><em>Matt.</em></p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>With a swift draw of one of her guns, bullets raced through the air, precisely on Lolly’s restraints. When she could move her arms freely again, Lolly leapt up from the chair and embraced her lover in a tight, soul-squeezing hug. It was nice to feel her hair again, her skin, her body against hers.</p>
<p>Icky pushed Lolly away, much to her surprise.</p>
<p>”What the <em>frick</em> did you think you were doing?!”</p>
<p>Lolly was taken aback. ”It was Bobble! He took me, and he tortured Manny, and I couldn’t—”</p>
<p>Icky embraced her in a soul-squeezing hug yet again, her face deep in Lolly’s hair. ”Let’s just get you back home.”</p>
<p>”No! What about Manny?”</p>
<p>”He’s being cared for right now by Missus Magick. Some protective spells and he’ll be fine, and so will you.”</p>
<p>Icky looked into her beautiful, azure eyes.</p>
<p>”I love you,” she said softly.</p>
<p>The smell of gunpowder and clown make-up filled the air, accompanied by wailing howls and desperate screams of the dying.</p>
<p>”I love you, too,” Lolly answered and kissed Icky.</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>She was gone. All that she was, all that she aspired to be, those hopes and dreams — gone. Matt sat at the monitors, having watched it all play out from afar. He felt his heart stop for just a second, before he collapsed onto the floor and cried. Hard.</p>
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<p>Bullets zipped past them in a hail of destruction. The velvet curtains and concrete walls were torn up into tiny bits, hurtling past Icky and Lolly. They took cover behind a corner, the guards rapidly approaching their location.</p>
<p>With a firm grip, the right stance, and a loaded cartridge, Icky unleashed a blizzard of bullet fire from her hiding spot. The bullets flew right through the men and women clad in gear, their blood painting the walls, floor and ceiling behind them. When all drops of blood trickled out of these people’s bodies did Icky stop.</p>
<p>She pulled out some more ammo from her pockets and reloaded her gun. She charged through another hallway, the adrenaline reaching all the way up to her head. Lolly didn’t move. Entrenched in thought, she called out back to her lover, who stopped dead in her tracks.</p>
<p>”The Kaleidoscope!” were Lolly’s only words, before she charged down the corridors in the complete opposite direction. Icky let out a silent gasp, and sprinted after Lolly. Lolly knew where the device was. She also knew how valuable and destructive it was in the wrong person’s hands.</p>
<p>Ms. Iris Dark was one such wrong person — self-centered, power-hungry and greedy. There was no chance the circus would grant such an individual this much power. There was no chance <em>Lolly</em> could grant such an individual with this much power.</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>Tabernackle spread out her many arms in front of the prone figure lying on the stretcher. Runes and ancient incantations, too bright for Dr. Tinkles to see, formed over, on and around Manny.</p>
<p>”Could you please, erm, look away?” Tabernackle asked in that humble voice of hers.</p>
<p>”Excuse me?”</p>
<p>”Well, I can’t really perform with anybody watching.”</p>
<p>”Don’t you do this on the regular?”</p>
<p>”Yeah! But usually when I do it, I ask of the attendees to close their eyes, turn around or step out of the tent for a few moments!”</p>
<p>Tinkles gave out a sigh. Praying to whoever god was watching them, he prayed for Manny’s safety. He did as he was told. Immediately upon doing so, Tabernackle proceeded with her mind-fortification spell. She chanted the ancient words with such precision: <em>”Chirgarroh llorum buddrll. Chirgarroh llorum buddrll.”</em></p>
<p>The chanting only grew in intensity. So much so that Tinkles could hear the words reverberating down to his heart. Until it suddenly stopped. Tabernackle was still, as still as a statue, and as silent as one. Only the creaking sounds of the stretcher filled the tent they were in. Slowly, Manny rose back up to his feet.</p>
<p>”Manny, can you hear me?” Tabernackle’s ethereal voice asked. He did not respond.</p>
<p>His eyes rose to the level those with Tabernackle’s. In those all-so-familiar eyes, there was nothing Dr. Tinkles recognized. Those pupils seemed to go on forever, staring straight into his soul. That wrongside-up mouth moved into a crooked frown.</p>
<p>With the speed of lightning, Manny’s hand shot up and enclosed itself tightly around Tabernackle’s neck. He bared his teeth, eyes wide open, as he choked the life out of her. Tinkles wanted to do something, <em>anything</em>. But once those hollow eyes met his, he was as if petrified. A sculpture motionless in someone else’s gaze. He knew it wasnt Manny in there anymore, but something far more sinister.</p>
<p>Manny threw Tabernackle to the ground, but not before lunging at her with one of the crude elements lying next to him on a silver tray.</p>
<p>Raising the sharp implement high above his head, he stabbed Tabernackle all over. Her wails vibrated through the fabric of the tent, as near blinding light shone out of her wounds. Purple blood began to stain the tool and Manny’s clothes.</p>
<p>Tinkles rushed into action, all of the adrenaline and clown milk rushing through his nervous system. He placed a kick in Manny’s chest. Manny tumbled to the ground, where he thrashed around like an infant, crying and manically laughing all the same.</p>
<p>”R—recite them…”</p>
<p>”What?!” Tinkles’ eyes darted from Manny to Tabernackle.</p>
<p>”Recite t—the incantations…”</p>
<p>He could think straight again. The ice in his brain thawed out. Manny rose up from the ground, bloodied scalpel in hand. He looked at him with a twisted smile, his eyes lit up brighter than the most fiery pits of hell.</p>
<p>”Ch—chir…” he stuttered, his tongue frozen in place.</p>
<p><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Manny</span> Bobble smiled a wicked smile, before he charged at Dr. Tinkles. His arms and legs wailed wildly through the air. The image of a marionette was what came to Tinkles’ mind, and that of Chucky the killer-doll with that little knife of his.</p>
<p><em>”Chirgarroh llorum buddrll!”</em> Tinkles screamed from the bottom of his lungs. Manny tumbled to the floor. Like an infant tumbling down a flight of stairs. The scalpel left his hands all the same.</p>
<p>For a moment, Manny just laid there, face-down. But then he rose to his feet again. Tinkles grapped the scalpel, pointing it at his colleague and friend. The bloodied scalpel was shaking in his two, way too large hands, his eyes never leaving Manny out of his sight.</p>
<p>Manny grunted, rubbing his temple. When Tinkles looked him in the eyes, the darkness that had filled them seconds prior had disappeared. Life had returned in those eyes. ”What… what is—” Manny’s words were quickly cut off by Tinkles wrapping his arms tightly around him.</p>
<p>”It’s good to see you back, Manny.”</p>
<p>Tinkles looked over his friend’s shoulder, only to be greeted with the stagnant figure of Tabernackle the Great on the cold floor. He immediately stood up and rushed to the magician’s side. Tabernackle coughed out purple drops of blood, floating on the ceiling. She had a smile on her face. ”You d—did a pretty fine job there…”</p>
<p>She coughed out more blood. More than should have passed through her mouth. It seeped into the earthern ground below, staining the deepest of water reservoirs, before Tabernackle moved the edges of her mouth into one last smile.</p>
<p>Tinkles gave her a farewell in his head. Manny was just confused and horrified.</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>Bobble screamed into the metaphysical void. He screamed, and screamed, and screamed with no end. Ripples were sent all throughout it.</p>
<p>Then he saw a man. A little man sprinting through some corridors. Physically, he was fine. But his heart was broken. Shattered into billions of fragments</p>
<p>He had one last trick up his sleeve. In the end, Bobble would have the last laugh.</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>A bullet here, a bullet there. A bullet everywhere. She charged down the corridors. The smell of cream pies, bubble gum, iron blood and so much more flew into her nostrils. It was almost mesmerizing.</p>
<p>The Kaleidoscope was exactly where she remembered it being. She looked around for a while, before spotting the simple carabiner mechanism of how the device was strapped down. She broke open the clamps. Once unlocked, she had to figure out a way of how to move—</p>
<p>”LOLLY!”</p>
<p>It was Icky’s voice. But not as vibrant and confident as it had been just minutes ago. No, it sounded booming, as if her ears were about to pop out of her skull. Lolly realized too late that that wasn’t a result of Icky’s voice, but the shot of a shotgun unloading right in front of her.</p>
<p>Lolly tumbled to the floor. She reached for her chest and there was no blood. No innards. No gaping hole or whatever else she had imagined. Quiet, heaving breaths unfolded on the ground right next to her. And the smell of blood.</p>
<p>Icky convulsed, blood spurting out of a gaping hole in her chest. Seconds turned into hours. She could see each contortion of her partner’s soft, pink flesh, each sound of a drop of blood. She snapped out of it. And without even thinking, Lolly grabbed Icky’s gun and unleashed a hail of bullets on their assailant.</p>
<p>Matt Mattson leaked out blood from every orifice imaginable. He stumbled to the floor, just like Icky had, and crashed his head against the Kaleidoscope’s console. Lolly was too worried to notice. She cradled Icky’s warm, wet body in her arms. She waived away a streak of Icky’s jet black hair to see into her beautiful eyes. Tears built up in her eyes. Icky herself waived aside some of Lolly’s hair. They stared into each other’s eyes, near motionless, locked in silence.</p>
<p><em>He heard a voice in his head. In the darkest pits of his mind. He didn’t know who the voice belonged to, but it told him of a chance. A chance to avenge his loved one.</em></p>
<p>There was still some life in him left. Twitching fingers, blinking eyes. He neared himself toward the device. Inch by inch, he crawled toward it like some maggot on a corpse. Rotten, near dead.</p>
<p>”B—behi…” Icky stammered out.</p>
<p>There was this moment, where Lolly couldn’t understand anything Icky was saying. Like white noise on a TV. Too late did she realize what her partner was uttering. And when she did finally realize, a Way had been opened.</p>
<p>The entire room was consumed by every color unimaginable. Up-beat music straight out of the circus’ calliope boomed in their skulls. Lolly pressed her hands against her ears, but not even that was enough to drown out the noise.</p>
<p>And then Bobble stepped out of the Way, in all his glory. Everyone laid there, frozen. He righted his fly, looked around, and let out the most soul-quenching scream ever heard. It was a scream of joy, of celebration.</p>
<p>From the top of his lungs, Bobble yelled: <em><strong>”GUESS WHO’S BACK!”</strong></em></p>
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<p><strong>« <a href="/hell-hath-no-fury-than-a-clown-scorned">Episode 1: Hell Hath No Fury than a Clown Scorned</a> | <a href="/dread-circuses-hub">HUB</a> | <a class="newpage" href="/bobble-the-last-dance">FINALE: Bobble - The Last Dance</a> »</strong></p>
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<p>"<a href="/circus-of-the-disquieting-folie-a-duhh">Circus of the Disquieting: Folie à Duhh</a>" by Doctor Scrappy , from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/circus-of-the-disquieting-folie-a-duhh">https://scpwiki.com/circus-of-the-disquieting-folie-a-duhh</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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[[[canon-hub|Canon Hub]]] >> [[[Dread & Circuses Hub]]] >> Circus of the Disquieting: Folie à Duhh
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**Circus of the Disquieting: Folie à Duhh**
Part 2/3
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A tale set within the //Dread & Circuses// canon.
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**Author:** Doctor Scrappy
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**1932**
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The lights dimmed. The voices and words that rang out through the room were reduced to mere murmurs, hushed tones, and chairs creaking. Everyone’s eyes were trained upon the stage in front of them, thick curtains blocked view from what laid behind it.
Iris Dark, beloved daughter of Mr. Percival Darke, sat in the front rows of the hall. For Mr. Darke, the sights of the hall with its exquisite delicacies from beyond the third dimension (so kindly sponsored by Ambrose Restaurants); the thick curtains, worth more than entire states; and guests that could only be vaguely described as humanoid, dressed in their world’s most costly attire, was not a new, nor unfamiliar sight for him.
For Iris, though, none of it was familiar. She stared at those sickly human abominations, wearing dried snakes’ skin, woven into geometrically impossible shapes. The smell alone of these culinaries were enough to drive her into an ecstasy beyond any of her body’s or mind’s senses.
There was one particular individual -- she couldn’t quite place what felt so off about him. He was tall, but not too tall. Wearing a red-striped suit and a fancy big tophat, so big that she was amazed that he could balance it on his round head. He was definitely obese.
A little earlier during the festivities, every guest had introduced themselves -- as one does. Even Iris did, and she really didn’t need to, considering her father was the head of one of the most powerful anomalous agencies on the entire globe. But she did it anyway, out of formality’s sake. And she practised in front of a mirror for hours without end for the perfect introduction -- she couldn’t show any faulter in her power and image.
But the man she was staring at hadn’t introduced himself. No name, not even a nickname, no identification, nothing. Just the occasional smile and glance around the room -- awfully quick ones, too -- standing in a corner for most of the time. A strange man, indeed.
The curtains opened. Iris’ irises were fixated upon the stage.
There was an odd device standing in the center of the stage. A bright orb, surrounded by magnifying glasses made out of zinc and bronze, entranced the young Iris Dark so much, she almost forgot what it felt to blink. A control panel, equipped with various buttons and levers, was affixed to the side of the machine.
”Ladies and gentlemen,” a resounding voice sounded. Noises of metal clanking and gears spinning became audible. ”I welcome you to the presentation of the greatest device you’ll ever witness--”
Footsteps. A proudly standing man, clad in thick robes, stepped in. Gears, metal spikes and pulleys extruded out of the man’s every patch of skin. Each step was heavy, with a scent of rust in the air. The noises of ticking and grinding gears, hisses of steam and metal hitting metal only grew louder with his presence. Iris was amazed.
”--the //Kaleidoscope//!”
If one’s eyes weren’t trained on the curious device in the center of the stage already, now they definitely were. Bouts of mild clapping sounded through the hall. Iris thought she was the loudest.
The mechanical man raised his arms, equally as converted as the rest of his body, to quiet down his audience. ”Please. I haven’t even demonstrated my machine yet!”
The man hurried over to the control panel, flicked a few levers under the curious gaze of the audience. Iris held her head up high to see each movement the metal man was making with the device’s flurry of settings. He pressed a button and turned back to the audience. ”The omniverse is a vast expanse of infinite possibilities; have you never wished to see every one?”
The device started spinning.
”With the Kaleidoscope, the struggle of transport across universes, pocket dimensions and non-dimensions will be a thing of the past!”
Each of the magnifying glasses positioned themselves downwards in a straight line. The light of the orb shone through them. A sight never before seen by the young Iris, strange tiny dots began to converge into a rectangular shape where the device was pointing at.
Soon enough the shape became clearer and clearer, until it was a fully fledged, mahogany doorway. Every attendee was holding their breath (or an equivalent thereof) -- her father smirked, nodding silently.
”This, my dear guests, is a Way. Portals, if you will,” he gestured theatrically, ”There are such Ways all around you, immaterial to your every sense. But they’re ther--”
Percival Darke raised his hand. ”A hundred billion dollars,” he said, his pride radiating in his voice.
It was silent for a while. The metal man spoke up again: ”... With all due respect, Mr. Darke--”
”200 billion!” a fleshy nightmare of tumours and eyestalks reverberated from the back rows.
”Sir, please--”
”A trillion dollars!” another person shouted.
The entire hall soon erupted into waves of shouting, raised arms, and higher and higher sums. Iris looked around, taking a certain joy from seeing all of these individuals, so friendly and cordial upon arrival, go at each other at their throats. She watched as the metal man’s expression turned from that of worry into a small smirk.
Percival Darke remained calm and composed. He placed his hand on his daughter’s shoulder, looked at her and smiled. Iris smiled back.
”350 quintillion dollars!” was the final offer, made by a walrus-sized 8-ball that was only partially intersecting with this universe.
The metal man looked about the crowd of people. His metal joints creaked and whined as he did so, before resting again. ”Well... anybody who can beat that offer?”
The room was silent. Not even his joints creaked. ”It’s settled, then--”
Percival Darke raised his hand once more. Iris could feel the weight of a thousand pair of eyes settling on them. ”400 quintillion dollars, as well as the fifty percent of the profit made by Universe #34B86954620.”
The room was silent again, but now for a different reason. At least a minute passed -- Iris knew, because of the metal man’s ticking.
A man stepped forward. The strange, morbidly obese, tophat-wearing man. The fat-ass had been standing in the corner of the hall for the entire presentation, just silently observing the proceedings. He stepped to the stage with a raised arm, everyone’s gaze fixed upon him now.
Upon seeing him from up close, he was uglier than she first thought -- a greasy beard, adorned with deep crevices, lips dry as the desert, pimples all over. He was smiling, though -- a wicked smile.
Fat-ass spoke: ”What did the robber say to the clock?”
Metal man was perplexed. ”... Excuse me, sir--”
”HANDS UP!”
Fat-ass threw a ball onto the floor, which burst into a million pieces. Black smoke leaked out of the shards that quickly tightened around the lungs of anyone nearby. Eyes became watery, coughs for air being the only sound one could hear for some time.
Percival enveloped his daughter in the giant velvet cape of his, and held onto her tightly. He retrieved a gas-mask from his literal pocket-dimension on his pants, and pressed it against Iris’ face. Through the thick lenses of the mask, she saw Fat-ass dashing forward with surprising agility, tackling the metal man to the ground, and taking his device with him.
He opened a doorway and stepped through. The doorway closed and the man was gone. The device was gone with him.
After the smoke dissipated did Percival Darke dare to peek from beyond the safe boundaries of his cape. Iris took a peek as well, the ramsacked stage and the faultering stance of the metal man slowly rising to his feet. She took the mask off, breathing in the still sickly sweet air.
A cry of pain rang through the room. So loud, it reached another frequency entirely. It was the metal man, hunched over, on his knees, clasping at his face. ”No, no, no!”
He was kneeling right where his creation lied moments prior. What Iris could only presume to be years of work had been puffed out of existence. There was a flyer with grease and thick oil marks on the stage. The metal man, upon spotting it, held it up to the light, the words //”Herman Fuller’s Circus of the Disquieting!”// still clearly visible on the faded colors. And in the middle the Fat-ass’ face, grinning mischievously.
The other participants converged around that single sheet of paper, and looked at it with such hate and anger, Iris thought the flyer would disintegrate into dust. She stared at those faded, yet colorful words and that ugly visage for some time.
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**[[[Hell Hath No Fury than a Clown Scorned|Now]]]**
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Lolly hid behind a corner, her hot breath dissipating in the unfeeling air surrounding her. Her heart was thumping in her chest, she could feel it sounding in her ears. Footsteps echoed down the hall. Lolly fiddled around with a door control panel, while her back was pressed tightly afgainst the wall. The footsteps grew nearer and nearer, Lolly squinting her eyes to not witness the oncoming bloodbath of her blood and guts.
But the door finally opened, and Lolly hurried inside, the door sliding shut behind her. In the darkness of the room, her ears were piqued by the sounds of footsteps growing closer, before converging right outside the room--
And they went on. She let out a long exhale, as she could feel her breathing slowing down, her heartbeat slowly beating at a normal pace again. She fumbled for a lightswitch. Her hand went up and down along the wall, ’til it eventually hit the switch, and flicked it on.
Everything was plunged into a stark white, her squinting to make out anything in the blinding brightness. There were shelves. Rows upon rows of them. Lolly took a second to admire the vastness of the room and the items on them.
She walked past them, continuing on on her mission, but never averting her eyes from the flurry of curious items fully -- an inside-out plushie, a red super-ball, and something that reeked of bananas. She wasn’t here for any of those items, though. She was here for the Kaleidoscope.
There was a heavy metal door marked with ”Vavluable Items Storage”. Looking to the door’s right, there was yet another control panel. She didn’t have the skills to hack into the panel -- heck, she was surprised it worked just then. With no knowledge of circuits, she opted to just type in numbers and hope for the best. Surprisingly (or maybe not so much), the door slid open. The Kaleidoscope was behind that door, inside of that room, she could feel its presence. All of those nightmares of the past weeks would be gone, Manny would be okay again, and--
//Him.// He’d be released from his prison. She didn’t know what he was truly capable of, but there was a reason why Manny and Fuller had locked him up for good. Maybe, just maybe, it was for the best that he stayed locked up, if she didn’t do what she planning on doing. Never to see the light again, to feel wind brushing past his skin, that sensation of--
Electricity sparked through her body. The figure of a man, holding some sort of weapon in his hand, turned into a haze of images. Lolly tumbled to the floor unceremoniously.
”Lock her up now,” a female voice sounded.
Her eyes became heavy, her limbs went limp. All she could do was to breathe, until even that sensation went dark.
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Icky sank to her knees. The tears welled-up in her eyes, her hands clenching onto the carpet below. She couldn’t move, nor could she breathe; her eyes wide open in an expression of sadness, anger and disgust.
Tabernackle watched as Icky fell to the floor. She didn’t know how to respond to any of this -- whether to be reassuring, angry at her for scaring her customers away, or if she should just leave through the back entrance. Tabernackle the Great gave out an ethereal sigh and moved closer to the folded-in stance Icky’s back was doing.
Tabernackle looked at Icky. Really looked at Icky, down to her heart and soul. There was nothing, but pure pain. She had clients and customers before from worlds far weirder than those of the circus. They came to her for help or just for a nice chat. People came to her spilling out all of their deepest secrets, problems they never could tell anyone. Icky was one such person -- a rude one for simply barging in during a session -- but one such person nonetheless.
Tabernackle took a deep breath in and approached Icky. ”Geez... okay. Uhm...” it sounded in Icky’s head. She briefly turned to look at Tabernackle. ”So, eh, well, how do I put this, I //could// help you find her.”
Icky jumped to her feet. Her fingers embedded themselves deep into Tabernackle’s soft tissues, that sensation causing her to wince slightly. She lost herself in Icky’s eyes for just a moment, before she snapped out of it.
”You can do it?” Icky said almost too fast for the ear to hear.
”Y--yes. But only if you compensate me enough for my troubles. I gotta pay rent. You know how the library is about this sorta stuff,” Tabernackle stammered slightly.
”The circus got all the wealth in the world. What do I need to do?”
Tabernackle pointed with her fingers at the glassy orb. ”Think about her. Good memories.”
Icky finally let go of Tabernackle, who stepped away just in case she came close to her again. Her soul stopped beating when Icky inched just a few inches closer to her again, but she only placed the orb on the table next to her. Icky sat down at the table, her breaths stammering.
Icky placed her hands on the orb, her hands feeling as cold as they looked. She closed her eyes tightly to retreat back into her headspace, to venture deep into the bowels of her mind.
Her breathing slowed down, and she //remembered//.
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//Lolly rested against a pillar in one of the far-off tents of the circus. She was noticeably smaller, younger, her pigtails only reaching down to her shoulders. Her head was buried in her hands, tears seeping out between her fingers.//
//”What is it, clowny-missus-frowney?” it suddenly sounded from right next to her. The person that voice came from was young, as young as her. She stood over Lolly, so quiet she didn’t even notice her walking in. It startled her a little.//
//The girl smiled. ”Did I scare you? Sorry, didn’t mean to!” She sat down right next to Lolly.//
//”So, what is it now? Did you eat too much of that black cotton candy or did you forget your milk? Which one is it?”//
//”I want to go back home.”//
//The girl just shrugged. ”Fine.”//
//For the first time, Lolly looked the girl in the eyes. ”You won’t persuade me to stay?”//
//She shrugged again. ”I could do that. But I won’t. I know that you won’t listen to jackshit I’ve got to say. I could mince my words with the best grammar you’ve ever heard, but I know that that’ll do very little to persuade you from doing anything. So I won’t.”//
//She just stared into that girl’s round, flimmering, eternal eyes. Lolly lost herself within them, before abruptly snapping out of the experience. Red flushed into her cheeks, and she averted her gaze again. The girl smiled.//
//”Now, get up, tomato-face, before Mr. Fuller spots us not practicing in our dorms.”//
//The girl stood up. Lolly, after much hesitation, stood up after her. The girl stretched her hand out at her, much to her surprise.//
//”My name’s Icky, by the way.”//
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Icky gasped a loud gasp. Her entire body was sweaty. Tears welled up in her eyes from being torn from such a memory. She tried to hide those tears by obscuring her face with her dark hair. But Tabernackle already knew what she thought.
It was then that a glimmering Way back to the circus opened up beside Tabernackle. Icky knew she could read her thoughts, so she didn’t bother with any formalities. She just stepped through the Way, with Tabernackle trudging behind her.
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A pounding headache was the first thing Lolly felt upon awakening. That distinct pain she had felt so many times before traveled from the deepest crevices of her brain out to her skull. It was so deafening, she almost didn’t hear the squeaking in her ears.
”What are you doing here?” a female voice squeaked in the dark room. Obviously the woman didn’t squeak like a rat, but in Lolly’s ears she might as well have.
The woman thundered down her arms onto that paper-thin desk. Lolly thought it may break and the woman would fall on her face like a sorry bag of potatoes. She didn’t, but it still made for a hilarious image in her head. Lolly giggled, and all of her pains seemed to go away. The woman’s expression was unreadable in the dim overhead light, but she was silent for a while. She looked over at someone in the corner, who Lolly hadn’t even noticed until just now.
”Is this funny to you?” The woman trained her full attention back to the clunt.
”You sound like a chipmunk!” Lolly practically wheezed. She was rocking her head back and forth from all the giggles, the woman thought it might pop off.
Seconds ticked by, and as Lolly didn’t show signs of stopping anytime soon, Senior Security Chief Lyly Crevali turned to her partner, shook her head, and the two exited the room.
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Matt Mattson leaned against the interrogation room’s metal door and took several deep breaths in and out. His heart was racing, sweat rolling down his face not unlike from a waterfall, his arms and legs jittering beyond compare.
”She getting to you?” Lyly asked in a calm, reassuring voice.
Matt wanted to answer, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even look the love of his life in the eyes.
”We’ll crack her eventually. It won’t be long, ’til she spills out all of her secrets and she gets shipped off to some facility in Europe,” was the best she could make up on the fly. Matt didn’t seem fazed. She wasn’t even sure if he had even heard her or not.
”Why must it be a gosh darn clown?” Matt muttered under his breath. Lyly wrapped her arm around her lover. She looked him in the eyes. He looked back. And for a short moment, his breathing and heartbeat eased up.
”Hey, hey. Don’t you think about that clown,” Lyly said. ”I’ll handle her, all right? You go back to the security station. You can watch from afar, okay?”
Matt took a deep breath in and held it a little. ”No. No, Lyly, I can--”
Lyly gently pressed her finger against Matt’s lips. ”That’s an order, Chief.”
They stared at each for a few more seconds. Each other lost in each other’s eyes. In the slow, rhytmic bumping of their heartbeats.
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The clown alley was a small trailer, so unassuming betwixt the giant tents of the rest of the circus. In actuality, it was an extradimensional space way larger in the inside than outside. It functioned as a dorm for all of the circus’ clowns, both big and small, obese and slender.
What it also functioned as was an ICU for the clowns, and that was exactly what Dr. Tinkles needed right now. He oversaw Manny, his upside-down eyes shut tightly, while keeping an eye on his vitals. He pressed his comically large stethoscope against Manny’s chest. To his surprise, Manny’s heart was beating. Quickly.
The door to the trailer crashed open. Icky entered, and she wasted no time in retrieving a few submachine guns, plus their ammunitions from under a clown’s bed.
Aside from functioning as both dorms and an ICU, the clown alley also functioned as a weapons storage facility. Icky and Lolly kept all of their guns and machinations of destruction on the undersides of the clowns’ extradimensional beds (magically altered to be the most comfortable ever). As soon as she appeared, Icky wanted to leave again. Tinkles stopped her right then and there.
”Where is Lolly?” he said, deep down knowing he was scared of the answer. She didn’t look him in the eyes.
”Jesus Christ, Icky! Where the fuck is Lolly?”
A flurry of clowns, slender, obese, small, tall, began to surround them. Many watched the events from the shadows, some got a bit too close for comfort. What they had all in common was an expression of concern riddled on their faces. Icky broke down into tears. ”They took Lolly.”
Tinkles couldn’t say anything. He just stood there and stared at Icky. ”Those Emcee D sons of bitches took Lolly,” Icky said again. Her hair was obscuring parts of her face.
He finally snapped out of his stupor. ”What, no... you gotta be mistaken. Victor Chan would never--”
”He? No. But Iris would. Iris Dark.” Her hands balled into fists.
Tinkles wanted to ask another question, but took a look at those submachine guns and chose not to. No, instead, Tinkles threw his stethoscope to the floor and straightened up.
”I’ll go with you.”
Icky’s tongue was stuck in her mouth. Another voice immediately sounded behind her: ”I’ll go with you, too.”
The person that that voice came from was a round, zebra-stripped performer, no taller than a dwarf. Yet their voice was strong and determined, fearless of anything.
”No, you--” She got cut off.
”Me, too!” another one sounded, this one tall and spindly.
”Take me in.”
”I’m with you.”
”Count me as well!”
”No one fucks with the circus!”
One by one, they rose from the shadows, each and every one of them clad in gear adorning them from head to toe. Guns bigger than their bodies rested comfortably on their shoulders. Icky couldn’t believe her eyes. She looked back at Tinkles, a smirk going across his face.
”All right,” Icky said with renewed vigor.
The crowd of clowns erupted into applause, giggles, chuckles and bouts of confetti.
”You have to stay here,” she said to Dr. Tinkles in all the commotion.
”But--”
”No butts,” she pointed at the prone figure lying on the stretcher, ”Manny needs you now more than ever.” Tinkles didn’t retaliate. He simply nodded.
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The clown watched as the menagerie of clowns left the room, barely stifling back bellowing laughter. He saw everything through that poor bastard’s upside-down eyes, like a passenger in an airplane. Only that Manny’s head was the airplane and he the hijacker.
He saw some literal multi-limbed, cat-headed lady introduce herself to the doctor, Icky giving the doctor a tight hug, then storming out with the rest of those clowns.
There was a slight sting in his side when the lady made eye-contact with Manny, //no//, with //him//. There was a moment where he felt his breathing stop, until the lady averted her gaze again.
Dear ol’ pally-pal [[[SCP-993|Bobble]]] didn’t wanna give up his plane just yet.
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The headaches dissipated much to the dismay of Lolly. She enjoyed that overly high-pitched tone of whoever those peeps belonged to. She giggled, until the memory started being not so funny anymore.
When everything quieted down, she only had her own thoughts to go back to. In the darkness of the room there was nothing she could spot. Only rough shapes, outlines of the table in front of her, the chair she was restrained to, the rattling of the beryllium cuffs against her wrists. Only mere silhouettes, nothing concrete.
The interrogation room’s door burst open. Lolly shielded her eyes, and was glad when the door heaved shut again. The woman from just a few hours ago was there again and sat right opposite Lolly. A wicked grin adorned her face.
”So, where were we--”
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Lyly couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. All that there was was a barrage of sugary smells, scorch marks so hot she couldn’t remember what it felt like without them. Her chest heaved into heavy motions, desperate for the slightest shrivel of oxygen.
She tried to reach for her gun, still buckled to that leather belt of hers. But she couldn’t move. Her head was filled with excruciating pains. And as the life seeped out of her body, the shape of a clown walking past her, Lyly Crevali thought her last thought:
//Matt.//
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With a swift draw of one of her guns, bullets raced through the air, precisely on Lolly’s restraints. When she could move her arms freely again, Lolly leapt up from the chair and embraced her lover in a tight, soul-squeezing hug. It was nice to feel her hair again, her skin, her body against hers.
Icky pushed Lolly away, much to her surprise.
”What the //frick// did you think you were doing?!”
Lolly was taken aback. ”It was Bobble! He took me, and he tortured Manny, and I couldn’t--”
Icky embraced her in a soul-squeezing hug yet again, her face deep in Lolly’s hair. ”Let’s just get you back home.”
”No! What about Manny?”
”He’s being cared for right now by Missus Magick. Some protective spells and he’ll be fine, and so will you.”
Icky looked into her beautiful, azure eyes.
”I love you,” she said softly.
The smell of gunpowder and clown make-up filled the air, accompanied by wailing howls and desperate screams of the dying.
”I love you, too,” Lolly answered and kissed Icky.
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She was gone. All that she was, all that she aspired to be, those hopes and dreams -- gone. Matt sat at the monitors, having watched it all play out from afar. He felt his heart stop for just a second, before he collapsed onto the floor and cried. Hard.
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Bullets zipped past them in a hail of destruction. The velvet curtains and concrete walls were torn up into tiny bits, hurtling past Icky and Lolly. They took cover behind a corner, the guards rapidly approaching their location.
With a firm grip, the right stance, and a loaded cartridge, Icky unleashed a blizzard of bullet fire from her hiding spot. The bullets flew right through the men and women clad in gear, their blood painting the walls, floor and ceiling behind them. When all drops of blood trickled out of these people’s bodies did Icky stop.
She pulled out some more ammo from her pockets and reloaded her gun. She charged through another hallway, the adrenaline reaching all the way up to her head. Lolly didn’t move. Entrenched in thought, she called out back to her lover, who stopped dead in her tracks.
”The Kaleidoscope!” were Lolly’s only words, before she charged down the corridors in the complete opposite direction. Icky let out a silent gasp, and sprinted after Lolly. Lolly knew where the device was. She also knew how valuable and destructive it was in the wrong person’s hands.
Ms. Iris Dark was one such wrong person -- self-centered, power-hungry and greedy. There was no chance the circus would grant such an individual this much power. There was no chance //Lolly// could grant such an individual with this much power.
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Tabernackle spread out her many arms in front of the prone figure lying on the stretcher. Runes and ancient incantations, too bright for Dr. Tinkles to see, formed over, on and around Manny.
”Could you please, erm, look away?” Tabernackle asked in that humble voice of hers.
”Excuse me?”
”Well, I can’t really perform with anybody watching.”
”Don’t you do this on the regular?”
”Yeah! But usually when I do it, I ask of the attendees to close their eyes, turn around or step out of the tent for a few moments!”
Tinkles gave out a sigh. Praying to whoever god was watching them, he prayed for Manny’s safety. He did as he was told. Immediately upon doing so, Tabernackle proceeded with her mind-fortification spell. She chanted the ancient words with such precision: //”Chirgarroh llorum buddrll. Chirgarroh llorum buddrll.”//
The chanting only grew in intensity. So much so that Tinkles could hear the words reverberating down to his heart. Until it suddenly stopped. Tabernackle was still, as still as a statue, and as silent as one. Only the creaking sounds of the stretcher filled the tent they were in. Slowly, Manny rose back up to his feet.
”Manny, can you hear me?” Tabernackle’s ethereal voice asked. He did not respond.
His eyes rose to the level those with Tabernackle’s. In those all-so-familiar eyes, there was nothing Dr. Tinkles recognized. Those pupils seemed to go on forever, staring straight into his soul. That wrongside-up mouth moved into a crooked frown.
With the speed of lightning, Manny’s hand shot up and enclosed itself tightly around Tabernackle’s neck. He bared his teeth, eyes wide open, as he choked the life out of her. Tinkles wanted to do something, //anything//. But once those hollow eyes met his, he was as if petrified. A sculpture motionless in someone else’s gaze. He knew it wasnt Manny in there anymore, but something far more sinister.
Manny threw Tabernackle to the ground, but not before lunging at her with one of the crude elements lying next to him on a silver tray.
Raising the sharp implement high above his head, he stabbed Tabernackle all over. Her wails vibrated through the fabric of the tent, as near blinding light shone out of her wounds. Purple blood began to stain the tool and Manny’s clothes.
Tinkles rushed into action, all of the adrenaline and clown milk rushing through his nervous system. He placed a kick in Manny’s chest. Manny tumbled to the ground, where he thrashed around like an infant, crying and manically laughing all the same.
”R--recite them...”
”What?!” Tinkles’ eyes darted from Manny to Tabernackle.
”Recite t--the incantations...”
He could think straight again. The ice in his brain thawed out. Manny rose up from the ground, bloodied scalpel in hand. He looked at him with a twisted smile, his eyes lit up brighter than the most fiery pits of hell.
”Ch--chir...” he stuttered, his tongue frozen in place.
--Manny-- Bobble smiled a wicked smile, before he charged at Dr. Tinkles. His arms and legs wailed wildly through the air. The image of a marionette was what came to Tinkles’ mind, and that of Chucky the killer-doll with that little knife of his.
//”Chirgarroh llorum buddrll!”// Tinkles screamed from the bottom of his lungs. Manny tumbled to the floor. Like an infant tumbling down a flight of stairs. The scalpel left his hands all the same.
For a moment, Manny just laid there, face-down. But then he rose to his feet again. Tinkles grapped the scalpel, pointing it at his colleague and friend. The bloodied scalpel was shaking in his two, way too large hands, his eyes never leaving Manny out of his sight.
Manny grunted, rubbing his temple. When Tinkles looked him in the eyes, the darkness that had filled them seconds prior had disappeared. Life had returned in those eyes. ”What... what is--” Manny’s words were quickly cut off by Tinkles wrapping his arms tightly around him.
”It’s good to see you back, Manny.”
Tinkles looked over his friend’s shoulder, only to be greeted with the stagnant figure of Tabernackle the Great on the cold floor. He immediately stood up and rushed to the magician’s side. Tabernackle coughed out purple drops of blood, floating on the ceiling. She had a smile on her face. ”You d--did a pretty fine job there...”
She coughed out more blood. More than should have passed through her mouth. It seeped into the earthern ground below, staining the deepest of water reservoirs, before Tabernackle moved the edges of her mouth into one last smile.
Tinkles gave her a farewell in his head. Manny was just confused and horrified.
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Bobble screamed into the metaphysical void. He screamed, and screamed, and screamed with no end. Ripples were sent all throughout it.
Then he saw a man. A little man sprinting through some corridors. Physically, he was fine. But his heart was broken. Shattered into billions of fragments
He had one last trick up his sleeve. In the end, Bobble would have the last laugh.
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A bullet here, a bullet there. A bullet everywhere. She charged down the corridors. The smell of cream pies, bubble gum, iron blood and so much more flew into her nostrils. It was almost mesmerizing.
The Kaleidoscope was exactly where she remembered it being. She looked around for a while, before spotting the simple carabiner mechanism of how the device was strapped down. She broke open the clamps. Once unlocked, she had to figure out a way of how to move--
”LOLLY!”
It was Icky’s voice. But not as vibrant and confident as it had been just minutes ago. No, it sounded booming, as if her ears were about to pop out of her skull. Lolly realized too late that that wasn’t a result of Icky’s voice, but the shot of a shotgun unloading right in front of her.
Lolly tumbled to the floor. She reached for her chest and there was no blood. No innards. No gaping hole or whatever else she had imagined. Quiet, heaving breaths unfolded on the ground right next to her. And the smell of blood.
Icky convulsed, blood spurting out of a gaping hole in her chest. Seconds turned into hours. She could see each contortion of her partner’s soft, pink flesh, each sound of a drop of blood. She snapped out of it. And without even thinking, Lolly grabbed Icky’s gun and unleashed a hail of bullets on their assailant.
Matt Mattson leaked out blood from every orifice imaginable. He stumbled to the floor, just like Icky had, and crashed his head against the Kaleidoscope’s console. Lolly was too worried to notice. She cradled Icky’s warm, wet body in her arms. She waived away a streak of Icky’s jet black hair to see into her beautiful eyes. Tears built up in her eyes. Icky herself waived aside some of Lolly’s hair. They stared into each other’s eyes, near motionless, locked in silence.
//He heard a voice in his head. In the darkest pits of his mind. He didn’t know who the voice belonged to, but it told him of a chance. A chance to avenge his loved one.//
There was still some life in him left. Twitching fingers, blinking eyes. He neared himself toward the device. Inch by inch, he crawled toward it like some maggot on a corpse. Rotten, near dead.
”B--behi...” Icky stammered out.
There was this moment, where Lolly couldn’t understand anything Icky was saying. Like white noise on a TV. Too late did she realize what her partner was uttering. And when she did finally realize, a Way had been opened.
The entire room was consumed by every color unimaginable. Up-beat music straight out of the circus’ calliope boomed in their skulls. Lolly pressed her hands against her ears, but not even that was enough to drown out the noise.
And then Bobble stepped out of the Way, in all his glory. Everyone laid there, frozen. He righted his fly, looked around, and let out the most soul-quenching scream ever heard. It was a scream of joy, of celebration.
From the top of his lungs, Bobble yelled: //**”GUESS WHO’S BACK!”**//
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------
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**« [[[Hell Hath No Fury than a Clown Scorned|Episode 1: Hell Hath No Fury than a Clown Scorned]]] | [[[Dread & Circuses Hub|HUB]]] | [[[bobble-the-last-dance|FINALE: Bobble - The Last Dance]]] »**
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|
2024-11-09T18:18:00
|
[
"absurdism",
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"fantasy",
"icky",
"lgbtq",
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"tale"
] |
Circus of the Disquieting: Folie à Duhh - SCP Foundation
| 5
|
[
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"scp-993",
"bobble-the-last-dance",
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[
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1457306459
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/circus-of-the-disquieting-folie-a-duhh
|
|
clawed-cadaver
|
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<td style="text-align: center;"><span class="bt bb">Byㅤ</span> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/drdapper" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7310704); return false;"><img alt="DrDapper" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=7310704&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736645318" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=7310704)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/drdapper" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7310704); return false;">DrDapper</a></span></td>
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<th>Published on <span class="odate time_1726072796 format_%25d%20%25b%20%25Y">11 Sep 2024 16:39</span></th>
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<p>The Clawed Cadaver</p>
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<h5 id="toc0"><span><span style="text-decoration: underline;">From the journal of Alexander Foxx, Captain of The Guard</span></span></h5>
<p><em><strong>November 18th, XXXX</strong></em></p>
<p>I awoke around the 5th hour of the day this morning, much to my own dismay. A good night's sleep continues to elude me even a week after my failure to protect the life of my master's brother. I can only hope that my nerves will harden in the coming days.</p>
<p>This dreadful weather we've been forced to endure persists with no sign of clearing up. Late autumn showers continue to pound the manor's roofing and soak any soul who dares step out into the freezing rain. I just hope the cold doesn't cause any illness. Johnathan's death was bad enough, the last thing the manor needs is pestilence spreading through its inhabitants.</p>
<p>It was not all dark and gloom today, though. Early in the morning, around the 7th hour, one of the guards on post spotted a carriage coming up the mountain road. I was immediately informed and made my way from my chambers to the front driveway. Sure enough, Phillip's carriage rounded the lot just as I arrived.</p>
<p>"Welcome back, Mr. Darke." I said as Phillip opened his door. "Come quick. The rain is relentless this morning, and we wouldn't want you catching a cold. Is this the detective you went out for?"</p>
<p>Following Phillip out of the carriage was a woman wearing a rather dashing tweed suit under a heavy duster coat. Atop her head was a set of dirty blonde hair, pulled back behind her ears, tied into short pony tail, and topped with a cotton tweed cap that covered her head. Contrasting the rather bland coloring of her attire were a pair of dark blue eyes stationed right in the middle of a face that displayed an air of confidence and poise I have seldom seen even amongst the most distinguished members of our guard.</p>
<p>"Indeed." Phillip answered as his boots hit the gravel path. "Detective Thompson here has agreed to take the case and will be staying with us for the foreseeable future. Ah, where are my manners. Detective Thompson, this is our Captain of the Guard, Alexander Foxx."</p>
<p>"A pleasure, Captain." Thompson said as she trailed Phillip out of the doorway, placing a notebook into her coat pocket and raising a gloved hand. "I trust the body and crime scene were preserved to the best of your ability."</p>
<p>"Yes miss." I had said, shaking her hand as any gentleman would. "We sectioned off the bedroom with two guards stationed around the clock."</p>
<p>"And Mr. Darke?"</p>
<p>"Sealed him in one of the on-site caskets and locked it in the ice room."</p>
<p>"Excellent Mr. Foxx. I commend you on your intuition. Now, Darke Junior, body decay is a very natural process that one can, at best, only delay. I suggest we go take a look at the late Darke senior right away before nature muddies this investigation any more. Oh, dear me, I nearly forgot."</p>
<p>Thompson spun on her heals and ran back out into the driveway, flagging down one of the servants who were unloading the luggage.</p>
<p>"Please be careful with that, it is very fragile and very expensive. If I may, I am in need of it at the moment. You may take the rest of my belongings to my chambers, but please do be careful."</p>
<p>Thompson returned a moment later carrying a long, thin box with a handle in its center.</p>
<p>"I would like to interview the inhabitants of this estate after investigating the body. How many individuals are employed here, Darke Junior?"</p>
<p>"Forty-eight. Twenty-six servants, twenty-two guards."</p>
<p>"As I suspected for an estate of this size. Of course, I will need to question each of the servants as well as the occupants. Would you be so kind as to call everyone into the main living room, Mr. Foxx? Observing the body shouldn't take more than a moment."</p>
<p>I was rather taken aback by this suggestion. While Thompson seemed more than capable of handling herself, there was still the threat of a werewolf on the premise.</p>
<p>"If I may, detective, we're currently enforcing a policy of escort. No one is to traverse the manor alone or without a guard. If you do not mind, I would like to personally see you two to the ice room."</p>
<p>Thompson gave me a puzzled look, then shrugged her shoulders after a moment of contemplation.</p>
<p>"Very well, Captain. You may end up being useful in our little investigation. Still, I would be most appreciative if everyone could be rallied together as soon as possible. Time is always of the essence in these things."</p>
<p>I expressed my agreement as us three began walking through the halls of the lower manor. Bill and Percy passed us while on patrol, and I informed them of the detectives wishes.</p>
<p>"Those two. Were they on duty the night of the killing?" Thompson waited to ask once the guards were out of ear shot.</p>
<p>I informed her that they were, and that for the past few days they've volunteered for patrol as often as they could. "Most likely out of guilt," I concluded.</p>
<p>"Guilt, yes." Thompson whispered. "But shameful guilt or culpable guilt? Oh don't mind me Captain, sometimes I think out of my mouth. It's too early to cast suspicion on anyone. Hopefully the upcoming interviews will help shed some light on who the identity of this werewolf may be. Ah, it seems we're here."</p>
<p>Ophelia and Henry were stationed on either side of the steel door leading to the ice room. Seeing us, they stepped to the side and bid us welcome.</p>
<p>"This the detective you told us about?" Henry said in a coarse tone. "I say, she'd better figure this out quick. I don't want to be around next time that wolfman comes about."</p>
<p>I was about to reprimand my subordinate for his rather rude demeanor, but was beaten by a quick reply from the detective.</p>
<p>"Worry not, my dear fellow. I will have this mystery solved by the week start. Now, if you would be so kind, we're having everyone gather in the main living room. Guards included. Don't worry, we'll be more than capable of handling the cadaver in your absence."</p>
<p>The two of them looked at me, and after a quick nod of approval, left their posts to make their way to the living room.</p>
<p>"Do allow me." I said, pushing the heavy metal door to the ice room open. The freezing air caused my body, still dampened by the few moments spent out in the rain, to shiver. There, in the middle of the half filled ice room, was the dark oak casket where my master's brother laid in a terrible eternal slumber.</p>
<p>"Very nice." The detective said as she stepped up beside me. "I suspect this room is no warmer than twenty-seven… no… twenty-five degrees. That and the sealed casket should have preserved the body nicely. However, this mystery cannot be solved unless we break open that wooden box. Mr. Foxx, would you be so kind?"</p>
<p>I'll admit, there was a part of me that was a little reluctant to do so. Breaking open the casket of a deceased man felt like defiling something sacred. But, I was soon to remember that a grave tragedy had just occurred not three nights ago. Dashing the hesitant thoughts from my mind, I placed my hands on casket door, and heaved it off.</p>
<p>A thud echoed around us when the cover fell to the ground. Laying there was the late Johnathan Darke, and a grizzly sight he was. His face and body were mutilated by large claw marks. The clothes he was wearing were in a similarly shredded state, given how we had sealed him in the same attire as he was found. His right arm had been completely torn off, and now sat adjacent to him, carefully placed by the people who had laid him in the box.</p>
<p>"We-heh-ell now." Thompson muttered in a giddy tone that made me grimace at its rather indecorously delivery. "What have we here? I must compliment on the individual who deduced that this was the work of a werewolf. They were spot on."</p>
<p>Kneeling, the detective laid the long case flat on the ground. Then, flicking two latched upward, she lifted the case's lid, and pulled out three metal rods and a small, cubical device. I couldn't tell what it was at first, but I soon came to the conclusion that it was a photographic camera.</p>
<p>"Are you in need of more light?" Phillip asked as Thompson began setting up the tripod.</p>
<p>"No, that'll be quite all right. Though, if you two would be so kind, may I ask you step back towards the door?"</p>
<p>I was confused by this request. The ice room was hardly a large space, but there was plenty of room for me and Phillip to stand beside Thompson. But, one impatient glance by the detective was all the motivation I needed to make my way to the room's end.</p>
<p>Once me and Phillip were huddled under the door frame, Thompson aimed her camera down at the open coffin, and snap a photo. A… single photo.</p>
<p>"Well there we have it gentlemen." She said, slipping a small piece of paper out of the camera's end. "You may burry the body now."</p>
<p>I could hardly believe my ears. The detective had said the investigation would take a moment, but a single photograph? She didn't even reach into the casket to touch the body. I must admit, there was a part of me that questioned whether Phillip had made the right decision in employing this Miss Thompson as our investigator.</p>
<p>"Is… that it?" I asked.</p>
<p>"That it is, Mr. Foxx." Thompson replied as she began disassembling the camera and putting it back in the case. "I admit, my methods often appear confusing to those who are unfamiliar with them, but rest assured, they are impeccable. Now…" The detective snapped the case shut and stood. "I believe it's safe to assume everyone's been summoned to the living room. Let's not keep them waiting."</p>
<p>Adjusting her cap, Thompson briskly walked past me and Darke out the door. The two of us exchanged looks of confusion, surprise, and intrigue, before turning on our heals and following the detective back through the hall.</p>
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[[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nightfall-hub|NIGHTFALL Hub]]] » The Clawed Cadaver
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The Clawed Cadaver
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+++++ __From the journal of Alexander Foxx, Captain of The Guard__
//**November 18th, XXXX**//
I awoke around the 5th hour of the day this morning, much to my own dismay. A good night's sleep continues to elude me even a week after my failure to protect the life of my master's brother. I can only hope that my nerves will harden in the coming days.
This dreadful weather we've been forced to endure persists with no sign of clearing up. Late autumn showers continue to pound the manor's roofing and soak any soul who dares step out into the freezing rain. I just hope the cold doesn't cause any illness. Johnathan's death was bad enough, the last thing the manor needs is pestilence spreading through its inhabitants.
It was not all dark and gloom today, though. Early in the morning, around the 7th hour, one of the guards on post spotted a carriage coming up the mountain road. I was immediately informed and made my way from my chambers to the front driveway. Sure enough, Phillip's carriage rounded the lot just as I arrived.
"Welcome back, Mr. Darke." I said as Phillip opened his door. "Come quick. The rain is relentless this morning, and we wouldn't want you catching a cold. Is this the detective you went out for?"
Following Phillip out of the carriage was a woman wearing a rather dashing tweed suit under a heavy duster coat. Atop her head was a set of dirty blonde hair, pulled back behind her ears, tied into short pony tail, and topped with a cotton tweed cap that covered her head. Contrasting the rather bland coloring of her attire were a pair of dark blue eyes stationed right in the middle of a face that displayed an air of confidence and poise I have seldom seen even amongst the most distinguished members of our guard.
"Indeed." Phillip answered as his boots hit the gravel path. "Detective Thompson here has agreed to take the case and will be staying with us for the foreseeable future. Ah, where are my manners. Detective Thompson, this is our Captain of the Guard, Alexander Foxx."
"A pleasure, Captain." Thompson said as she trailed Phillip out of the doorway, placing a notebook into her coat pocket and raising a gloved hand. "I trust the body and crime scene were preserved to the best of your ability."
"Yes miss." I had said, shaking her hand as any gentleman would. "We sectioned off the bedroom with two guards stationed around the clock."
"And Mr. Darke?"
"Sealed him in one of the on-site caskets and locked it in the ice room."
"Excellent Mr. Foxx. I commend you on your intuition. Now, Darke Junior, body decay is a very natural process that one can, at best, only delay. I suggest we go take a look at the late Darke senior right away before nature muddies this investigation any more. Oh, dear me, I nearly forgot."
Thompson spun on her heals and ran back out into the driveway, flagging down one of the servants who were unloading the luggage.
"Please be careful with that, it is very fragile and very expensive. If I may, I am in need of it at the moment. You may take the rest of my belongings to my chambers, but please do be careful."
Thompson returned a moment later carrying a long, thin box with a handle in its center.
"I would like to interview the inhabitants of this estate after investigating the body. How many individuals are employed here, Darke Junior?"
"Forty-eight. Twenty-six servants, twenty-two guards."
"As I suspected for an estate of this size. Of course, I will need to question each of the servants as well as the occupants. Would you be so kind as to call everyone into the main living room, Mr. Foxx? Observing the body shouldn't take more than a moment."
I was rather taken aback by this suggestion. While Thompson seemed more than capable of handling herself, there was still the threat of a werewolf on the premise.
"If I may, detective, we're currently enforcing a policy of escort. No one is to traverse the manor alone or without a guard. If you do not mind, I would like to personally see you two to the ice room."
Thompson gave me a puzzled look, then shrugged her shoulders after a moment of contemplation.
"Very well, Captain. You may end up being useful in our little investigation. Still, I would be most appreciative if everyone could be rallied together as soon as possible. Time is always of the essence in these things."
I expressed my agreement as us three began walking through the halls of the lower manor. Bill and Percy passed us while on patrol, and I informed them of the detectives wishes.
"Those two. Were they on duty the night of the killing?" Thompson waited to ask once the guards were out of ear shot.
I informed her that they were, and that for the past few days they've volunteered for patrol as often as they could. "Most likely out of guilt," I concluded.
"Guilt, yes." Thompson whispered. "But shameful guilt or culpable guilt? Oh don't mind me Captain, sometimes I think out of my mouth. It's too early to cast suspicion on anyone. Hopefully the upcoming interviews will help shed some light on who the identity of this werewolf may be. Ah, it seems we're here."
Ophelia and Henry were stationed on either side of the steel door leading to the ice room. Seeing us, they stepped to the side and bid us welcome.
"This the detective you told us about?" Henry said in a coarse tone. "I say, she'd better figure this out quick. I don't want to be around next time that wolfman comes about."
I was about to reprimand my subordinate for his rather rude demeanor, but was beaten by a quick reply from the detective.
"Worry not, my dear fellow. I will have this mystery solved by the week start. Now, if you would be so kind, we're having everyone gather in the main living room. Guards included. Don't worry, we'll be more than capable of handling the cadaver in your absence."
The two of them looked at me, and after a quick nod of approval, left their posts to make their way to the living room.
"Do allow me." I said, pushing the heavy metal door to the ice room open. The freezing air caused my body, still dampened by the few moments spent out in the rain, to shiver. There, in the middle of the half filled ice room, was the dark oak casket where my master's brother laid in a terrible eternal slumber.
"Very nice." The detective said as she stepped up beside me. "I suspect this room is no warmer than twenty-seven... no... twenty-five degrees. That and the sealed casket should have preserved the body nicely. However, this mystery cannot be solved unless we break open that wooden box. Mr. Foxx, would you be so kind?"
I'll admit, there was a part of me that was a little reluctant to do so. Breaking open the casket of a deceased man felt like defiling something sacred. But, I was soon to remember that a grave tragedy had just occurred not three nights ago. Dashing the hesitant thoughts from my mind, I placed my hands on casket door, and heaved it off.
A thud echoed around us when the cover fell to the ground. Laying there was the late Johnathan Darke, and a grizzly sight he was. His face and body were mutilated by large claw marks. The clothes he was wearing were in a similarly shredded state, given how we had sealed him in the same attire as he was found. His right arm had been completely torn off, and now sat adjacent to him, carefully placed by the people who had laid him in the box.
"We-heh-ell now." Thompson muttered in a giddy tone that made me grimace at its rather indecorously delivery. "What have we here? I must compliment on the individual who deduced that this was the work of a werewolf. They were spot on."
Kneeling, the detective laid the long case flat on the ground. Then, flicking two latched upward, she lifted the case's lid, and pulled out three metal rods and a small, cubical device. I couldn't tell what it was at first, but I soon came to the conclusion that it was a photographic camera.
"Are you in need of more light?" Phillip asked as Thompson began setting up the tripod.
"No, that'll be quite all right. Though, if you two would be so kind, may I ask you step back towards the door?"
I was confused by this request. The ice room was hardly a large space, but there was plenty of room for me and Phillip to stand beside Thompson. But, one impatient glance by the detective was all the motivation I needed to make my way to the room's end.
Once me and Phillip were huddled under the door frame, Thompson aimed her camera down at the open coffin, and snap a photo. A... single photo.
"Well there we have it gentlemen." She said, slipping a small piece of paper out of the camera's end. "You may burry the body now."
I could hardly believe my ears. The detective had said the investigation would take a moment, but a single photograph? She didn't even reach into the casket to touch the body. I must admit, there was a part of me that questioned whether Phillip had made the right decision in employing this Miss Thompson as our investigator.
"Is... that it?" I asked.
"That it is, Mr. Foxx." Thompson replied as she began disassembling the camera and putting it back in the case. "I admit, my methods often appear confusing to those who are unfamiliar with them, but rest assured, they are impeccable. Now..." The detective snapped the case shut and stood. "I believe it's safe to assume everyone's been summoned to the living room. Let's not keep them waiting."
Adjusting her cap, Thompson briskly walked past me and Darke out the door. The two of us exchanged looks of confusion, surprise, and intrigue, before turning on our heals and following the detective back through the hall.
------
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2024-09-11T16:39:00
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[
"iris-thompson",
"nightfall",
"tale"
] |
The Clawed Cadaver - SCP Foundation
| 7
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[
"nightfall-hub",
"17-phoenix-street"
] |
[
"sciptember-2024",
"nightfall-hub"
] |
[] |
1456738836
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https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/clawed-cadaver
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cleanup-on-aisle-five
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<p>Clef and Gears can't find their way out of a seemingly endless IKEA building.</p>
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<p><strong>Cleanup on Aisle Five</strong> - A part of the Cleanliness Guaranteed* series.<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ubergoober" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8905380); return false;"><img alt="ubergoober" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8905380&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735920981" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8905380)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ubergoober" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8905380); return false;">ubergoober</a></span> and <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/radian628" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9301014); return false;"><img alt="radian628" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=9301014&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735920981" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=9301014)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/radian628" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9301014); return false;">radian628</a></span></p>
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<p>"Okay, you two," said Director Tilda Moose, "Could either of you explain why it took you <em>six hours</em> to clean up a furniture store bathroom?"</p>
<p>"Apologies, Director," replied Charles Gears, who was sitting across from Moose's office desk, his expression stern.</p>
<p>"Don't apologize, dude!" exclaimed Alto Clef. "It's not our fault we got lost."</p>
<p>"Correct. It is <em>your</em> fault, specifically," replied Gears.</p>
<p>"No way! Moose, just let me explain, okay."</p>
<p>"That's <em>Director</em> Moose. But sure."</p>
<p>"So we were in this IKEA, about an hour from here. Now you might be wondering, 'Hey Clef, you irresistible hunk, why the <em>fuck</em> would an IKEA call in the Safe Cleanup Professionals to clean up their own mess?' And I'll tell you why. The whole bathroom floor was covered in shit water. Absolutely nasty. It was even worse when Gears hurled on the floor after seeing it." Clef made a face.</p>
<p>"I did not vomit on the floor. That was you."</p>
<p>"Yeah right, it was. Anyhoo, we busted out the mops, and got to work. It took us all morning, and I swear to fucking god I never wanna see another public restroom in my life. Turns out the toilet was clogged, and we were both thinkin' it was cuz' some dude took a <em>monster</em> shit in there, but it somehow was even worse than that. There was a <em>worm</em> in there."</p>
<p>"Clef, did you get tapeworms again?" Moose asked.</p>
<p>"I'm off the raw meat diet," Clef replied. "And no, <em>I</em> wasn't the one who shat in there."</p>
<p>"So what took you so long?"</p>
<p>"Well, somehow we dropped the plunger on the way there, so I had to go out and find it, which added a solid twenty minutes to—"</p>
<p>"You took <em>six</em> hours, Clef."</p>
<p>"Oh yeah, the worm was <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-153">six feet long</a>. And it tried to eat me."</p>
<p>"Clef, there was not a six-foot long man-eating worm in there," Moose interjected. "Though that would certainly explain the delay."</p>
<p>"Are you callin' me a liar?"</p>
<p>"Well… kinda. You have a habit of, uh, <em>embellishing</em> your stories."</p>
<p>"Hmph. Well, to be clear, it was <em>me</em> who wrangled down the damn thing, and made it choke on its own acid. C'mon Gears, back me up here."</p>
<p>"I cannot entirely confirm the plausibility of this story…" Gears mumbled.</p>
<p>"Oh, come on!"</p>
<p>"…but I won't deny it either."</p>
<p>"<em>Thank you</em>." Clef grinned. "And after I disposed of the creature, we ended up cleaning up all of the mess it made, and I think we did a great freakin' job. I'd say you could eat off that bathroom floor, especially compared to those crusty plastic plates in the Site 19 break room.</p>
<p>"After that, we were basically done, so Gears and I packed up our stuff and were ready to head out. Problem is, neither of us remembered the way we came in. I said we had passed the furniture section, but Gears, being the smartass he is, was like 'You know the whole store is just furniture right?' And he <em>did</em> have a point— the whole goddamn store looks the same. Gears racked that brain of his to remember the way out, but when he ended up leading us down to the goddamn warehouse, we both knew that somewhere we fucked up."</p>
<p>"<em>You</em> messed up. If you had <em>actually</em> followed my lead, we would've been out. Director, if you don't believe me, ask Clef to recount how we got—"</p>
<p>"Shhhhh, I'm not there yet. As I was saying before I was <em>rudely interrupted</em>, we were in the warehouse. Completely lost. At that point, I decided to just head in a direction and see if it led to an exit."</p>
<p>"Clef insisted we didn't ask the employees for directions."</p>
<p>"Listen, it's all part of a conspiracy to trap us inside the store. 'Don't talk to the fucking employees,' I told him. 'They're in on it too. I bet they make a commission for how long they keep customers in the store, so they're gonna lead us around past all the expensive furniture and stuff so we spend tons of extra time in the store.'</p>
<p>"So yeah, Gears warmed up to my idea of taking our own road or whatever."</p>
<p>"For the record, I would like to note that Clef's idea did not work whatsoever," Gears pointed out, his arms crossed.</p>
<p>"Oh, shut up. Well, actually you're not wrong. It really only led us <em>deeper</em> into the store, like one of those jungle gyms you see at… wherever the heck those things are built. It was cramped, impossible to navigate, a labyrinth of shelves and couches and beds and shit. We <em>did</em> stumble upon the restaurant, though. Lucky, too, cuz' it was about twelve-ish. Gears and I stood in line for like an hour waiting for meatballs, and everyone was staring at us cuz of the cleaning equipment we were carrying, but whatever. Honestly the meatballs were pretty good, though they weren't <em>really</em> worth the wait. Speaking of meatballs, after lunch, I had to go take a shit, and luckily my janitor-senses directed me to the nearest restroom."</p>
<p>"Clef, is this really necessary to the story?" asked Moose.</p>
<p>"Oh, don't give me that look, Moose, I know it's not the most disgusting thing you've heard today."</p>
<p>"Just get to the point. I don't have all day."</p>
<p>"Right, right. So when I get back from my dump, <em>Gears</em> here has a brilliant idea. I say that with big air quotes because it was a <em>terrible</em> idea. You know it was, Charlie. Anyways, he said 'If you hold one hand to the edge of the wall and keep following it, eventually you'll find your way out of the store.' Something about maze algorithms and graph theory or some shit."</p>
<p>"To be more specific, if a maze is simply connected, one can traverse the maze by—"</p>
<p>"Nobody cares, dude. It was a stupid-ass plan. I hate to admit it but I thought it was smart at the time. Charlie, I have to admit you usually get shit done, but you fucked up this time. But, anyway, we set off on a journey with our right hands to the walls. Well, it was less of a wall and more of a hundred-foot-tall metal shelf. We passed the murder couch, a whole bunch of flatscreen TVs, a—"</p>
<p>"Hold on. What, exactly, is a murder couch?" Moose interrupted. "What <em>happened</em> in—"</p>
<p>"See, it looked like a regular white couch, but— get this— it had <em>red streaks</em> running across it," Clef blurted out. "It looked like someone had been stabbed to death on it. Who the fuck thought that was a good idea?"</p>
<p>"<em>Was</em> somebody stabbed to death on it?" Moose replied, raising an eyebrow.</p>
<p>Clef stared at the ceiling. "Well, I can't say for sure that anyone <em>wasn't</em> stabbed to—"</p>
<p>"So, no."</p>
<p>Clef cleared his throat. "Anyways, we kept wandering on the same route, our hands to the wall. The shelf, whatever. Lots of interesting stuff in there. Did you know that they sell sharks in IKEA?"</p>
<p>"Sharks?"</p>
<p>"Like <em>stuffed animals</em>, you idiot, not <em>actual</em> sharks from the <em>ocean</em>."</p>
<p>"Don't speak to your boss that way," Moose warned.</p>
<p>"Whatevs," replied Clef. "Anyways, I got one for Dee. Thought they might like it. Okay, fuck, I'm <em>really</em> getting sidetracked here. We kept exploring with our right hands to the wall for the next— I don't know— ten minutes? Fifteen? Something like that. All seemed well and good until something familiar caught my eye: The <em>fucking murder couch.</em>"</p>
<p>Moose glanced at him skeptically.</p>
<p>"Gears and I did a double take. Was this the same couch? Or was it one that just looked similar? All the other products are grouped together, so why the fuck would they have <em>two</em> murder couches a mile apart? Was this just a new employee being stupid? Was I just losing my mind? Or what? Gears was convinced that this was a <em>different</em> couch, but I was beginning to doubt his methods."</p>
<p>Gears spoke up. "In retrospect, the reason for our failure is clear, it—"</p>
<p>"Dude. I'm talkin' here. It's rude to interrupt people. Anyways, just to make sure I wasn't going crazy I did a little experiment: I took out a Foundation business card from my pocket and stuffed it between the couch cushions. Then, if we ever saw this couch again, I could see if it's the same one by checking for the business card. And if we <em>didn't</em>, then whichever shitbag moronic enough to buy it would get our contact info."</p>
<p>"So, anyway, we set off again and walked for another fifteen minutes. A lot of the stuff we were walking past was beginning to look awfully familiar. It was kind of unsettling. Like a— what do you call it? Deja vu? Vega du? Whatever, you know what I mean.</p>
<p>"And then we got to the murder couch. Again. And I stuffed my hands beneath the cushions and <em>lo and behold</em> the business card was there.</p>
<p>"Somehow, this IKEA was keeping us trapped in its clutches. No matter how far we went outside of this maze, it somehow bent us back around to the center, like some sort of non-euclidean geometry fuckery or whatever the nerds call it. And you know where it led us again and again and again? The murder couch. Perhaps that <em>was</em> blood. Perhaps a murder <em>did</em> take place here. Perhaps <em>that's</em> how they make their meatballs. Still taste pretty good, though.</p>
<p>"At this point some of the employees were beginning to give us weird looks. I already knew it was a bad idea to talk to them but this really cemented it in. They <em>knew</em> we were stuck in its maw. They <em>knew</em> we were ripe for the picking. I'm sure they were salivating over our very flesh." Clef leaned back with a grin on his face.</p>
<p>Moose sighed. "Clef, do you realize that you two were going in a circle?"</p>
<p>Clef paused for a moment, his smile disappearing, before he slammed his fist on the desk. "<em>What the fuck</em> are you talking about, Moose? We weren't going around in circles. We went around several 90-degree corners. Do circles have corners now? What the fuck is wrong with you people?"</p>
<p>Moose opened their mouth for a word of protest, before closing it again.</p>
<p>"So, yeah, after that, I was like, 'Screw this,' and I decided to get a better vantage point of the store. And then I realized how far I would be able to see if we weren't surrounded by goddamn shelves. So naturally, there was only one course of action— I put my mop down, rolled up the sleeves of my lab coat, and started climbing. Gears rolled his eyes at me at the time, but we both know it was a great idea. And I'm a good fucking climber, I'm like a monkey." Clef turned to Moose and Gears, his characteristic grin slowly turning to a frown.</p>
<p>"Hey, what are you laughing for?"</p>
<p>"Nothing." Moose placed their hand over their mouth to hide their grin.</p>
<p>"Hmph. Anyways, with my herculean strength, I scaled the mighty shelves of the IKEA building. Now, granted, the store employees weren't too pleased with this. They were all 'Sir, please get down.' What a buncha nerds. It's like they didn't <em>want</em> us to escape, I swear. I flipped 'em off and kept climbing until I reached the top. And I tell ya, I could see for <em>miles</em>. Yeah, I said miles. It's a freakin' huge building, I'd be surprised if it was less than a kilometer. Is a kilometer bigger than a mile?"</p>
<p>Clef made a show of counting on his fingers. "Eh, whatever. So I was at the top of the bigass department store shelves. I checked every side of the building from that vantage point for anything resembling an exit. I think I covered every square foot of the wall of the store. At least from what I could see. But you wanna know what I found?</p>
<p>"Fucking nothing. That's right. <em>Nothing</em>. I didn't even see where we'd entered from. Was there even an entrance to this building at all? I'm half-convinced that—"</p>
<p>"Clef, have you heard of 'object permanence'?" Gears asked.</p>
<p>"Huh? What the fuck does that mean?"</p>
<p>"It's where— never mind. Continue making a fool of yourself."</p>
<p>"Har har. Point is, I couldn't see the entrance, and the employees were getting antsy. I realized that Gears and I were gonna have to tough it out. Speaking of Gears, the whole time he was looking at me like I'm some kind of fucking idiot. Same look you're giving me right now, Moose. He was down there talking to the staff, which might I add, I <em>specifically told him not to do</em>. He was all like 'I apologize for his behavior, we're just trying to find our way out.' Can you believe it? Conversing with the enemy! I was as shocked as you are, and after I had risked life and limb, bravely climbing up and down to bring him this info.</p>
<p>"So anyways, one of the store employees were like 'I'm afraid you're going to have to leave now,' and they told us to come with them. I know Gears would've done so, too, if I hadn't saved his ass. I pulled him away, and before we knew it we were running from the IKEA staff, pushing our mop bucket cart and other cleaning equipment stuff as fast as we could.</p>
<p>"Okay, now get this. Gears had <em>another</em> bright idea. I think you know how this is going to go at this point. Don't look at me like that, Charlie. You've dropped the ball <em>every single goddamn time</em> today. I think it's your lack of street smarts. Anyway, we were zooming along the floor of the IKEA with our cart full of soapy shit water when Gears tipped the damn thing over, and I bet my ass it was on purpose. Several gallons of shit-soaked soapy water went everywhere, covering the entire floor.</p>
<p>"Long story short, all the employees slipped and fell on their asses.</p>
<p>"Now, normally, I'd be laughing my ass off in this situation. I gotta hand it to you, Charlie, you were one step away from pure genius. But there's two reasons why I <em>wasn't</em> laughing my ass off: one, because I was running so fast I had no air to spare on laughter. And two, due to all of my muscle mass, I couldn't keep up with Gears— as a result, as soon as that shit-soaked water hit the ground…</p>
<p>"I fuckin' slipped on it too."</p>
<p>Moose let out a slight chuckle.</p>
<p>"Shut up. I fell <em>right</em> on my ass, hitting the tile floor and soaking my goddamn jeans in soapy shit water. It splashed everywhere, all over my face, too. Absolutely nasty, and I regrettably now know what soap tastes when combined with shit water. And more importantly, it was <em>entirely Gears' fault.</em>"</p>
<p>"Explain to me how it was my fault that <em>you</em> slipped and fell?"</p>
<p>"Why— <em>you</em> were the idiot who spilled the water in the first place! Who does that?!"</p>
<p>"I was hoping that you would be able to keep pace."</p>
<p>"Gears, you asshole, I— C'mon man! Not cool!"</p>
<p>"The plan worked, did it not?"</p>
<p>"I mean, I guess. As I was getting up, I slipped a few more times thanks to your <em>fucking moronic plan</em>."</p>
<p>"Wouldn't have happened if you were wearing Foundation-issue company boots."</p>
<p>"We- we don't even have standard issue boots! What the fuck are you talkin' about, man?"</p>
<p>Moose cut them off. "Alright, you two, I'm gonna stop you there. Clef, you were saying?"</p>
<p>"Right. The employees were closing in. One of them was calling for security over their radio. So I armed myself with my mop, ready to kick some Swedish ass, and meanwhile Gears was just <em>standing</em> there like a dope. He wasn't helping me, he wasn't fighting, and he didn't even have the brains to run for his life. I knew I would have to carry the team myself."</p>
<p>"Oh, please-"</p>
<p>"SHUT UP, GEARS, I AM TALKING. <em>Anyways</em>, I twirled my plunger, ready to go in for the attack against the vicious IKEA employees. I swung, but those motherfuckers were agile, I tell ya. I ended up missing and whacking a bunch of shit off of one of the shelves instead— I think a few things broke, but whatever. The whole time, fucking <em>Gears</em> was just standing there with his head in his hands. Luckily, though, with my incredible strength I was able to fend off the employees with my combat skills. It was then, however, that I felt a shock in my right leg, like a hive of fucking bees stinging my every muscle, and I collapsed to the floor.</p>
<p>"Next thing I knew, Gears and I had been caught by these two <em>security guards,</em> and they were looking at us with these shit-eating grins. The whole time, Gears was just repeating the same apology over and over again like a broken alarm clock. I told him to shut the fuck up, and that's when I <em>really</em> let those assholes have it. You know what I told them?</p>
<p>"'You might think you've captured me, but mark my <em>fucking</em> words, you're going to <em>pay</em> for what you've done to me. You know why? Because I don't work alone. I'm part of the <em>SCP Foundation</em>. You probably don't know who we are. And that's intentional. We strike at night to clean up horrors that the rest of society is too afraid to touch. We hunt down monsters the likes of which you've never seen in your life. And we send a chill down the spine of every slimy motherfucker that attempts to get in the way of getting our mission <em>done</em>. Have I told you about the time we strongarmed the jackasses at C.A.O.S. Inc? No? What about the <em>FBI</em>? We're above it all. We're unstoppable. And once the Administrator catches wind of the fact that you little shits are going to lock me up, he's going to come in here with his crew and tear you sons of bitches a new one. At least, once he gets back from his week-long vacation.'</p>
<p>"Anyways, then security threw us out of the store. Bastards <em>knew</em> they were outmatched. Gerald yelled at me for making him wait so long to pick us up, but I told him the same story I'm telling you now on the way back."</p>
<p>"So yeah, despite all odds, as well as <em>Gears</em> here being a dumbass of the highest order, we managed to make it out of the IKEA alive."</p>
<p>"Alright, Clef, I think I've heard enough. After listening to your story carefully and deliberating accordingly, I have decided…</p>
<p>"… that this is entirely your fault. I'll be decreasing your paycheck accordingly."</p>
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<p>"<a href="/cleanup-on-aisle-five">Cleanup on Aisle Five</a>" by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ubergoober" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8905380); return false;"><img alt="ubergoober" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8905380&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736645597" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8905380)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ubergoober" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8905380); return false;">ubergoober</a></span> and <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/radian628" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9301014); return false;"><img alt="radian628" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=9301014&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736645597" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=9301014)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/radian628" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9301014); return false;">radian628</a></span> , from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/cleanup-on-aisle-five">https://scpwiki.com/cleanup-on-aisle-five</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
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|text=Clef and Gears can't find their way out of a seemingly endless IKEA building.]]
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**Cleanup on Aisle Five** - A part of the Cleanliness Guaranteed* series.
**Author:** [[*user ubergoober]] and [[*user radian628]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
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| previous-title=UIU Location Dossier: "Site 19"
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"Okay, you two," said Director Tilda Moose, "Could either of you explain why it took you //six hours// to clean up a furniture store bathroom?"
"Apologies, Director," replied Charles Gears, who was sitting across from Moose's office desk, his expression stern.
"Don't apologize, dude!" exclaimed Alto Clef. "It's not our fault we got lost."
"Correct. It is //your// fault, specifically," replied Gears.
"No way! Moose, just let me explain, okay."
"That's //Director// Moose. But sure."
"So we were in this IKEA, about an hour from here. Now you might be wondering, 'Hey Clef, you irresistible hunk, why the //fuck// would an IKEA call in the Safe Cleanup Professionals to clean up their own mess?' And I'll tell you why. The whole bathroom floor was covered in shit water. Absolutely nasty. It was even worse when Gears hurled on the floor after seeing it." Clef made a face.
"I did not vomit on the floor. That was you."
"Yeah right, it was. Anyhoo, we busted out the mops, and got to work. It took us all morning, and I swear to fucking god I never wanna see another public restroom in my life. Turns out the toilet was clogged, and we were both thinkin' it was cuz' some dude took a //monster// shit in there, but it somehow was even worse than that. There was a //worm// in there."
"Clef, did you get tapeworms again?" Moose asked.
"I'm off the raw meat diet," Clef replied. "And no, //I// wasn't the one who shat in there."
"So what took you so long?"
"Well, somehow we dropped the plunger on the way there, so I had to go out and find it, which added a solid twenty minutes to--"
"You took //six// hours, Clef."
"Oh yeah, the worm was [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-153 six feet long]. And it tried to eat me."
"Clef, there was not a six-foot long man-eating worm in there," Moose interjected. "Though that would certainly explain the delay."
"Are you callin' me a liar?"
"Well... kinda. You have a habit of, uh, //embellishing// your stories."
"Hmph. Well, to be clear, it was //me// who wrangled down the damn thing, and made it choke on its own acid. C'mon Gears, back me up here."
"I cannot entirely confirm the plausibility of this story..." Gears mumbled.
"Oh, come on!"
"...but I won't deny it either."
"//Thank you//." Clef grinned. "And after I disposed of the creature, we ended up cleaning up all of the mess it made, and I think we did a great freakin' job. I'd say you could eat off that bathroom floor, especially compared to those crusty plastic plates in the Site 19 break room.
"After that, we were basically done, so Gears and I packed up our stuff and were ready to head out. Problem is, neither of us remembered the way we came in. I said we had passed the furniture section, but Gears, being the smartass he is, was like 'You know the whole store is just furniture right?' And he //did// have a point-- the whole goddamn store looks the same. Gears racked that brain of his to remember the way out, but when he ended up leading us down to the goddamn warehouse, we both knew that somewhere we fucked up."
"//You// messed up. If you had //actually// followed my lead, we would've been out. Director, if you don't believe me, ask Clef to recount how we got--"
"Shhhhh, I'm not there yet. As I was saying before I was //rudely interrupted//, we were in the warehouse. Completely lost. At that point, I decided to just head in a direction and see if it led to an exit."
"Clef insisted we didn't ask the employees for directions."
"Listen, it's all part of a conspiracy to trap us inside the store. 'Don't talk to the fucking employees,' I told him. 'They're in on it too. I bet they make a commission for how long they keep customers in the store, so they're gonna lead us around past all the expensive furniture and stuff so we spend tons of extra time in the store.'
"So yeah, Gears warmed up to my idea of taking our own road or whatever."
"For the record, I would like to note that Clef's idea did not work whatsoever," Gears pointed out, his arms crossed.
"Oh, shut up. Well, actually you're not wrong. It really only led us //deeper// into the store, like one of those jungle gyms you see at... wherever the heck those things are built. It was cramped, impossible to navigate, a labyrinth of shelves and couches and beds and shit. We //did// stumble upon the restaurant, though. Lucky, too, cuz' it was about twelve-ish. Gears and I stood in line for like an hour waiting for meatballs, and everyone was staring at us cuz of the cleaning equipment we were carrying, but whatever. Honestly the meatballs were pretty good, though they weren't //really// worth the wait. Speaking of meatballs, after lunch, I had to go take a shit, and luckily my janitor-senses directed me to the nearest restroom."
"Clef, is this really necessary to the story?" asked Moose.
"Oh, don't give me that look, Moose, I know it's not the most disgusting thing you've heard today."
"Just get to the point. I don't have all day."
"Right, right. So when I get back from my dump, //Gears// here has a brilliant idea. I say that with big air quotes because it was a //terrible// idea. You know it was, Charlie. Anyways, he said 'If you hold one hand to the edge of the wall and keep following it, eventually you'll find your way out of the store.' Something about maze algorithms and graph theory or some shit."
"To be more specific, if a maze is simply connected, one can traverse the maze by--"
"Nobody cares, dude. It was a stupid-ass plan. I hate to admit it but I thought it was smart at the time. Charlie, I have to admit you usually get shit done, but you fucked up this time. But, anyway, we set off on a journey with our right hands to the walls. Well, it was less of a wall and more of a hundred-foot-tall metal shelf. We passed the murder couch, a whole bunch of flatscreen TVs, a--"
"Hold on. What, exactly, is a murder couch?" Moose interrupted. "What //happened// in--"
"See, it looked like a regular white couch, but-- get this-- it had //red streaks// running across it," Clef blurted out. "It looked like someone had been stabbed to death on it. Who the fuck thought that was a good idea?"
"//Was// somebody stabbed to death on it?" Moose replied, raising an eyebrow.
Clef stared at the ceiling. "Well, I can't say for sure that anyone //wasn't// stabbed to--"
"So, no."
Clef cleared his throat. "Anyways, we kept wandering on the same route, our hands to the wall. The shelf, whatever. Lots of interesting stuff in there. Did you know that they sell sharks in IKEA?"
"Sharks?"
"Like //stuffed animals//, you idiot, not //actual// sharks from the //ocean//."
"Don't speak to your boss that way," Moose warned.
"Whatevs," replied Clef. "Anyways, I got one for Dee. Thought they might like it. Okay, fuck, I'm //really// getting sidetracked here. We kept exploring with our right hands to the wall for the next-- I don't know-- ten minutes? Fifteen? Something like that. All seemed well and good until something familiar caught my eye: The //fucking murder couch.//"
Moose glanced at him skeptically.
"Gears and I did a double take. Was this the same couch? Or was it one that just looked similar? All the other products are grouped together, so why the fuck would they have //two// murder couches a mile apart? Was this just a new employee being stupid? Was I just losing my mind? Or what? Gears was convinced that this was a //different// couch, but I was beginning to doubt his methods."
Gears spoke up. "In retrospect, the reason for our failure is clear, it--"
"Dude. I'm talkin' here. It's rude to interrupt people. Anyways, just to make sure I wasn't going crazy I did a little experiment: I took out a Foundation business card from my pocket and stuffed it between the couch cushions. Then, if we ever saw this couch again, I could see if it's the same one by checking for the business card. And if we //didn't//, then whichever shitbag moronic enough to buy it would get our contact info."
"So, anyway, we set off again and walked for another fifteen minutes. A lot of the stuff we were walking past was beginning to look awfully familiar. It was kind of unsettling. Like a-- what do you call it? Deja vu? Vega du? Whatever, you know what I mean.
"And then we got to the murder couch. Again. And I stuffed my hands beneath the cushions and //lo and behold// the business card was there.
"Somehow, this IKEA was keeping us trapped in its clutches. No matter how far we went outside of this maze, it somehow bent us back around to the center, like some sort of non-euclidean geometry fuckery or whatever the nerds call it. And you know where it led us again and again and again? The murder couch. Perhaps that //was// blood. Perhaps a murder //did// take place here. Perhaps //that's// how they make their meatballs. Still taste pretty good, though.
"At this point some of the employees were beginning to give us weird looks. I already knew it was a bad idea to talk to them but this really cemented it in. They //knew// we were stuck in its maw. They //knew// we were ripe for the picking. I'm sure they were salivating over our very flesh." Clef leaned back with a grin on his face.
Moose sighed. "Clef, do you realize that you two were going in a circle?"
Clef paused for a moment, his smile disappearing, before he slammed his fist on the desk. "//What the fuck// are you talking about, Moose? We weren't going around in circles. We went around several 90-degree corners. Do circles have corners now? What the fuck is wrong with you people?"
Moose opened their mouth for a word of protest, before closing it again.
"So, yeah, after that, I was like, 'Screw this,' and I decided to get a better vantage point of the store. And then I realized how far I would be able to see if we weren't surrounded by goddamn shelves. So naturally, there was only one course of action-- I put my mop down, rolled up the sleeves of my lab coat, and started climbing. Gears rolled his eyes at me at the time, but we both know it was a great idea. And I'm a good fucking climber, I'm like a monkey." Clef turned to Moose and Gears, his characteristic grin slowly turning to a frown.
"Hey, what are you laughing for?"
"Nothing." Moose placed their hand over their mouth to hide their grin.
"Hmph. Anyways, with my herculean strength, I scaled the mighty shelves of the IKEA building. Now, granted, the store employees weren't too pleased with this. They were all 'Sir, please get down.' What a buncha nerds. It's like they didn't //want// us to escape, I swear. I flipped 'em off and kept climbing until I reached the top. And I tell ya, I could see for //miles//. Yeah, I said miles. It's a freakin' huge building, I'd be surprised if it was less than a kilometer. Is a kilometer bigger than a mile?"
Clef made a show of counting on his fingers. "Eh, whatever. So I was at the top of the bigass department store shelves. I checked every side of the building from that vantage point for anything resembling an exit. I think I covered every square foot of the wall of the store. At least from what I could see. But you wanna know what I found?
"Fucking nothing. That's right. //Nothing//. I didn't even see where we'd entered from. Was there even an entrance to this building at all? I'm half-convinced that--"
"Clef, have you heard of 'object permanence'?" Gears asked.
"Huh? What the fuck does that mean?"
"It's where-- never mind. Continue making a fool of yourself."
"Har har. Point is, I couldn't see the entrance, and the employees were getting antsy. I realized that Gears and I were gonna have to tough it out. Speaking of Gears, the whole time he was looking at me like I'm some kind of fucking idiot. Same look you're giving me right now, Moose. He was down there talking to the staff, which might I add, I //specifically told him not to do//. He was all like 'I apologize for his behavior, we're just trying to find our way out.' Can you believe it? Conversing with the enemy! I was as shocked as you are, and after I had risked life and limb, bravely climbing up and down to bring him this info.
"So anyways, one of the store employees were like 'I'm afraid you're going to have to leave now,' and they told us to come with them. I know Gears would've done so, too, if I hadn't saved his ass. I pulled him away, and before we knew it we were running from the IKEA staff, pushing our mop bucket cart and other cleaning equipment stuff as fast as we could.
"Okay, now get this. Gears had //another// bright idea. I think you know how this is going to go at this point. Don't look at me like that, Charlie. You've dropped the ball //every single goddamn time// today. I think it's your lack of street smarts. Anyway, we were zooming along the floor of the IKEA with our cart full of soapy shit water when Gears tipped the damn thing over, and I bet my ass it was on purpose. Several gallons of shit-soaked soapy water went everywhere, covering the entire floor.
"Long story short, all the employees slipped and fell on their asses.
"Now, normally, I'd be laughing my ass off in this situation. I gotta hand it to you, Charlie, you were one step away from pure genius. But there's two reasons why I //wasn't// laughing my ass off: one, because I was running so fast I had no air to spare on laughter. And two, due to all of my muscle mass, I couldn't keep up with Gears-- as a result, as soon as that shit-soaked water hit the ground...
"I fuckin' slipped on it too."
Moose let out a slight chuckle.
"Shut up. I fell //right// on my ass, hitting the tile floor and soaking my goddamn jeans in soapy shit water. It splashed everywhere, all over my face, too. Absolutely nasty, and I regrettably now know what soap tastes when combined with shit water. And more importantly, it was //entirely Gears' fault.//"
"Explain to me how it was my fault that //you// slipped and fell?"
"Why-- //you// were the idiot who spilled the water in the first place! Who does that?!"
"I was hoping that you would be able to keep pace."
"Gears, you asshole, I-- C'mon man! Not cool!"
"The plan worked, did it not?"
"I mean, I guess. As I was getting up, I slipped a few more times thanks to your //fucking moronic plan//."
"Wouldn't have happened if you were wearing Foundation-issue company boots."
"We- we don't even have standard issue boots! What the fuck are you talkin' about, man?"
Moose cut them off. "Alright, you two, I'm gonna stop you there. Clef, you were saying?"
"Right. The employees were closing in. One of them was calling for security over their radio. So I armed myself with my mop, ready to kick some Swedish ass, and meanwhile Gears was just //standing// there like a dope. He wasn't helping me, he wasn't fighting, and he didn't even have the brains to run for his life. I knew I would have to carry the team myself."
"Oh, please-"
"SHUT UP, GEARS, I AM TALKING. //Anyways//, I twirled my plunger, ready to go in for the attack against the vicious IKEA employees. I swung, but those motherfuckers were agile, I tell ya. I ended up missing and whacking a bunch of shit off of one of the shelves instead-- I think a few things broke, but whatever. The whole time, fucking //Gears// was just standing there with his head in his hands. Luckily, though, with my incredible strength I was able to fend off the employees with my combat skills. It was then, however, that I felt a shock in my right leg, like a hive of fucking bees stinging my every muscle, and I collapsed to the floor.
"Next thing I knew, Gears and I had been caught by these two //security guards,// and they were looking at us with these shit-eating grins. The whole time, Gears was just repeating the same apology over and over again like a broken alarm clock. I told him to shut the fuck up, and that's when I //really// let those assholes have it. You know what I told them?
"'You might think you've captured me, but mark my //fucking// words, you're going to //pay// for what you've done to me. You know why? Because I don't work alone. I'm part of the //SCP Foundation//. You probably don't know who we are. And that's intentional. We strike at night to clean up horrors that the rest of society is too afraid to touch. We hunt down monsters the likes of which you've never seen in your life. And we send a chill down the spine of every slimy motherfucker that attempts to get in the way of getting our mission //done//. Have I told you about the time we strongarmed the jackasses at C.A.O.S. Inc? No? What about the //FBI//? We're above it all. We're unstoppable. And once the Administrator catches wind of the fact that you little shits are going to lock me up, he's going to come in here with his crew and tear you sons of bitches a new one. At least, once he gets back from his week-long vacation.'
"Anyways, then security threw us out of the store. Bastards //knew// they were outmatched. Gerald yelled at me for making him wait so long to pick us up, but I told him the same story I'm telling you now on the way back."
"So yeah, despite all odds, as well as //Gears// here being a dumbass of the highest order, we managed to make it out of the IKEA alive."
"Alright, Clef, I think I've heard enough. After listening to your story carefully and deliberating accordingly, I have decided...
"... that this is entirely your fault. I'll be decreasing your paycheck accordingly."
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author= [[*user ubergoober]] and [[*user radian628]] ]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-12-26T17:07:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"co-authored",
"comedy",
"director-moose",
"doctor-clef",
"doctor-gears",
"tale"
] |
Cleanup on Aisle Five - SCP Foundation
| 30
|
[
"site-19-dossier",
"scp-153",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"top-rated-pages-by-month",
"tales-by-year",
"shortest-pages-by-month",
"scp-series-4-tales-edition",
"top-rated-pages-this-month",
"news"
] |
[] |
1458134017
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/cleanup-on-aisle-five
|
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